#AT LONG LAST!!! its done <- literally only took me three days

[zannolin]

Fic Summary: “You need to sleep,” he says.

Lucy says, almost without thinking, “I don’t want to.”

Because she doesn’t. Because sleeping means dreaming and Lockwood knows exactly what dreaming entails right now. And then there’s the cold, which still hasn’t retreated, even with the cape and the tea and Lockwood’s arm pressed in a warm line along her own while they drank it.

He doesn’t answer, just takes her by the hand and leads her from the kitchen, flicking off the lights as they go. And she lets him, because she’s tired and aching, and because it’s Lockwood doing it.

(or, recovering from walking in the land of the dead isn't easy, but lockwood and lucy are giving it their best shot.)

[zepskies]

The Honorable Choice - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I thought this idea might be a good fit for this @jacklesversebingo prompt.

Disclaimer: I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 4.6K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only to be safe. Racism/racial slurs, attempted sexual assault (not successful), protective Dean, angst, some violence and some action.

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🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!

Part 1: Pride & Prejudice

June 1872

Dean hears some of his men shouting, along with the telltale cracking of bone that would make a less seasoned soldier wince. He spares a look to Benny, his Lieutenant, and sets down his glass of whiskey.

Dean’s path takes him brusquely out of his office and toward the stables. He grabs his gun and his hat on the way there, setting the latter on his head.

Is it too much to ask for one night where he can drink in peace?

Dean comes to find a young woman being detained by two of his men, Kline and Novak. Roman sports a bloody nose and his eye is already beginning to swell. The woman fights against their hold.

Even under the pale moonlight, Dean notes the way she’s dressed: a deer skin dress cinched at the waist, over thin pants and shoes. He surveys her tan skin, her black hair that blends into the night, twisted into a long braid, and the anger in her dark eyes.

“What have we got here?” Dean says. He stows his gun in its holster as he approaches her, resting his hands at his belt.

“I caught her breaking into the stables, Captain,” Roman says. He prods with a hiss at his busted nose while trying to stem the bleeding. That’s going to be a bad break.

She remains tight lipped, stubborn. 

“Probably doesn’t even understand English. Savage bitch,” he says. Dean shoots him an impassive look to cover up his annoyance.

“Put a cork in it, Roman,” he orders. Then, he focuses back on her. “You’re a Lakota, aren’t you?”

Aside from their main mission here in the Dakota Territory, the Colonel has been fixed on fighting back against the Lakota Indians, especially after they sabotaged the supply line last month.

The proud tilt of the woman’s chin is her only answer to Dean’s question. Her gaze drags down his form with disdain, like he’s the savage. His mouth twitches mirthlessly. 

“The Lakota rear up their own horses pretty damn well. Why would you want to steal one of ours?” he asks.

She glances away from him, first at her feet, then over at the camp’s latest “guest.” Dean, Benny, and a few of his men wrangled up a horse a few days ago. He’s a beautiful Kiger mustang with a nasty mean streak. He barely got through a trim this afternoon, and almost took a chunk out of Rufus when he tried to brand the horse.

The Colonel ordered them to tie the horse up to a post just outside the corral—no food or water for three days. He’d turned to Dean with a firm set to his face and issued a single order.

“Break him.”

Now, Dean catches the furtive look the Lakota woman gives the horse, who flicks his tail. The animal stares right at her, as if into her eyes.

“Oh, don’t tell me you here for him,” Dean says with a chuckle. “That thing’s a little too much for you, sweetheart.”

That earns her attention, steely and unimpressed.

“He is too much for you,” she says. Her voice is smooth, and would even be pleasant, if not for the circumstances. “He is one of ours. You will never break him.”

Dean's eyes widen a fraction. He glances back at the mustang.

So that's why she's here, he thinks. She's trying to mount a rescue. Dean feels a twinge deep inside, but he can't allow himself to care about that. They've collected a strong horse that will be a good support for their objectives here, once he's broken.

“Ah, well see,” Dean says, tipping his Stetson up to meet her gaze. “That’s kind of our specialty.”

“Sir, should we take her to the stockade?” Novak asks. He seems reluctant to do so to a woman, even an Indian, but he’s always been good at following orders.

Dean opens his mouth to reply, but another voice cuts him off. Colonel Asmodeus Sanderson steps out and takes a look at their captive.

“Not the stockade,” he says, with that Southern drawl that betrays his Kentucky roots. “Not yet.”

He approaches her with a slow, calculated gait. His hands gather behind his back. Dean gives her credit for looking Sanderson in the eye. She seems rightly wary, but not afraid.

“We won’t hurt you. I give you my word,” the Colonel says, “if you’ll lead us to your people’s camp.”

He takes a hold of her chin, turning her face this way and that, like he’s examining a dirty animal, and all that he’ll have to do to make it clean. She spits in his face.

Dean bites the inside of his lip against a smile. She’s got as much fight in her as the mustang. However, he has to school his face back into stoicism when Sanderson rears back in anger.

The harsh smack rings out in the clearing, along with the woman’s cry. Dean doesn’t allow himself to outwardly react, but inside, his spine tightens as he fights his instincts.

Only Kline and Novak’s hold on her arms keeps her upright. She pants for breath, but again, she meets the Colonel with a face that doesn’t give away anything, despite the reddening mark on her cheek.

“The post,” he barks. “Three days. No food or water.”

Dean is kept busy by his duties. He makes sure the camp is running in order, accepting shipments of supplies and ammunition, among other things. Cas Novak is in charge of the stables, caring for the horses and putting them through their training. Jack Kline is young and strong and a good assistant, along with others in his unit.

Right now, Dean and Benny are going over the plans with Colonel Sanderson for continuing construction on the railroad, from here to the Black Hills. It’s a path that cuts straight through Sioux territory—the bands of Dakota and Lakota Indians that occupy the land.

“The natives are fightin’ us tooth and nail,” Sanderson says. “But maybe our guest will be able to help us…negotiate.”

Dean remains quiet, ignoring yet another uneasy twinge in his gut. He didn’t join the army to fight the Indians. He doesn’t always understand their way of doing things, but he understands why they fight—to protect their land, and to protect their own. It’s the same reason Dean fights, when he has to.

He joined the army because…well, it felt like the right thing to do at the time. His father had been a Cavalry Major, and he’d died an honorable death, now about a decade past.

Has it really been ten years? Christ.

Dean wipes his brow. Even with the windows open, the office is humid and smells like ass. He glances outside, where both the mustang and the woman are tied to their posts under a sweltering sun at high noon.

Not for the first time, Dean wonders what his dad would think of him now. 

After the meeting, Dean and Benny fall into step together to inspect the camp. The summer sun shines hot on their blue uniforms, and occasionally they raise their hats to mop the sweat from their brows.

Things are running as usual, but many of the men’s eyes occasionally turn to the posts. Dean’s attention wanders there too without him realizing, catching on the woman’s dark hair. It shines even blacker in the sunlight, like a raven’s wing. He knows the shade because his dad used to have a feather kept in his journal, like a bookmark.

“You okay, brother?” Benny asks. Dean realizes what he’s doing, and his attention returns to the task at hand. Get it together.

Always forward, never backward.

“Just fine,” Dean replies. Benny gives him a knowing look.

“A bit unsavory, ain’t it?” he says. “Keeping her chained up without even a lick of water.”

“The Indians are getting smarter, bolder. They’re ambushing our men, going after our supply lines, and now, stealing our horses,” Dean says. “This is strategy.”

Benny shrugs slightly, making a sound of agreement. Dean hesitates, his gloved fingers flexing against his sides.

“If she was a man, you guys wouldn’t give a shit about putting a bullet through her head,” Dean says.

Benny’s gaze shifts downward. He doesn’t reply, but he concedes the point all the same.

They continue their route, and Dean keeps the rest of the conversation on the work at hand.

Mila has gone far longer without drink, but the sun is particularly unforgiving today. She’s prayed and prayed for even one cloud to glide overhead and shield her for a while. It’s not much better for her companion. He paces in place, occasionally tugging his head against the rope that binds him to his post.

She makes a clicking sound at the horse, getting his attention. She calls him by his name, and his ears flicker in her direction. He offers her a short whinny in response.

“I see you, Mato. I am with you,” she says in her native tongue. She hopes the sound of her voice will soothe him. He looks tired and hungry, but his eyes flick hard and untrusting on any man who comes near him. His spirit isn’t broken.

“Hey! Shut the hell up over there,” Roman shouts at her from where he and Cas are taking a short lunch break. Cas gives him a certain look, crossed mostly with annoyance.

Mila resists the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she closes them and tilts her face back to the sun. In a way, it feels cleansing. Maybe it can wash away the stench of the White Men’s hands on her body, manhandling her, checking her for weapons.

She spends the rest of the day watching the camp. One of their leaders, the Green Eyed One, called this a fort. It does look fortified, with tall walls made of thick wood constructed to form a cage—whether to keep others out, or to keep the men and horses in.

She identifies the Colonel as their chief, of a kind. Green Eyes is second in command, followed by the Bearded One with a strange voice. Even the scruffy Blue Eyed One has some authority, mostly over the Child Faced One. There are too many others to rank them all, but she knows the Loud Mouthed One is arrogant, even after she broke his nose. The way he carries himself, he clearly thinks he has more power than he actually has.

In her mind, Mila conjures up different plans of escape. All of them fall short in some way. The men didn’t find all of her weapons; a small knife is hidden deep in her boot. She could saw at her binds within an hour, but even with Mato to carry her out and away, the problem is escaping this camp without alerting the men. Without getting shot.

She has three days to think.

That night, the moon refuses to give her clarity. Her stomach is too empty, her throat too dry, her tongue thick in her mouth. Her attention shifts in and out of consciousness, until the sound of boots crunching in the dirt trills unease down her spine. More alert, she sits up straighter.

The Loud Mouthed One. The one they call Roman comes to taunt her, offering her water, then drinking for himself instead. He comes closer to examine her. He has a small bind over his broken nose.

“You know, you’re a pretty one,” he says, taking another cold sip as his gaze drags over her form. “For a wild thing.”

His face nears hers, clean shaven, though his thin smile reminds her of a rattlesnake. Dread and repulsion churn at odds in her stomach as she realizes what he's really here for. It doesn't matter if he truly wants her, or just wants to pay her back for his face. Either way, he means to take her here in the dirt.

She looks away, not wanting to let him see her fear, or the dread tightening her stomach, rising into her throat. He winds long fingers into her hair. At first the hold is gentle, deceptive. Then it's tight against her scalp. She hisses in pain when he tugs her head back and forces her to look at him. Her breathing quickens as she tries to pull away.

He draws in close to try and claim her in a kiss, but she head-butts him, hard.

He cries out and stumbles back, his flask falling to the ground.

He angrily grabs her and hauls her up to her feet. He pushes her hard against the post and unbuckles his belt, just to stuff it in her mouth. With his free hand, he begins to undo his pants.

She refuses to cry out, even though she spits out his belt and fights him, trying to kick out his knees.

Suddenly, the man’s body is ripped away from her. Mila loses her footing and falls to the dusty ground, sliding against the wooden beam she’s tied to. The wind is knocked out of her, but when she raises her head, she watches with wide eyes as the Green Eyed One beats the other man into the dirt. It doesn’t take much, just a few well-placed fists.

Roman lies there catching his breath, and he spits a wad of phlegm and blood. His left eye will match his nose, that’s for sure.

Green Eyes looks angry and disgusted. He huffs and puffs while staring down at his subordinate. He pushes back his short brown hair and points an ungloved hand at Roman.

“Get back to the goddamn barracks. You’re gonna be mucking out stalls until shit’s coming out of your ears,” he growls.

Roman doesn’t argue, though it’s obvious that he wants to. He just picks himself up, makes a show of straightening up his open uniform jacket while catching his breath. He walks past Green Eyes with a resentful, angry look. Green Eyes watches him until he disappears inside.

Then, he turns to her. His gaze softens somewhat, but it’s still unreadable. He crouches down in front of her, resting his arms on his thighs. Mila’s gaze briefly falls to his hands. They’re calloused, the hands of a laboring man. He carries himself like a warrior.

“Sorry about that,” he says.

It’s not what she expected. Mila eyes him warily when he moves closer. She presses her back against the post until it hurts her spine. He raises up his hands placatingly.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says.

“That is what your Colonel said,” she says. Her voice cracks with dryness. “I didn’t believe him either.”

His lips flicker at a rueful smile. It wrinkles crow’s feet around his eyes, breaking his stony face.

“Fair enough.”

He reaches for his belt and retrieves a flask, similar to the one his subordinate carried. He extends it out to her.

“It’s water, unless you prefer whiskey. I know I do,” he says.

She raises a brow at him, but hearing the sloshing inside the flask, her thirst takes over her wariness, and even her pride. She tentatively leans forward. He brings it closer so she can press her lips to the opening. Despite his Colonel’s orders, he lets her drink as much water as she’s able. When she’s done, he pockets the flask and sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

That, she will not give him. Names are sacred to her people, and this man, while seeming to have a shred of honor, isn’t worthy.

“Don’t wanna even tell me your name?” he says. He nods slightly. “Okay, well, I’m Dean. Captain Winchester, to this band of delinquents.”

He gestures around the camp with a dismissive hand. Mila only watches him. She’s never seen a White act like this, breaking his leader’s rules, being…kind.

What a strange man.

But if he had any real convictions, he would untie her and let her go, along with Mato. She won’t hold her breath.

Dean’s brows raise up toward his hairline, and his full lips form a pout. Realizing he’s not going to get anything more from her, he lets out a tired huff and straightens up.

“Well, goodnight,” he says.

He finally leaves her alone, but she can’t help but follow the swaggering path of his bowed legs and heavy boots. They carry him away and back indoors.  

A strange man.

By the morning of the third day, Dean is ready to do what he does best. Or at least, one thing he does best.

He’s no stranger to horses. He grew up on a farm in Lawrence, Kansas, where he and his brother would help take care of the animals. Dean was older, so he helped his father till the land and train the horses. Sometimes he and Sam would sneak off and race their favorite ones, until their mom called them back for dinner.

In fact, part of what earned Dean his rank in the U.S. Cavalry was how well he could command a horse. His own is resting in the stables.

Today, he’s getting in the ring with the mustang.

…Well, not right away. He lets a few of his guys go first to tire him out. Even after three days of no food or water, the horse is living up to his bad attitude. He bucks each of them off after just a few seconds in the corral. Dean can tell it’s becoming a kind of game for the horse. His dun-colored coat shines in the sun, his brown socked legs kicking up dust and manure as he brays angrily at whoever tries to mount him.

Dean notices the Lakota woman watching with an amused smile on her face while she sits with her hands tied to her post. She’s enjoying the show, like she knew this would happen. It seems to give her energy every time another man is thrown off the horse and limps out of the ring.

Dean shakes his head. Pitiful.

He puts two gloved fingers to his mouth and whistles the entire clearing to attention. He saves Kline the chance to bruise his spine and pats him on the shoulder. Dean steps into the corral and positions himself into the stirrups, wrapping the reins around his hand. The horse is breathing hard, but he’s not done. He’s still got fight in him. Dean sees it in his brown eyes.

“All right, mustang. You’re big and bad. I get it,” Dean says lowly. “But I don’t scare easy. Gimme your best damn shot.”

Cas and Benny give him wary looks from where they stand outside the gate.

“Hold onto your hat, Cap,” Benny mutters.

Dean adjusts his hat and rests his gun on the post for safe keeping. He wants to feel as natural as possible, like it’s just him and this horse, out back in his family farm. He holds on tight to the reins. He’s fully prepared for how the mustang takes off at a galloping clip around the ring. He twists and bucks, but Dean claps his thighs tight and holds on for the ride.

The horse gets smarter.

He runs for the water trough just outside the ring. He slams Dean against the side of it once, twice—and manages to throw him off, with Dean landing right in the water trough.

He bursts out from the dirty water, sopping wet and spluttering in anger. He looks over at the horse trotting around, whinnying and tossing his head like he’s laughing. Dean can’t help it. His anger fades, and he smiles.

This guy’s got some brass balls, I’ll give him that.

The Lakota woman laughs. Dean hears it and his head swivels toward her. She bites her lip, but she knows she’s been caught. Despite his injured pride, Dean’s lips curve with a smirk. Just gonna laugh at me, huh?

“I see things are going well,” comes a familiar drawl.

Dean’s face falls as he looks up and finds Colonel Sanderson. Dean pulls himself out of the trough and tries to squeeze some water out of his uniform. He clears his throat.

“Well, uh, it’s going, sir. Just gonna take a little more time than I thought,” Dean says. He quickly reclaims his hat from the ring, giving the mustang a smart berth. After he climbs back out, he goes over to the post where he left his pistol.

“Hold him steady,” Sanderson barks out the order, but not at Dean. The other men wrangle the horse back into the pen, where Sanderson climbs up and mounts the horse himself.

To his credit, he stays on longer than even Dean thought he would. The mustang gallops and circles. He tries slamming Sanderson on the sides of the corral, tries bucking him and bucking him, but the man clings on, even when his hat falls into the dirt.

The horse is exhausted. He eventually stops in the middle of the ring, panting for breath, his legs shaking slightly. Dean straightens at attention.

So does the Lakota woman, he notices. She looks worried, her brows furrowing.

Sanderson swipes a hand over his graying hair and moustache to collect himself. He raises his head with an arrogant smile.

“You see, gentlemen. Any horse can be broken,” he says. He kicks the horse with his spur. “Move along, mustang.”

To everyone’s amazement, the horse obeys him. He moves forward at a slow clip. All the men applaud, even Dean, belatedly.

“There are those in Washington who believe the West will never be settled,” Sanderson continues. “The Northern Pacific Railroad will never breach Nebraska.”

His gaze draws over to the woman. Her eyes are filled with tears as she watches the Colonel makes his rounds.

“A hostile Lakota,” he says in derision, “will never submit to providence.”

She stares back at him with steel in her watery eyes.

Dean doesn’t realize his jaw is clenched tight until he feels the strain in his jaw. He forces himself to relax, with his hand on his dampened belt.

“And it’s that kind of small thinking that would say this horse would never be broken,” Sanderson says. “Discipline, time, and patience. That’s all you need to level a wild thing.”

Just then, the horse stops abruptly.

“Mustang?” Sanderson asks in warning.

Dean tenses. He knows what’s about to happen.

“Sir!” he calls out.

But it’s too late.

The stallion revs and charges, bucking even wilder than before. He swings his head and rears back high on his hind legs with a powerful bray. Sanderson yells in fear and strain, but he stays on the creature’s back.

The horse’s angry eyes take on a darker shade of conviction. When all four of his hooves hit the ground, he finally bucks hard enough to get the Colonel off his back, though he still clings to the reins near the animal’s head. He comes face to face with the horse’s crazed eyes. His own are wide and full of terror.

Hot breath heats Sanderson’s face. Then the horse swings his head and tosses the man out of the ring. In the process, the horse falls on his side and shatters a section of the wooden beams that fenced him in.

While he shakes his head and gets his hooves under him, Dean and Benny help the Colonel up to his feet. His uniform is a wreck, and now, with a bruised body and likely a couple of broken ribs, the man is fuming.

Kline and Roman wrangle the horse’s reins and keep him more or less in place. The Colonel shoves Dean and Benny off of him. He reaches for his gun at his belt and aims it at the mustang. Dean goes rigid in shock, but he knows he can’t interfere. If he does, it could warrant some major discipline.

The Colonel pulls the hammer back on the revolver, but before he can pull the trigger, the sound of cutting rope and a feminine yell breaks the silence in the clearing. The Lakota woman pulls the Colonel’s arms down, and the gun goes off into the ground. Her elbow comes up quick to strike the man between the eyes. He careens back into Benny, who catches him.

Meanwhile, the woman swings up onto the mustang. She grabs a stronghold by the neck and barks something in her native language. It spurs the horse onward, and he breaks through the crowd of men at a gallop.

Dean watches with widening eyes and furrowing brows. “Shit!”

He runs to the stables where he finds Baby waiting for him. Her black coat ripples as she stamps impatiently.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he beckons. He leads the mare out of the stable, and after grabbing a coil of rope from the supply bench, he mounts her smoothly. With a subtle kick of his heel, she picks up speed to follow the mustang and his rider.

They’re already approaching the gate where the men are quickly trying to close it. There’s still a window of opportunity for escape, but not only is Dean on their heels, Roman also stands on a pile of crates filled with iron parts that are due to be shipped out in the morning for continued construction on the railroad. Roman holds a rifle. He trains his weapon on the woman, taking deadly aim.

Dean’s jaw clenches and his brows furrow. He knows then, in the breadth of a few seconds, that he has to make a choice. If he does nothing, both she and the horse are as good as dead.

Sam used to call him reckless, stubborn as the horses he spent long hours taming.

Right about now, his brother is probably right.

Dean reaches for his gun, aims, and shoots within the span of those seconds. Roman goes down before he even knows what hits him. His chest plumes with blood after he slides down the crates and flops heavy to the ground. His eyes stare unseeing at the crisp blue sky.

The mustang tears through the narrow opening in the gate, and Dean isn’t far behind. The woman is an excellent rider, far better than he expected her to be. She clings to the horse’s neck and mane, and she doesn’t even use the stirrups. She clings on when the horse leaps over rocks, and when she notices Dean tailing her, she urges the horse at an even faster gallop.

Dean’s face furrows with determination. Baby is built for speed too.

He gives her a little kick with his heel. “Come on, Baby. Go!”

He’s able to keep up with the mustang just a few yards behind, even when they reach rougher terrain, going further up and into a canyon. He follows them through every curve and dip, guiding his horse just as much as she's guiding him.

Dean takes his rope in hand and turns it above his head, but his attempt to lasso the mustang's neck fails; the woman saws straight through the rope with her knife.

"Damn it!" Dean mutters.

He's forced to let go of his frayed rope when he and Baby nearly careen off the edge of a cliff. His heart settles high in his throat as he grits his teeth, but he pulls back on the reins hard and leans in the opposite direction. Baby's able to bank left, saving them from a long way down to certain death.

They continue up the narrow path the mustang has trod ahead. It carves around and through the mountain.

Dean mentally grasps for a plan, aside from just keeping up. Without even a bit of rope, he doesn’t know how he’s going to slow the woman down without hurting her or the horse. He doesn’t want to have to use his gun.

Eventually, the canyon breaks into a patch of desert, and then, grassy plains and tall forest trees. The mustang begins to tire and slow to a stop. His rider murmurs soothing things to him, stroking his neck. She turns back to look at Dean over her shoulder in dismay. She knows she’s caught.

“All right, sweetheart. That’s enough,” Dean says.

He sidles up next to her and intends to grab the mustang’s reins.

That’s when her swift kick comes, dead in his forehead.

AN: And here we go! 😅 Feels right that November is Native American Indian Heritage Month. 🫶🏽 For that reason especially I've done my best to do the Lakota people justice, even in this little series and complete work of fiction.

There's a lot packed in this first chapter, and yep, I did borrow a bit of scene from one of the best scenes in Spirit as an homage. From here on out, we're literally going off road...

Next Time:

Dean falls out of his saddle with a yell, landing hard in the grass. The impact knocks the air out of his chest and his hat off his head, not to mention the pain that rattles down his back.

“Son of a bitch,” he wheezes, while trying to get back up.

The woman jumps down from the mustang’s back and all but leaps on Dean. Straddling his waist and grabbing a fistful of his collar, she lets out a battle cry and raises a small knife at him. It’s probably no more than two inches long.

Dean may be on the ground with a smarting forehead, but he’s still got the upper hand. He grabs her knife-wielding arm and whips out his pistol from his belt. Her eyes widen, and she stills above him. The gun lies between them, aimed for her chest. They’re both breathing hard.

Dean has a problem.

Looking into her eyes, soulful and brown, the slope of her nose and her full lips, parted with shock… 

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

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[mokulule]

The Number You Have Called Cannot Be Reached - Part 14

Let's just ignore I've updated this story three days in a row, @ailithnight asked me to make them cry, so we're giving the challenge a shot. This was written today and may very well have typos. Also it literally can't go on like this, I have work tomorrow.

First | Masterlist

Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Fandom: DP x DC Summary:

Danny is just trying to build a portal home, becoming a thief was just an unfortunate side effect of that goal. Now if only this vigilante family would just leave him alone. Especially Red Hood - the semi retired crime lord whose ghost-like presence keeps drawing Danny to him.

Jason had called ahead to let them know he was coming to the cave and then promptly turned off his comms again. He didn’t need to hear their questions. Not on comms. It was bad enough he had to face them. 

He drove into the cave, his resolve the only thing keeping him from turning right around. Everyone but Bruce were in their civvies at this point. Jason shouldn’t be so surprised Bruce had called it a night. Not after ghost jumping off a roof in front of them. 

Bruce did care, and Jason could tell himself that now without poison dripping into his ear about how it was only to keep his little soldiers at the top of their game. He was too exhausted to appreciate the missing put at the moment, he just wanted to go home and try to forget for a moment that Ghost had left again, but he had to do this. 

Dick was sitting with an arm around Tim on the meeting table. Tim looked wrecked - good, he thought grimly and immediately felt guilty. He didn’t even have the pit to blame and yes Jason was angry about what had happened tonight, but really he was just as angry at himself. Jason might have tried to make them understand that Ghost needed help, but he’d done a poor job of it and they didn’t hear his grief for themselves. 

They hadn’t felt Ghost’s terror in their electricity trap, his desperate fight to control his panic, they hadn’t felt it as he fell or the shock of pain as he landed. They hadn’t felt the panic reach a fever pitch and then utter silence.

They hadn’t been 50 yards away on another building, running, because they knew something terrible was about to happen. They weren’t the ones who thought they might have already been too late even as they caught him out of the air. 

But Ghost had been alive. He’d been breathing. Panicked, but breathing, yet still utter silence. 

Jason had been terrified. 

And yes he was angry. He should have never let it get so far even in his desperation. They needed to stop chasing him. It wasn’t working. 

It had nearly cost him his life. 

He was a fucking burglar, not a rogue! He wasn’t a murderer who would kill someone if he wasn’t stopped. They should have never used this level of force. They never would have used this level of force if it wasn’t for Jason and his erratic behavior. It was on Jason, not Tim who was a seventeen year old kid just trying to keep this cursed family together. 

Damian was sitting at the meeting table a few seats away from where Tim and Dick were sitting on the table and for him to willingly be that close to Tim without any needle-ing commentary it was practically the equivalent of a hug. 

Jason sighed, then pulled off his helmet and left it on the bike. He couldn’t hide behind the safety of its smooth surface, not for this. He walked over to the meeting table, knowing it would draw the rest over there.

Damian took one look at him, with that sharp judgment that was always in his eyes. “You let him get away.” Jason grit his teeth, refusing to rise to what was just an observation, but it had been a trying night and it was tempting to snap, that he didn’t let him do anything. 

“His powers returned,” he said finally, carefully even-toned.

Tim looked up shortly at that and Dick squeezed his shoulder. Normally, Tim would have been on that detail like a hawk. How long did it last? Did the powers return gradually or all at once? Were there other adverse effects? And probably more questions Jason had not even thought to consider because that was just Tim. Now, Tim was silent.

“Jason?” Bruce asked carefully from somewhere to Jason’s left. Jason couldn’t look at him. Last time they’d been this close Jason had almost shot him. 

Stephanie and Cass joined Tim and Dick to sit on the table, and Damian allowed Cass’ hand in his hair only because she could kick his ass six ways ’til Sunday. Duke was the last to join their loose circle standing to Jason’s right. 

Jason didn’t have any excuses left. He even saw Alfred standing a ways further by the wall. Everyone was here. Babs was definitely still on comms with Bruce, even if the cowl was pulled back. 

He tried to take a steadying breath without being too obvious about it. He probably failed, horribly. 

“You have to leave Ghost to me.”

“Jay… you’ve not exactly…” Dick said carefully, the only one willing to even go near the fact that Jason should be the last person to go after Ghost. That he had been far from rational about the whole thing. That he was invested, personally more than they could even guess. 

“I need-“ Jason looked to the ceiling, breathing for just a moment, before looking down again. “I need you to trust me on this, to let me handle it. What happened tonight… it cannot happen again.” 

He clenched his hands, gathered every shred of courage, then looked to Bruce. 

“Dad, please…” He ignored the gasps from his siblings, from shock or outrage that he of all people pulled this card, maybe both, it didn’t matter. Jason only had eyes for Bruce’s stunned face, for the way his jaw tightened and his eyes were moist under pained brows. He only had ears for the way Bruce’s voice broke partway as he said: “Of course, Jaylad.”

“Thank you,” Jason whispered, afraid his voice would fail him if he spoke any louder. He held Bruce’s gaze with his as he said it, because he deserved to know how much that meant to him. The urge to go over to Bruce was strong, to see if his dad would hug him if given the chance - he thought he would, but that, that would be too much, and the pit would be back in a couple of days. 

Jason couldn’t handle any more tonight. 

He gave Bruce a tight nod and turned to leave, avoiding looking at the reactions of his siblings. 

Out the corner of his eyes as he left, he absently noted the purple backpack he’d stolen from Ghost sitting by the evidence board and that metal cylinder, Ghost had left behind the night Jason had met him, sitting on a shelf amongst other knickknacks. 

In the back of his mind an idea was taking shape, but he'd only realize that the next day.

-

I made myself cry writing this, that happens very rarely. Jason has had a really bad day, but it was the father-son feelings that did me in.

I do not know when I will update next time, the chapter this part belongs to is like 2/3rds done now, but it's the middle I need to fill out. Oh well, I'm enjoying the writing bug while it lasts. Update: Next

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon "Ghost" Riley, Reader

Summary: All the buildup, all the teasing, finally leads to this: Simon is back and ready to act on all those filthy things you two had been teasing each other with. Will you make it home before you both explode? Or will the car have to do to break the tension?

Word Count: 5.1 k

Warnings:

Part 2:

Unsteady hands gripped hard into the steering wheel, knuckles white as you tightly held on while headed straight to the military base. Your heart pounding furiously inside your chest, breath quick and short the closer you got, it was nearly impossible to keep your eyes focused on the road. Christ were you gnawing at the bit to get there and once again see that beast of a man, the one keeping you begging for release for the past three months.

Those breathtaking bits of personalized porn you two had sent each other had done nothing other than made that inconvenient ache into a raging monster that could not be quenched. Hours spent furiously working yourselves, silently begging for a little ease in the constant throbbing had gotten nowhere except to drain the battery life on your phones from the constant re-watching of videos.

…though that last photo he sent you of his abdomen covered in his milky white cum after having watched your little romp into amateur pornography had left you feeling on top of the world for a couple days.

And just as you were on that last leg of desperation, finally the light at the end of the tunnel that led up to you driving where you were today. It had been exactly one week from when you got the text you had been waiting on from Simon:

“I’m coming home, baby. Fucking finally; Christ I thought I was going to rub myself raw. Best not wear anything you want to remain intact, you hear me? Cause the minute I get my paws on you, that's it.”

Thank fuck, the suffering was almost over.

That entire week seemed to drag on endlessly, each day crawling through at a snails pace, but here you were now only a few more minutes away from your destination. Even as you checked in at the entrance to the base, antsy and squirming in the seat of your car, you couldn’t believe that you had actually made it.

You took Simon’s message to heart when you got ready that morning, choosing a simple, flowy dress that he could literally shred off of you and you wouldn’t give a shit. It was just long enough that it could easily conceal the fact that you had done away with the panties today, opting for ease of access over anything else, but low cut enough in the front that he could get a nice eyeful of your full chest; you had no idea what would happen the moment you saw each other again and you weren’t taking any chances.

This reunion was bound to be explosive after all the visual edging you two had been doing lately and having to waste even a second more of time before your bodies could be joined felt like a crime.

You walked through the base, heartbeat rapidly increasing with each step as you got closer to where you knew you'd find that hulking Lieutenant hanging around.

And then you turned a corner and there he was like a specter brought back to life, standing idly beside the outside wall smoking as he watched the privates of his troop find their families and suddenly the wind was knocked from you.

“Simon,” you called out to him and he turned to face you.

That instant connection of your eyes felt like a shock from a live wire; Simon could feel the electricity run through his veins and tingle its way up his spine until the first prickles of sweat dotted across his body as his cigarette slipped from his fingers. It felt like he couldn’t breathe and the closer you got the worse it became; you knew what you were doing wearing that pretty little dress.

Fuck did he want to take a bite of those thick thighs he could see just under the hem that popped out every time you took a step and if his hands didn’t get their fill of your breast spilling out of his grip soon, he might just keel over and die. You were more than tempting, you were a feast sent to make him completely lose his goddamn mind.

His entire body was sent into shock as that ache that he had tried to keep from ripping him apart all day as he waited for your arrival overtook him until his balls pulsed and he had to adjust himself or get caught sporting a stiffy that would instantly tent the crotch of his pants and make it even more painfully obvious to any curious eyes just how gone he fucking was.

Coming to a stop you stood before him, your stomach doing back flips as you struggled to form words that weren’t just pleas for him to just rip the waistband of his pants down and take you right then.

“Hey you,” you said through unsteady breaths, trying to keep calm. “Long time no see, huh?”

Simon nodded. “Too fuckin’ long sweetheart. Ya look...” he had to clear his throat, “incredible.” He had to keep it short, there were still too many people about and even his words would cause him to lose composure.

“Well, it is a special occasion after all,” you chuckled. “Got to remind you what you leave behind every time you go.”

The need to take your hand and give it squeeze, that customary greeting that you both did when in public, made him hesitate. If he touched you right now, any bare part that met skin with skin, he may not be able to stop, not once those weathered and brutish fingers got their fill of all that sweet softness. There as still a little time left that he had to be there and the agony was already eating away at him.

“Believe me, I fuckin’ know,” he said as he shot you a look; I’ve been in hell waitin’ to get back to it, it whispered to you.

Taking a few calming breaths, he risked lacing his broad fingers in between the empty spaces in your own. Simon could feel the rapid thump, thump, thump, of your pulse against his palm; good, you were just as excited for this reunion as he was.

Somehow that made it a bit easier, knowing that the feeling was mutual.

“Can we go?” you asked eagerly, hopeful that you were closer to the end of your joint suffering sooner rather than later.

Simon stroked the back of your hand with his thumb. “Gotta be here just a bit longer,” he muttered dejectedly under his breath. “God, I want ya so bad I can’t see straight.”

You squeezed his hand back. “It’ll go fast,” you assured. “And…I mean… no one’s looking this way if you wanted to touch me a little more. Maybe you’ll find something you’ll like.”

It was dangerous, but he took a chance with even more touch as he released your hand and loosely wrapped his arm around your waist, bring you in to him until your hips were touching. You were warm against him, warmer than the day would suggest, and the curve of your hip that he ran his fingers over delicately to retrace the lines he had dreamed about felt even better than he remembered.

Silently you peaked over at his face, watching as his head faced firmly forward to watch for any prying eyes, but it was clear he hadn’t noticed it yet. Not wanting to spoil the surprise, you kept quiet; he’d figure it out eventually. Those exploring fingers were beginning to stray more towards the back of you to the small dip at the base of your spine.

…and then lower still…

That’s when you felt it; he risked a lingering stroke over the contour of your ass when he noticed it. Where was that distinct seam of your panty line? He had grabbed your backside so many times over the course of your relationship that he knew the feeling of what should have been there. Quickly he ran his hand over the area again and still the same, there was nothing. Christ, you’d really prepared for today, hadn’t you?

Good fuckin’ girl.

His chest began to grow tight with his quickened breathing… along with that engorged appendage down below. He was in fucking trouble now; would he even be able to make it to the car at this point? The moan that desperately tried to escape through his throat he swallowed down, but who knows how long it would stay.

He was in the thick of it now.

Simon leaned down to rest his face against the side of your head, his warm breath still able to be felt against your ear even through the mask. “Fuckin’ hell sweetheart, no panties?” he whispered intrigued. “Christ, how the fuck am I supposed to hang on now?”

You smirked, trying to pick even though you were falling apart at the seams, a wetness gathering between your thighs as you pressed them together. “You complaining? Cause I can head back home and put some on real quick if you want.”

A harsh squeeze along the underside of your ass cheek made you gasp before he removed his hand and gave you your answer. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” he warned, a playfully lilt to his tone. “That sweet little pussy is about to be filled and I don’t wanna waste a goddamn second havin’ to rip those fuckin’ things off ya.”

Dear God he was about to fuckin’ explode, say screw it and pin you up against the nearest wall right in front of the entire goddamn squad to plow into your tight, wet cunt with months worth of unrequited need that had built up to this monster of desire churning away inside of him. His teeth bit at the skin of his lower lip, his fists clenching and unclenching as he failed to calm himself while he again checked the time.

The moment that those amber eyes watched the second hand on his watch hit and the minutes change to the millisecond he could be released, his oversized mitt wrapped around your wrist, securing it in his harsh grasp, and quickly he began making his way to your car with you being dragged alongside.

“Where the hell are ya parked?” he questioned in a huff, that gruff voice nothing more than a growl, and you pointed towards the back of the lot in the corner.

You could barely keep up with his intense pace, nearly tripping over your own feet several times to match his long strides. It didn’t help that your heart was pounding furiously, nearly beating out of your chest the closer you got to being in a tight, secluded spot with him; could you even make it back to his apartment?

All signs were pointing to not a fucking chance.

Simon only released you so that you could both get inside, separating at the tail of the vehicle with you headed towards the driver side and him the other. The slam from the car door rung through the interior of the vehicle and before you could even insert the key into the ignition, Simon had moved in silent as a specter to place his large palm against the side of your cheek. The endless ache he had endured over the past months apart had been unbearable as you both edged each other to the brink of insanity and now that he was so close to you again it felt like he was in a dream.

The tension that suddenly filled the car was overwhelmingly electric as Simon closed what little distance there still sat between you both, his hand moving to the back of your head. Those bulky, calloused fingers that had missed having any part of you against them laced themselves through your hair with harsh abandon, pulling your face closer.

He held your head steady and pointedly at his face so that you had to stare into his intense, unwavering gaze; it made your skin tingle with anticipation of what was on the horizon and barreling down fast. Those sparkling brown eyes drew you in to hold your own captive as he drug his thick thumb across the length of your bottom lip as if to test that all this was actually real. His entire hand palmed the back of your head which left you completely at his mercy, not that you were complaining.

After all, you needed him just as badly.

Without warning he wrenched the bottom hem of his balaclava up over the top of his head and off his face before his mouth crashed violently against your own, hungry and greedy to steal kiss after fiery kiss from those soft, supple lips he had been eyeing with a burning desire to ruin since the minute he saw you again. Desperately his tongue parted your lips as he plunged it inside your mouth to reclaim it.

God it felt euphoric to finally be given the very thing you had been aching for for months, feeling as if your body had pined for his for an eternity, as it was finally released from it’s torture. And by the way his tongue was nearly shoved down the back of your throat you knew Simon felt that same kind of relief and it only spurred him on further.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your parted lips, nothing but hot, sticky breath being shared. “Ugh…fuck, baby, I’ve missed you so goddamn much I thought I was gonna fuckin’ die before I could feel ya again.”

Crawling over the small console in the center between the car seats, Simon shoved his body weight into you, making your smaller frame slam against the driver-side door. The raised panelling along the inside dug roughly into the muscles of your back as the backside of your head was shoved harshly into the glass of the window. There was no pause in his assault of your mouth until your lips began to burn from the constant contact and yet even the pain still felt like heaven.

He tasted so strongly of tobacco from the chain of cigarettes he must have smoked to calm his nerves until you arrived, but even through the distinct flavor you still drank every last drop of him down like you would cease to function without him.

Those thick digits of his free hand eagerly pawed at your supple thighs until he was able to divide them so that his hand could slip in between. There was a damp heat gathered near your unclothed sex and it only made him more wild to feel it. His palm cupped around your entire mound and you whimpered directly into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he hissed one of the only words he could recall in that moment as the damp heat filled his palm. “All for me?”

Words, what the hell were they again? You couldn’t remember how speech worked as you were far too busy try to simply breathe through the conquering of your body by him. All you could do was mewl like a kitten as he massaged the petals of your cunt before taking his middle finger and slipping it between them. Your back arched in a jolt as he ran one finger along the length of your cunt, mouth falling agape as Simon gathered as much of your juices on his finger as he could.

Even this small amount of contact already had you dripping and coming apart at the seams; it had been so long since you had felt that familiar touch and pressure against your clit, the one that only he could provide.

Simon couldn’t help himself once he got his first real feel again of how soft and slick you were, goddamn it had been too long that he’d only been able to play with himself, and greedily he drew upon your clit in concise circles with the pad of his rough finger. There was a second where he tried to remain calm, to take his time drawing out your pleasure as he would normally do, but as your back arched and your breathy music filled the silence of the car, he could not hold off from unleashing weeks of pent up need onto you.

Removing his lips from your own, he moved down to the soft skin of your neck with teeth ready to leave the flesh marked with his seal. It burned him alive with desire at the thought that he would be able to see your pretty skin marred by him, that everyone who came in to contact with you in the coming days after today would see it too.

You could not stop the way your body writhed and squirmed as his finger collected a friend to join it and spread your entrance open so they could both slide inside. The heightened tension of the moment with the man you had yearned for only made you more sensitive and the way his fingers filled your tight, aching hole after it had been left empty for too long thrilled you. As natural as breathing, your hips ground down on his fingers, using them as your own living dildo.

God, he wanted nothing more than for you to ride his cock as well as you rode his fingers just now and send him straight to hell. Shit, he couldn’t catch his breath, his need was just too much. “That’s it. Use me; make my fingers yours.”

Both of your hands moved to behind your head and onto the window; you needed more leverage to ground onto him harder, as hard as you could. Nothing compared to him, not your own fingers, not a toy; you could not stop yourself. You could feel the condensation already gathering on the glass as you moved and you had to wipe it away so that you could get better purchase on the surface so you wouldn’t slide.

There was nothing that was going to ruin this.

“Oh god, baby,” you squeaked out as that overwhelming deep warmth of your release gathered in your abdomen.

The corners of his mouth upturned against your neck at the sound of you falling apart because of him. Images conquered in his mind about your moans and cries reaching outside the car so that anyone who walked by would hear them before they caught a glimpse of the show. Why wouldn’t he want to show you off like this? You looked so fucking beautiful falling apart to his ferocity.

Just the way your muscles strained and your cries became more pathetic, Simon knew you were close. “Are ya gonna come for me already, pretty girl?” his gruff voice purred against your collar bone. “Come on then, give it to me. Clench down on my fingers. Let me feel it.”

Pumping his fingers in and out of you, keeping the pace as steady as he could, he felt those velvety walls flutter around his digits as he rocked his upper body with you to simulate the movements he’d soon be doing when he was really inside you. The air was so thick with moisture it almost felt hard to breathe right, the windows filmed with the stuff as with a few more strokes at your clit you came hard and fast, shaking as he continued to work you until ever single ounce of your orgasm had been spent.

Simon was gone then, replaced by a feral beast fueled by his ability to make you come… and wanting to do it again, but this time with his cock.

He pulled those thick fingers out of you, glistening with the wetness of your cum and brought them to his lips. You watched wide eyed as he stuck them in his mouth and licked them good and clean; goddamn you tasted just as delicious as he remembered. Could you blame the man? You had kept him starving since your video popped up on his phone and he had to get a bit of it all.

“I need more of ya,” he groaned in whispers as he leaned back into you, desperate hands pawing at your breast still sadly inside your dress as he kissed you again, now with the taste of you on his breath.

“We need to move, someone’s bound to come see what all the noise is about,” you said, able to think a little more clearly now that you had come once, but Simon was still gone and there was only one thing that would bring him back.

“Don’t care, can’t wait. Get in the back. Now.”

The primal growl in his gruff voice was enough to make you comply without another word; once was not enough anyway, not after how you had suffered. You needed to be filled with more than his fingers. With a nod you immediately began climbing over the cushions towards the backseat of the car as he got out and moved into the back with you. You leaned back into the front long enough to shove the seats forward all the way to give you more space.

Simon needed room to work.

Scooting over, he planted himself directly in the middle of the back seat and pulled you over top of his lap to straddle him, shins digging into the edge of the cushion. Shit, he as so hard you couldn’t properly sit over top of him without leaving a wet spot right where his cock tented the fabric.

Clothes could be washed, as if he would care at all if anything got on him right now. Pushing your hips down, he made you grind your overstimulated clit hard on that throbbing shaft and you mewled into his face. A devilish grin spread from ear to ear as he rocked your hips to dry hump him.

“Someone ‘ere begged to be bred and that’s what she’s gonna fuckin’ get,” he hissed, sucking in the air harshly between his teeth at the feeling of you on top of him. “Can’t take it back now, luv. I have been fuckin’ dreamin’ of doin’ this, ever since you sent me that goddamn video and I ‘eard you say those sweet fuckin’ words. Been fuckin’ gnawin’ at the bit to stuff you full.”

Taking both of his hands, he pulled at the low neckline of your dress until your breasts came spilling out of the top. Angling his face in, he placed his nose right between the two to suffocate himself within them. There was a hint of your perfume still lingering there, that scent he had bought you for your birthday last year, the one that occasionally lingered on his clothes and had done for the first couple weeks of his mission.

The flesh was so enticing that he sucked in the supple top of one breast before he bit down, not enough to break the skin, but enough that it would definitely leave a nice red outline of his teeth; more signaturea that you could both admire.

“Simon,” you moaned his name.

Your own hands roamed up under his shirt, pushing the fabric up until you reached his chest and you could run your hands over the sparse bit of hair you adored; it would be so nice to get to nuzzle against it again. As your fingers ran between his pectorals you could feel the moment his breath hitched.

“Please, Simon,” you begged. “I need it.”

Those breasts he would get back to later, your words brought him back and his need to fuck you senseless slammed into him full force.

Rushed, he laid you back over the console between the seats as he sat up and forward, undoing his belt before ripping his pants down enough that he could pull his cock out of his boxers. The angle was slightly awkward, but as he aligned the leaking head of his phallus with your entrance and gave that first thrust to fully enter you, everything else fell away.

“Oh fuck…fuck… oh fuck,” that deep agonized whimper echoed through the car as Simon’s hands bore down his grip on the top of the seat cushions. “Goddammit, luv…s-shit…ah…”

Nothing, absolutely nothing in this fucking world could ever compare to the way your body felt wrapped around his cock: how silky and warm and tight it was. There was no way with his limited brain function could he accurately describe how mind-numblingly amazing it was to be inside you again. Those restless nights where he just couldn’t seem to stay satisfied, the pictures and video that made it worse, the dreams that woke him to stained boxers, it was all undone in that moment as your soft walls held him snugly.

Your head flew back over the lip of the console as he filled you completely to the hilt, stretching you out to your limit. It was almost too much after so much time apart, but goddamn was it exactly as you had wanted. You swallowed the saliva gathering in your mouth, wanting to say the words you had first brought to life in your video, but in person this time.

“Breed me, please Simon. I need you to fucking breed me.”

Never had a more beautiful sentence ever been spoken to him in all his years than to hear your desperate and depraved voice telling him to claim you in the most ultimate way; it was even more beautiful in person than it was that first time he heard it. His fingernails nearly tore holes in the seat as gripped with all this strength to stop himself from coming too fast from all the excitement.

The car began to shake forward and back as Simon snapped his hips into you with a feverish intensity. Even within the first few minutes he was already pussy drunk, slamming into you with a feral roughness that left his rhythm scattered for a bit as his brain only had one objective now: to come.

Your legs were absolutely burning and shaking from the intensity as you had to spread them wide so that he could fit in between, but it didn’t matter; you would have done anything to have him reclaim your cunt as his own again.

The scent of sex was heavy in the air of that enclosed space, the wet slapping sounds of two bodies connecting in that most erotic way keeping the beat.

Yet there was still one more thing he wanted, one more thing that he had been daydreaming about all by his lonesome. Even in this cramped space, he was determined to make it happen- for both of you. His hands were on your legs and before you knew what was happening, he had pulled out of you so that he could situate your calves up on his broad shoulders.

As he thrust back in, the new position helped him reach even deeper until he completely bottomed out. Goddamn it was like you could feel him in your stomach, so full with him that you were completely one being.

“F-fuck…” you stammered out the cry, choking on your words as you writhed uncontrollably. It was almost too much.

“There ya go baby,” he groaned as he started rocking his hips again, unable to contain himself at this consuming euphoria. “Gotta make good on my fuckin’ promise.”

He took you even rougher now, gripping into your hips hard enough to leave purple fingerprints where his hands rested as he pounded into you furiously, your body contorted and at his mercy. The windows of the car were completely fogged over now, the condensation not letting any clear visuals in or out as the axel squeaked with the force of Simon’s thrusts. The console you were still laid on scraped across your back to make it burn as your body was rocked, but the angle was so perfect that the stimulation made your brain blank to anything that wasn’t your second release creeping up on you quick.

There were no more words that could be said as you both devolved into beings hell bent on pleasure alone, just the depraved sounds of grunting and moans filling up the interior to capacity; that growing warmth in your belly nearly reaching its peak

Goddammit, he was closer than he thought due to all the pent up desire he'd been unable to sait for weeks, but he had to be sure you were almost there again too. "Are ya close?" he asked as more of a plea than a question, hips snapping desperately with a shudder as he was losing the battle to his orgasm.

"Yes," you groaned back. "Don't stop, please."

He closed his eyes tight, working to stay from blowing until he felt your thighs twitch and clamp down around him, keeping him locked in. A few more sloppy thrusts slipping through the cum covering your cunt, a few more bumps against your swollen clit, and that was it. The warmth shot through your limbs, coursing like electricity as you came once more.

"Yes, yes, yes!" you cried out and finally he let go and fuck did he come with a roar that stung your ears.

Simon's body convulsed, the muscles in his abdomen tensing and straining as he released weeks and weeks of need. You took it all riding out your orgasms in tandem until you both lay still a moment, simply breathing after such an explosive ending.

He moved back into the seat exhausted, pulling your body along with him as you stayed connected. Lightly he pushed up your dress to press his raw lips to your stomach to kiss down the lower half of your body. Each embrace was another silent praise he gave while he took deep breaths through the high of his ecstasy until his rapidly pounding slowed and he could final re-wet his dry mouth to speak.

“Fuck, I think we both needed that one,” he said against your skin, his warm breath wafting over the fine spread of moisture along your torso, making you tingle as he kept his cock buried inside. “Ya did so good for me sweetheart.”

You reached a hand out to him and he helped you to sit up and into his lap. Wrapping your arm around his neck you pulled him into a deep kiss, letting your mouths linger together with eyes closed for a few moments as you both finished coming down.

“I’m glad your back,” you whispered as your lips parted.

He cupped your cheek with his palm, staring back into your eyes as he smiled. “I’m glad to be back too,” he returned. "And I'm gonna make sure that I make up for all that lost time."

Tag list: @sillylittlereader @babygirl-riley @jarfullofjizz @jamieelol

[81folklore]

lover - SCHUMACHER

pairings: mick schumacher x wordle!reader (fc: savannah delullo + pintrest)

summary: micks girlfriend always relates everything in her life to the three things she loves most; taylor swift, wordle and her boyfriend

authors note: this is probably one of the most niche things ive ever made but i absolutely love sav and her wordle content and i also love mick so why not put those together?? i dont even know how i thought of this but here it is😭

authors note 2: doesnt have all the pictures i wanted, but i needed this to be one part so i had to shorten it a bit. i ended up mainly using pintrest photos, but that was only because the sav photos i planned to use ended up being in posts i couldnt make due to the 30 picture limit. i actually think this is my favorite smau ive done so i hope you enjoy

masterlist

yourusername

liked by mickschumacher, jackdoohan and 12,728 others

and everytime i look at you, its like the first time

view comments

user11: beach being the wordle today was perfect pinned

yourusername: can confirm i was very happy

mickschumacher: good pictures...must be a pretty cool photographer😂

yourusername: ehh took some practice but he learnt from the best!😉

user82: you guys are so cute

user9: micks looking more and more like his dad everyday :')

user4: im so obessed with your tiktoks

user49: favorite wordle player

yourusername

liked by mickschumacher, estebanocon and 14,287

you got that long hair, slicked back, white tshirt, and i got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt

view comments

user55: officially my favorite couple

user20: dont know who i want to be more

user32: so so cute

mickschumacher: 💚💚💚

user2: i love that she always includes that days wordles in her posts

user72: and if she can, she will relate it to a taylor lyric and make that her caption

user60: and she always tries to match the pictures to the word

user46: are those his dads glasses☹️

yourusername

liked by carla.brocker, mickschumacher and 26,109 others

youre a flashback in a film reel on the one screen in my town🎞️

view comments

user8: micks smile AHHHHH

user92: im so obsessed with this post

user902: he looks SO GOOD

user65: i cant bresthe omg

mickschumacher: my favourite photographer

yourusername: my favourite muse

user7: I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

user51: no bcs you just dont understand

yourusername

liked by mickschumacher, jackdoohan and 31,273 others

✨i can still make the whole place shimmer✨

HOLY WHAT IS MY LIFE??? so much happened within the span of a night and im in shock. first, TAYLOR SWIFT?? next SWIFT WORDLE ANSWER?? ON THE DAY OF MY CONCERT?? then I GOT THE 22 HAT?? EXACTLY 10 YEARS AFTER THE LAST PICTURE TOOK PLACE?? also lets all appreciate how good both taylor and mick look!!!!

view comments

user4: YOU GOT THE HAT? IM SO HAPPY FOR YOU

user6: you deserve the hat so much!!

user67: what was your reaction to the wordle?

yourusername: i actually did it in the stadium while waiting for taylor, i started freaking out i was so happy😭

user13: love your outifts! did you make both of them?

yourusername: i made micks and he made mine☺️

yourfriend2: im glad you both had fun

yourusername: mwah 💋

mickschumacher: thank you for choosing me to go with you

yourusername: why wouldnt i take my favorite person to see my other favorite person??

mickschumacher: love you

yourusername: love you🩵

user5: the IT couple

user85: i love seeing mick getting involved with her interests :(

yourusername

liked by mickschumacher, georgerussell63 and 40,812 others

we could let our friends crash in the living room

tagged mickschumacher, lewishamilton, estebanocon, lance_stroll, sebastianvettel, georgerussell63+

view comments

user56: oh my god oh my god

user52: theyre literally living taylor swift lyrics

user75: i cant cope

user79: THEY HAD A SLEEPOVER?? WITH THEIR GRID FRIENDS??

user20: seb definitly spun the wheel in twister

user59: definitly had a drink with him aswell😭

lewishamilton: thanks for having us💜

yourusername: always welcome with us lewis🩵

mickschumacher: can i go where you go?

yourusername: can we always be this closee?

yourusername

liked by mickschumacher, lewishamilton and 29,819 others

and at every table, ill save you a seat, lover...

m, you mean more to me than i will ever be able to put into words. the love i feel for you is something so special it feels wrong to just say 'i love you', it doesnt do it justice. you are my entire being and nothing i say or do will even amount to the way you make me feel

3 years ago, forever felt scary, forever felt terrifying, but how can forever be enough now? how will i ever have enough time with you? how will i ever have enough time to love you?

i would say 'take me out and take me home' but no matter where you take me i will always be home if im with you🏠

tagged mickschumacher

comments on this post have been limited

mickschumacher: my favorite person

yourusername: 🫶🫶

mickschumacher: my one and only

yourusername: my lifeline

mickschumacher: forever with you sounds perfect

[wileys-russo]

Ella Toone

“Jesus Christ love I didn’t know you could hit like that”

Rage room 🙂🔥

rage room II e.toone

"baby! i love ya so much but please hurry up." the mancunian groaned, twirling her keys around on her pointer finger. "el we are literally not booked in until three and it's only eleven thirty." you laughed at her impatience from the bedroom.

"yeah but we're gettin our nails done and then goin for lunch and then the rage room at three. we're on a tight schedule here woman chop chop!" the midfielder clapped, popping her head through the doorway with a raised eyebrow.

"sorry! i'll hurry up love." you made a point to bend down and lace your sneakers in slow motion, ella leaning against the door frame with a long and annoyed groan.

"i'm getting grey hairs here man." your girlfriend huffed with a shake of her head, smacking your hands away and kneeling down lacing up your shoes for you.

"sure babe you can borrow my jordans, thanks for askin." ella mocked sarcastically as you grinned. "sure love you can borrow my prada sunglasses, thanks for askin." you quipped back as the smile was wiped from her face.

"fair point. come on then!" she took your hand and pulled you to your feet. "baby!" ella moaned as you dug your heels in just to annoy her further, trudging slowly across the living room.

"you're such a fuckin wind up!"

~

"thank you for today el, its been perfect." you smiled sincerely, sat across from your girlfriend at your favorite japanese restaurant, leaning across and meeting her lips in a sweet kiss. "anything for you and that gorgeous smile baby." ella flirted charmingly as you shook your head.

"if only you were this smooth when you asked me out the first time." you teased as ella's cheeks flushed bright red. "you promised to stop bringin that up!" ella whined burying her face in her hands.

you'd transferred to united from bristol city two years ago and ella had been enamored by you from the moment you stepped foot into the locker room with a shy wave, a little taken aback by how forward and friendly the entire team was.

her best friends very quickly picking up on the developing crush she'd been relentlessly bullied into eventually asking you out on a date. though with half the team well aware of her feelings and the lingering fear of rejection she'd been a nervous wreck.

the words got jumbled up together and her attempt to ask you just for coffee wound up with her asking you to buy her a coffee and you leaving with a confused nod, showing up the next day with a flat white in hand for her and a very embarrassed number seven who hurried to correct what she'd meant.

"babe its a crucial part of our epic love story, i can't pretend it didn't happen." you grinned as your food arrived and you both thanked the server. "teach me please?" ella asked eagerly holding up the chopsticks in hand.

"el, love we tried this last time." you smiled sympathetically but unable to say no to her pleading eyes you walked her through it, the brunette eventually dropping them to the table with a clatter and a list of swear words dropped from her lips.

"fuck this." ella grumbled, snatching the fork you'd made sure to order for her and stabbing the california role before shoving it angrily into her mouth in one go.

"what?" she asked with a frown, mouth still full of sushi. "you know babe sometimes i miss when we weren't so comfortable around each other."

~

"so obviously the walls are off limits! they are cement though so i wouldn't recommend to hit them anyway because the shock of the bat hitting it could break your hand." the worker shrugged casually as you and your girlfriend shared a look.

"thats mostly everything. have fun ladies!" he shrugged, stepping out and closing the door as music filled the room. "ready baby?" ella grinned, moving forward and tugging your glasses down over your eyes.

"go!" ella cheered, swinging her bat at a stack of as you pumped your fists and the music got a little louder. you watched on with a grin as your girlfriend wreaked havoc, letting out a war cry and hauling a few plates at the wall.

"go on baby, your turn!" ella encouraged with a wave as you lifted your bat and swung at an old computer monitor barely knocking it over. "nah you can do better than that! think about that prick from ya old job, the one we used to scream into the pillows about!" ella remembered, clicking her fingers.

a sudden rage filling your body you let out a war cry of your own and swung at an old tv sending the glass screen flying in hundreds of tiny pieces around the room.

"jesus christ love i didn't know you could hit like that." ella whistled in shock. "baseball?" you gave her a wolfish grin holding up a mug as she perked up and readied her bat.

"ya know we should really bring mary here babe, she has a lot of rage."

[weebsinstash]

Wouldn't it be funny if reader is aware abt the spiderverse being yandere and stuff but still continues to act blissfully unaware and when they found abt the youtwo situation and stuff they used that to their advantage to basically escape the obsessive grasps the yandere spiderverse has. and basically readers all giddy abt it

YouTwo: wow, it sure would be a shame if I started stealing all of this excessive attention you seem to get. I wonder if all your little spider society friends would even be able to tell :)

You: oh my sweet summer child. Oh my little tiny baby still on its mother's milk. Oh my naive ignorant little newborn

You: y'all can fucking HAVE THEM, my guy

You: once I thought I was being nice by offering Miguel some of the extra snacks I was eating while I was delivering a message in-person from another Spiderman and I got close enough that I accidentally saw the holograms he was looking at and this man had been watching another dimension where we were having our wedding

You: Pavitr who has never done anything wrong in his life ever once invited me to a family member's wedding and I was stupid enough to say yes because then I had him and his girlfriend babbling in my ear while I got literal actual personally customized henna, do you have any idea how time consuming and intricate and personal henna is, I felt like I was naked. Beautiful wedding, literally did not have privacy almost that entire day

You: the other week Peter B somehow got the access code from Miguel to have the security clearance to broadcast across the Spider Society and I was in the middle of the cafeteria when literally everyone in the room had their watches light up with his face, "hey I can't find them myself so if anyone sees my other kid let them know how cool they are and how much I love them and how Uncle Pete misses em 🥰" and to this day I can't enter the food court without a literal army of Peter Parkers obnoxiously teasing me, "We LoOOoOooOooVE YoU SwEEtiE"

You: Jess got overwhelmed with the pregnancy hormones once and she asked me how my day was going and I made the mistake of being honest and said I was a little sad and she burst into tears begging me to move into the spare bedroom of her house and asking when I ate last and insisted I join her and her husband for "a family dinner"

You: that Morales kid was feeling kind of depressed so I gave him my perspective on adulthood and how sometimes the only expectations you need to meet are your own dreams for yourself and i told him all these good qualities i saw in him to cheer him up, and now he and Gwen Stacy keep showing up unannounced in my universe to hang out. Do you know how hard it is to avoid someone who can turn invisible. My knees crack when I stand up from sitting down for too long, I can't outrun two parkouring teenagers!

You: the other day i had an earbud fall into the back of my hoodie so I just took it off and shook it out trying to find it and like three different goobers fell out and I pick one of them up and it literally looks like a piece of plastic and I must've accidentally hit something because it said "beep boop boop" in an IRL person's voice and I'm like "hello???" And someone replies "YEAH, LEGO SPIDERMAN HERE"

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

Sharp March 2025 - 18. Muggles

Aesop and his beloved discuss a meeting neither of them is looking much forward to.

Sorry to have not posted for the last three days. I had a really good four days last week, but then something happened, and I fell straight into a depressive episode and had literally no motivation to do anything. Honestly, I'm still in a place of struggle, but I'm trying.

18. Muggles (1k)

“You know,” Aesop Sharp said as he pulled the strings of his sweetheart's corset tighter. He winced when she gasped, “I've always rather admired the ingenuity of Muggles, their creativity when it comes to inventing new things for their convenience. The steam engine, for example, is particularly excellent, and I even hear they wish to manufacture horseless carriages. And yet, Muggle women voluntarily put themselves in these torture devices…”

“Believe me, Aesop,” his beloved said breathlessly, “these are the many things I don't miss about the Muggle world. I wouldn't have bothered to put this blasted thing on had I been sure I was only meeting my mother - but, as I know her, she'll no doubt make an attempt to reconcile me and father again, and if he's going to be there, I'd much rather forego any of his tirades about how ‘those people turned me into a barbaric heathen who doesn't even dress as proper anymore’.”

Aesop frowned. He knew the young woman and her family's relationship was strained at the best of times… Frankly, he couldn't blame her - it would seem her father, in particular, looked at people he seemed inferior to him the same way Black and the majority of the other pure blooded families looked at half-bloods and Muggleborns. And he despised people like that.

“Do you really have to go?” He asked once he secured the corset. His sweetheart looked quite uncomfortable, with her waist nearly half its usual size. No wonder, he thought, he himself would probably be long passed out from the lack of oxygen had he been wearing this diabolical contraption.

His beloved sighed and turned around. Yes, she looked beautiful in her long gown and the little hat pinned to her meticulously done hairdo, but Aesop couldn't stop feeling uncomfortable for her, knowing how tight she was squeezed in the gown.

“I mean… I don’t really have to per se, nobody is forcing me - I'm an adult, I live in my own space, I've got my own money. If I chose to, I could probably spend the rest of my life without seeing either of them again. But it's just… it doesn't feel right, you know. Whatever happened between us, they're still my parents. They fed me, clothed me, and educated me. Father already called me a selfish brat when I told him I would not be marrying any of his business partners or their sons, and I suppose I want to… prove, perhaps not to them, but to myself, that I'm not what they say I am.”

Aesop sighed too. Gently, he took her hands in his and brought them to his face. She was wearing these fine silky gloves, which fit perfectly on her thin fingers. He kissed the back of each of her hands, then brought them to his chest: “Anyone who's spent at least 10 minutes with you can vouch that you are anything but a selfish brat. Ever since I first met you, you continued to prove just how selfless you really are - sometimes actually too much for your own good.”

A little smile began to bloom on her face: “Do you mean the Hebridean Black incident?”

“That too, but I prefer not to think about that too much, for my own state of mind,” Aesop said with a little grimace.

“My point is - you don't owe them anything. Yes, they clothed, and fed, and educated you, but that is what a parent has to do. A parent is not doing a child a service by caring for them, they're doing their responsibility as a parent…”

The young woman sighed and (awkwardly) sat down on a nearby chair.

“I know… but still, I feel like I should go…”

Aesop said nothing for a moment, but then put his hand in his coat’s pockets. “Would you like me to tag along?”

She chuckled: “I don't think that's a very good idea… Father would probably combust before I even got a word in.”

“I mean, I could stay in the background, at some different table. Just, you know, make sure that you are alright. And if things start to get too much, step in.”

The girl stayed silent for a bit, just sort of fiddling with the hem of her dress: “You'd do that for me? Dress up as a Muggle and hang around to make sure your girlfriend doesn't get too upset while meeting her parents?”

“Well, why not?” Aesop grinned, “you hardly need my help to protect you from the poachers or other riff-raff that roams the Highlands, but perhaps I could aid you in this matter?”

He was delighted to finally see a little smile on her face again. He stepped behind the chair she was sitting on, and laid his hands on her shoulder, stroking them through the fine fabric of her clothes.

“And you know how to look like a Muggle?” She teased a little, prompting her partner to scoff in mock indignation.

“I beg your pardon, Miss?” he said, coming around to face her, “I'll have you know that I used to be a very fine Auror, trained to blend in within the Muggle world as seamlessly as if I'd spent my entire life in it!”

“Oh, I don't doubt it one bit, professor Sharp,” she purred, “but things now are ever so slightly different than they were a couple of years ago.”

“Sweet of you to say ‘couple of years’ instead of ‘couple decades’,” he grumbled, but there was a little smile on his face. “You are quite right, of course. However, it is my firm belief that there is a young woman who could make sure I look and act appropriate…”

“Appropriate?” She chuckled, “that would be a first.”

“If you don't quit being such a teasey  I might just tear that torture device off of you, dear.”

“You know what, Ace,” she smiled then, “why don't you help me take it off?”

“Oh?”

“You were right - while I will go to meet my parents, I don't owe them my ability to breathe.”

“That's my girl.”

---

You can also check out all of my other stories over on Ao3.

[eretzyisrael]

by Seth Mandel

As we consider the nature of the astonishing events both in Gaza and in Lebanon over the past month, we should recognize this one clear fact: Israel spent the last year not only fighting a two-front war in real time but learning from its every step and every move how to win the war that had been thrust upon it. And now it is.

I don’t need to rehearse it all for you, but I will, because it’s just so…exhilarating. The elimination of Hassan Nasrallah, leader of Hezbollah since 1992, brought to a climax a period of daring Israeli actions that included, but are not limited to:

—the assassination in the spring of leaders of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps, Tehran’s most elite military unit, in a building in Syria.

—Israel’s use of some kind of science-fictional weapon we normies still don’t have a bead on against an Iranian site after the ineffectual missile attack Iran launched in response to the Syria killing—a clear message to the mullahs that Israel possesses terrifying capabilities Tehran cannot predict and that therefore Iran would be wise not to try and find out. And it hasn’t.

—the assassination inside Tehran in an apartment complex owned and run by the mullahs of Hamas’s leader, Ismail Haniyeh—a plan so daring and melodramatically implausible it seemed to have been lifted from the pages of one of Daniel Silva’s glorious Gabriel Allon novels.

—the trapping of senior Hamas leadership in a corner of the city of Rafah following a months-long halt outside this southernmost point in Gaza—a pause largely due to the historically embarrassing pressure exerted by an increasingly pusillanimous and morally impotent Biden administration and its fear of an electoral blowback in one state out of 50 in a country generally extremely supportive of Israel’s efforts.

—the relentless grinding down of Hamas to the point that in the past week Israel is now openly declaring that Hamas no longer functions as a military but has been downgraded into some kind of counterinsurgency at best.

—Operation Grim Beeper, in which Israel wounded or took off the fighting map literally thousands of Hezbollah operatives in a single second, followed a day later by the same attack on the secondary communications devices Hezbollah resorted to with their pagers blown up.

—Operation Northern Arrows, a series of Israeli strikes that did more damage to Hezbollah’s colossal missile stash in six hours than it had done in the 34 days Israel had fought Hezbollah in a conventional war in 2006. In a day’s time, the Israeli airforce hit 1,600 sites in Southern Lebanon and the Bekaa valley.

—The picking-off of Hezbollah leaders systematically wherever and whenever they have been accessible for such elimination, beginning with military commander Fuad Shukr and reaching its apex on Friday with 83 tons dropped directly on the head of Hamas’s command-and-control superbunker—killing Hassan Nasrallah, the world’s most destructive terrorist over the past 32 years, thus decapitating Hezbollah, an enemy of Israel, the United States, and the Jewish people worldwide for four decades.

—the continuing elimination of Hezbollah leaders following Nasrallah’s death, three so far, demonstrating that the decapitation of Hezbollah is not going to be followed any time soon with any kind of regeneration.

And after I finish writing this and before you begin reading it, more will have happened to boost Israel’s side of the war-fighting ledger. And if you had told me just a month ago at the end of August that I would be writing these words at the end of September, I would have thought you mad.

Just one month ago, Israel had plunged into a despair deeper than it had experienced at any time after October 7 when the nation learned that six hostages, including the Israeli-American Hersh Goldberg-Polin, had been murdered just minutes before they might have been rescued. Throughout Israel and the Jewish world, even some hawks found themselves all but ready to give up the fight because the continued plight of the hostages had just become too great to bear. A ceasefire was needed. Bring them home now.

The problem wasn’t an Israeli unwillingness to achieve a ceasefire. The Netanyahu government and its negotiators  accepted general ceasefire terms at multiple moments over the summer. Rather it was Hamas that would not proffer any kind of hostage return that even the United States, which wanted the ceasefire desperately, could view as minimally acceptable. But Israelis and Jews around the world had, without even knowing it really, been surviving on a kind of desperate optimism that things were really going to work out in a movie-ending sort of way. The loss of that optimism was soul-crushing and once again threatened to turn Israel inside out against itself even as the war was not won.

Meanwhile, Hezbollah was firing rockets, killing Druze children, and keeping the North depopulated. Israeli military leaders and Israelis have long known they would not be spared from directly engaging in this war on the northern border. But a country in mourning and a Jewish people worldwide overwhelmed by a degree of open hostility toward us most of us had never known could hardly bear the thought of that second front. Not to mention Yemen. Not to mention Iran.

Which is why September 2024 may go down in the annals of Jewish history as the time our people looked despair in the face and refused to submit to it. Israel said, through the proper democratic vehicle of the Jewish state’s duly elected government, that it would no longer hold itself back in hopes of a deal that would not emerge or tie an arm behind its back to manage a relationship with the United States when the U.S.’s position in all these matters had become all but inexplicable in its inconstancy.

The Netanyahu government acted, and with a kind of determination and confidence that has breathed new strength and a new sense of resolve into the Jewish people. Whatever the divisions and concerns and cautions inside the corridors of power about the astonishing onslaught of Israel against the Iran Axis of Evil, the fact is Israel stared into the abyss and said, “Not today. Not this week. Not this month. Not ever.”

[justforbooks]

‘Books picked me up on bad days’: how reading romance helped Lucy Mangan through grief

After the death of her father, the writer took refuge in the kinds of stories she had once written off – discovering a comforting world of funny heroines and happy endings

Grief is an intensifier. It doesn’t often – despite what films and television would have you believe – cause you to act massively out of character. Like motherhood or any other huge life upheaval, its actual effect is to strip away the nonsense and leave your essential nature, your core, not just intact but now unobscured by everyday concerns and frivolities.

So it was no real surprise to find myself, in the immediate weeks after the death of my beloved dad in 2023, flinging myself into books. I would have done so literally, if I could. I wanted to gather my physical books into a wall – or better yet, a cave – around me that would both protect me from this new reality and let me cry in peace within it. Failing that, I took mental refuge in them instead.

I read like I had never read before. I read like a chain smoker smokes, turning the last page of one book and immediately opening up the cover of another. I had books lined up before me to make sure I didn’t go a moment without. None of my usual leisurely picking and choosing, reading blurbs and reviews, feeling my way into what would best suit my mood. Because my mood was simple, uniform and deeply miserable, and what I needed was new stories and characters ceaselessly streaming into my cortex and banishing, for as many seconds at a time as they could, the fact that outside those pages the unforgiving real world no longer had the gentle, wry, witty form of my dad in it.

Every moment that I was not inescapably occupied (with work, with Mum, with making sure life carried on as normally as possible for my son), I was reading. And when I was vitally occupied, I was longing to read, burning to in a way I hadn’t properly felt since I was a child. It felt so odd to have arrived at the same place via sorrow, rather than joy. Adulthood sure can be the pits sometimes.

Anyway it was all odd, and difficult, and my heart goes out to people grieving harder and more complicated losses than that of an elderly father who went peacefully, and on his own terms, when it was absolutely time to go.

The retreat from the world didn’t last as long as I had expected. I felt at first like I would be floored for ever. But now – and I’m writing this six months later – I spend a lot of the time feeling bad that I don’t feel worse in the absence of this man whom I, quietly but unreservedly, loved so much, who knew me so well and who loved me, even more quietly but just as unreservedly, right back. But it’s because I still feel him with me – which, as someone with no religious faith and no goddamn spiritual side either, I really did not expect. But he’s there. Or it’s there; or something’s there anyway. I do really feel, as the poem has it, that he has only gone into the next room. Mum says it’s because we are so much alike. This evolution of the exasperated cry “You’re exactly like your father!”, when she found me next to some set chore abandoned because I’d been distracted by a book, which pursued me throughout my childhood, both charms and aggrieves me. But I hold on to the idea that it’s true.

And I have discovered romance. Not in real life, obviously. Yuck. But the genre, once forsworn, is now very necessary to me. Once I stopped feeling quite like I would be floored for ever, I started being drawn towards books with light, bright covers that promised distraction, an uplift and – above all – a happy ending. I realise this is not a psychologically complex phenomenon. But however obvious the route, the comfort they offered was real and wonderful. Especially as the first three I came across – Emily Henry’s Book Lovers, Stephanie Butland’s Lost for Words and Harriet Evans’s Happily Ever After – were all about the world of books, bookworms and bookshops, and formed the perfect bridge to cross into this new, unexplored region.

There also seemed to have been, in the 20-odd years since I had last surveyed the landscape, a move away from the ditsy/hot-mess heroines that sprang up post-Bridget Jones. The new generation of protagonists all had their problems – particularly Loveday Cardew, whose emotional withdrawal after her repeated battering by life is carefully and compassionately depicted by Butland and further explored, with great consistency and credibility, in the sequel Found in a Bookshop – but they weren’t chaotic collections of neediness and neuroses held together by the offices of devoted friends, who in real life would have been well within their rights to have deleted these succubi from their phones years ago. They were properly funny, properly thoughtful, capable – often even maintaining professional standards day in, day out at the office! – and generally life-affirming, rather than life-depleting, people to hang out with. I felt like introducing them to some of the longsuffering best friends in earlier books. “Look, this is what you deserve! Enjoy!”

It was a reminder – though I do try to stay aware of it anyway – never to write off any field, any genre, for ever, for the simple reason that even if it doesn’t evolve (and sometimes, as with the hot messes above, it does), you do. You toughen up a bit here, break down a bit there, learn this, rediscover that, have children, have cancer, move jobs, move countries, are opened up to more experiences, more possibilities, live through more world events, governments, relationships, McDonald’s menus, Kardashian exploits and iterations of the Strictly Come Dancing panel – all these things change you and change what you need, what you want and what you bring to previously discarded books, when you pick them up again.

Romantic/popular/commercial fiction, whatever you want to call it, picked me up on bad days, brushed me down and sent me off again with a loving pat to get through the next few hours, days, weeks until I collapsed back into its arms. It’s a trust fall. The writers of commercial fiction know their audience, are often part of that audience (Evans is a lifelong fan of Georgette Heyer, for example, and I suspect none has come to the job without an early affinity with the genre and an absorption of its rules, both the obvious and the ineffable, into their bones) and consider it their duty to deliver. I think of them now like a quieter, more studious version of the A-Team, except that if you have a problem, if no one else can help (or if you have soaked all the available shoulders with tears and need to give them a bit of time to dry out), you can always find them, these soldiers of romantic fortune.

And when I need further bolstering – when, for example, I reach that stage of grief everyone passes through at some point, where it starts to feel absolutely infuriating that your loved one is still dead, when you have missed them quite enough, they have proved that their absence really is a bad thing and it really is time that they came back, because carrying on like this is too hard, really beyond a joke – I stop buying new books and look to my library shelves. Not just the children’s section, though of course that is where any number of my strongest and favourite memories of Dad reside.

But Dad is there in adult books too. Murphy’s Boy by Torey Hayden was my first ever true-life tale. I tried to buy it after seeing the film based on it (Trapped in Silence, starring Marsha Mason and a very young Kiefer Sutherland, fact-fans), about a neglected child who refused to speak or communicate via other means in the wake of his abuse and was eventually “saved” by psychologist Hayden, who specialised in the phenomenon of elective mutism. It could be seen as a forerunner of the misery memoir, but, like most forerunners of popular trends, it is much better than the thing it became. It wasn’t available in England at the time, so Dad asked one of his American friends to buy it for me and, when she handed it over next time she visited, I literally could not believe it.

There’s also Grace Metalious’s proto-bonkbuster Peyton Place, reminding me of when I was seven or eight and first heard Jeannie C Reilly sing Harper Valley PTA. I had to take the line “Well, this is just a little Peyton Place and you’re all Harper Valley hypocrites” to Dad for elucidation, and he told me all about this very famous and bestselling book, which I pledged to myself I would read as soon as I was old enough. I forgot about it until I came across a battered copy in The Brazen Head bookshop in Norfolk and pounced. It was even better than the song.

The run of Philip Roth reminds me of one of our rare disagreements. I was home for the university holiday and Dad came across me reading the newly published American Pastoral. This was just after he had read Claire Bloom’s memoir Leaving a Doll’s House, in which she details her long relationship with the volatile, controlling and verbally abusive author. Dad felt that, at the very least, I should read his books in the light of this knowledge; or, maybe, choose not to read them at all. I, at 20, felt that I could – and should – separate the man from the art.

More upliftingly, I spy Sarah Perry’s The Essex Serpent – a complex, gentle, yet sinuous story about a woman freed by her violent older husband’s death to start life anew. She moves to the Essex marshes to follow her long-denied interest in palaeontology and give her autistic son the peace and freedom he needs. Her scientific mind finds a strange resonance with the local rector’s attempts to stop the village community turning from God to the supernatural when it appears that the monstrous folkloric serpent has returned to the marshes. I read it, loved it and passed it to Dad. It’s a book about all the different forms of love there can be, and how they enrich a life in different ways. When he returned it, he said he had thought it as wonderful as I did. I told him that some reviewers – perhaps because you don’t at any point actually get a scene in which a giant sea monster rises out of the waters and lays waste to a village – had dismissed it as a bit of a book about nothing. “But,” he said, frowning, “it’s about everything.” And that is why I loved him, and that is how he enriched my life too.

🔴 This is an extract from Bookish: How Reading Shapes Our Lives by Lucy Mangan, published by Square Peg on 13 March.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[maladaptivewriting86]

Welcome Home - September Ch1

Eddie Munson x Reader, friends to lovers, slow burn

Also posted on ao3! This is part 1!

Summary: Reader has moved to a new city/state every few months since she was born. She shows up to Hawkins in '85 having to repeat her senior year after learning nothing last year due to changing schools 3 times.

Eddie is repeating his senior year as well, lucky for him. He meets reader in class two weeks into the year and is immediately drawn to her due to her I-don't-care attitude and her Metallica t-shirt.

The two hang out often, studying, drinking, smoking, and healing their respective traumas. But how long does reader have before her dad announces that they're packing up and leaving Hawkins forever, leaving Eddie and the new friends she's made behind forever?

Reader uses she/her pronouns but is non-binary. The term didn't exist in the 80s so she describes it as "I'm only vaguely a girl, you shouldn't really think of me as one."

Reader is AFAB, there will be references to anatomy (smut), but for the most part, she's not really "girly".

AU, the upside down doesn't exist, Eleven and Will aren't mentioned (sorry).

CW for this chapter: mentions of parents with substance abuse issues

AN: This is absolutely just self-insert for me but I really like it and maybe it will be relatable to a small number of people or just entertaining, I don't know. But thanks for reading either way!

I'm planning on each chapter being somewhere between a day to a week of in-story time. Some might be super long and others kinda short, I'm not sure. This is my very first work that I've ever written so I have no idea how its going to work. Each month will have its own chapters (all contained here in this one work) and the story will just kinda flow through the months that reader is in Hawkins. Bear with me, this all might change at some point haha. I have a lot of ideas though as this is literally just my maladaptive daydreams put to paper. Eddie makes my brain melt. Enjoy!

Walking out of the school office with your class schedule in your hand you sigh, taking in the new surroundings once again. This is the eighth high school you've been to in the past four years, and the second time you've been a senior in one of them. After moving three times last year and missing so much of your first senior year, you had to start from scratch in a new school, Hawkins High. Pretty boring to name a school after the city, but you've seen it done so many times that you don't give a shit anymore. Just as long as this is your last one.

The receptionist in the office had pointed you in the direction of your assigned locker and handed you a sticky note with the combination on it. Memorizing the numbers on the gross-yellow paper, you head in the direction she told you to go. 982, 983, 984, 985... 986. That was yours. You stop in front of it and rest your head on the door as you look down and turn the lock in the correct order. You had no faith that this year would be your last, you already accepted that if you couldn't finish high school on your second attempt, then you would just drop out and figure out what to do after that. School is fucking tiring.

The bell rang to signal change of classes and students began to flood the hall. Already missed the first period and study hall, off to a great start. As you pop the lock open and step back a little to open the door, a solid body slams into your side and a book goes sliding down the corridor.

"Hey, watch it freak!" The body yells at you.

You turn to look at who just walked into you. It was a girl with platinum blonde hair in a super high ponytail; a cheerleader uniform; and her tits on full display, absolutely breaking the dress code.

"Sorry, didn't realize you liked to walk with your eyes closed." You grumbled as you rolled your eyes and turned back to your locker, beginning to unload your binders from your bag. She walked into you , that was definitely not your fault.

"What?" She snapped. She took a few steps to the side so that she was right next to you continuing to stare at the side of your face, and at your Metallica shirt, and your ripped black jeans, and dirty shoes. She instantly clocked you as someone who was beneath her so she narrowed her eyes and gave a sickening smile. "Ohhhh... great, another freak to join the freakshow. Just watch yourself okay? And don't get dirt on my uniform." She accented the last line by wiping down the front of her skirt with her hands aggressively a few times before stepping away and bounding down the corridor with her group of friends who looked identical to her, ponytails swishing in unison as they walked. One of them stopped to pick up the book that was dropped and handed it back to who you assume was their leader. All five of them turned to sneer at you before continuing on their way.

"I fucking hate cheerleaders." You thought to yourself as you closed your locker and looked at your schedule again. Your second class was English. An easy enough class, after a bit of a rough start in the hall.

As you entered your classroom you made your way to the desk at the front where the teacher was sitting.

"Hi, I'm y/n. I'm new, I just moved here yesterday and I was told to introduce myself to my teachers when I got to class so... hi." You said quietly to your new English teacher.

"Well hi! I'm Ms. Davies, it's nice to meet you. I'll write your name into the class list. Can I see your schedule?" She seemed way too smiley and chipper for your liking, but at least she didn't seem like she was going to be a hard-ass.

You handed her your schedule and she nodded and confirmed that you were in the right class. She copied your name down on her attendance list and then stood up, handing back your schedule.

"Please don't-" before you could ask her not to, she began announcing your name and welcoming you to the class.

"We have a new student today! Y/fn. Everyone please be kind, she'll be a little bit behind as we've already gotten through two weeks of curriculum but I'm sure she'll catch up quickly!" Smiling, probably very proud of herself for embarrassing you, she turned to you and pointed to an empty pair of seats at the back of the class. "You can take a seat back there... I would say 'next to Mister Munson' but it seems that he won't be joining us again-" just as she said that, a boy with long, curly, brown hair, a denim jacket adorned with pins and patches, ripped jeans, and absolutely no school supplies walked into the class. "Well, never mind. Here he is." She said, a little surprised by this guy's sudden appearance.

Keeping your head down to avoid the stares that you were most certainly receiving, you made your way to the back of the class and sat down in one of the seats Ms. Davies had pointed to.

The long haired boy's eyes hadn't left you since he walked through the door. He also made his way to his seat and sat down just slightly after you. "Metallica fan eh?" He said, nodding to the t-shirt you were wearing.

"Yeah." You said, a little more blunt than you meant for it to sound. "One of my favorites." You added, noting that most of the decor on his vest were metal bands.

"You've got good taste." He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, clearly not intending to pay attention to the class.

"Thank you." You said, honestly. "You seem to as well," pointing at one of his pins, you said "Judas Priest is pretty good too."

The boy beamed. He was honestly really cute, especially when he smiled and his dimples were on full display. He squeezed his crossed arms tighter and wiggled a little, obviously a little giddy, and leaned over to you a bit "I like you. I think I'm going to annoy you for the rest of the year." He said with a sort-of-joking-sort-of-not tone.

You let out a soft laugh and smiled back at him. "Sounds good." You replied, somewhat sarcastically, though you also weren't going to say no to gaining a friend immediately. Especially one who seemed to have the same taste as you. 

He extended one of his hands toward you, intending for you to shake it. "My name’s Eddie." He introduced himself smoothly, his name sounded so royal leaving his tongue.

"I'm y/n." You replied, shaking his hand gently. His fingertips were a little rough, he probably played guitar. "I guess you missed when my name was announced to the world by Ms. Davies up there." You let go of his hand and gestured lightly up to the front of the room where Ms. Davies was writing something on the board. Something you're already not learning.

"I did miss that, unfortunately. I'm sure it wasn’t embarrassing at all and everyone was all 'hi y/n! Welcome to Hawkins High! We hope you have a wonderful time here! Go Tigers!'" He raised the pitch of his voice when he imitated the students, making you laugh a little harder than before.

"That's absolutely horrifying! You make them sound like a cult! I'm glad they didn't say that to me, I think I would've walked right out the door and never came back!"

"I think anyone would!" He chuckled. He looked very pleased with himself that he made you laugh as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed again, but still smiling wide.

As the two of you settled into comfortable silence, you took your notebook out of your bag and attempted to take notes on… MooBath ? With the fantastic mixture of Ms. Davies’ terrible writing, your terrible eyesight, and your lack of glasses, the board at the front of the room was nearly unreadable from where you were sitting. Squinting your eyes and leaning forward you could make out that it was actually MacBeth that she was teaching, not something a cow would say while getting cleaned.

“Forgot your glasses at home?” Eddie asked softly. 

“No, I don't have any. Can't afford them.” You said simply, trying not to make a big deal over the fact that your parents didn't care enough about you to spend less money on their addictions so they could actually take care of their child. 

“Oh. Well that sucks. You should sit closer to the front then.” He said, like it wasn't the most obvious solution. 

You laughed lightly, “I would've but this was the only seat open and I doubt anyone would be kind enough to move just for me.” You looked back at him, he looked very comfortable leaning back in his chair, his eyes still fixed on you. 

“Don't ask ‘em then. Just sit. We don't have assigned seating so you can sit wherever you want.” He shrugged and leaned forward, putting his crossed arms on the desk. “Plus it would be fun to see the cheerleaders whine about not getting their way.” A somewhat devious smile spread across his face. 

“We'll see.” You said with a small smile, turning your attention back to the teacher. You decided that after missing the first half of the lesson you should at least try to take notes from just her voice alone. It was a struggle, she talked very fast and went on plenty of tangents that didn't have much to do with the subject matter. By the end of the class, you had about a page and a half of notes that you were only 60% confident in being correct and a bit of a headache from squinting at the board. 

The bell finally rang while Ms. Davies was mid-sentence. It startled her a bit but she dismissed you all and wished everyone a good rest of the day. On to lunch!

As you packed up your things and exited the classroom, Eddie stuck right by you chattering away. “Hey you should come sit with me and my friends for lunch! You'll fit right in! They're metal fans too!” He seemed to have a ton more energy than he did in class for some reason, or maybe he was quiet on purpose so that you could try to take notes. 

Stopping at your locker to exchange your books for your lunch, you smiled at him “Okay, I'd love to.” Why not? Worst that could happen is they hate you and you spend your time at another school completely alone. Best case? You gain some friends for a bit, until you have to pack up and move to another town in a month or two. 

You could feel that Eddie was practically vibrating as he led you to the cafeteria, eager to introduce you to his friends. He kept his hand on your shoulder like he was afraid you'd run away or get lost on the short journey. Approaching the long lunch table he waved his hand toward a few younger boys on the left, probably freshmen or juniors, and ordered them to “Scoot!”. They looked at him like he asked them to sacrifice themselves. “I said scoot!” He repeated, now using both hands to usher them all down one seat. 

“Well, you don't have to-” you tried to stop the disruption of their natural seating but Eddie just waved at you stating “They're fine. Have a seat!” He beamed once again when you took your seat, every single boy at the table staring at you like you'd just appeared out of thin air. 

“Friends, this is y/n.” Eddie gestured to you like he was unveiling a masterpiece at a museum. The rest of the table greeted you with tentative “Hi.”s. One guy in a leather jacket, on the opposite side of the table asked “You managed to bring a girl to our table? How'd you do that man?”

You chuckled a little “Well, I'm only vaguely a girl, you shouldn't really think of me as one if that makes you more comfortable. You can call me whatever you want, honestly. I’ve heard it all. But I wouldn't be caught dead hanging out with cheerleaders and doing my makeup and giggling and shit. I'm not into all that girly stuff. But uh… anyway… hi.” You gave a little wave and looked at everyone around the table. Most of the older guys looked similar to Eddie in terms of clothing style. They looked pretty metal and some of them had jackets like Eddie. The younger boys were a little more toned down but they seemed to fit in really well with the general vibe of the table. 

Eddie smiled at you as he pulled up a chair and sat at the head of the table, like a king, you thought. “y/n here, is a new kid. Just moved in from…” He looked to you to finish his sentence for him. 

“I don't even know, I only lived there for three months. Somewhere in south Indiana. Started with a B I think?” you shrugged. You genuinely couldn't remember the name, and the city itself was already a blur in your memory, as with most of the cities you've lived in. 

“Bloomington?” one of the boys to your left asked. He had very curly hair tucked up into a hat that said Thinking Cap .

“Yeah, sure, that sounds right.” You replied, opening your lunch bag and taking out the sandwich you made this morning. “Pretty boring place if you ask me.”

“Hey, wait, are you the one that just moved next door to me?” Another boy to your left asked. This one had shoulder length black hair and bangs, it kind of seemed like he was trying to look like Eddie if you were being honest.

“Probably? I just got here, dude. I don't even know my own address, let alone yours!” You laughed, trying not to sound mean, but wanting to get the message across that you don't know anyone or anything in this town. You took a bite out of your sandwich and looked towards Eddie, who was once again leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, looking at you.

Eddie laughed and adjusted his sitting position so that he was leaning back just a little bit more, legs spread apart like he owned the place. “She’s new, like I said. But I think she fits in with us already. An outcast, a metal head, possibly a freak like yours truly.” He meant “freak” in the same way that the cheerleader had meant it when she walked into you at your locker; a person who doesn't conform to the normie bullshit and instead proudly displays their true self to the world.… that's probably how he meant it, you think. 

“I appreciate that, Eddie.” you said, smiling at him. Something in his eyes flashed as you said his name, fear? Arousal? Just simple appreciation? You weren't sure.

The rest of the table appeared to accept that you were part of the group immediately. It seemed that Eddie was their leader and they would follow his every word. Again, like he was a king. Unlike other “kings” you had met, Eddie actually seemed to take pride in being a leader; he accepted the responsibility and he cared about his “subjects” a huge amount. He certainly had power, but his friends respected him and his ideas. It felt very fair. 

“So what do you guys do in this town?” You asked between bites of your sandwich. “Sex, drugs, alcohol and loud music?” You were only half joking with that suggestion, they were the main things most people did in every place you've been to, but you were looking for more of a “places to go” answer.

“I mean, you're pretty spot on.” The guy right across the table piped up. He had sort of poofy hair and a plaid vest that had a bunch of pins on it. “We’re in a band so… we’re the loud music bit.” He gestured to Eddie and the two other guys on his side of the table.

“Woah really?” You were honestly a little excited about this information. “I assume a metal band, yeah?”

“Duhhhhh!” Eddie droned, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Nothing else is worth playing.”

“Well, slow down there cowboy.” you laughed, “Other music is good too! Doesn't all have to be sick guitar solos and screaming your lungs out. Sometimes it's nice to chill out to some Elvis.”

“Oh god.” Eddie suddenly looked scared and sick as he stared directly at you. “I was wrong… you're secretly… a normie!” He dramatically flailed his arms and pretended to pass out, like the shock of your extended music taste had killed him. The whole table laughed at him, you included. The sheer drama of this man was keeping you hooked, you were already having fun and you had only just met him. He was comfortable to be around though, like you’d known him since childhood. When he opened his eyes and sat up, you were the first thing he looked at, your smiling face, laughing at his little act.

“You should come watch us play some time!” The guy in the plaid vest offered.

Pulling your eyes away from Eddie, you answered, “I’d love to! Where do you play?” You absolutely would love to see them play! You just hope that they’re some kind of good.

“Every Tuesday at a bar called The Hideout. It's a little far from here.” 

“Oh… well I don't have a car, anyone I could hitch a ride with?” You asked, looking around the table. The younger kids probably didn't have cars either but maybe they had other friends who went to see the band play.

“We can drive you.” Eddie answered quickly. “You can be our first groupie.” You think you saw him wink at you.

“Hold on, really? You never offer rides to non-band members. Something about the sanctity of the van or something?” Plaid vest looked shocked at Eddie’s immediate offer.

“Yeah, well, I've made an exception.” Eddie waved his hand and his words were accepted.

“Really, you don't have to if that's not your thing. I can find my own way there some time, or I'll watch you play someplace else. No biggie. Don't make exceptions for me, I'm not special.” You pleaded. You really didn't want to just force your way into their group, it could end badly if you pissed people off. You could handle being alone or kicked out but you wouldn't be able to handle being the reason the band or the friend group broke up.

“No, really, it's fine. If we bring you along then you'll be forced to listen to our whole set and then maybe we'll finally have a fan!” Eddie explained. “We play tonight if you want to come?”

Suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed, you pulled away, “I… can’t tonight. I have a lot of unpacking to do. I still have to find all my clothes.” You laughed a little uncomfortably. “Next time though, yeah?”

Eddie looked a little saddened by that, but understanding nonetheless. “That's okay!” He reassured, “Next time.” He gave a warm smile to let you know he wasn't trying to pressure you.

“We- we also have a DnD club!” Thinking Cap kid said excitedly.

At this, your eyes brightened. You'd played DnD a few times at different schools, they always ended on cliffhangers though, because you left before the campaign could really get going. “Really!?” You asked. “That's so cool!”

Everyone at the table got excited then; asking you if you were serious, what kind of character you played, if you've ever DM'd, just question after question, none of them getting answered. You laughed as the boys bombarded you with queries and Eddie progressively got more and more annoyed with them. 

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP!” He yelled, silencing the table immediately, and a few others next to yours. He was standing now and he turned to you, “You're lying right? There's no way you're actually into DnD.” He looked a little hesitant waiting for your answer. Hopeful, maybe, that you were telling the truth. 

“No, I'm not lying! Honestly, I've played a few times but none of the campaigns I've been a part of have gotten anywhere because I moved before we could get to the good stuff.” You explained. 

“Ho-ly-shit!” Eddie said, emphasizing each syllable. “You're perfect. You're actually perfect. Sent from heaven, we've gained an angel, boys!” He raised his arms to the air like he was praising a God, the table roared with excitement again. Then he dropped his hands down onto the table with a bang! Making you all jump a little. 

Suddenly very serious, he leaned into his hands, looming over you slightly and asked “What's your class and level?”

Realizing he was quizzing you, or maybe this was a hazing? You answered immediately, “I play a Half-Elf Paladin named Sebastian. With my limited amount of play time I've managed to eke him up to level 5.” proud of your answer you lifted your chin up to Eddie, showing him you weren't lying and you definitely knew your shit. 

The table was silent again, watching the two of you battle. “Backstory?” He questioned. 

“Sebastian was abducted by a group of thieves when he was 15. He spent 20 years under their command, being the muscle to their brains. One night, the thieves’ camp was raided and Sebastian joined the raiders’ side, killing the people who took him hostage. Now, he's sworn an oath to kill or punish every thief or criminal who holds prisoners or slaves captive. He’s also searching for his lost parents that he was ripped away from.” You held eye contact with him the whole time you told your story. Your character's backstory was something you were very proud of and you weren't going to let him make a fool of you. 

Eddie leaned back away from you, sitting comfortably in his chair again. “Not bad.” he praised. “I'm thoroughly impressed. I guess we can add ‘nerd’ to your list of qualities that make you fit in here.”

You smiled at him, a warm feeling in your chest growing as you felt the validation from him. “Thank you. I wear that title with pride.”

“Okay! So she's joining us right!? This is fricken awesome!” Thinking Cap shook his clenched hands in front of him in excitement. 

Still staring at Eddie, you raised an eyebrow to him, questioning if he wanted you to join or not. 

“That's up to her.” He stated. “I think it's clear that the invitation is open.” 

Glancing at the table full of smiling guys, all of them on the edge of their seat, waiting for your answer, you simply said, “Then I accept.”

The table roared a final time and you received a few pats on the back and a few “Welcome to hellfire!”s. Meanwhile, Eddie was grinning from ear to ear, trying to play down his excitement, but you could see the way he squeezed his crossed arms together, the same way he did when you talked about music in class. He was definitely happy that you said yes. 

When the excitement finally died down and everyone settled into a lighter conversation, Eddie scooted his chair closer to you and whispered somewhat close to your ear. “If we're too much for you, you can tell us to back off. I didn't mean to bombard you with so much shit on your first day. You just seem really cool, and that's rare around here, so I wanted you to have some equally cool friends.”

Turning your head slightly to look at him, you noticed how comfortable he was with being so close to you. And how comfortable you were with it as well. “I'm enjoying it actually,” you whispered back. “I've never felt this welcome before.”

“Good.��� Was all he said as he moved away from you, showing off his dimples again with a smile. 

You finished your lunch while listening to the multiple conversations happening around the table. Two boys were bickering, three were talking about guitar solos, and Eddie and Plaid Vest were discussing something very quietly. You thought to yourself “Okay, I definitely think like it here for once.”

“Hey, lunch is almost over,” Plaid Vest announced, looking to you. “What class do you have next?”

Reaching into your back pocket, you pulled out your schedule. “Ummm… History, with O'Donall.” 

“NO WAY!” Eddie yelled from right beside you, startling you a bit. “So do I! Let me see your schedule!” 

You handed the paper over to Eddie and both he and Plaid Vest (you really should have asked everyone’s name) looked over every class. “None of those are with me, unfortunately.” Plaid Vest said, slightly disappointed. The end-of-lunch bell rang and students began packing up their lunches, returning their trays, and leaving the cafeteria. “I'll see you later tho!” He waved at you with a genuine smile and left the cafeteria.

“You’ll never fucking believe this, but we have every single class together!” Eddie said excitedly.

“No way.” You said flatly, you did not believe that one bit. The rest of the table started packing up their things as well and heading out. Everyone gave you a polite “bye” on their way out.

“I'm serious! Well, except for first period, but the rest of today we do! I’d show you my own schedule but it's in my locker.” Eddie insisted. He stood up as you did and kept to your side as you made your way back to your locker to gather your things. 

“So what you're saying is: I'm never going to get rid of you?” You joked, opening up your locker.

“Oh absolutely!” Eddie said with a devilish grin on his face. “Guess you and I have to be friends forever now.”

“Well… forever for me might only be a couple months before I move again, but I think I can handle you for that long.” You teased, pulling the last of your class stuff out of your locker and shutting it.

“You're going to move again? You just got here.” Eddie asked. You both started down the hall towards history class, Eddie leading the way.

“Well, I've moved probably near fifty times in my eighteen years of life, so… it's not unlikely that I'll move again.”

“FIFTY!?” Eddie yelled

“Calm down,” you laughed at his sudden outburst, that number usually surprises people. “Yeah something like that. Makes it hard to keep friends.” You said, sounding a lot sadder than you meant to.

“That fucking blows. Why do you move so much?” Eddie was genuinely curious about you, he was leaning in and listening to your every word.

“You'd have to ask my dad. He pisses off a lot of people and then we’re forced to skip town before he gets his ass beat.” You explained. “He's not in trouble with the cops or anything, just like… landlords, neighbors, bar owners, liquor store employees… pissed off a mayor once too.” God your dad’s a mess.

“Wow, what an asshole.” He stepped through the doorway of your history class and held his arm out in front of him, waving you through like you were royalty. It made you laugh, and made other people stare.

“You're telling me.” You said, exaggerated. You walked past Eddie and quickly made your way to the teacher at the head of the room, wanting to introduce yourself quickly this time so that there weren't so many students in the room for her to announce your presence to.

This teacher, once again, confirmed that this was the right class and welcomed you to Hawkins High. As she finished writing your name on the attendance sheet, a shrill voice let out an exasperated “UGH!” from behind you. 

“This is my seat, you freak! Go find a trash can to sit in, or better yet! Go jump off a bridge!” The same blonde haired cheerleader who had smashed into you in the hall was currently screaming at Eddie, who was sitting at a pair of desks in the third row with his feet on the table, not looking at her at all.

“Miss Blackwell! That is enough! None of these seats belong to anyone! Please find another desk to sit in. Mister Munson has already chosen that one.” Ms. O'Donall stated, sternly. She then sighed and added, “And thank you for joining us today, mister Munson.” sounding like she was annoyed that he showed up at all.

The cheerleader and her friend stomped away from Eddie who was now smiling at you, very proud of himself. They sat down at a different pair of desks which caused another two students who had just walked in, to be upset and move back a row, they caused another two to move, and another, and another, and another. Eddie had just disrupted almost every student’s seating habit single-handedly.

“What are you doing?” you whispered to Eddie as you took your seat next to him. “You really wanted to hear the cheerleaders whine huh?”

“Of course! It sounded like fun when I suggested it, and I didn’t think you would do it, so I did.” He took his feet off the desk in front of him and leaned toward you so only you could hear him. “Plus, I figured this was a good spot, you can see the board from here right?”

Did he really just force some cheerleaders to move seats just so that you wouldn't have to sit at the back of the room and squint to see the board? “Eddie!” You whispered, scolding him a bit. “You did not just do that so I could see the board.” You were looking him directly in the eyes, searching for some other explanation than kindness towards you, someone he just met.

Eddie just shrugged his shoulders with a big smile on his face and leaned back in his chair, assuming the same position as he seemed to always do, arms crossed, legs spread.

You continued to stare at him, bewildered that someone would do that for you. A loud voice pulled you away though, “Miss y/ln. I don't think today's lesson is on mister Munson’s forehead, so could you face the board where it actually is, please?” Ms. O’Donall, who you now know will be a hard-ass, was looking directly at you, lips pursed together. “Sorry.” you said quietly, and turned to face her. She nodded sharply and went back to the lesson. You heard a few giggles from behind you, probably the cheerleaders. 

You took out your notebook and began copying the notes Ms. O'Donall was writing on the board, trying your hardest to not look at Eddie. Something in your head kept wanting to stare at him, to get closer to him, to really make a friend this time around. But you knew if you did that, it would end in heartbreak when you were dragged off to another city with your parents. So you pushed it all down. Hanging out with the boys won't be so bad, there's no harm in having fun, you just won't let yourself get too attached to them and the break will be clean. Hopefully. 

The rest of the day went by smoothly. You managed to get some notes from Ms. O'Donall on the two weeks that you missed so you wouldn't be so behind. And your last class of the day was biology, probably the only class that you learned anything in during all of last year, so it felt like more of a review than new information. Eddie chose to sit you near the front in biology as well, though no one yelled at him in that class, which was honestly surprising. 

When the final bell rang, Eddie followed you once again to your locker. “How did you understand a single thing that Mr. Grinnell said?”

“I've been through it before. This is my second senior year. Fuck every other class, but bio? That's my shit. Well, and art, but that doesn't count.” You explained, pulling your jacket and backpack from your locker. 

“I dunno, I've been through it before too, but I think it made even less sense this time around.” He rubbed his forehead like thinking made his brain hurt. 

You closed your locker and placed your hand on his shoulder. “If you need some help, I don't mind. After all you've done for me so far, I think I owe you something. We can help each other finally finish our senior years. Well… help each other for as long as I'm here.”

Eddie pulled his hand away from his face and looked up at you. “You serious? Because I think I could really use the help. I'm dumb as shit so it might be a challenge, but I'm not gonna say no if it means we get to hang out.” He seemed to be excited about your offer. 

“Yeah, I'm absolutely serious. Gives me a reason to stay away from my house and my parents.” You really hated sitting around the house with your dad who was always drunk and mad, and your mom who was always high and stupid. “But not tonight though, I really do have to find my clothes or else I'll be showing up to school tomorrow in this exact outfit. Plus, you have a gig to get to.” You smiled at him warmly, making sure he knew that you weren't just being nice for the sake of it. You really did like the idea of having someone to keep you on track in school, and you had no problem with helping him do the same. 

“Deal!” He excitedly accepted and stuck out his hand for you to shake. 

You took his hand and gave it a firm shake. “No taking that back now, we've made a deal!” You said, pointing at him. 

He grinned. “Scout's honor!” he swore, raising his hand to place it over his heart, his other hand still holding yours. 

The two of you made your way outside, ready to head home. “Need a ride?” Eddie offered. 

“No, that's okay, I'll walk.” You politely declined. 

“Are you sure? If you live near Wheeler, that's a pretty far walk!” Wheeler must be the kid you moved in next to. The one with black hair that looked like Eddie’s. 

“Honestly, it's not that bad of a walk. I made it to school that way.” Granted, you were late two periods, but that wasn't entirely your fault. You didn't have your alarm clock unpacked yet and you woke up later than you meant to. “It's pretty straightforward. Plus, it's how I usually learn the city. If I get lost, I'll just wander till I find my way back.”

Eddie looked a little worried for a moment so you patted him on the shoulder and reassured him, “I'll be fine. Promise. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah!?” 

He hesitated for a moment but you could see him decide against arguing with you. “Alright then, yeah. See you tomorrow, y/n.” He said, nodding and smiling. 

“Bye, Eddie.” You gave him a big smile and a little wave and headed off in the direction of your new house. 

The walk home took about 20 minutes, plenty of time to sort out your head and take note of all that had happened in the day. You made six friends in one day, definitely a new record for you! You joined a DnD party, possibly became a groupie, pissed off some cheerleaders, and gained a study buddy. There's a good chance that this town wasn't going to be the worst you've ever stayed in. But the looming question of “just how long will this last?” would never leave your mind. 

[midala-of-the-valley]

Your Heart Pulling Against Mine - Pt 25

David 8 x Reader Words: 1,3k Crossposted on Ao3 Chapter 24 is here

From David's throat and collarbone, countless polymer fibers protruded, curling and tangling - and it was deeply strange, uncanny even, to see the insides of someone while they were still looking at you. “This sight must disturb you,” he said, his voice distorted and fragile, the cords still fractured from the damage.

You sat cross-legged on the billiard table beside his legs, idly playing with his fingers. It felt like you were craving the contact, unwilling to part from him for long, still scared you might suddenly lose him. His head had to remain free for the pilots to work, but thankfully the table was broad enough for you to stay close.

All three men had gathered around David’s separated shoulders and head: Janek hunched over the edge, carefully soldering colorful wires that pulsed with tiny lights, working to reconnect his systems. Ravel stood beside him, illuminating the area with a small flashlight. You paused, your gaze drifting across the globs of white substance splattered over David’s exposed neck and chest. His suit had been peeled back to his chest, the flaps of synthetic skin folded back so everything could be accessed without trouble.

“Unusual, for sure,” you muttered, “but after the last day? This is a walk in the garden. I mean - I saw two literal aliens, helped deliver one of them, a bunch of corpses, four whole deaths..” You started counting them off on his fingers, curling each one down, until your gaze wandered to Chance, the only one who wasn’t actively working, aside from holding David’s head in place.

“Oh, by the way, what happened to the squid baby? You took care of it?”

Janek scoffed without looking up, and Chance answered. “It was still trapped in the medpod. Let’s just say it’s no more. But the medpod’s melted and done for, too.”

Ah. The trusty flamethrower had worked its magic again. Not that big of a loss, considering the pod had been completely covered in blood, slime and other fluids... “That thing was almost bursting out of there,” Chance added. “Opening it would've been suicide. Can’t believe it was still inside someone just thirty minutes ago.”

You hummed softly in aknowledgement, your focus returning to David’s hand. Gently, you traced the lines of his palm with your index finger. First the heart line, then the head line, quietly impressed that he even had them. They really had thought of everything when creating him.

“Yeah,” you murmured, “compared to all that shit, seeing you like this really isn’t so bad. At least you’re still alive and talking, that's a huge bonus compared to most of us."

You realized your humor had gotten quite dark, but how else were you supposed to cope with any of this? Still, your expression soured as your eyes caught on the tiny Weyland Industries logo printed into the skin of his fingertip.

You were just beginning to spiral into the familiar rise of anger again, the fury towards Weyland for what he’d done to David, to all of you, when David’s hand suddenly closed around yours. Startled, you blinked up at him. “It seems I can move my body again,” he said, the hint of a smile on his face. “Another bonus?” You laughed, relief bubbling up inside you, ripping you out of your negative thoughts. “Yes, definitely another bonus.”

A relieved exhale from Janek drew your attention back to him, and you tilted your head with a questioning hum. “We weren’t trained to repair androids, I only got my basic training in the military… and some skill from fixing my daughters’ bikes. So it’s good that David’s able to move, imagine if we reattached him the wrong way around.”

Chance nodded. “Yeah. I’ve got motorcycle tuning experience, that’s about it.” “Better than me,” Ravel chimed in. “Once got shocked trying to fix a vintage lamp that still used halogen bulbs.”

You could swear David’s eyes actually widened at that. Oh. Oh, that expression was priceless. He slowly lifted his gaze to the ceiling with a theatrically long-suffering look, lips pressed into a tight line. “I am very thankful,” he said, “that it’s just green to green and red to red - and that no one in this room is color blind.”

That made all of you burst into loud laughter. And finally being able to laugh with your whole heart felt like the most salvific thing in the world. David

The staples that helped his skin to remerge made you flinch as they punched through his neck, and he was quietly relieved that you still seemed to hold him close to your heart, even after these circumstances had shown him for what he feared he truly was. A machine trying to be a man. Unreal. A tool, just as his sister had once put it. But you stayed by his side without hesitation, ignoring your own aching bones and fatigue. Even using your last energy to once again get angry on his behalf. It stirred something deep within him. Without even realizing it, you had bound him to you - and he would be whatever you needed. Soft and gentle beneath your touch, unbreakable against anything that tried to take you away. He wished to be everything you needed, everything you craved - your friend, your lover, your family. 

This wasn’t something he could ever outright tell you, but seeing you marked with his blood, his very life, in a sense? And how proudly you wore it, instead of wiping it off in disgust? It felt like a quiet claim of his own.

He was grateful as the silicone plasters were placed over his skin, sealing the gaps. It meant he would soon be able to rise again. Soon, he would be able to hold you properly, to pull you into his arms, to lift you and carry you away, showing you how much you meant to him.

The way you had reacted with the stun gun, so quick, so fierce - he was truly impressed. And even though you had proven that you could navigate such dangers on your own, he still vowed to himself that he would never allow you to face such a situation again, especially because of your habit of protecting others instead of yourself.

Not now that he was free. Not now that he no longer had to obey anyone else.

Though he was still unsure what to do next. It was a small miracle that the Prometheus hadn’t already taken off. Likely because the Captain had been too occupied putting him back together. That didn’t explain why Meredith hadn’t forced the flight to proceed regardless of his condition.

Perhaps the little girl who had once cried into his lap while grieving over her mother now had no choice but to grieve for her father, alone.

But those thoughts didn’t matter now. He had to talk to you. Had to ask the unthinkable, and hope that you would listen. He might be free from Weyland, but he had created this directive himself: To protect you. To preserve you at all costs.

And he couldn’t do that back on Earth. Not when Meredith or the Company would reclaim him, repurpose him, maybe even destroy him. Going back was no option.

And from the dreams he’d seen... you had nothing left to return to, either. No family. No close friends. Everything you once had, lost over time.

Perhaps he already was your only truth, perhaps he could convince you.

As everyone but you left the recreation room to give you two some space, he slowly and carefully sat up, supporting his head so the fresh staples wouldn’t strain. Once he felt steady enough, he reached out and gently took your hands in his.

“We have to get off this ship.”

You both blinked in surprise, having spoken the same words at the same time. “Agreed,” came a third voice.

Startled, the both of you turned to find Elizabeth just entering the room, one brow arched at the sight of you and David holding hands while sitting on the billiard table.

That... He had not expected that.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Taglist: @sadslasher13 @blxuqueenie

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.54 Flames...literally

Though I didn't own much, downsizing my life turned out to be much harder than I anticipated. I could only take a few pictures and had to decide what items from my desk and dresser I could part with and leave behind. How many skin care products and colognes did one man need? In the grand scheme of things, the decision was like splitting hairs but still quite difficult to make. I had a routine, and those things were part of that routine. Living somewhere else was one thing, but upsetting the routine was a different flavor of cow's milk. But I eventually made my selections and arrived back home before Sophia. Unfortunately, I didn't make it back in time to implement my secret plan, and she walked in on me scrambling.

Even in her work uniform, she took my breath away, though she looked kind of tired. She sniffed the air and said something smelled good. Since the cat was out of the bag, I went ahead and explained.

"Hi! Uhh...So like, I know it's super early, and no one has dinner at 3:00, but I wanted to do something special and have a meal ready for you."

She flashed that beautiful smile that always tore me into pieces and sat at the table.

"Awwwww! That's so sweet! I'm so tired I can only dream of eating right now," she said. "I'm sorry. Does that ruin your plan?"

"Not at all! I just got started like ten minutes ago, so that's perfect. Get some rest. I'll be done by the time you wake up."

Her kiss on my forehead left a tender warmth on my skin as she disappeared into the bedroom to nap. I resumed preparing our dinner and couldn't help but feel a surge of joy coursing through me. The thought of being able to see her beautiful face every day, to support her in any way possible, filled my soul with an overwhelming sense of happiness, so much so I almost forgot why exactly I feared this for so long. Almost. A few concerns still lingered in the back of my mind. Moving in happened so randomly and haphazardly. I wouldn't blame anyone for questioning my judgment because the whole situation was absolutely insane. But through it all, I took solace in the fact that I was not alone. Sophia and I were in this together, ready to tackle the challenges that lay ahead.

I expected her nap to last longer, but she woke up and I was still not finished with dinner. Her shower bought me a few more minutes, and by the time she came out and sat with me, I was in the home stretch. When I inquired about her day, she described it as exhausting. Apparently, the change in season always caused an influx of patients, and they were short staffed, so she had to do three times the work.

I don't know if I was too into her story or what, but I definitely was not paying attention to my task. Suddenly, a huge flame shot up from the pan, and I ducked.

I thought about Maira and how quickly that situation escalated. My face was still pretty hot as I shielded myself, and I was afraid I had lost my eyebrows.

Sophia dashed to me.

"Luca! Are you okay? What happened?"

"Are my eyebrows okay??"

She covered her mouth to stifle a giggle.

"Your eyebrows are intact, babe."

"Thank Watcher."

I turned back to the stove to continue cooking—more carefully that time.

"You know," she began,"...when you said I could get meal service, I thought that meant you could actually cook."

"My hand slipped!! I added a splash too much sauce. It's fine. You'll see."

"Mmm hmm."

She teased me about my cooking skills and fearing for her safety. We laughed and joked our way through completion, and it felt so good. It felt right, and I filed that moment away for when the doubt and fear reared its ugly head again.

As I placed the food on the table, I noticed I instinctively made a vegetarian meal. That's when it occurred to me I never asked if she had any dietary restrictions or concerns.

"I should have asked sooner, but is there anything you don't eat?"

"Oh, yeah," she said. "Thanks for asking. I'm lactose intolerant."

Great. I went from one restricted household to an equally restricted household. At least she ate meat. But no milk? That would be tricky.

The food had disappeared from our plates a while ago, but we were still sitting at the table, talking and laughing. I loved how we could discuss literally everything. True, there were still things we didn't know about each other, but we were past that initial getting to know you phase where every hang out turned into a game of Twenty Questions.

"I was just thinking about how you used to complain about your mom waking you up to cook breakfast," she said. "Look at you now!"

I think I blushed. I could only imagine what she must have thought of me in the early days of my young adult life.

"You remember that? You must have thought I was a spoiled brat or something."

"I may have rolled my eyes."

"I'm so glad I ran into you that day."

"Me too."

[tippistrick]

Media Thread Part 1: Every Kingdom Hearts Game on Steam

I have literally never done anything like this on tumblr and I dunno how much of this works but yknow what! That's fine! I'll figure it out

So late last year, I decided on a whim to get the Kingdom Hearts Integrum Masterpiece bundle on Steam. My experience with this series beforehand was basically nothing but what I had learned through osmosis on the internet, and even though I was kinda turned off by the heavy Disney association, I decided to say screw it and check em out anyway.

The next like. Two-to-three months give or take were completely dominated by this series as I kinda got hooked. I ended up finding (almost) all of them super engaging to play and all around just really fun! It was something I wasn't expecting to be so engaged with, but I kinda get it now.

I don't wanna go over every little thing here because this is almost like two decades worth of games and I wanna keep it to just this post, but I wanna do a brief lightning round of thoughts before talking about some overall thoughts.

Kingdom Hearts the First

This one gave me an astonishingly good first impression. The combat hooked me in hard and I enjoyed the focus on platforming this one had. The general system in place for abilities and AP also really resonated with me. One of my favorites in the series even after experiencing everything.

Kingdom Hearts 2: Chain of Memories

This is where the original plot stuff really gains its legs I feel. The main setting and concept was interesting and the new original characters from The Organization are fun to watch and get to know. I quite liked Riku's story in particular and how he grapples with what happened in the first game. The card system was very fun, but I gotta admit I was just bad at it. I sucked hard and it took me a long time to really get the hang of it. I don't feel like that's the game's fault; that's on me. Vexen is funny

Kingdom Hearts 3: Kingdom Hearts 2

Ooughh this one's real good. Although there's a drop off in terms of level design, the plot and combat are pushed wayyyy farther and it works for me. The form changes can be hit-or-miss for me with how the drive gauge works, but overall the experience felt much more refined and in-depth. It gets real hard too!! KH1 did as well but there's a specific lingering elephant in the room that decimated me. I get why people were so obsessed with the organization and its members, I like a good group of bad guys! Xigbar is funny

Kingdom Hearts 358/2 Days (Movie)

Okay I'm stopping with the numbers bit I feel like I'd get confused and get something wrong. Anyways more good stuff!! I kinda wish I played the actual game but there's always a change to in the future. Roxas and Xion have such tragic existences and they really Go Through It. Axel and Saïx being bitter exes is awesome. By this point they definitely knew the original characters can just carry whatever it is they're doing, it's fun.

Kingdom Hearts Birth by Sleep

It's messed up but I've actually got some grievances with this one. The story is fine and all, but the way the game handles multiple characters got really REALLY draining for me. This concept can work in a game like sonic adventure I feel that's snappier and shorter, but for an action rpg, it wore me down especially with the worlds and their designs.. It was the only one of these games where I was exhausted by the end and just wanted it to be over. Braig is funny at least so hey it's obviously not all bad

Kingdom Hearts Re:Coded (Movie)

This one also kinda wore me down, even just for being a cutscene compilation. It retreads so much we've already seen and just wasn't that engaging until like the very very end. But hey... they DID put bugs in him.

Kingdom Hearts 3D: Dream Drop Distance

Yknow it's funny. From what I've seen, this one's actually kind of disliked, and while I get why people do, I couldn't help but actually really enjoy my time with it. Yes the drop system isn't well thought out and can be annoying, yes I can see the dream eaters and how they work turning people off, yes the story jumps some big sharks in this one, but.... I dunno I just think it's neat!! I can like a mid game sometimes as a treat. Xigbar continues to be funny.

Kingdom Hearts χ Back Cover

This one ruled imo. It's basically just characters talking and it's so so engaging... the Master of Masters is one of my favorite characters in this whole series his voice acting goes crazy. Maybe the real imposter was the friends we lost along the way

Kingdom Hearts 0.2: Birth by Sleep - A Fragmentary Passage

First up this is the funniest name for one of these games it's insane. Outside of that, it's a neat little tech demo and bridge into Kingdom Hearts 3 and it sure issss neat. I quite like Aqua and she sure goes through it. A lot.

Kingdom Hearts 3 + Re Mind

Okay I know folks were disappointed with this one at the time of release, but as someone who didn't grow up with the series and has access to this game in its most complete state, it's my favorite one. It takes the best elements from 1 and 2 and whatever else and brings it together into something even greater. I'm satisfied with how the story ended up (mostly) and it made me feel excited for wherever we're going next!

Overall Thoughts

..okay so I still took my sweet time talking about everything. I think it's very easy to rag on this series from an outside perspective- hell even from an inside perspective, but I can't say I didn't really enjoy myself here. It's melodramatic and earnest and convoluted at times but dangit I needed something like this. I'm probably leaving out some things here and there, but I wanna emphasize that I'm glad that I gave this series a chance. Definitely understand not liking it, but it was absolutely worth my time by the end of it.

Tippi Ranking: Thundaga/10

[windupbastion]

as a FFXIV player I am VERY curious to learn more about bastion’s lore!!! Is there anything you’d be able to share?? Like, maybe for example.. what are his canon classes and when/why did he pick each of them up?

I hope that this is alright! And that you are having a good whatever-time-of-day-it-currently-is-for-you!~

WAAA hihi!!!!

SO this will maybe be kind of a partial answer because its an aspect of his character stuff im actively working on (ignore the fact i did write a small essay under the readmore)!! i wanna try to start actually answering asks or floating ideas even if its not 100% set in stone bc knowing myself ill get too caught up wanting to replay the entirety of msq and read everything three times to make sure i know Exactly what im talking about. and if i do that it will take 50 years to get anything done or answered <:3

that being said. tldr im playing around w the idea of his canon classes being

- realm reborn: acranist/summoner

- heavensward: red mage

- stormblood: samurai

- shadowbringers: dark knight/black mage

- endwalker: paladin

more thoughts under the cut :3 im certain i missed smth obvious.

for context before i start truly yapping in game ive mostly stuck with samurai bc i was too scared to branch out and have only Just started scratching the surface w other classes.... to say nothing of actually getting into the job quests and stories and whatnot. plus i played thru arr/hw/a lot of stb Literal Years ago before taking a huge break and only just returning recently... so a lot of early msq is truthfully fuzzy for me.. (=w=) all that being said.

the only thing set in stone right now is bastions starting class with arcanist into summoner!! #limsagirlies <3333 while esp early game hes not doing well and is terrified of everything, he is forever and always defined by a desire to explore and learn things and didnt necessarily have the chance to do that at all with his pre msq circumstances, so i think the moment he had the opportunity to pick up a book and start learning things he took it and ran <3 also i just think its very fitting for his first step to be the "summon a friend so youre never alone" class. you know arr bastion is emotionally dependent on his carbungle :3

i do think towards the end of realm reborn he starts realizing how much shit hes in and comes to the conclusion he needs to get physically stronger too so i could see him starting to dip into red mage for heavensward so he can really get his hands on a weapon. still gets to stick to using magic but now he has a Sord <3 also red mage looks really cool.....

his class around stormblood is definitely gonna be samurai... id like to replay this general part of msq to really refresh myself i dont have too much to say lol and it feels like a rly obvious pick since its my actual main class in game... i think stormblood got the worst of my memory problems tbh

for shb i could see him starting out picking up dark knight (im thinking back in hw he messed with it a little meeting fray and whatnot but wasnt able to fully embrace it until now) though.... i can make it sad. so i will. his classes have been getting steadily more into physical combat and big swords but i think as shb goes on and he gets progressively more fucked up lightwarden style he starts to regress back into wanting to stick with spellcasting/becomes too weak to reliably fight physically the way he has been. (bonus points what if he tried to pick summoner back up but got too upset bc his emotional support carbuncle now looks about as corrupted with light as he does :3c.....) no i think itd be fun for him to pick up black mage around this point. i think clothing wise he probably also uses it as an excuse to start wearing more long robes and clothes that cover up what is happening to him so no one worries <3

a little uncertain past this point for endwalker though im leaning towards paladin (it helps that the lb3 for paladin is quite literally called Last Bastion). something something finally comfortable living up to his name protecting and fighting for what he believes in <3 also i ahm. ummm. i like the idea of him looking like a dashing little knight <:3 im sure gwaha does too.

and final note i took a break after finishing endwalkies so i have no real thoughts regarding post edw/dawntrail yet...

(truthfully i was SO interested in you talking abt clio n lorenzas classes a while back. it was so so in depth and interesting and i love the idea of hybrid classes or just one class picking up skills and flavoring from another and how they blend togther... i do think i need to get the barebones of bastions Everything down before i get into finer details like specific stances and skills and styles of fighting. but i was super looking at how you break down clio n lorenzas classes its so so good!!!)

[cruorcrave]

19 December 2024

(TL;DR at the end.)

Today was pretty alright. I mostly just finished up xmas shopping (took a while cuz my mother had a lot of places to go) but it was made more fun by the fact I finally got my sister's present. I bought her a bag of chocolates as well as a 10-pack of ciders, and I wrapped every item individually then put them back in their respective packets. Hopefully she finds it funny (me and my sisters prank each other with our presents - but we also make sure the presents are actually good and what they wanted, just in the most annoying way possible.)

Other than that, I haven't done much today. I'm trying to get myself into the mindset of drawing/writing/creating even if it's not good. Even if it isn't perfect I should still be creating because it's what I want to be known for and it's what I want to do, it just takes a bit of effort. Gonna try to get a drawing out today or tomorrow.

One of my new tumblr-made friends is being a bit distant and I'm worried about them. I haven't known them for long (literally like a month) so I don't know their habits or anything yet. I'm just hoping I haven't upset them or scared them off, or that something particularly bad has come up in their life. Hopefully they're alright.

The school morning tea was good. My friend picked me up in her car and luckily there weren't a lot of people there. Only about 10 of us from a class of about 75, and it was all people I liked or tolerated. My friend who wants me to be in his upcoming zombie short film chatted with me about it, I saw teachers I like again, I got like three cans of free Sprite, it was great all round. Me and a few friends have another get together some time in the next few weeks which will be nice as the people I hate/cannot tolerate aren't invited. Yippee!

tw discussing s/h briefly

As was probably clear from last night's posting, I relapsed. However, there is a silver lining here. I didn't cut myself or draw any blood in any way. I hit myself and got a small bruise, but it's already starting to fade just a day later, and the headache was gone by mid-morning. I'm dedicated to trying to get to 3 days right now, and then hopefully to a week. Trying to focus on the positives. My longest streak in a while has been 3 days and so I'm trying to break that. I'm still counting hitting (whether against something hard or with the pliers) as a relapse because one, it usually leaves a bruise and gives me a killer headache (sometimes for days on end) and two, it is to harm myself. I'm still struggling with thoughts of.. man, I gotta find a name for this. "drinking" feels wrong - its not that much blood - but maybe "taking" is more accurate? Let's go with that. I'm still struggling with thoughts of taking but I'm trying to acknowledge them and then move on. Rather than ignoring them, I'm telling myself "Okay, I want to do that, but I know I'll only feel worse for it, and even though I don't know what's causing the feelings directly, I know it's a problem and has to do with my mental illnesses, therefore I shouldn't give in." It's worked so far today, if only for today. I still can't help but wonder why I ever had the feelings in the first place, though. I just want them to go away now is all I know. Either way, this approach definitely works better than telling myself "If you give in you'll go crazy and never be able to stop like some freak vampire-hannibal hybrid so ignore the hunger." That definitely wasn't working.

Anyway, wish me luck. 1 day clean as I write this.

Song of the Day: Pieces - Sum 41

Also, I'm going to start putting TL;DRs at the end of my diary posts cuz they're long as shit and ain't nobody got time for that.

TL;DR:

Today was okay. Did Christmas shopping, ready to prank my older sisters. Didn't do much else, want to draw more. One of my friends is distant, I'm a bit worried. Final exam debrief morning tea was good. Relapsed but wasn't as bad as usual. Trying a new approach to staying clean; acknowledging urges and validating them. Trying to get to 3 days, then a week.

Clean since 18 December 2024