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transmunsons · 1 year ago

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Little Eddie Munson whose favorite movie growing up was Sleeping Beauty. Or rather, it was his mother’s favorite. She loved the dragons and fairies and princesses and magic.

Eddie watched her face, open and excited, as it was lit up by the reflected glow of the theater screen. The light washed away the crease line between her eyebrows that always became more prominent after talking to his dad. It was the only wrinkle she had. The only one she’d had time to form.

Eddie remembered the way she had leaned down and laughed quietly after Eddie frantically asked her what would happen to the prince. How she told him to wait and watch. And maybe Eddie was too young to fully grasp the plot, but his mom was patient and explained it to him in the parking lot as they walked back to their car, hand in hand while Eddie stomped on every leaf he saw.

Two years later, Eddie stood next to his dad wearing the frilly dress he’d always hated and stared resolutely at his Mary Janes. He’d kicked and screamed that morning, but his dad eventually convinced him that Mom would want her little girl to look her best today and don’t you want that? So he’d complied. Hours later, the rotund man at the pulpit would not stop talking about how Elizabeth Munson used to light up a room and how we would all miss her so terribly.

Eddie was just tall enough to see into the casket. She looked like she was sleeping. Like she was only a kiss away from coming back. He watched as his dad pressed his lips to her hairline, watched as the lid closed and she was lowered into the earth.

All this flashed before his eyes as he stood alone facing down the hellish swarm of bats. A scream—a roar—ripped itself from his raw throat as he challenged the monsters, goading them into attacking. He wielded his jury-rigged spear and trash can lid as if they were a sword and shield, taking down as many bats as he could.

But Eddie was no prince. He was knocked to the ground and held down, laid out like an underworldly buffet for the vicious bats to sink their teeth into. And they did. It hurt like hell, too. By the time Dustin hobbled over to him, Eddie had stopped screaming. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered that the bats weren’t gnawing on him anymore.

It’s not how he thought he would go, bleeding out in the arms of a fifteen-year-old. It’s not fair, but he’s a Munson. They don’t get happy endings.

He heard Dustin calling his name as his eyes slipped away to stare at the inky excuse for a sky, splintered with red. He never knew how much he loved the sun until it was gone.

Big, brown cow eyes framed by blocky eyebrows overwhelmed his field of vision. Steve.

He felt a hand on his cheek and then—oh—Steve was kissing him.

He could vaguely hear Steve shouting instructions at someone, or multiple someone’s, he wasn’t sure. Then his lips were back on Eddie’s, pushing air into his lungs. Ah, so it wasn’t a kiss. Damn shame.

“Steve, he’s mumbling something”

“He’s delirious”

The world was moving. Flashes of light passed by periodically. He was still lying down but not in the dirt anymore. The lights were… street lamps. He was in a car.

Thankfully he couldn’t feel his body. He knew this wasn’t good and probably meant that he was in so much pain that he went into shock. He was trying to ignore that.

Frantic voices surrounded him and he was lifted out of the car. The movement jostled him too much and all the pain came back in a tidal wave of blinding white. He promptly passed out.

Eddie woke up covered in so many bandages he could barely see any skin. He felt gauze on his jaw and neck and tried to touch it, but his hand was yanked to a stop by the wrist. He was handcuffed to the gurney.

“I tried to stop them.”

He was met with the sight of Steve Harrington slouched in a plastic chair wearing a rumpled deep red sweater. Through fallen strands of hair, Eddie could see that the skin under Steve’s eyes was tinged purple.

“They said it was just a precaution, to make sure you wouldn’t run.” Steve looked mad. “Hopper’s out there working on getting you uncuffed.”

Eddie must’ve still been delirious. “Hopper?” He croaked.

“Long story,” Steve twitched his mouth into a smile.

“I always knew that guy was a tank,” Eddie stated.

Steve let out a laugh. It was a glorious noise. Eddie wanted to come up with a million ways to cause it again.

“How are you in here, you know, if I’m so dangerous?” Eddie rattled his cuff.

“I can be quite charming,” Steve leveled him with a grin and a raised eyebrow.

Eddie made a disbelieving hmph.

“You doubt the charm?” Steve looked playfully offended.

“Oh, I doubt.”

Steve scoffed.

“You’re not nearly as cute as you think you are,” Eddie lied. ��So how’d you get in?”

Steve stared at him for a second before fishing something out of his back pocket. The ring of keys jangled and flashed in the light where Steve held it. “Lifted it off a nurse.”

In Eddie’s book, that was far more impressive than schmoozing his way in. He told him so.

“Thanks,” Steve looked down. If Eddie didn’t know better, he’d say it was downright bashful.

“They lowered your security to just, uh, that,” Steve gestured to the handcuffs, “after your alibis were confirmed.”

“My alibis?”

“Yeah, you’ll be a free man as soon as you sign some paperwork.”

Of course there was a catch.

Beeping from the machines Eddie was hooked up to filled the room.

“You saved me.” Eddie whispered. He remembered strong arms pulling him off the ground, one under his knees, one cradling his head.

He took a good look at Steve sitting there beside him, with his sweater and his stolen keys. He looked wrecked, like he hadn’t had a good night's rest in days. His honey brown hair shone in the harsh hospital lights. Eddie thought he looked fucking regal.

Eddie realized two things at once. 1: he might be falling in love with Steve Harrington and 2: there was a big, fat, unmistakable “F” on his medical bracelet for all to see.

He heard the beeping of his heart monitor increase.

“Hey, what’s wrong, are you okay?” Steve was suddenly very close. His hand hovered near Eddie’s shoulder.

“Where’s my uncle?” Eddie asked, trying to calm his breathing. He kept staring at it. They’d at least gotten his name correct.

“He left to get some food, he’s been haunting your bedside for the past week.” Steve’s face was right next to his, trying to meet his eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Steve turn his head to look at Eddie’s wrist. “What are you looki—oh.”

Steve covered the bracelet with his hand; his palm was big and warm. “It’s alright. None of the kids know.”

Eddie felt his stomach drop. “And you?”

“I know,” Steve had the decency to look embarrassed.

“I had to cut your clothes off to bandage your wounds,” he cleared his throat uncomfortably, “I put two and two together when I had to correct how some of the doctors referred to you.”

“And you’re cool?”

“Yeah, man, I’m cool.” Steve smiled. “I swear on Dustin’s mother.”

Eddie chuckled and then immediately cringed when his sides contracted. “Don’t-don’t make me laugh.”

“Sorry.”

Screw falling, Eddie was firmly in it now. Steve was being so casual and normal about what should have been ground-shaking information to him. Grass is green, the sky is blue, Hawkins hosts a hell dimension, and Eddie Munson has tits. Had tits, anyway.

Steve had to sneak back out before he got caught and Wayne eventually came back with some turkey sandwiches. They had a tearful reunion where Eddie explained everything and Wayne told him he believed in him the whole time.

Some men in suits came by and watched as Eddie paged through a Bible’s worth of documents. An undead Hopper stood glowering at them from the corner.

Eventually, Eddie was discharged and immediately tackled by a gaggle of young teenagers. Mike, Dustin, and Lucas apologized for almost readmitting him when he yelped and told them to be careful.

Eddie and Wayne settled into their tiny new two-bedroom near main Hawkins. Wayne grumbled that it was too far from Forest Hills, but Eddie knew he enjoyed having his own room for the first time in years.

The school didn’t let him attend class physically, but they sent him work to complete so he could finish the year. He was determined to walk.

Steve and Robin would drop by to hang out. Robin said it was enrichment for Steve since he didn’t have any other friends his age, and Steve gave her a noogie in response. Robin and Eddie bonded over their shared freak status while Steve seemed to be thinking about something very hard.

During one of these visits, Eddie found himself alone with Steve on the roof of his van. Robin had some band thing, so they’d driven out to a field armed with a six-pack or two and a small mountain of junk food.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm glow across the field and turning the grass to gold. The plaid blanket they’d spread on the roof was covered in crumbs and empty wrappers. Eddie watched Steve’s profile as he brought the beer bottle to his lips, as the liquid traveled down his throat. He stared at the slope of his nose, how his eyelashes brushed against his cheeks.

“Alright, it’s your turn, hit me,” Eddie said.

Steve looked out at the treeline thoughtfully. “Okay, who was your first crush?”

Eddie groaned. “I’ll tell you but don’t laugh.”

“I won’t!” Steve was already smiling.

“Promise?”

“No, I’m not gonna promise, what if it’s really funny?”

Eddie pulled up his legs and buried his head between his knees. He mumbled the answer.

“What was that?” Steve teased.

“I said it was Prince Philip!” Eddie admitted.

“From the cartoon?”

“Don’t laugh!”

“I’m not,” Steve laughed.

“It was my moms favorite movie as a kid and she took me to go see one of the re-releases. I was four and I was obsessed with him. My mom thought it was adorable.”

“It is adorable,” Steve leaned back to rest on his elbow.

“What about you?” Eddie leaned down to join him, “Who was your first crush?”

“It was, uh, Laura Jackson in fourth grade.” Steve picked at the label on his bottle. “She let me bum fries off her lunch when my mom forgot to give me money, which was all the time.”

“Did you ever tell her?”

“Yeah,” Steve huffed a laugh, “about every month. Shot me down each time.” He mimed shooting a gun into his own heart and flopped down with his tongue hanging out. Eddie chuckled and Steve resurrected with a self-satisfied grin.

“And you kept trying?” Eddie asked.

“I guess that when I know what I want, I kind of just go after it.” Steve looked over at Eddie. His eyes weren’t actually a true brown, they were hazel like the forest floor. He was looking at him with an indescribable expression. “All I have to do is figure out what it is that I want.”

Eddie looked away, heat crawling up the back of his neck, and lit a cigarette. He took a drag and let it sit in his lungs before blowing it out again.

“I think it’s my turn again,” Steve said. “Let me know if it’s too far.”

“Well now I’m getting worried.”

“Just—you don’t have to answer, but,” Steve picked a crumb off the blanket, “I noticed you don’t go on any dates.”

“That’s not a question, Steve, and not a lot of guys are lining up to gain the affection of Hawkins’ most notorious accused serial killer. Being gay isn’t a walk in the park even without the social stigma of acquitted murder. Let alone the fact that once my pants came off they’d run for the hills.”

“So you’ve never…?”

“Well,” Eddie flushed, “Let’s say I give better than I get.”

Steve seemed unfazed. “What kind of guy would you go for, if you could?”

You, Eddie doesn’t say. Instead,

“He’d have to be kind,”

“Of course.”

“And caring,”

“Naturally.”

“And totally reckless, an absolute daredevil. And ideally he would be madly in love with me, and he wouldn’t care how I was born.”

Eddie was describing the Steve who appeared in his fantasies. The one who showed up in shining armor to save the day. The one who slew monsters with his teeth. More importantly, the one who dropped Robin off at school every day, hours before his shift, just because he wanted to. The one who made sure the freshmen were safe. Who delivered fresh groceries at the Mayfield trailer every week since August.

“I need to confess something.” Steve broke off Eddie’s train of thought.

“What?” Eddie started running through a million possibilities in his head but before he could really process them, Steve spoke again.

“Robin didn’t have a band thing.” His face was so close to Eddie’s, he could see dust on his eyelashes. “I asked her not to come.”

“Why? You two are practically attached at the hip.”

Steve’s eyes flickered back and forth between Eddie’s like he was searching for something. “I wanted to do something together, just the two of us.”

The sun was kissing the treetops across the field.

Eddie had the all-too-familiar feeling that he was missing a crucial bit of information, a tickle in the back of his mind that often occurred when he was staring down a blank test or missed a social cue.

Steve plucked the cigarette from Eddie’s slack mouth, took a deep pull, and placed it gently back on Eddie’s lower lip all without breaking eye contact. Eddie let it fall to the blanket, holes be damned.

“What’s going on here?” Eddie demanded, sitting upright. “You know I’m gay, you can’t do shit like that to me.”

Steve copied his position and exhaled the smoke, taking a second to check that the camel was put out. “My god, Eddie, I’ve spent the entire evening hitting on you and you haven’t said a damn thing!”

Eddie closed his mouth with a clack. He blinked to recalibrate his brain. “I thought you were straight?”

“We spent an hour last week ranking the asses of male musicians. I still say Springsteen deserves first.”

Eddie flailed his hands, “I don’t know! I thought that’s what straight dudes did with their friends. Everything you guys do seems incredibly homosexual, how is a poor guy like me supposed to tell the difference?”

“I sang to you on the ride here!” Steve said through an incredulous smile.

Eddie recalled the slightly pitchy but otherwise impressive rendition of “Your Kind of Lover”. Thinking back, he should’ve noticed the emphasis Steve had put on the chorus, but he was a little distracted by the way Steve’s hair had bobbed as he nodded his head to the beat, fingers tapping on the wheel.

Now, under the weight of Steve’s gaze, the attention felt like too much. It wasn’t fair how the setting sun illuminated Steve’s tan skin. The man was fucking glowing like Helios himself. A drop of sunlight pooled in the hollow of his collarbone just above where a thatch of hair peeked out of Steve’s white undershirt. Eddie nervously licked his lips.

He let a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. "You like me," Eddie poked his finger into Steve's shoulder.

"Nice of you to finally catch on," Steve poked him back. "I was starting to think I misinterpreted all your ogling."

"I do not ogle," Eddie sniffed, "I admire. You haven't seen yourself from behind; if you had a music career, I'd rank you above Springsteen."

"You sure know your way to a man's heart." Steve said flatly.

"Ya know, when you gave me CPR in the Upside Down, I thought you were giving me true love's kiss." Eddie confessed.

"That's adorable."

A siren whooped in the distance. Instinct took over Eddie's body as he scooped bottles and wrappers into his arms and tried to scramble off the roof. He registered Steve doing the same next to him, and in their haste they knocked into each other, slipped off the van, and tumbled into the grass.

Eddie ended up laying on top of Steve, holding one of the beer bottles at the base of his throat.

"Hi," Steve said breathlessly.

"Hey," Eddie let the bottle roll to the ground. They'd landed on the side away from the road. He watched through his van's tires as the police car sped past their location without a second glance.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked.

"I'm fine."

Crickets started chirping in far-off woods and Eddie thought he might've heard a bullfrog croak.

Steve tucked a piece of Eddie's unruly hair back in place and settled his hand against Eddie's cheek. The sun had just set and Steve's eyes were huge in the low light. Warmth bled through his shirt where it pressed against Eddie's bare forearms.

"D'you know how long I've liked you?" Steve whispered. His breath ghosted over Eddie's lips.

"Tell me," Eddie whispered back with a smile.

"Back in school, I thought you were kind of an ass-"

"I thought this was about how you like me."

"I'm getting to it. I thought you were a jerk, but after I became friends with Dustin, I noticed how much more comfortable he seemed. You made him a space where he could be himself. That's what you do. You make everyone around you more comfortable in who they are because they watch you be proudly yourself.

"You're the bravest, smartest, kindest man I know. I think I started falling for you when you told me you were wrong about me, you know, being an asshole. No one I've dated has ever recognized how much I've changed. You saw me, the real me."

Steve looked so sincere, eyes wide as he held Eddie's face. Eddie wanted to hide in his hair.

"You're gonna make me fall in love with you, Harrington." Eddie warned.

Steve grinned, "You promise?"

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna kiss you now."

"Okay."

Eddie didn't have nearly as much experience as Steve, but he held his own. His hands raked through Steve's hair, felt him do a full body shiver when he tugged.

Eddie smiled against his lips.

“Shut up,” Steve murmured.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Eddie was pulled back into the kiss by the back of his neck. He tilted his head, coaxed Steve into opening his mouth. Steve did something with his tongue that would’ve made Eddie go cross-eyed if his eyes were open. One of Steve’s hands crept up Eddie’s thigh until it rested on his hip, a thumb touching Eddie’s side where his t-shirt had ridden up.

Eddie moved to properly straddle Steve as he switched to latch onto the side of Steve’s neck. The hand on his hip gripped him tight as Eddie settled. Steve made a desperate noise and arched his back, grinding up to meet him.

“Eddie,” Steve said hoarsely. Eddie hummed in acknowledgment as he laid open mouthed kisses on Steve’s pulse point, skating his hands up Steve’s arms to squeeze his biceps.

“Eddie, we gotta slow down,” Steve pulled a reluctant Eddie off his neck and stroked his cheek with a thumb.

Steve gave him a sweet, lingering kiss and Eddie nipped at his lower lip as he pulled away.

“If my giving you CPR was true love’s kiss, does that make me your Prince Charming?”

“I should never have told you that,” Eddie groaned against Steve's collar.

cross-posted on ao3

#trans eddie munson #steddie #ftm eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #eddie munson

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the-badger-mole · 10 days ago

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Zutara prompts: Stepping in front of the other to shield them from something/someone.

Please ☺️

Zuko was shocked to see his father had actually showed up tonight. It wasn't the first time Zuko was being honored for an accomplishment, and this wasn't even a particularly big win for him. Last year, he had won a Phoenix Crown award for his work on the score of the Painted Lady movie. By comparison, a golden leaf at the Yangbaechu Awards for his tsungi horn album was the equivalent of taking home first place at a school art show. It was still an honor, of course, but far fewer people cared. Still, his uncle had insisted on throwing a party to celebrate, as he always did (though Zuko suspected Iroh had only really meant to provide an alternative to the wilder celebrity after parties that usually took place on these nights). Tonight, Ozai had surprised everyone by actually showing up.

Far less surprising was the look of disapproval permanently etched onto his face. Ozai's face was twisted as if he smelled something terrible. He cast a judgemental look around the room in such an obvious way, Zuko knew that his and Iroh's guests could tell exactly what he was thinking. Zuko could practically read his father's thoughts. So disappointing, his son. Zuko had managed to achieve his own fame and fortune separate from Ozai's political and business world, yet he wasted his time and talent on movies with no prestige, and concept albums that most people only pretended to understand. He was friends with mostly B and C list celebrities- certainly no power players who could help Zuko move up in the world. Never mind that Zuko was making a living- a very good living- doing what made him happy. Ozai had never cared for his son's happiness.

Right around the time Zuko was beginning to wonder why Ozai had bothered to show up at all, his father met his eye. Then to Zuko's surprise, Ozai came over. Zuko down the last of his lava whiskey sour and braced himself.

"You're wasting your time," Ozai said. Zuko fought the urge to lower his head. He was as tall as Ozai now. His father couldn't tower over him to intimidate him anymore.

"I've got an award that says otherwise," Zuko replied through clenched teeth. "Several of them, in fact." Rage flashed across Ozai's face, and in spite of himself, Zuko cringed a little.

"Still a mouthy little snot after all these years."

"Why did you come?" Zuko demanded. "Since I'm such a disappointment to you, why don't you just leave me to live my own life?"

"And let you keep embarrassing the family name?" Ozai sneered. "It was bad enough when my brother turned his back on the company to start his little tea shop, but now here you are making a fool of us with your antics. Your sister is poised to launch her campaign for governor, but all anyone can talk about is what actress you're dating, or what foolish little superhero movie you're making songs for."

"Well, I'm sorry Azula isn't more interesting," Zuko said. "Why don't you tell everyone what she got up to in college? I bet the people would find that a lot more interesting than what I'm doing. I know that would defeat the purpose of you spending so much money to cover it up, but it would take the attention off of me."

"I see your success has made your forget to be humble. I ought to remind you." Ozai scowled at Zuko. His hand flexed at his side, as if he were going to strike his son. It wouldn't be the first time, but would he really dare in front of so many witnesses?

"There you are!" Zuko and Ozai jumped in surprise when Katara appeared at his side. Katara had a wide smile on her face, but her sharp eyes were on Ozai in a way that Zuko knew was a warning. "You can't spend your entire party tucked up in a dark corner. At least not without me. So, catch me up. What are we talking about?"

"This is family business," Ozai sneered at her. "Why don't you go find some paparazzi to pose for."

"Maybe some other time," Katara's smile never wavered, but her eyes grew sharper.

"Do you know who I am?" Ozai sputtered, affronted.

"I do know who you are," Katara said, crossing her arms. She stepped forward, and drew up to her full height (which still left her a good half a head shorter than Ozai, even in heels), and glared at him directly. She stood in front of Zuko protectively. "I know exactly who you are, and I don't like you."

"As if I care what some tarty little slut thinks," Ozai sneered. "I'm talking to my son, so leave us alone, or I'll-" Before Ozai could finish his threat, Katara had grabbed his arm and thrown him over her shoulder. He landed on his back with a body rattling thud. The air left his lungs in a whoosh and all Ozai could do was groan weakly.

"I've taken Southern Tribe style martial arts since I was a kid," Katara said, leaning over Ozai. "I know exactly how to handle bullies like you. Now, I have on good authority that you're trespassing, so I'd suggest you leave before I really have to get tough on you."

Ozai managed to stumble onto his feet. He glowered down at Katara. She stared back at him defiantly. He seemed to be about to retaliate, but then he saw Zuko standing behind her with a dark, challenging look on his face. Then Ozai noticed that the other partiers had stopped their talking and dancing and were now watching him with various degrees of warning on their faces. Then he saw the security guards standing at the perimeter of the room as if they were waiting for a signal. For the first time in Zuko's life, Ozai looked a bit scared. Finally, he straightened his jacket and sniffed haughtily at Zuko and his friends, and left without another word.

After a few minutes, the party atmosphere returned. A handful of Zuko's friends came up and checked in on him to make sure he was okay, but after some brief reassurances, they returned to their conversations and drinks and Zuko was once again surrounded by the lively sounds of his friends having fun. Katara slipped her arm through his.

"I'm sorry if I went too far," she murmured. Zuko leaned down and kissed her forehead.

"No, you were spectacular," he assured her. "I didn't think I could be any more attracted to you, but I stand corrected."

#atla #zutara #prompt game #OTP Prompts: Protectiveness

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inkspiredwriting · 13 days ago

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Halloween Shenanigans with the Hargreeves Family

Five Hargreeves x reader

A/N: The idea of five and his children on Halloween is just too cute

Warnings: none

It was a crisp, autumn evening, and the Hargreeves household was abuzz with excitement. Halloween was upon them, and Y/n Hargreeves was in the living room putting the finishing touches on her children’s costumes. Maddie, their six-year-old daughter, twirled around in her sparkly princess dress, while Milo, their two-year-old son, waddled around adorably in his pumpkin costume.

Y/n, dressed in a sleek black cat costume complete with ears and a tail, looked up as Five walked into the room. He wore his usual stern expression, but Y/n could see the glint of amusement in his eyes as he took in the scene.

“Five, we’re almost ready! Are you sure you don’t want to join us for trick-or-treating?” Y/n asked, giving him a playful pout.

Five crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “Do I really need to dress up to walk around the neighborhood?”

Y/n sidled up to him, a mischievous smile on her face. “Oh, come on, Five. It’ll be fun! Besides, the kids would love it.”

Maddie ran over, her eyes wide with excitement. “Daddy, please come with us! It’s going to be so much fun!”

Milo toddled after her, looking up at Five with big, pleading eyes. “Pwease, Daddy!”

Five sighed, feeling his resolve crumble under the combined assault of his wife’s charm and his children’s adorableness. “Alright, alright. But I’m not dressing up.”

Y/n leaned in close, whispering in his ear, “Maybe we should keep your costume for later.”

Five felt a blush creep up his neck and quickly cleared his throat. “Let’s get going before I change my mind.”

The family set out into the neighborhood, the air filled with the sounds of laughter and the rustle of leaves. Maddie led the way, her princess dress sparkling under the streetlights, while Milo toddled along, occasionally stopping to investigate a particularly interesting leaf or stick.

Y/n held Milo’s hand, keeping a watchful eye on him as he waddled from house to house. Five walked beside Maddie, who excitedly approached each door and shouted, “Trick or treat!” with all the enthusiasm of a six-year-old on Halloween.

At one house, an elderly woman handed Maddie a large candy bar and patted Milo on the head. “What a beautiful princess and such an adorable little pumpkin!”

Y/n smiled and thanked the woman, while Five tried to hide his amusement. “This is quite the haul,” he remarked as Maddie’s candy bag grew heavier with each stop.

As they continued down the street, they came across a group of teenagers dressed as zombies. They groaned and staggered toward the Hargreeves family, but Maddie wasn’t fazed. “I’m a princess! You can’t scare me!” she declared, holding up her candy bag like a shield.

The teenagers laughed and moved on, leaving Five and Y/n shaking their heads. “She’s fearless,” Five said, a note of pride in his voice.

Y/n nodded, her eyes twinkling. “Just like her dad.”

They made their way to the final house on the block, which was decorated with an impressive array of spooky decorations. Skeletons, ghosts, and cobwebs adorned the front yard, and eerie music played from hidden speakers. Maddie approached the door with her usual enthusiasm, but Milo hung back, clutching Y/n’s leg.

Y/n bent down to his level. “It’s okay, Milo. They’re just decorations. Nothing to be scared of.”

Five knelt beside him, gently ruffling his hair. “Come on, buddy. I’ll go with you.”

With Five by his side, Milo summoned his courage and toddled up to the door. Maddie rang the doorbell, and the door creaked open to reveal a man in a vampire costume. “Well, what do we have here? A princess and a pumpkin! Happy Halloween!”

Maddie and Milo both received generous handfuls of candy, and they thanked the man before heading back to the sidewalk. As they walked home, Maddie skipped along, recounting her favorite moments of the night, while Milo clung to Y/n, looking sleepy.

When they finally arrived home, Y/n set about sorting through the candy with the kids, while Five made them all hot chocolate. Maddie and Milo soon drifted off to sleep, exhausted from their Halloween adventure.

Y/n and Five sat on the couch, enjoying their hot chocolate and the peace and quiet. “Thanks for coming with us, Five,” Y/n said, leaning her head on his shoulder. “It meant a lot to the kids. And to me.”

Five wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

Y/n smiled, looking up at him with a twinkle in her eye. “So, about that costume…”

Five chuckled, leaning in to kiss her. “Happy Halloween, Y/n.”

“Happy Halloween, Five.”

#five hargreeves imagines #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x you #number five imagine #number five x reader #the umbrella academy #number five #number five one shot #five hargreeves

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tofics · 3 months ago

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Broken - Chapter 5

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: A year has passed since Joel and Ellie have returned to Jackson when he finds you on patrol, half frozen and half burning up. Jackson takes you in and nurses you back to health, welcoming you as the newest member of their community. The more time passes, Joel realizes that you and him have more in common than he likes… Until one day, everything changes and you get a gift that he’ll never get.

Word Count: 6472 words

Warnings: feelings of shame, mention of child death, developing feelings and the uncertainty that comes with that, crying, cuddling, and, at long last, fluff, fluff, and more fluff!

A/N: Brace yourselves, for this is the quiet that comes before the storm. This was so hard to write because the pain of the reader and Joel stands so much at the forefront and going into lighter, happier feelings beyond that requires such a drastic mindset change 😮‍💨 I'm pretty satisfied with the outcome though. I hope you enjoy! And, remember, come Friday, Aug. 16th, we're back on a regular posting schedule! 😊

Chapter 5 - New Leafs and Old Foes

"Hoooo, eaaaasy there girl, easy." The mare neighs nervously and raises on its hindlegs. You stop your movement, but don't retreat, instead digging your heels deeper into the mud. Opposite of you, Savannah, the stable's keeper, is mirroring your moves, struggling to stay upright in the slick mud as she tugs on the mare's reins. The animal comes down with a thump and sprays the both of you with specks of sludge as she neighs again, her panicked eyes flicking back and forth between you and your helper.

"Easy now, girl, easy." The calmness of your voice finally seems to register with the panicked animal when her eyes flit back to you and lock on you. Her nostrils flare and she shifts on her legs uneasily, but her hoofs remain on the ground. You gonna work with me, girl? You convey the question with your eyes, a silent exchange between the two of you. It takes a moment, but eventually you notice the horse's body language shift - the 'yes' you were waiting for.

The animal is still panting, but she allows your touch when you run your flat hand over her strong neck. "Atta girl." She snorts in response to your whispered soothing appraisals and you can't help but smile.

"What are you, the horse whisperer or something?" Savannah carefully slips the reins into your hand with a big grin.

"Call me Robert Redford, sweetheart." You tip your imaginary cowboy hat in her direction with a wink.

"Phew, she ain't half bad, hu?" Tommy whistles through his teeth and you turn at the sound, giving the two brothers a small smile and wave in response.

Joel just grunts, but smiles back at you with a nod of his head.

"Don't think I don't saw that." Tommys voice matches the foolish grin on his face.

"Don't know what you're talkin' about. Ain't nothing to see." Joel clicks his tongue and leads his horse into the stable, away from the paddock where your little show took place. Once they're inside his stallion's box, he takes off the saddle and the halter, placing both on their respective mounts in the stable.

"Hey, no shame in fallin' in love, brother." Tommy's voice drifts over from the box next to Joel's. "After all," - his head pops up over the barrier, plastered with the same silly grin as before - "wouldn't dream of judgin' you when I'm guilty of the same crime." He sticks his left hand in the air and pointedly twirls the golden band on his ring finger.

Joel snorts but doesn't shoot back. Instead he heads back outside into the fresh spring air. It's one of those days that make it look like summer, all sparkling blue sky dotted with fleecy clouds and warm sunshine, but set one foot into a shadowy area and you're back in winter, with wind that's still got a sharp bite to it and temperatures that'll have your teeth chattering.

Joel tugs his on the collar of his jacket as he approaches the paddock's fencing, trying to shield himself from the chilly breeze that blows past the stable's shadowy entrance. It won't take more than an hour, but for now, only one half of the paddock is glistening in the sun, the trampled mud and sludge sparkling in the warm rays where the rain water has collected in little pools.

"C'mon, baby, c'mon. That's it. Atta girl." Your voice dances through the air and Joel watches the latest addition to the stable trot alongside you with ease, the panic of just a few minutes ago seemingly forgotten. It doesn't surprise him in the least. Your lures are so sweet, not only by word but by sound, delivered in a soft and light trill that could fit right in with the chirps of the birds that are coming out more and more each day. 'Talk to me like that, and I'd follow you anywhere too,' he thinks and feels the immediate internal backlash.

For fuck's sake. Get it together.

Of course Joel knows what Tommy's talking about. He's caught himself in moments like these one too many times not to know. That doesn't mean he has to admit it, though. Nor does he have to like it.

It's been a long time since anyone stirred something inside of him the way you do. There was Tess - she and him had been partners, both in business and in bed, but there had been nothing romantic about it. What he had with her was different, more down-to-the-point oriented. In business terms, it was a perfect match. She was the social baseline to their partnership, yet no less ruthless than Joel. He sometimes admired her for it, how she held on to that part of herself that made her more human. He lost touch with that side of him for years and had no interest in rebuilding it, not until he met Ellie anyway. She's softened him and brought him back to life in ways he didn't think were possible anymore.

So perhaps it shouldn't be that big of a surprise that you do something to him. And you have, from the start. Joel's not one to care for other people's business unless it's somehow related to him, and yet, he has found himself wondering about you time and time again. You mostly keep to yourself, but you're amazing with Ellie. You seem to share his love for silence, but you can easily talk his ear off if he gets you going on the right topic.

But more than that - and perhaps, most importantly so - he sees something in you that reminds him of himself, in the most painful way. He can see you trying to hide it around Ellie, but your occasional shut-downs never go undetected by him. Thankfully, you haven't had any meltdowns since that one time, but there are smaller signs of when you retreat somewhere into the back of your mind. The smile on your face becomes less genuine, like a cheap knock-off version of the real deal. Your eyes cloud over and lose the vibrancy they usually shine with. And sometimes, your arm wanders over your chest and digs into your other arm, like you're trying with all your might to hold yourself together.

Those moments are the worst for you, as far as he can tell. He's found himself wanting to reach over and gently losen the grip you have on your arm, to hold your hand and let it squeeze him instead, but of course he doesn't. Joel doesn't think it's his place, or if you'd even want him to. He never asks. He doesn't know how. And it's pissing him off.

He feels like a goddamn teenager all over again, and those years are well behind him. Hell, he's currently got a teenager at home, he's got no business acting the way he does. But it's just like it was back then, all those years ago. You come into his proximity and boom. It's like he's on fire. His palms break out into a sweat and his heart is hammering in his chest. It's pathetic, the way your sheer presence sometimes reduces him to a sixteen year old hormonal boy, when his real age is twice that and then some.

Worse than that, despite being thrice the age of a teenager, he's apparently about as good at hiding his crush as he was back then. Thankfully, Ellie hasn't caught on to it - yet, she likely wouldn't let him hear the end of it - and as far as he can tell, neither have you, but Maria keeps looking at him funny and this isn't Tommy's first comment regarding you either. Leave it to his brother to rat him out to his wife.

Flipping his collar back down, Joel exposes his neck to the chilled air around him in hopes of it having the same effect as a cold shower. Lord knows he could need one.

You feel Joel‘s gaze on you before you spot him leaning against the fence, looking better than he should be allowed to. A faint memory of some women’s magazine’s article pops up in the back of your head, something about how the entirety of an outfit should never consist of just jeans, and yet you couldn’t disagree more. Dressed in a lined denim jacket and a pair of pants made of the same fabric, he looks more like a catalogue model than a failed fashion ensemble. The cowboy hat he's been wearing lately sits on his salt and pepper hair, rounding off the ensemble like a cherry on top.

"Howdy, partner," you call out and watch with satisfaction as a small smile plays out on Joel's face. He tries to hide it in the same way he often pretends not to be amused by Ellie's jokes, pushing his bottom lip out and biting down on it from the inside. Clearly he's unaware of how little it's working, or how terribly adorable he looks doing it.

"Mornin'," he replies when you've almost reached the fence, the remnants of his hidden smile still visible in the twitching corners of his mouth.

The mare behind you snorts uneasily and you take a step back to softly pat her neck, but your eyes stay on Joel. "Patrol all done?"

"Mh-hmm. Haven't seen you on patrol in a while." The way he says it, it sounds like an unspoken question, and you understand why.

When you had begged Maria to take you off patrol, she had agreed instantly, probably persuaded (and somewhat concerned) by the cascade of tears running down your face. "Did something happen?," she had asked, the question loaded with the unspoken add-on of 'with Joel' and you just shook your head no, a wordless workaround for the very lengthy real answer you didn't have the strength to give, nor had the right words for. After all, how could you explain that what had brought you to her doorstep wasn't a miss-step on Joel's side, but a melt-down on yours and the subsequent overwhelming shame of Joel not only having been a witness, but the one to have helped you through it? A 'no' was just so much easier, and even though Maria didn't look like she fully believed you, she took you off patrol and gave you the day off, with the reminder that you could come talk to her about anything, anytime.

The next morning, you were back on Tommy and Maria's doorstep, asking if you could be placed with livestock care instead. You were nowhere nearly fully-recovered, but shame and worry had driven you out of your house and back to theirs. You weren't gonna be a leech, living off of other people's hard work. No matter how low you felt, you were determined to contribute to this community - preferably somewhere that wasn't right next to Joel. Tommy was eyeing you suspiciously, concern written all over his face, and a vague memory of him showing up behind Joel's house while you were 'chopping firewood' popped into the back of your head. The blood rushed to your head and painted you a deep shade of red, but you withstood his gaze regardless. Not a day later, you started at the stables. You haven't been back to patrol since.

"Remember how you said you thought I would be working with the animals, given my background on a farm? Well, turns out you were on to something. I didn't know how much I missed it until I was right back in it." You smile at him and try to ignore the feeling of guilt that's trying to take hold in your stomach. Even though you know you don't 'owe' Joel an explanation, the last thing you want is for him to be thinking you're avoiding him.

Especially if the opposite is true.

You're thriving in your new job placement, there's no denying that. You can't even really take credit for the idea either - it was simply the first thing you could think of in the heat of the moment, a fluke, really, but in a weird, cosmical-fate-kind-of-way, it looks like your abrupt change of profession has landed you exactly where you need to be. The work has a sense of familiarity about it that - for once (miraculously) - doesn't bring about pain. Instead, the smell of hay and manure takes you back to your childhood farm's stables, and so many of your daily tasks come naturally to you, your hands seemingly moving on their own accord through muscle memory. Sure, it's far more labor-intensive than any of your patrols have been and a lot smellier - most days, you come home covered in tiny flakes of straw and various spots of god-knows-what on your clothing, reeking of manure, wool and hay, but you don't mind. Somehow, feeling the day's work in your bones and carrying the evidence of your labor on your clothes helps you feel a sense of achievement at the end of a day, something that you didn't have on your patrols. On top of that, the body-intensive work seems to be a tremendous help with your insomnia: more often now than not, it takes you a lot less time to fall asleep. From all of your job's perks, this might just be your personal favorite.

There is only one downside to your new work arrangement, and ironically, it's the very reason you ditched patrols in the first place:

You don't get to see Joel as much as you did before.

You only managed to avoid him for a couple of days after the 'incident' before he tracked you down and set you right. It hadn't been enough time to properly work through the aftermath of your meltdown, so even though he made a point of saying you had nothing to be embarrassed about, shame and guilt stayed glued to you for days, despite your various tries to rid yourself of them. They were most present when he was present, a walking and talking reminder of who you'd bared your insides to in one of your weakest moments, and you found it easier to work through your feelings when Joel wasn't around. Your new job came in quite handy that way.

And then of course, there was that kiss on your forehead that you kept and keep thinking about, no matter how much you try not to. It added to the pile of feelings you had to sort through, spicing up the mix by adding very conflicting emotions.

On one hand, thinking back to the gentle gesture makes something tiny flutter in your belly, a sensation you're not sure you've ever truly felt before. Sure, there have been men in your life, but most of these arrangements were just that, arrangements, a means-to-an-end, an offering of yourself in exchange for safety or food. By some miracle, your life in Jackson has no need for arrangements like that. You still have your doubts about your safety, although that's more of a general concern that applies to the safety of Jackson as a whole, rather than concerns in regards to specific members of Jackson. Men are no longer a double-edged sword that can provide safety or be what you need protecting from, they're suddenly an option. It's a concept that is entirely new to you and that you weren't thinking about in the least, until that goddamn kiss on your forehead.

That kiss has opened up a world of possibilities you never previously had the luxury of even thinking about, and now, you can't stop thinking about it. It's come to a point where you only have to be in Joel's proximity to feel that tiny flutter in your belly. It's both delightful and entirely terrifying, so much so that you find yourself in a constant, sometimes overlapping loop of wanting to be close to Joel and wanting to get as far away from him as possible.

"Yeah well, I get it. Might've won against one horse, but an entire farm's worth of livestock? I can't compete with that." There's a glint in Joel's eyes, a small playful twinkle that creases the corners of his eyes and tugs on his lips and you can't help but laugh.

"Oh, don't sell yourself short now. You could've taken on two horses easily, maybe even three. It's the cows that are my weak-spot. You never stood a chance against those."

Joel's hand dramatically clutches at his chest as if you just delivered a blow to it. "Oof. Did what I could, though. Gotta know when to quit."

There it is again, that little flutter in your belly as you giggle and hit his arm playfully. It warms your belly and sends warmth up into your nose, your cheeks and your ears, even your hands and fingers. The skin that touched his jacket on impact is tingling and you suddenly have the strange urge to lay a hand on the jeans material again, though this time more softly and not in a rushed smack.

The impulse is so bizarre to you that you quickly withdraw your hand and tighten your clutch on the reins again. "Better get this lady inside her box. She's had quite the eventful morning."

The town hall is already bustling when you arrive. Although town meetings are open to everyone in Jackson, attendance isn't required unless you've been summoned, so the audience usually consists of Jackson's adults, with just a few of the kids and teens here and there.

Tonight is no different. As expected, quite a few seats are already occupied, but some of the backrows still have some free spots. Just when you choose one - close to the aisle, and, conveniently, close to the back exit - Evelyn claps her hands together. "Okay, let's get started, everyone." Just like any good classroom back in the day, everyone quiets down quickly until you can only hear the occasional foot shuffle or coughing.

"Thank you. I hereby declare this town meeting open. Gary, it's your turn." Evelyn takes her seat in the half-circle that's positioned so it faces the crowd and motions towards one of her neighbors.

Town meetings always follow the same structure. Someone on the council opens the meeting by giving an overview of the last month. This includes all kinds of stats: how that month's harvest went, animal count, town incidents (if any took place) or patrol reports about infected sightings or run-ins with raiders. Presumably, this is also the segment in which they provided updates about your health, back when you first arrived in Jackson. As far as journalism goes, this is the closest to a news source that Jackson has.

The news segment is followed by the 'open floor'. For this part, people can bring forward their nuisances that they were unable to resolve on their own. Just like the town meeting itself, this segment is open to every inhabitant of the town, council members included. You have yet to see a serious issue be brought up for this segment, but that speaks for the town's conflict management. Most people hash it out between themselves, and if anything does land in front of the council, it's typically something small or petty, like a drunken dispute or a missed shift.

The last item on the agenda tends to be the most interesting one: pending tasks, jobs and missions.

As with any town, small tasks and jobs can come up that are out-of-the-ordinary or temporary, yet no less urgent or to be overlooked. According to Joel, this is where they sometimes offer special rewards, depending on the appeal of the task. So far, there has been nothing in this segment that's caught your attention, but this part always has you on high alert.

You lean forward in anticipation as Tommy reads out a few smaller tasks that need to be taken care of, waiting for a good catch for yourself.

Surprisingly, you don't have to wait very long.

Joel's not a huge fan of town meetings. They tend to bore him, but he attends them anyway, mostly for Tommy and Maria and because it's good to get updates about the town once in a while. For today's meeting, there might have been the additional motivational factor of you being there, but he tries not to think about that too much.

Joel comes in as one of the last people. Most seats are already taken, but he doesn't mind, preferring to stand anyway.

Although you sit with your back to him, he spots you almost instantly, the backside of you standing out to him as if someone's casting a spotlight on you.

The meeting drones on, and Joel only half listens as he's leaning against one of the wooden pillars. His eyes wander across the room periodically, taking in Jackson's people as they react to news and chatter amongst themselves occasionally. It's a good way to get a read of the room, a habit he picked up in Boston and hasn't been able to shake yet. Despite Jackson being relatively safe, he still feels the need to get a feel for the current mood of Jackson's inhabitants. Never know when things might turn sour.

There's no denial about where his eyes wander most frequently. Every time he catches himself, he averts his gaze and hopes you don't feel him staring holes into the back of your head, just to repeat the process a couple of minutes later. You seem pretty relaxed, judging by your body language, until it's Tommy's turn to announce upcoming tasks and missions. He might have missed if you weren't secretly the center of his attention, but he immediately catches the way you lean forward when Tommy begins to speak.

"As Gary mentioned, one of our cows passed away at the start of the month. We knew it was coming and we hoped she'd pull through the winter, and bless that girl, she did. Still, we're one cow short now, and that just won't do. We'd like to put together a crew of at least two people to scour the nearby towns and places we last knew to hold some cows, see if any of them are still there. Any takers?"

To Joel's surprise, your hand flies up almost instantly.

Adding to his surprise, he feels his own hand raising before he even knows what he's doing.

Tommy's mouth twitches as his eyes land on his big brother. "And it looks like we got two volunteers!" You turn around in your seat, following Tommy's gaze to somewhere behind yourself before your eyes lock with Joel's. Joel can see the surprise on your face and something else that he can't quite place, and for a second, he's worried he's overstepped. "Perfect. We'll hash the details out later in person." Tommy nods to you and then to Joel, still clearly trying to hide a smirk behind quivering lips. "Okay, moving on. Angelo's caught a cold, so we need someone to take over his shift at the school..."

Tommy's voice fades into the background. Your eyes are still locked on Joel's, the same unreadable expression on your face.

Done messed up now, Joel thinks and has the urge to bang his head against the wooden pillar he's leaning on.

But just then - miraculously - you smile.

Tommy keeps his instructions brief: checkout all last known cow-locations and only bring one back if the circumstances allow for it. You are not to risk your life for that of a cow.

He spends more time repeating that last clause than he does going over the initial plan.

"Do you have a history of saving cows or something?," you ask Joel on your way to the supplies shelter. He responds with something of a chuckle and a scoff.

"Just saying, sounded like he was particularly worried about you risking your life for a cow, of all things."

"Yeah? Who says that wasn't directed at you? Ain't me that's workin' in livestock after all." Joel looks at you with half a smile and you feel that little tingle in your belly respond immediately.

How am I going to survive an entire mission next to this man?, you think and feel the slightest pink seeping into your cheeks.

"Maybe, but he was looking at you the entire time. Am I gonna have to drag you out of there if we see a cow being attacked by infected? I'm just asking so I know what to expect, you know. To prepare."

His snort is paired with a slight eye-roll and you giggle like the little school-girl he makes you feel like.

Betsy gets the two of you sorted with all the supplies you could need. An assortment of ropes, fire-starting-kits, cans of food and a health-kit is already littered on the large table in the middle as she adds two small sleeping bags.

"Now Joel, I know you've been on runs before, so you know how this goes. Y'all can go over to the weapon's den and get whatever y'all fancy. This right here is to cover the survival aspect of it all." Betsy chatters along while she continues to pile supplies onto the table. "Y'all don't gotta take everythin' we hand out, but it's highly recommended that you do. I don't think I gotta say this, but whatever you use up is gone, so make sure you find spares unless you wanna be fresh out of somethin'. Wouldn't complain if you bring back a few extras of whatever I give you either, but it's not a must. I know what it's like out there. I'll just be glad when you two come home safe."

You nod along while you examine everything she puts out on to the table. This is worth gold. Everything you could think of is accounted for, and then some.

You can't help but think that some people out there would kill for a set-up like this. If people knew about Jackson...

"Okay, one more thing." Betsy walks into the adjoining room and returns with a packed up tent in her arms. "It ain't big, but I expect y'all won't mind that, 'specially with temperatures still droppin' below freezin' at night. I reckon y'all might wanna snuggle up, for warmth and all."

You feel the tips of your ears burning while the rest of your face hurries to catch on, coloring you a deep shade of red. Snuggle with Joel. Betsy might as well have suggested you could kiss for warmth with the way you feel about the suggestion. Awkward, definitely, but worse: excited.

Crap crap crap.

You discreetly glance sideways at Joel who appears to be looking anywhere at you, then becomes intensely interested in one of the backpacks Betsy is offering. It might be your imagination, but you could swear that Joel's ears look a lot more flushed than normally.

You start off into your mission early the next morning while it's still dark out. Tommy sees you off at the gate.

"Y'all got everything you need?"

The two of you nod.

"Good. Be back safe. Watch out for each other." Tommy gives a sign to the men manning the door and they crack it open just enough so you and Joel can slip through on your horses.

It's a misty morning and the damp cold seems to find every little hole in your clothing to seep through. Your breath comes out in puffy little white clouds and you thank yourself for having remembered your gloves.

Joel leads the way. Tommy had the route all mapped out for you already, although he agreed to alterations where needed. "The two of you have been out there long enough to know when to trust your gut. If anything feels off, feel free to adjust the route accordingly. Ain't no sense in sticking to a plan if it gets y'all killed," he'd said.

For now, you stick to his pre-planned route and head south-west. The first stop on your map, an old ranch called 'Spring Creek' is just two hours out.

Neither of you speak much during your ride there.

But instead of the awkward silence you were worried about, there's a mutual understanding of enjoyed silence between the two of you that you developed on your patrols together.

Spring Creek turns out to be a bust, which surprises neither of you. 'Lucky' is not really something that's in the cards anymore in this world, as you're both well aware of.

The next stop on the map is less than half an hour away, located not far of the bridge that leads over the Snake River. It's a gorgeous place, once a park and now entirely reclaimed by nature, with the first signs of game here and there, but not a cow in sight.

By the time evening rolls around, you've made it across the river and into what used to be Wilson. Supposedly, there's an old farm a little further out of town if you head west.

When Joel suggests that you save the ranch for the next day, you have no trouble agreeing considering how little daylight you have left. You let your horses trot along the highway until you reach the outskirts of town that's framed nicely by a small forest. Joel leads his horse off the road and onto the open field to where the grass meets the trees.

"Looks like pretty thick foliage. Ain't no getting through with these horses. I'd say we make camp out here. Foliage should have our backs covered nicely, and we got a clear view into each direction over the field. Whaddaya say?"

The light of your small fire dances across your face in the dark, flames leaping over your eyebrows and then cowering beneath your cheekbones, only to lick up the side of your skull in the next second.

Joel watches the fiery dance on your features and finds himself wishing he could be the one to caress your face instead of the flames, trailing your skin with the pads of his fingers the same way the light does.

Although the day's journey was uneventful, all of his senses are on high-alert. Your presence is like a steady hum in the back of his mind. It started out fine this morning, just the spark of excitement he's now used to getting when you come into his proximity. But it has progressed throughout the day, steadily gaining in size and momentum during the shared hours together. Whatever you do to him, it's pulling him towards you like a moth is drawn to the light. If you were a candle in the morning, by now, you shine as bright as the sun.

"Tell me somethin' about yourself," he hears himself say. You look up from the fire and meet his gaze, a lazy smile on your lips. "Like what?"

"Anythin'." Joel wants to know it all. You're the puzzle he can't piece together but can't put on a shelf either. He's tried, and not just once. He tried it after your first patrol together. He tried it after you became a steady guest in his house, bringing warmth and humor with you anytime you came. Joel stepped out of the fuzzy feeling you ignited in him every night, neatly folded it and put it on the shelf in the back of his mind where things go to be forgotten, only to find himself wearing it again the next time he saw you at the dining hall or at his kitchen table.

He can fool himself all he wants, but your presence brings out the truth in him regardless, no matter what he tells himself.

"That's a broad frame."

"I have a broad interest." In you. Joel doesn't add the words, but they hang in the air regardless, almost as bright and shiny as the fire between the two of you. Joel wonders whether you can see them as clearly as he can.

You smile again and fiddle with the zipper of your jacket while you think. "You already know most of it," you finally say and Joel almost calls out bullshit, because he doesn't, not by a longshot. His knowledge on you is filled with gaps, a cloze he desperately wants to fill.

"Then tell me something I don't know yet," he says instead. Questions are piling up on his tongue, but he's biting them down.

What is that sadness that fills you on some days?

and

Do you, God forbid, know the same loss I do?

He sees it mirrored in you, the desperation and soul-wrecking-pain that comes with the loss of a child. It leaves a special kind of imprint that never really goes away, just grows over a little bit, if you're lucky, but it's always still there. Joel's sure he sees it in you, that he recognizes your pain as his own and his heart breaks at the thought of it, of what he thinks you lost, of what he lost himself.

How can I ease your pain?

Will you let me ease your pain?

Joel watches you think again, trying hard to come up with something to tell him that won't reveal too much. He knows the look. He wore it himself for years, not letting anybody close enough to read between the lines.

"You know I had a kid?" Your head perks up and he can see your eyes growing wide in surprise, pupils large and dark.

"A daughter. Name's Sarah." He feels the sting in his chest that always comes out when he talks about her for the first time. It pierces his heart with the same relentless white hot pain, but his flesh is used to it and has adapted over the years. A thick lining of tissue has grown around the spot where the dagger pierces through his skin every time he opens his wound anew. It never truly heals, never hurts any less. It does, however, take less time for the pain to subside now.

Joel takes a few deep breaths as he waits for the pain in his chest to die down. He feels your eyes still trained on him and watching him closely.

"She died the day of the outbreak. A soldier... shot her." He has to press the words out so they don't get stuck in his throat and suffocate him.

A twig snaps and bursts and sends up a shower of sparks into the cold dark air. Joel stares into the fire and waits for the pain to subside as another dagger pierces his chest.

It takes a while for his words to sink in. They bob around of the surface of your consciousness, like paper ships freshly put on water. You watch as they slowly grow heavier and begin to sink, the full weight of his words hitting you more with each word that fills up and eventually sinks to the ground of your mind where you finally grasp their meaning.

He lost a child.

Suddenly it all makes sense.

The way he sometimes looks at you with a sense of understanding that you've never been able to place before.

The way he took care of you on the day of your outburst, no questions asked.

You and her, you got the same kind of twitchy. Tommy's voice echoes in your skull and your vision blurs.

You realize you're crying.

The tears spill out of your eyes before you can stop them, a testament of your own pain, understood in the most horrible way.

You cross the fire in two big strides and fall to your knees in front of Joel where you wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his shoulder.

You hold him tight, hands digging into his jacket in an effort to pull him as close as possible, while your tears soak into his shoulder. And then his arms wrap around you in return, holding you with the same feverish intensity that you're holding him with.

"I am so, so sorry," you whisper against his jacket when your tears have dried up enough for you to speak. His answer comes in the form of a kiss on the top of your head, and despite the situation, a shower of warmth rains down your spine from where his lips met your hair.

"I wish I could've met her."

"I wish you could've met her too."

The longer you keep holding on to each other, the more the tenseness leaves your body. The pain lingers, a dull throbbing sensation in your chest that is just all too familiar, but your muscles slowly loosen and you begin to melt into his embrace.

It feels almost shameful, finding pleasure in something that was born out of something so gruesome.

Joel detects the way you slowly wind down and allows himself to run a thumb over your back in small circles.

He holds you and is held back in the dancing light of the fire under the stars until the fire burns down and wishes this would never end.

Maybe he's been through enough. Maybe he's finally endured enough pain for a lifetime, because for once, the universe grants him his wish, and it doesn't end.

When he feels you snaking out of his embrace, his heart drops, his body already missing your touch where it pressed against him, but before he can mourn the moment, you're extending a hand to him.

You lead him into the tent, and his head is spinning, swimming with possibilities that seem too faint and outrageous to even reach before you open up one of the sleeping bags and slip inside, motioning for him to join you.

It takes a moment, but eventually, your sleeping bags are joined up into one large one. Joel's a broad man and sleeping bags are a tight fit on him as is, but with you pressed against his side, he could be getting strangled to death for all he cares.

You settle against him with your head on his shoulder and one arm wrapped around his belly and Joel feels like he's dreaming. He has half a mind to voice his concerns - "What about taking watch?" - but then your finger touches his lips and he ascends to heaven, the first man to be alive and knocking on heaven's door at the same time. "Not a single soul around all day. We're good," you whisper and lay your hand against Joel's cheek, where you draw the same slow circles he drew on your back earlier.

Maybe Tommy's right, is the last thing Joel thinks before he falls asleep. Maybe there's no shame in falling in love.

Series Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

Feedback is always appreciated! If you have any requests, feel free to send them my way. I'm always happy to practice my writing! :)

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters!

Tag list: @eternallyvenus @frogsdeservelovetoo @akisfoxdevil @southernbe @nutterbitter

@yesjazzywazzylove-blog @orcasoul @foomoosworld @lilmizmoz @ashleyfilm

@casa-boiardi @sunandmuun @noisynightmarepoetry @puduvallee @aryaharmon

No pressure tags, just thought you'd maybe enjoy the update: @strawberymilktea @bensonispunk @hauntedpoetsdepartment @ellenmunn

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thatfoxnamedfinley · 2 months ago

Text

Ten Heartbeats...aka The Way of Kings thoughts

Holy fuck my friends

holy FUCK

this is the longest book I've ever read while simultaneously being one of the best books I've ever read

Friends, students, juvenile delinquents. LEND ME YOUR EAR.

SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT, this is going to be a long one baby LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooo

Them: Ok so everyone say their favorite character on three. Okay? One, Two, Three! -

Me: Szeth! Wait...er...I think actually it's Dalinar. Wait...but, Kaladin...er...and Syl too. Well, maybe...Wit...er...possibly Teft? Rock! Er...

Them:

The characters are EXCELLENT. Fascinating. Probably because the world building is so solid that they are able to all stand on their own in their own stories.

I know a big complaint is Shallan's parts in the beginning half (because we're so thirsty for Kaladin and Dalinar's stories) but I still really liked them. I know Capsule isn't the guy's name (spelled Kabsal I think) but I'm calling him Capsule. That's the one part I wasn't a huge fan of only because I'm not a fan of romance in anything I consume. There was a payoff at the end but still.

Now, I DO think that Jasnah CARRIED Shallan's chapters because a lot of what Shallan was trying to do revolved around Jasnah and stealing her Soulcaster and what Jasnah was researching and who Jasnah's father was and how intelligent Jasnah is. I actually found the philosophy of her killing those men in the alleyway to make Shallan more open minded to different ways of thinking to be quite brilliant. I also knew through other avenues of the story (Dalinar's POV) that what Jasnah was researching was major and the lore we would get from Shallan's POV would be invaluable to the world building. ESPECIALLY towards the back half when Shallan was drawing weird things and Capsule made his move to assassinate Jasnah (with bread and jam LMFAO bro)

The scene of Shallan running away from those creatures she was drawing was genuinely frightening, especially when she reached out towards the hand that was near her (in her drawing) and felt something there. I was like

And the soulcasting and that both she and Jasnah can do it without a soulcaster because...??????????? oh dont worry we dont know yet

And wtf is Shadesmar

like WTF is that place? WTF is there? What is it? A different plane? Are spren there? Are voidbringers there? Are not all spren good? Like, I know there are painspren and deathspren and rotspren and the question has continued to be asked if the spren are drawn to things or if they create them. But they seem to have limited intelligence (minus maybe Syl). But there's no reason to believe that maybe there are spren that aren't malicious; we just haven't seen them yet. They're in Shadesmar bitch

(side note, anticipationspren and gloryspren may be my fav, I can imagine them as little sprites with their hands raised in the air, lit af)

OH AND BITCH the revelation of the Parshmen being the VOIDBRINGERS????????????????? BITCH WTF

When it was mentioned the Voidbringers "hummed in song" I was like WAIT A FUCKING SECOND THERE'S NO FUCKING WAY

like WTF IS HAPPENING and when Jasnah was like "girlie, these bitches are ingratiated into every aspect of our society" Shallan and I were BOTH like

Kaladin and Syl. Baby boi and baby girl.

do not TOUCH me when Syl was holding up her little arms in front of the highstorm to try to shield Kaladin from it

When she brought him a leaf to make him feel better

Saying she tripped some men to get back at being mean to Kaladin and she was so proud of herself

At moments she gave Kaladin a reason to live and she was AMAZING. BOIIIIIII when she appeared a full woman next to Kaladin and the look on her face and the echo of his father's words making him go back and save Dalinar. Syl appearing like that honestly carried so much weight, especially when you find out she's an Honorspren. Spirit of oaths. Of promises. And nobility. And all of a sudden that moment and that battle had so much more gravity. I can close my eyes an imagine her hair blowing around her face as she watches Dalinar's banner fight to survive and the moment Kaladin realises he HAS to go help them....

BOIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

ok wait wait wait my heartrate is increasing let me travel back a little bit

Kaladin and the process of getting his Bridge Four homeboys to trust him was

Rock and Teft are LEGENDS. Rock being the first one to really see Kaladin as a leader was iconic.

I'm listening to the audiobooks (if you are unaware and this is a first book posting of mine you've seen) I'm a REALLY slow reader. I get distracted and I have ADD so I need to be moving and doing other things (even if it's just COLORING while I listen, I can't just sit and read but I'm trying to get better at it), and there's a bookmark+note I left on chapter 21:

"Rock, I fear, may be an actual legend"

I actually ended up liking Teft a little bit more than Rock by the end of the book but Rock being the first one to actually be open and willing to Kaladin's leadership made me really like him immediately.

I liked Teft a lot because he was the one constantly checking up on Kaladin and asking him if he was okay, giving him space when he needed it but still staying close to him and I thought that was really sweet. When you're depressed, sometimes someone just needs to BE there with you and Teft seemed to understand the burden of leadership. And of course it helped that he saw Kaladin glow like a flamespren on steroids after Kaladin survived a highstorm.

All due respect I'm so glad he survived the highstorm cause, *COUGH* prophecy *COUGH*, but Sanderson described him as basically flapping in the wind like a wet sock

I liked when they were doing the assault to save Dalinar (SADEAS YOU FUCKING BASTARD OH I'LL GET TO HIM) and Bridge Four was watching him fight with his spear and they were all watching in awe and the Teft snapped out of it like OUR BRIDGELEADER NEEDS US COME ON MEN

And they all charged I was like

I came around on Moash too eventually XD

Lopen was funny cause he had like 15 cousins that owed him favors and I'm like BRO WHO ARE YOU

Hoid being Sigzil's old master was a pleasant surprise. When he was telling that story to Kaladin by the fire I was like "Wait a minute is he also a Worldsinger?? He knows all this SHIT!" Then when it was revealed I was satisfied. A pleasant tie-in to that character that made the world seem more connected.

My working theory is that spren gave the Radiants their powers and they have to do like an "equal exchange" thing (like Shallan with that voice that wanted something) for their powers to fully manifest. I don't know that you're "BORN" with powers so much as chosen by a specific spren with a specific power. But girl, idk this is just what my brain is thinking after lying in bed with scrap paper like

Dalinar.

Stoic boi. Soft boi. Emotional boi. Pent up boi. Sadeas and Dalinar have this exchange in which he has this to say about Dalinar. From Chapter 26, ahem, let me read it:

"It's odd, how a leader's influence can affect his men," Sadeas said. "So many of these are like smaller versions of you. Bundles of emotion, wrapped up and tied until they become stiff from the pressure. They're so sure in some ways, yet so insecure in others."

[...]

"But don't you ever want to let it out, as you used to? Doesn't it pound on you inside, like someone trapped within a large drum? Beating, banging, trying to claw free?"

"Yes," Dalinar said.

[...]

"And the Thrill, Dalinar. Do you still feel the Thrill?"

*folds sheet of paper away* And not only does this sound like the beginning of a very intense gay fanfic (note that my bookmark note in the audiobook read as follows: Yo Sadeas, this pillow talk is WILD rn bro. "Do you still feel the Thrill?" BRO WE'RE ON A HUNT FOR A CHASMFIEND RN THIS IS *NOT* THE TIME MY GUY), but Navani echoes something similar later. Dalinar does too when they finally accept their feelings for each other. He says he HAS to live for something or else he spirals out of control. The Codes, Gavilar, the book. If he gives himself any "leeway on the leash" then he rages. I found that to be ever present in his character, always having to calm himself down and ESSENTIALLY do breathing exercises when people pissed him tf off.

I found Dalinar's POV quite captivating. A warlord, a feared warlord, who has visions of...crazy shit during these highstorms and really goes through this internal conflict of if he is mad or not and if he should abdicate to his son. His boon and curse are unknown to us from the NightWatcher (although alluding maybe his curse has to do with his wife as he doesn't even remember her name).

During the battle at the end with the Parshendi when Sadeas abandons him I had several thoughts and feelings during this

1.) Kaladin choosing to go save him was fucking EPIC. When Dalinar sees them charging back to them, a single lone bridge crew...using THAT as a hope and fighting through the army....GOOSEBUMPS BRO

2.) I think that Parshendi that said he had "finally found" Dalinar after searching for him was Odium. I really think this. The odd respectful saluting towards Dalinar...it was all so odd but it makes me feel what I felt since we saw his very first highstorm vision. Dalinar is chosen. A lot of our MCs are. For what, I don't know. But they're chosen for this Everstorm coming.

3.) SADEAS. You insidious POS. From Dalinar's POV, it was written so well that I actually thought Sadeas was an ally. Maybe I'm a dumb mother fucker. I did NOT anticipate Sadeas betraying him. I really didn't. It's a trope and I should of seen that shit from a mile away but I didn't.

4.) It's actually heatwarming how much Adolin loves his father. during his brief POV's he thinks about him a lot in a very loving manner and it's actually lovely to see that the relationships he has with his two sons are HEALTHY. In Chapter 12, Adolin states the reason he fights is that he can never forgive the Parshendi for bringing his father so much pain after the assassination of his brother. That's like...super sweet! He even states in the same chapter that he thinks his father is the greatest man alive. Seeing a loving, healthy dynamic between a father and his son was actually super, super special and unexpected. He still had moments where he challenged his father and Dalinar LETS him but he spends a lot of his time trying to understand his father's thoughts and I can't WAIT to see more of this dynamic as well as more of Adolin and Renarin (I have a feeling this dude will be a dark horse later) in later books.

World building is great. I literally felt like I was dropped into this world with no explanations, expected to figure everything out. While there are frustrations in that maybe, I really liked it. It took me about a week to work through this book (I read along with the audiobook, like someone was reading to me at night) and many a night was I awake til like 4am listening and thinking about it. In my bed all curled up, listening and imagining the world. Giggling sometimes, gasping. Clapping vigorously. I almost cried once.

THIS is how stories should be felt. Like I'm by a fire, wrapped up in a blanket given to me from another world, lost in the stories of the stars when I look up. One of the best experiences I've had with a book and I'm truly looking forward to the next book.

Until next time *salutes*

side thoughts pulled from audiobook bookmarked notes:

Dalinar giving up his Shardblade for Bridge Four and all of the bridgeman was kinda hot, ngl

Syl may be a GOAT

"Brightlord Sadeas," Wit said, taking a sip of wine. "I'm terribly sorry to see you here." LMFAOO WHAT A CUNTY ICON i love Wit

wait if men don't write how does Szeth know how wtf (Szeth is an actual baby angel and he may be the side character I want to know the most about. Super super interesting)

Teft kinda clutch

"What is that?" Gaz said, pointing. "Bridge Crew. Carrying what I believe is...yes, it's a bridge." Kaladin is lowkey a comedian

wait where tf did Gaz go later on

Bridge Four nodding knowingly when they see Kaladin talking to air LMFAOOOO I fear this bridge crew is iconic

#the stormlight archive #way of kings #brandon sanderson #dalinar kholin #shallan davar #jasnah kholin #kaladin stormblessed #adolin kholin #navani kholin #szeth son son vallano #teft #moash #I want to tag Rock but if I do it's literally a tag that says 'rock' and I'm not sure I want people making jokes about sedimentary rocks #torol sadeas #i hope he dies #:3 #sylphrena #the way of kings

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flowercrowngods · 1 year ago

Text

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 (these make one big story, you won't understand this part without the others)

day 05: together

If Steve was trembling before, he’s shaking like a leaf now — or it feels like he is, with his heart beating in his throat, his knees locked tight or they’d buckle and give out, and his hands clenched into the blanket, holding it around him like a shield.

But there is nothing in this world to shield him from Eddie. Maybe that’s why he’s shaking. Maybe that’s fifteen years of energy coursing through him, all coming down to this.

He can hear the steps down the hall and he wants to close the door and hide forever. He wants to run out and meet Eddie halfway, he wants to stay right where he is and be found, wants to find for himself.

And then there he is; the glorious vision that is Eddie Munson. Even in the dark, even when it’s only his silhouette visible to Steve, even when his hair looks flatter than he remembers. Steve’s breath hitches and his eyes fill with tears again, helpless against the onslaught of I missed you, I missed you, I missed you.

It’s so strong, this tidal wave, replacing all the air in his lungs with lead and feathers alike — but either way, he cannot breathe. It hitches pathetically, and he knows he should move, knows he should say something, anything; but there are no words. None but those three. I missed you. I missed you. I miss you.

They’re both just standing there, suspended in space and time and emotion together.

But then Eddie moves, twitches his hand as if wanting to reach for Steve, but halts his motion, insecure if that’s allowed. Steve doesn’t know either.

“Hi,” Eddie breathes after a while, and his voice is so gentle, so careful like he’s sure Steve is about to break. Or like he himself is about to break, and he doesn’t dare move, lest the universe catches up on it.

“Hey,” Steve whispers, tugging the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

They still don’t move, time has not yet kicked back into motion, allowing them a drawn out moment of trying, trying, trying not to fall apart.

“I missed you,” Eddie says. And Steve whimpers. The moment is broken, his knees are no longer locked, but instead of falling to the ground like he half expected, he stumbles forward to pull Eddie into a hug. Strong, warm arms wrap around him instantly, holding him tighter than they ever have before. Eddie’s never held him like this.

But Eddie has never lost him either.

The thought of that, of what they’ve done, what they’ve gone through, makes Steve blink away more tears as he buries his face in Eddie’s neck.

“I missed you, too.” He sniffles. “So much. I’m sorry.”

“Me too, Stevie. I’m sorry.”

You have nothing to be sorry for, Steve wants to say. You’re just happy. You deserve to be happy.

He doesn’t say anything, though, just stays right where he is, hugging Eddie. Holding him as if he would slip through his arms and out of his life if he let go. And he would. But Steve’s not ready for that, not yet, not ever. So he holds him. Holds him even as Eddie slowly walks them into the apartment, closing the door behind himself with one arm, the other still around Steve, and then leans back against it.

So they don’t have to keep themselves and each other upright. So they can just be two boys hugging. And crying. Because Eddie’s breath is uneven against Steve’s hair, and they’re both crying softly, quietly, as Eddie’s hand strokes through Steve’s hair.

“I missed you,” he says again, and Steve holds him tighter, nods into his neck, biting his lips so he doesn’t spill any more truths between them.

Steve doesn’t know how long they stand there, doesn’t know if time is back at work around them, if the world is spinning again. All he knows is that he would fall if he let go. All he knows is that he’s already falling.

But at some point there are no quiet tears left and he’s not shaking as much anymore, his head a little clearer, aware that Eddie is humming some nonsense melody in that same way he always used to when Steve just needed a good hug and a cry.

I love you, he almost says. It’s on his tongue, and for a moment he wonders if he did say it, haze and reality too closely linked, leaving him floating and reeling and aching.

When he eventually pulls away from Eddie’s embrace, he can feel those pretty, brown eyes on him even if it’s too dark to see them; and Steve looks back. They both sigh a little, unalterably in sync with one another, and Steve smiles a little. But now that reality is back, so are the past few months. So is the engagement. And so is the fact that there’s no way to solve this but to go their separate ways, at least for a while.

A pit replaces his heart once more, sucking all the tenderness out of this moment and leaving him brittle and breaking once more, vulnerable to Eddie’s touch, his smiles, his everything. Vulnerable to the world with or without Eddie.

“Can we talk?” Eddie says after a while, his voice sounding just as small and insecure as Steve feels, and it’s wrong, it’s so wrong, they don’t sound like that around each other. They don’t feel like that, they don’t talk like that, they don’t — God, when did it all go so wrong?

“Yeah.” Steve nods, stepping away from Eddie and heading towards the couch.

Eddie joins him, taking a seat on the other end of the couch, so far away yet somehow still too close, and all Steve wants to do is reach out and pull him closer. He squeezes his eyes shut and massages his temples, like it would get rid of the bone-deep, physical yearning that has taken over his body.

“Why were you around?” he asks lamely after Eddie doesn’t make any move to talk first.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Eddie said. “I don’t know if… I mean, yeah, obviously you got my call. Uh. I couldn’t sleep so I just walked around. And then you called.”

“And then I called.”

Eddie nods. Steve figures that he should have gone and turned on the light, but maybe it’s good that they can’t read each other. Maybe it’s good that they don’t have to look at each other for this.

Silence falls, and Steve wonders for a brief, panic-filled second if they’ve forgotten how to talk to each other. If silence is all there ever will be again.

But then Eddie, glorious, wonderful, brave Eddie scoots closer on the couch. “Turn around?”

And it’s muscle memory to listen to Eddie, to do as he requests, especially when he asks like that. With that hopeful little voice.

I love you.

Steve turns, gasping a little when there’s warmth against his back and Eddie’s head resting against his.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice gone with how close and how warm Eddie is.

He can feel Eddie shrug against his back. “Changing the world.”

And then there they sit, their backs leaning against each other, their heads resting together. And Steve can breathe again.

“I just have to tell you something. But… If I’m already losing you, it won’t make a difference. If you hate me or something, you—“

“Eds—“

“No, Stevie. Uh, please listen? I just, I need you to know. To understand, at least this one thing. Think I’ll explode if I don’t tell you.” He laughs a little, but it’s more a sign of his nerves than anything else.

Steve breathes a little, “Okay,” filling the silence with a permission, a promise, a question. A little word that could make him or break him.

Eddie’s hand comes searching beside him, and with that same muscle memory, Steve reaches out and takes it, linking their fingers together and feeling one puzzle piece of a world that has fallen apart settling back into place. Eddie’s hand in his. Holding on.

“Okay,” Eddie breathes right back, building a bubble for them in which they can just be themselves and whisper little okays like promises. A bubble in which they can hold hands and sit together and rest, just for a second. Even though they’re both still trembling, their hearts still racing, their voices still breaking. “Okay. Here goes nothing.”

tagging: @sexymothmanincarnate @mcneen @livsters @eddiemunchondeeznuts @abstractnaturaldisaster @steddie-as-they-go @hyperfixationgoddess @goodolefashionedloverboi @stxrcrossed186 @eddiemunsonswife @bidisastersworld @ghost-ly-s @romanticdestruction @walkingaftermidnight07 @anaibis @rainydays35 @mightbeasleep @sunfloweringstories @korixae @tuesdaycats @totoroinatardis @ilovebookshowboutyou @musical-theatre-gay @theluckyalien @copingmechanizm @srra @changelingbaby @sassygoop @obsessivelyme @r0binscript@hardboiledleggs @estrellami-1 @bisexualdisastersworld @space-invading-pigeon @swimmingbirdrunningrock @y0urnewstepp4r3nt @oxidantdreamboat @spilled-jar

(sorry if i missed anyone just give me a shout if i did <3) and thanks to everyone who said nice things about this 🤍🌷

come back tomorrow/later for true & misunderstandings | read part 6 here

#steddie fic #steddie #steddieweek2023 #steddie week fic #dio words #nobody cry this time challenge #posting this at this time is stupid bc y’all are still asleep but listen i got up an hour early this morning to write this and #almost missed my train finishing this with determination and an empty stomach #hugs n kisses for y’all 🤍🌷 and good morning!!

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago

Text

Two of a Kind 7

Masterlist

NO TAGS. Don't ask.

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; manipulation; criminal behaviour; cumplay/creampie, talk of contraception; written for smut, just being honest. Not all elements will be tagged/warned.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. It features dark!Ransom Drysdale and dark!Modern Charles Blackwood. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Ransom and Charles are partner’s in crime but they’re looking for some pleasure after years of business.

Note: :)

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya.

Charles helps the girl stand. She's shaking like a leaf as she covers her stomach with her free arm. She tries to hide her vee behind her hand as she leans on him heavily. The feel of her trembling makes his dick twitch.

"Should just drive her home," Ransom speaks around the stogie.

"You're always such a prick," Charles chuckles. He knows Ransom just likes to see the girls squirm. "Come on, baby, nice hot bath for you since you did so good."

"Since you're so fucking tight," Ransom sneers.

She sniffles as Charles slings his arm under hers and leads her past the shameless man puffing grey smoke into the air, "I told you not to do that inside."

"I opened a window."

Charles issues him a dull look and a shake of the head as he continues past. She leans into him as her feet slap on the floor clumsily. If he wasn’t holding onto her, she’d collapse. He can tell. She’s weak. It’s getting him going again.

He brings her into the bathroom as she murmurs, her head lolling forward. Fuck he is goddamn hard again. Twice already and he’s ready to blow. He’s no underperformer but he can’t remember the last time he was like this. Insatiable, as many described him in most matters.

He flips up the toilet lid around her and sits her down. He pets her head as she slumps.

“You should go, clear everything out or you might get an infection,” he lets his fingers drag over her shoulder, “we don’t want that, do we?”

She nods, he thinks. She’s half-bent over her lap as she grips her head. As the soft trickle hits the toilet seat, she sinks further into shame. As drunk as she is, she’s still self-conscious. Even after he was just in her guts.

Stop. He looks down at his bobbing dick. It’s starting to fucking hurt and his head isn’t making it any better.

He goes to the tub and cranks on the four-pronged faucets. The house is not the nicest place he’s been in but he likes the bathroom. Deep tub, lots of counter space, big mirrors. He glances over his shoulder at the mirrors the cover the expanse of one wall above the floating counter. He could fuck her in front of them, make her watch herself.

Later. He has to reprimand himself as he did Ransom. Don’t wanna break the girl. Not yet.

He puts the stopper in place and stands. He goes to her and helps her up, pausing to flush the toilet behind her. He as good as carries her to the tub and lifts her over the edge. He reclines her against the back and she stares up with glassy eyes.

He stands and watches her. She suddenly spasms as a sob erupts from her. She gulps as the tears spring forth and she blather uncontrollably. He touches her shoulder. It’s the alcohol, it makes everything feel much more intense.

“Shh, baby, you’re alright,” he comforts.

Her eyes drift over then fall down to his pulsing erection. He’s suddenly very self-aware as his tip presses to his stomach. He stands straight as she shields herself with a weak hand.

“I can’t... please, no more,” she begs.

"Shh, honey," he coos, the pet name surprising even him. She just seems so pathetic.

He backs up and grabs a towel. He covers himself and nears the tub once more. Maybe it was a bit too much. Well, she's fucked up enough it won't be that bad in the morning.

"Do you like tea?" He asks. She nods and wipes her face. "Alright, I'll get you some."

He retreats and stops at the door, glancing back at her. Hm.

"Ransom!" He hollers as he comes out into the hall, "get your ass in here."

The other man appears at the end of the hall and struts down in a pair of silk boxers. He could roll his eyes at him. Sometimes he thinks he's working with a moron. Well, the man would be an easy mark, especially with his grandfather's legacy. Not the time, Charles.

"Keep an eye on her so she doesn't go under." Ransom scoffs as he approaches, "fucked her silly."

"Sure," he taps Ransom's arm with his knuckles. "The last thing we need is a dead girl."

"Mm, nope, she's lively, huh? The way she whined..."

Charles clears his throat as his balls ache, "yeah. Anyway, watch her, will ya?"

Ransom clucks but steps into the doorway. He leans on the frame and narrows his eyes at the girl, his hand going to his hip. That's the biggest problem. Ransom doesn't know when to stop.

"Just watch," Charles warns, "she's had enough."

"Man, I think she had enough at the first knuckle," Ransom brings his fingers up to sniff, "didn't stop us before."

"Hey, we didn't put in all this work for one night, alright? I don't got the energy and I know you don't either," Charles huffs, "you wanna keep buying bimbos drinks down at Lights? No. We get her on lock and it's easy. Stress relief."

Ransom snickers and peers at the girl again, "she is fucking... tight."

"Hm, yeah," he agrees. "I'll be back."

Charles goes to the kitchen and sighs. Goddamn he is hard. He can hardly remember what he was doing.

Tea. Right. Yeah. It'll calm her down. If they even have any.

👄

You shiver as the cool air tingles over your shoulders. The hot water contrasts the chill as you languish in the deep tub. You stare at the ceiling, vaguely aware of voices, filled with dread at what they'll do next.

A shadow moves into the room and you look over warily. It's Ransom. He leans on the counter as he watches you. You stare back, waiting for it, bracing for more pain. He doesn't move.

"Consider yourself lucky, babe," he chuckles, "not a lot of girls pop their cherry on something that big." You tremble and turn forward, embarrassed. "I know it's huge, the way you were squirming, but you're also..." he makes a sucking noise, "tight as shit."

"Why... why are you doing this?" You sniffle.

"Babe, babe, why did I choose you? Why did I spend my money, my time on a girl no one gives a second look to? Huh. You should be thanking me," he sneers, "and what do you got now? All the sweet little act means nothing if you're not a virgin. You're just another slut now."

"No," you shake your head and sit up, hiding your face. "I'm not--"

"You are. You just took two men at once. Who the fuck does that but a slut like you? But babe, we don't gotta throw you out. Not if you keep being a good little slut for us. I mean," he nears the side of the tub, "no one else is gonna want a used hole."

You whimper and hang your head, folding your arms over it as you bend your knees under your elbow. He's right. You're used and dirty. You hear another set of footsteps and another shadow darkens the edge of your vision. Ransom backs up and snorts.

"What's going on?" Charles asks.

"Nothing, we were just talking," Ransom says, "she was just saying how much fun she had."

Charles clucks as you frown and lift your head. The brunette shoulders around the blond and comes to you with a mug. Steam coils from the brim.

"How about we get you out and you can wait for it to cool in bed? All comfy?"

"Jesus, Charlie, she's not a fucking baby."

"Shut up," Charles snaps back, "she did a real good job and she earned it," he sets the mug down on the short stool near the tub, "isn't that right, baby? So good. So you wanna get out and have your tea and get some rest, right? You take care of us, we take care of you."

Your lip quivers as you stare at him. You're dizzy and dazed and dumb. You don't understand why this is happening. You're a nice person. You nod. Thinking is only making your head hurt worse. Charles helps you out of the the tub and grabs another towel to wrap you in. He brings it around your shoulders and squeezes before he turns to drape his arm around you.

"Come on, you wanna sleep in my room?" He coos.

You just sniff and wipe your raw cheek again. He takes you down the hall and opens a door, taking you inside. He flips on the lights and sits you on the edge of the king bad within. You stay there as he shifts around the room. He returns and replaces the towel with a shirt. You thank him. Why did you do that? Thank you? After everything.

He guides you to lay against the pillows. The bed smells like him, a hint of citrus and sweat. Your eyes are glued to the ceiling as he leaves you. Your trance breaks only as a cup clinks down loudly.

You blink as a weight dips beside you. You wince as Charles pulls the blanket out from under you then over you. You shake and puts his hand on your arm. It makes you still, somewhat soothing yet startling all the same.

��Drink your tea, honey,” he caresses your arm as he nestles closer.

#charles blackwood #ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale #dark charles blackwood #dark!charles blackwood #dark!ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #charles blackwood x reader #knives out #we have always lived in the castle #drabble #series #two of a kind #au #multifandom

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anistarrose · 4 months ago

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coming down with lich allergies

When Merle wakes up from his afternoon nap, duty immediately calls. First aid in the sickbay, to be precise — not on a person, but on the emotional support succulent that Davenport, bless him, overwatered just a fuck ton. The healing energy in the sickbay, that mood for recovering, just wouldn’t be the same without Merle’s garden, even though no one else on the ship believes him, their goddamn doctor — so a flat-out dying plant, well, Merle just can’t have something that.

He pops on a record for it to listen to, and drains the excess water off, giving the poor thing a little magical boost too, for good measure. He’s feeling pretty pleased with the result, about to step back and admire his handiwork, when just his luck, a new problem pops up like bamboo shoots out of nowhere — but like yellowed, sickly shoots, to be clear. ‘Cause it’s a whiff of something necrotic on the air.

And… it’s weird. ‘Cause at first glance, Merle doesn’t see any plants decaying —

So maybe it’s not quite a smell, after all. More like a permeating feeling — of death, nearby and approaching. The aura crackles as it comes into contact with his holy magic, that blessing Pan imparted to his veins — his nose still included, though, which is why it all culminates in making him — making him —

“A-chooo!”

“Salúd, my man, geez! There you are!” Before Merle can even recover, Lup sticks her head out from behind the elephant ear plant. Pan almighty, Merle was too distracted to even hear her footsteps. “I swear, Merle, you’re letting it turn into a jungle in here —”

“A hardworking jungle! These fellas filter the air, boost morale — they’re your teammates too, so show ‘em some respect!” Merle rubs his nose and shakes his head back and forth, getting those dang nasal aftershocks out of his system. There better not be a headache coming on. “Plus, the patients — choo! — the patients love it! And certain people say I’m not allowed to keep plants in my room anymore anyway, so —”

“Oh, yuck. Don’t remind me why we said that,” Lup groans, stepping out of the foliage — but immediately, she winces and lets out a hiss, lifting up a big leaf to shield her eyes. “So do I dare ask since when it’s so damn bright in here, for that matter?”

(keep reading on ao3!)

#taz #taz balance #taz balance spoilers #merle highchurch #lup taaco #taz fanfic #rosalia writes fic #hey did you know that i love lup and merle!!

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littlest-w01f · 4 months ago

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Chapter Four

Series Masterlist

Cw: None

The day he had started to dread was upon him, the day he and his family would visit the Court of Nightmares, he had no idea what he was to expect in Hewn City, the home to the horrible folks who loved being there.

Nyx sat up in his bed, removing his covers and looking out to the darkness of the Night Court, his room in the Riverhouse was gigantic, beautiful and every inch of it held a homey warmth. It was a massive expanse filled with rich hues of purple and blue, glittery shimmer on the room's roof, mimicking the night sky outside, painted by her mother when he was just a babe, preserved in his ceiling forever.

He slipped off from his bed, a large window overlooks the city below, casting a soft glow of moonlight onto the plush carpet beneath his feet, he groaned as he stretched his wings behind his back, letting them flex, he curled his wings around himself to shield the expansion of his chest from the cold air in his room.

His bedroom had its walls adorned with paintings depicting different landscapes and mythical creatures from various cultures. There was also a grand canopy bed draped in luxurious silk sheets that matched perfectly with the room, royal blues and purples with silver accents. On one side stood a full-length mirror framed elegantly in gold leaf while opposite to this stood another door leading further into the house.

In front of the window was a sitting area furnished comfortably with couches covered in velvet fabric and scattered throw pillows embroidered intricately in black threadwork patterns reminiscent of stars against night skies. Atop an ornate mahogany table sat several books about astronomy and mythology and sketches depicting various celestial bodies and creatures from folklore.

Nyx gazed out at the shadowed expanse of the Night Court beyond his window as he walked into the balcony, faerie lights lighting up The Rainbow and the streets leading to it, the Sidra rippling gently under the moonlight filtering through the beautiful city. He felt a shiver run down his spine as he contemplated the unsettling encounter that awaited him and his family later that morning. He had heard nothing but the worst of Kier and the people like him who resided there.

As Nyx stepped out onto the balcony, the cool night air enveloped him, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming jasmine and the distant aroma of the Sidra river. The faerie lights lining the streets cast an ethereal glow over the city, making it seem almost magical despite the ominous tales surrounding the Night Court. The gentle lapping of the water against the riverbank created a soothing melody that contrasted sharply with the unease churning in Nyx's stomach.

His skin glowed with a natural luminescence, highlighting the intricate tattoos that snaked across his shoulders and arms, telling tales quite similar to what his father and uncles had experienced. Each line and curve of the markings added depth to his already imposing physique.

His wings, folded neatly against his back, shimmered subtly under the faerie lights illuminating the balcony. They were large and powerful, the leathery texture of them not hard to see with how polished they were.

As he pondered the unknown terrors of Hewn City, Nyx's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his mother's soft voice calling up from downstairs, making him lean over the balcony to see her. "Nyx, dear! We have a big day ahead of us, come have something to eat."

"Coming, Ma!" With a heavy sigh, Nyx reluctantly pulled himself away from watching the sun rise in the Night Court over the Illyrian mountains and threw on a shirt.

Diving from the balcony, wings spread completely to land headfirst in the dining room. "Mornin'."

"Cauldron, Nyx!" Mor yelped as Nyx appeared in front of his aunt, his uncle Azriel's shadows hiding him well, the male in question was watching in amusement, taking a finger-full from a bowl of melted chocolate she would be adding to some pastries. "Get back here you horrible child!"

"But I'm such an innocent babe," Nyx pouted and made a run for it around the room as he licked his fingers clean, his mother and father laughing at Mor throwing her apron at his face then glaring at the couple, while Cassian carried Nesta bridal style to another of the little chaoses Nyx had been causing since before he was born.

After breakfast, the sun had risen up, and Nyx stood outside his giant wardrobe, thinking about what to wear, he certainly didn't want to be too comfortable.

Nyx opened the massive wardrobe doors, revealing rows upon rows of clothing tailored specifically for his physique. Leathers of armour designed to accommodate his wings, tunics suited for nothing less than the Heir of Night, and trousers reinforced with magic to withstand the flexibility he needed to move and fight.

He scanned the options, and finally, after much deliberation, he settled on a set of dark grey leather breeches that hugged his muscular legs tightly. Over this, he donned a snug vest of Illyrian leathers that did little to hide the toned muscles of his chest and abdomen through the fabric.

A belt adorned with an intricate pattern encircled his waist, holding up both his trousers and a pair of knee-high boots crafted from supple black leather, on the leathers of the back of his hands sat two twin black Siphons. They were symbols of his lineage and his heritage, the power of distruction.

He heard a knock on his door and made his way to open it, seeing his father outside, "Da?"

"No." Rhysand said instantly seeing Nyx's attire, the Illyrian leathers, the Siphon, "You're not wearing that."

Nyx crossed his arms over his chest defensively. "It’s appropriate for the place, is it not?"

"I know that look," Rhysand muttered under his breath, stepping past his son and into the room. His gaze swept over Nyx's outfit critically before landing on the siphons etched into the leather at the back of his hand. Rhysand sighed heavily, running a hand through his onxy hair. "But you're my heir, not my warrior."

"You’re going to be meeting some very important people today, Nyx. You need to make a good impression," He explained patiently.

Rhysand went through Nyx's clothes and pulled out a fitted black tunic with intricate silver embroidery at the collar and hem. The ensemble struck a balance between practicality and elegance, suitable for the formal yet unpredictable nature of the occasion ahead.

Nyx watched his father's actions silently, though inwardly he was bristling at being treated like a child. Still, he knew better than to argue further, especially when it came to matters of etiquette and presentation. He let out a sigh of resignation as he allowed his father to give him a change to a more appropriate attire.

He selected a pair of knee-high black leather boots with silver buckles and fastened them securely to his legs. He then donned a wide belt adorned with a silver buckle in the shape of a crescent moon.

The fitted black tunic felt strange against his skin at first, the silver embroidery at the collar and hem added an elegant touch without detracting from the overall simplicity of the outfit. His wings melting into himself, not suited for the tunic he wore before slipping his feet into the knee-high boots with silver buckles.

Rhysand watched his son, dressed in clothes appropriate for an Heir, and gave him a smile, "Now you look like the Heir, remember, the people in the Court of Nightmares will be expecting you, you can not show them any weakness."

Nyx nodded, with a deep breath, his features sharpened, his eyes void of emotion as Rhysand motioned to his door, just as cold, "Come now, your mother is waiting."

The moment Nyx stepped foot into the Court of Nightmares, he was immediately struck by the biting cold that seeped into his bones. It was as if the very essence of the realm itself was designed to chill one to the marrow. The air was heavy with an eerie silence, broken only by the occasional creak of ancient stone beneath their feet as they navigated the twisting corridors.

Glowing orbs of an unearthly blue hue, suspended mid-air by magic, provided the only illumination, casting an otherworldly pallor across the scene. The walls, constructed from a labyrinthine network of obsidian and jet-black marble, seemed to absorb what little light managed to penetrate, leaving everything shrouded in an impenetrable darkness that pressed in from all sides.

As Nyx followed his family deeper into the Court of Nightmares, they approached the imposing gates that marked the entrance to the castle. Carved from a single block of black stone, the massive doors depicted a scene of primordial chaos, great, scaled beasts coiled together in a nest of claws and fangs, locked in a perpetual cycle of combat. The creatures appeared to be devouring each other even as they slept, their forms blurring together in a macabre dance of death.

Yet, amidst this tableau of darkness and destruction, there was an unexpected beauty. Vines of jasmine and moonflowers wound their way through the coils of the beasts, their delicate petals glowing softly in the dim light.

His aunt Morrigan entered first, the throne room falling silent, his uncles and aunt Nesta, all of them had a coldness that he could feel in his bones, he'd be with his parents, with a deep breath he walked by his father's side, both of his parents had a crown made of starts on their heads, his father's features were distant, like he was a different person, like his mother was too.

Nyx's heart pounded in his chest as he followed his parents into the grand throne room. His gaze darted around, taking in every detail of the courtiers gathered there. Despite the palpable tension hanging in the air, he noticed a certain kind of reverence in their demeanour towards his parents, a respect born out of fear.

Morrigan, clad in a gown of deepest red, strode in first, her presence commanding the immediate attention of everyone present. Her eyes met Nyx's briefly, and he felt a chill run down his spine. All of them had a regal bearing about them, exuding an aura of authority that was almost tangible.

Nyx zoned out as his parents sat on their throne and he stood beside them, the people of the Hewn City kneeling to them, his eyes landed on a young female among the crown, porcelain skin that seemed almost translucent in its paleness, too pale to be healthy, with black hair down her back, the dress she wore was the same raven black as her hair, the dress was nothing fancy, at least not compared to the silver he wore, but he couldn't help keep his eyes off her.

As the kneeling courtiers rose, there was something hauntingly captivating about her, something that drew Nyx in despite himself. Her eyes met his, and he felt a jolt of recognition. It was as if he knew her somehow, despite never having laid eyes on her before. A curious sensation stirred within him, a feeling he couldn't quite place. But amid the sea of faces, hers was the only one that held his interest.

As his father ordered them to relax and mingle, he turned to his parents, mostly his mother, "May I go too?" He asked, his uncaring look not wavering.

His mother gave him a soft smile, "Of course you may, Nyx," she nodded, people were drinking, dancing, talking, and his uncle Azriel had disappeared into the room, Cassian and Nesta dancing to themselves, Mor talking with Kier with a look of boredom clear on her face as they walked to his parents with another male beside them.

He knocked into someone far smaller than him while he was distracted by the males around his parents and aunt, his hands shot out instinctively, "Oh, apologies, I didn't know where I was..." His gaze met the dark blackhole-like eyes of the female he had been looking at, her hand gripping onto his, slightly tilted from tripping half way. "Hello." He smiled.

"Hi..." The female watched his face, probably gauging his reaction Nyx thought.

"I'm Nyx," He offered a smile hoping it would make him come off as friendly.

"I know who you are, my lord," The female put some distance between them, giving him a little courtesy.

Nyx's eyes went as she saw her bow for him, "Oh, none of that please," He couldn't hide his cringe and looked away. "You don't need to do... That."

"It's just a smile courtesy," She laughed and he was sure he had heard it before somewhere, "I'm no fool to not show respect to the Heir of Night."

"Well, then, would you like a dance?" Nyx asked, turning to face her. "Just to one song." He offered her his hand and gave her a cheeky grin, "To respect me, of course."

The female paused to think for a moment, and then her eyeliner went by him, probably to the diaz where a conversation Nyx couldn't find in himself to care about was going.

"Of course," She rested her hand on his, the corner of her lip tilted up just slightly and Nyx counted that as a smile.

{General - @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot}

{Meeting in Grey - @sleepylunarwolf @achaotichuman @sarawritestories @bakananya @sheblogs @anuttellaa}

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fizzigigsimmer · 4 days ago

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I am in a moody place, and as usual writing soothes me. I have no idea if there will be more of this, but have some broody post apocalyptic King!Steve.

The King Unbroken.

Jonathan was right. They must have crossed the border into what used to be California some time ago. Steve stared down at the old sign, half lodged in the dirt against a pile of twisted tree limbs. An old sign, more rust now than interstate green, nearly unreadable with vine cover. He could still just make out the faded off white letters that read: Little Valley. Five miles.

Sneering, Steve nudged aside the sign with the toe of his boot, revealing the dark opening of a small narrow room hallowed out in the stump of a once great tree - now dead, like so much else. He took one final sniff, spine tensing as he caught that faint whiff of salt that had followed him since they’d veered off route eighty. Maybe it was just sea air, carried in by the rain they had earlier that week. Or maybe it was something worse - like Hargrove.

He saw again, sharp blue eyes peering at him from behind the holes of a wooden mask - no doubt lifted from some museum - white paint highlighting the strange swirls and embellishments carved across the smooth surface of the wood, with brightly colored plumes of feathers jutting out from the top, more frightening than beautiful. It should have been cheesy - a jumped up kid with blood colored handprints staining his skin, trying to invoke fear by wearing the relics of some tribe long gone.

It wasn’t.

Hargrove’s reputation for brutality spoke for itself. And those eyes, that had been so focused in their hunger and unapologetic in Hargrove’s base desire to watch something weaker than himself squirm, had said the rest. Billy Hargrove had scared the piss out of Steve and that was saying something, given that between a choice of being handed over to a savage alpha in exchange for safe trade passages, or facing the flesh eating faceless monsters that roamed freely outside of the compound; Steve had chosen the monsters.

Fuck Billy Hargrove. Fuck his dad too. If the apocalypse had taught Steve anything, it was his value. He wasn’t good for much, but he could be a damn good shield for others. Funny it took the world ending for that to sink in. Because it didn’t matter anymore what his grades were or that he’d never been ‘the best’ at anything besides making others feel small while he stumbled down the path laid for him by his family status and his father’s money. None of it mattered because life was now a brutal game of survival, may the biggest asshole win, and even before the monsters gave him a reason everyone said that Steve Harrington was king asshole.

It wasn’t like Steve had gone through any great big revaluation or soul change. Turning over a new leaf had been literally as simple as turning over in his bunk the first night in the compound and accepting that none of the petty shit he used to care about mattered. Only, in the morning he’d still be alive while better people were dead, so either it was swallow the gun still resting on his nightstand or try and find a little good to do. That’s it. All he was living for. The chance to save a few better people and protect them for as long as he could. Maybe if humanity was lucky, one of those people might be the one to figure out how to deal with the monsters for good.

Everyone in the pack was in awe of the omega who carried a bat full of metal teeth and led raids against grey-dog hives, enemy packs and everything in between, like death couldn’t touch him and his heart was made of stone. There were plenty of people who would swear that Steve was heartless - even some of the ones he’d saved from the outside and brought into the pack himself - but he wasn’t. Not really. He kind of thought that if there ever was a moment that he felt safe enough to really think about everything he had been through since Day One, and everything he had done in between to survive, he’d probably lose it. It might break him, and then he truly would have been just a waste of space.

Which was precisely why he shoved it all down and never thought about it for too long. What was the point? Crying about the dead wasn’t going to bring them back. Neither would feeling guilty over the lives he’d taken. The kind of use the pack had for a soft sentimental omega, one who couldn’t or wouldn’t kill to survive was the stuff of nightmares. He’d seen it happen to most of the other omegas in his life. To his own mother. Only the strong survived here. Nothing was given for free. Anything of value on the other hand could always be taken, or traded.

Steve had proven that he could be more useful than just as a source of amusement and slick. That he could soldier with the best of them. He could get hit, kicked, knocked down, clawed full of holes, and drag himself back up every time. Since their first raid together his team had lost the fewest members and they still had the highest success rate of any party in the pack. Steve had carefully selected each member, because he’d always been good at surrounding himself with people stronger and smarter than himself, and convincing them somehow to care for him.

It was his one skill, besides hitting things. But by god he’d earned the right to say he’d proven he could make good use of what he had. He hadn’t survived watching those beasts tear apart his friends, seeing his mother passed around like a party favor for oil, just to end up sharing her fate. Traded off to a savage alpha to be bred and brutalized in an endless circle of hell until he died.

Fuck that!

Pushing the memory of the alpha aside, Steve knelt down onto his hands and knees and crawled inside, backward, tugging the heavy sign back into place after himself, and plummeting the den into darkness.

Breathing deep, the scent of dirt and rot filled his nose, and Steve Harrington breathed his first sigh of relief in days. It was stupid to think he would - no matter how much his dad complained about having to negotiate with a kid, it wasn’t Hargrove that needed them - but if there were any chance that Billy was following him, he wouldn’t be able to find Steve now.

Dead or not, the walls of the oak were thick. The natural scents of decay overpowered those of an unwashed human body. Even one of an omega flushed with heat and damp from exertion. Feeling around in the dark Steve’s fingers found the strap of the backpack with supplies that Robin had stashed there for him. It wasn’t much: a ratty old blanket (cheap in this warm climate). A water bottle (expensive anywhere). And a little plastic packet of Advil (worth more than gold these days).

But it’s more than most people have. Steve had always had more than what most people have. Even before the monsters came and civilization as he knew it crumbled around him. It wasn’t fair maybe, but life wasn’t fair. If it was, shitheads like him would have been the first to go in the apocalypse; the base of their power destroyed and unable to adapt to whatever new society emerged from the rubble. But that wasn’t what happened when the world as he knew it ended.

What happened was rich guys like his dad who survived long enough after the first appearance of the monsters, bought up resources while they fled to whatever approximation of safety money could buy them. They threw even more money at stocks and whatever else they hoped would make them richer once the danger was passed, and the smart ones stockpiled what they knew would become better than money in the event that the danger never did.

It hadn’t. Steve’s highschool, the stock market, and just about everything else from his old life was gone.

A few pockets of civilization still clung to life in a sea of monsters. Each colony ruled by whatever alphas had proven themselves better survivors than the rest, followed by those who hoped to be protected from a worse fate. Billy Hargrove was said to be one of the strongest alphas in the west.

He’d slaughtered the pack and taken over the territory that once had been their primary source of trade with the east. Steve’s father had offered him a king's ransom in goods for the promise to reopen trade. But Hargrove had only seemed to want one thing. The heartless omega he’d apparently heard so much about.

Curling up tighter in the small space, Steve brought the blanket over himself and shivered, despite the temperature he could feel climbing with each passing minute. His heat could not have come at a worse time but mercifully he’d made it to the den. With Jonathan and the others keeping a watch on the area he could be relatively confident that nothing would disturb him for a few days while he rode it out.

And when his heat was over, Steve had a new mission. Another chance to prove to his father that he had made a mistake, trading him to Hargrove.

Steve closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, trying to drift off to sleep to conserve his energy before the worst of the heat arrived. The faintest whisper of the sea tickled in the back of his nose, more memory than real. Haunting him. Steve gritted his teeth and silently renewed his vow.

He was going to bring his father back Billy’s head, along with the territory that came with it. And when he did no one would ever question again why he’d survived this long, unchained and unbroken.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #do you reckon Billy is following him?#lol Steve has come all this way just for the pleasure of killing him #Sounds like a date to Billy #😆#I am just imagining him going through his arsenal like: ‘Should I wear the russian knives? Is that too much?’#‘What says fuck you! And then fuck me

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rowanrabbit · 2 years ago

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There was once a beautiful princess who was engaged to a prince from a faraway land. The match was arranged from their birth, and the princess’s whole young life was spent preparing for the marriage. But when she finally met the prince, only a week before their wedding, she found him intolerably arrogant and cruel.

“I would rather marry the devil,” she said to herself, and that night, a devil appeared at her bedroom window.

He swept into the room on a gust of air and stood there as tall as the ceiling, a great big beast with long sharp claws and teeth, wide leathery wings and a tail that whipped back and forth with feral excitement. He fell to his knees on the floor before her, and took her little hands in his.

“I’ve come to steal you away,” he said.

“To where?” demanded the princess.

He scooped her up in his enormous arms. “To my castle,” he said with his fangs at her ear.

He took her to the open window and launched back into the night, catching the air with his powerful wings and carrying the princess away.

They flew through the night for many miles, until they came to a beautiful palace carved from soft white stone, its spiraling towers gleaming with moonlight against the dark mountains. They went in through a tall tower window and landed in a bedroom decorated with dark wood and soft white silks. The devil laid the princess down on a soft bed, where she fell asleep.

The next morning she woke up alone in the beautiful room, and waited for the devil to come to her, which he did before long.

“How did you know that I wanted you last night?” she asked.

“The devil always comes when he is called,” he replied. “I’ve brought you here to make you my bride, lovely one. Will you accept?”

“I will accept,” said the princess, “but only if you court me according to the customs of my people.”

“Tell me what I must do,” said the devil.

“On the first night,” said the princess, “you must bring me a beautiful jewel.”

“It will be done,” said the devil, but just then, there came the sounds of a commotion outside. They went to the window and saw an army of a hundred men at the castle gates, led by the cruel and arrogant prince.

“He’s come to take you back,” said the devil.

“Don’t let him,” said the princess.

“Yes, my lady,” said the devil. He spread his wide wings and flew down from the tower window to meet the men at the gates. All day long, the princess watched through the window as they did battle. The human men were no match for the devil’s terrible claws and teeth. By sunset he had driven them all away. The princess was glad, but she saw that he’d had no time to collect any jewels for her.

“Where is my jewel?” she asked coyly, when the devil returned to her room.

“Here it is, beautiful one,” said the devil. In his hands was a perfect round orange that he’d plucked from a tree in the garden, with a dark green leaf still attached. He peeled it open in his great claws to reveal the segments of soft flesh, faceted and sparkling like gems. The princess was delighted, and she allowed the devil to feed her the soft sweet slices.

He returned to her the next morning, ready for his second task.

“What next, my lady?” he asked.

“On this second night,” said the princess, “you must serenade me with a beautiful song.”

“It will be done,” said the devil, but just then, there was another great commotion at the castle gates. They went to the window and saw that the prince had returned with an army of a thousand men.

“So many this time…” said the princess.

“I won’t let them take you,” the devil said to her. He leapt out the bedroom window and flew down to face the army of men. All day long, the princess sat at the window and watched the ferocious battle taking place. This time the devil summoned mighty winds full of dust and hale, and jets of fire that shot up out of the earth, and he cut through through shields and armor with fiery swords. By the end of the day, he had driven the army away yet again. The princess was very impressed, but she knew he’d had no time to tune his instruments or practice his songs.

“Where are your instruments?” she asked, when the devil returned to her room.

“Let me take you to them,” he said, and gathered her up in his arms. He leapt out of the window with her—a thing the princess was somehow getting used to—and they flew away from the castle, to a hidden gorge tucked between two mountains, where a little winding brook burbled through a meadow of soft grass spotted with trees.

The devil set the princess down on her feet in the grass.

“I see nothing,” she said.

“You must listen,” said the devil.

She listened, and she noticed that the chuckling babble of the brook was almost like a soft little song, and the crickets hidden in the grass all around were rubbing their legs together like bows on strings, like a tiny little orchestra. And when the wind blew, it whooshed deeply through the walls of the gorge, rustling the leaves of the trees, and every so often an owl hooted too. It was as lovely as music, and they stood together listening for most of the night, until the devil carried her back to the bedroom so she could sleep.

He returned to her the next morning. “What must I do next?” he said.

“This is the final night of our courting,” she said, "and you must prepare a grand feast.”

“It will be done,” said the devil. But they both listened for the telltale sounds of swords and marching feet, and heard them, and going to the window they saw that the prince had arrived at the gates once again, leading an army of ten thousand men.

“Let them take me back,” said the princess, looking over the vast army. "You'll be hurt."

“Don’t be afraid,” said the devil, “for I cannot be felled by mortal men.” He went out through the window and flew to meet the oncoming army. And as he flew he grew, twenty feet tall, fifty feet, one hundred, one thousand feet tall, until he landed on the battlefield with a thunderous crash, towering over the terrified army. Many men turned and fled right then. But the arrogant prince would not be dissuaded, and he led the remaining men against the beast. Their swords and arrows were practically useless, their horses were wild with terror, and their morale drained away like sand through a sieve.

The battle finally ended in the evening. The prince had limped away in secret, defeated for the final time. Many men lay dead, while those still living scattered into the mountains. The devil slowly returned to his original size, lying down in the dirt among the dead, unharmed but exhausted from his great transformation. The princess left the palace and went to him, and took his large clawed hand in hers.

“Forgive me, lovely one,” he said, “for I have prepared no feast for you.”

“No?” asked the princess, looking around. Hundreds of ravens had descended upon the battlefield, already tearing into the fresh corpses, and wolves and lions were emerging from the woods to join them. “I think the feast is already under way,” said the princess, “and the guests are enjoying it very much.”

The devil laughed wickedly at that. “I think you might be a bit of a devil yourself,” he said. They were married on the next evening, and they are still living happily to this day.

#short story #fairy tale #exophilia #stolen bride #demon x human #demon boyfriend #monster boyfriend

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cosmetichorror · 1 year ago

Text

Remember that hc I wrote about the poes from TOTK? I wrote it as a warm up before I get to all my requests

—

Wild was strange. It was no secret to the eight others and certainly nothing he tries to hide at any point in time. Right off the bat everyone knew he was a wildcard, very spontaneous and reckless, yet he still held a sort of noble tone. Some of his actions told the others he must have had some kind of fancy past, one he can remember in body but not in mind. And yet despite every action and strange comment he has made across the last few months of traveling, nothing could have prepared them for this one secret he didn’t know was a secret.

The stars shine brightly this night, all complimented by the crescent moon. A soft breeze blows throughout Kakiriko village this eerie night, rustling the grass and kicking up the occasional leaf. Time leads the chain ahead, as he is familiar with this land. It is his Hyrule, after all. His eyes scan the surrounding town. No one is out, most prefer to sleep at this late time. But he seems set on checking on the graveyard.

“I’ve just got a feeling…” he mutters to the others, not really caring if anyone hears him or not. As the sign for the graveyard comes into view, some of the boys look between each other.

Warriors places a hand on his hip, “What are we doing here?” He asks, looking over to Time.

“I suspect there may be some monsters here we need to take care of.” Is what he responds with, pausing for a second to look over his shoulder at the others, before carrying on without another word. Most of them sigh, exhaustion weighing in on them. But Wild, however, seems intrigued.

“Graveyard, eh? Don’t think I’ve seen any of this caliber, save for the makeshift one in my own Kakiriko.” He casually says, examining the sighs, before pulling out the Purah Pad and snapping a quick photo. “Most graveyards I’ve seen are villages that were ransacked by the calamity, or the occasional mass grave.” With his eyes downcast, he sighs and shrugs it off. “But ey, what can you really do? At least we’re working on it.”

Legend gives Wild a pat on his shoulder and a sad look, but the Champion waves him off. “‘M fine! Just a tad strange to think about is all.” He tells him. And so they continue on.

Entering the graveyard was sort of surreal. An almost ghostly fog surrounds the countless gravestones that decorate the grass. Time glares at seemingly nothing. “They’re here.”

Sky looks at him with a nervous chuckle, “Well that’s not ominous at all.” He scuffs his feet in the dirt for a second, taking a big look around. “Sooooo… Who exactly is here?”

Time pulls out his sword, muttering a single word. “Poes.”

Wild’s ears twitch as he visibly perks up at this, a small smile creeping up on his face. “Poes, you say?” He immediately runs ahead past Time, ignore how he has his sword drawn.

“Wild, wait!-“ but as Time calls out, a Poe comes running towards Wild.

First thing Wild notes is how different it looks from his poes. It looks more disheveled and somewhat angered. Then again, if he were a Poe, he might be angry too, so he won’t judge. Second thing he notes is how it seems to be wanting to attack him. Huh, that’s new. But as the Poe comes charging in and before the others can reach him, a teal glow shoots out of Wild’s chest.

At first it appears to be some kind of orb, but swiftly it seems to grow arms, legs, a head and armor. Along with that comes a sword and a shield. With a swift, experienced swing the ghost knight sends the aggressive Poe tumbling back.

The others stare on in shock as this ghost points its sword at the growling Poe.

“Calm yourself, brother. Anger will solve nothing.” He tells him. Surprisingly, the poe calms down, while still holding it’s angered look.

“What. The fuck?” Wind mutters out, his head cocking to the side as if another view will make this make sense. It doesn’t, it just makes everything sideways.

Time runs up and grabs Wild’s shoulder, about to scold him when the champ brushes him off. “Not now. After.” He says, then begins to walk to the poe.

“I know you’re angry… I’d be angry in your situation too. Your feelings are valid, my ghostly friend. But attacking me will not make you feel better, I promise…” he smiles and reaches out to touch it. “You must be so tired… being a spirit for so long. I can help you rest, friend.”

Now it was the poe’s turn to perk up, looking at Wild excitedly.

“Come with me, buddy. When I get home, I’ll help your spirit rest. You can finally move on. How’s that sound? You up for it?” Wild gives a bright, toothy smile. With his hand outstretched, the chain waits with bated breath, not wanting to anger the poe and cause it to lash out. But, the poe doesn’t.it walks forwards and leans into his hand, and its form vanishes, curling into a blue flame like orb much like the knight was just a few moments ago. The orb floats into his chest, and Wild stretches out before turning to the knight.

“Thank you, friend. If I may ask… who are you?” He asks. And the knight chuckles, taking off his helmet and holding it against his body.

The knight doesn’t need to say a thing, because as soon as his helmet is off, Wild’s ears twitch and his eyebrows raise in surprise. In a swift, muscle memory movement, both of his arms fold behind his back as he straightens his posture.

“Captain!” He calls out, holding back a smile. The captain laughs and ruffles Wild’s hair.

“Ah, buddy, no need for those formalities!” He speaks and wraps an arm around his shoulder, bringing him close. “Just look at you! You’ve gotten so big! And your hair- it’s longer! It’s a good look. You’re all grown up, kid.” He gives a bittersweet smile. “I remember when you were just a tot, runnin’ around your Pa’s leg, asking when you’ll be big enough to hold a real sword. Now look at you!”

Wild can no longer hold back his wide smile as he turns and brings him into a big hug without a word.

“Your dad would be proud of you, buddy.” He whispers as pats his back. They stay that way for a few seconds, before they separate, smiling at each other.

“Thank you.” Is all Wild can force out of his mouth. “I’m sorry you’re stuck here, I’ll let your spirit rest as well next time we’re in the depths. Promise.” He rubs the back of his neck- a nervous tick of his. But the captain smiles at him.

“Don’t be sorry. Seeing you kick monster ass is pretty neat, I don’t regret my time here.” He tells the champ with a light, playful shove. “But, before I return to a true poe, I have something for you.” He hands out the sword he was holding. It looks pitch black to him and the others at this moment, but when Wild grabs it, it takes form into a true sword with a golden and purple hilt. A royal broadsword. Wild brings the spirit into a one armed hug.

“Thank you, thank you! I really needed this!” He laughs a bit.

“Yeah, I noticed.” The spirit responds with a hearty laugh, patting his shoulder. “See ya next time, kiddo.” And just like that, his form curls up into that same orb, and floats back into his chest.

Wild casually turns around and walks back to Time with a wide smile.

“Man, that poe sure was pissed off, eh? Are they always like that?” He asks, before taking in Time’s absolutely flabbergasted state. “…Time?” And when he looks to the others, he sees them all in similar states of shock. “What’s up with you guys?”

Wind runs up, grabbing him by his shoulders and shakes Wild around. “Fucking Farore what the hell was that?! How did you do that? You’re friends with a GHOST? and you DIDN’T TELL ME?” He nearly shouts, and Wild shakes his head.

“That wasn’t a ghost, that was a poe!” He casually responds.

“Not the poe, that ghost knight that showed up!” Wind tells him.

“Yeah… that was a poe.”

“WHAT?!”

#totk minor spoilers #totk depths #lu fic #linked universe #wild lu #lu wild #lu wind #lu time #poe #warm up #haven’t wrote Lu in ages so I needed something to get my gears turning again

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