#Bitch you're thirteen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

brbsoulnomming · 5 months ago

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Heart On Your Sleeve Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2

written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!

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Dustin shows up at his house the next morning.

"You have a concussion," Dustin says when Steve answers the door.

Steve squints at him. "Did you get your medical license when I wasn't looking?"

Dustin rolls his eyes. "Haha, very funny. Are you going to let me in?"

Steve doesn't really have a reason not to.

All right, well, he's got several reasons not to, starting with the fact that Steve isn't actually feeling so great and ending with Dustin being like thirteen and somehow always around when the world is ending.

But Steve is lonely, and feeling kind of pathetic, and none of them seem like good enough reasons, so he opens the door and lets Dustin in.

"From my mom," Dustin says, setting down a Tupperware of brownies on the coffee table.

Steve immediately knows he's made the right decision, taking a massive bite of chocolate, fudgy heaven. It's only after he's devoured one and he turns to Dustin to ask him to tell his mom thanks that he sees that Dustin's plopped his heart onto the coffee table, too.

"Hearts out, Steve," Dustin says matter-of-factly.

"Why?" Steve bitches. "What do you even need to look at it for?"

"You're in the Party now! Party rules, you have to show your heart before you can get your walkie," Dustin says.

Steve pulls a face, and immediately regrets it as it makes his eye and nose burst with pain. "Who says I even want to be in your party?"

Dustin's face falls. "Don't you?" he asks, sounding hesitant and uncertain.

It makes Steve's resolve crumble immediately.

"How about we start with friends?" Steve offers.

The kid's face lights up at that, giving him a gap toothed smile, but then he nudges his heart closer to Steve and looks at him expectantly.

Steve sighs and takes his own heart out, wincing a little as the motion twinges his bruised ribs. He sets it on the table next to Dustin's.

"There you go," Steve mutters.

Now that the light's better, he can see a hole right in the middle of Dustin's heart. It's small, but it goes all the way through, and it makes Steve's own heart give a soft pulse in empathy.

Dustin catches it, looks up to follow Steve's gaze, and drops his eyes. "My dad," Dustin mutters.

"Hey," Steve says softly, reaching out without even thinking about it to turn his heart a little.

There's two overlapping holes in the same place on his own heart, and Steve rubs his thumb over them, biting the inside of his cheek at the way it still prompts a soft echo of longing. "My parents," he tells Dustin.

Dustin looks around, like he's only just now realizing that there's been no sign of them since he rang the doorbell. "Oh," he says, soft and full of understanding.

It's honestly the most understanding he's ever received about his parents choosing to be mostly absent from his life, which makes him feel kind of pathetic, but also makes his heart warm in a way he's not sure it ever has before.

Dustin reaches out, stopping just short of touching Steve's heart as he gestures to the jagged line cutting through it.

"Nancy?" Dustin asks.

Steve's jaw sets.

He doesn't want to talk about it.

Dustin seems to take that as answer enough, though, because he just goes back to eagerly examining both of their hearts. Steve's is bigger than his - of course it is, because Dustin is thirteen, but they're both the same deep, vibrant red, and they both beat strong and steady.

It's barely any time before they're beating in unison.

Dustin looks back up at him, beaming that wide, goofy smile of his. "Cool," he proclaims.

—

Every time Dustin comes over after that - and it's a lot, honestly, Steve still doesn't know what to make of it - he plops his heart onto the coffee table and waits expectantly until Steve takes his out and puts it next to Dustin's.

They never touch each other's hearts, they never even talk about it, but at least twice a week Steve's able to breathe a little easier, able to actually relax.

—

He waits at the picnic table in the woods after school on his first day back.

Munson looks bored at first when he gets there, but then he does a double take, like Steve's injuries are worse now than they were at lunch.

Or maybe it's just that he's up close now, instead of on the other side of the cafeteria, or maybe it's just that Steve's tired and in pain and he doesn't give a shit about pretending like he isn't.

“Jesus Christ, Harrington,” Munson mutters, dropping his lunchbox on the table.

Steve shrugs. “I'd say you should see the other guy, but everyone did already.”

Munson is looking at him with suspicion, eyes narrowed as he takes him in. Steve wonders if he doesn't buy the story that's been floating around, if it's too easy to see that he and Hargrove both look pretty fucking bad for just blowing off steam and getting carried away.

Wonders if he'll call him on it.

Munson's expression smooths out, though, and he flips the lunchbox lid open. “How much do you want?”

Steve's eyes flick down to the chains on Munson's leather jacket, but no heart there today. Not that he could see anything if it was - Munson's been wearing his heart pinned to his jacket off and on since the last half of Steve's freshman year, but it's always wrapped up tight in chains or leather so that no one could get more than a glimpse of it.

Everyone said it was a flaunt of defiance against tradition and a way he could cheat people in his deals while maintaining the appearance of a fair exchange, but Steve always kind of figured it was just because he was tired of people demanding to see it whenever he sold to them while being reluctant to show theirs.

That, and it was like everything else Eddie Munson did - loud and in your face and purposefully drawing attention to what he wanted you to see, while guarding what he didn't close to his chest.

Steve's never bothered with attempting a mutual show of hearts the handful of times he's bought from Munson before - they aren't exactly new business partners, not even the first time he actually bought from Munson himself, and frankly Steve's never needed to see Munson's heart to know he's trustworthy enough that he's not going to give him bad shit, even if he does overcharge him.

But today's different.

He gently pops open his own chest, ignoring the faint twinge of his ribs, and takes his heart out, setting it on the table next to Munson's lunchbox.

Munson's eyes widen for a moment before his jaw sets, lips thinning out in a flat line as he looks down at Steve's heart and then back up to his face. “What the hell is this?”

“My heart,” Steve replies evenly.

Munson looks unimpressed. “I'm not showing you mine.”

“I didn't ask you to,” Steve says, unable to stop himself even though he knows he's being kind of a dick.

Munson looks at him for a moment. Then, “Whatever. How much do you want?”

Steve opens his mouth to say he isn't here to buy today, but - actually, no, he could probably use some weed to dull the pain and help him sleep. It's routine for a moment, both of them ignoring Steve's heart beating on the table next to them as they make the trade, until Steve's baggie is tucked inside his jacket and Munson's shoving cash into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Your Majesty,” Munson says, doing a little bow.

“Munson, wait,” Steve says.

Munson straightens, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Hargrove tried to blame this on you.” Steve gestures at his face. “Told me you sold him some bad shit.”

Munson goes very, very still. His eyes flick down to Steve's heart, so quick that Steve's not sure he would have noticed it if he wasn't watching Munson so closely.

“That so?” Munson asks. There isn't an edge in his voice - if anything, there's such a quiet neutrality to those two words that it almost feels more dangerous than if he'd tried to put a warning in them.

Eddie Munson's never scared Steve the way he does half the school - honestly, shitty as it is, Steve doesn't exactly think of him all that much - but there's no denying that Munson is no pushover. He can't tell if Munson is afraid, or angry, or just itching for a fight, but Steve didn't come here to freak him out.

He holds his hands up, palm out, and purposefully drags his gaze down to where his heart is beating calm and steady. “I don't believe him.”

Munson looks down at Steve's heart, lingering for a moment before darting back up. His expression is still unreadable. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because he said he was going to spread it around, that you were lacing your stuff with something,” Steve says. “I'm pretty sure I convinced him it was a bad idea, but just in case.”

“You convinced him it was a bad idea,” Munson repeats flatly.

Steve shrugs. “I told him he should be nicer to you, that you always sell me the good shit.”

That gets a little snort out of Munson, startled and almost amused, and Steve grins at him.

“It won't be hard to tack that onto the rumor if he tries to spread it,” Steve says. “So you should be safe.”

Just like that, the amusement in Munson's expression is gone. “Yeah?” he asks, disdain clear in his voice. “And why does King Steve give a shit if I'm safe?”

It's an obvious challenge, and for just a moment - for just a moment, Steve wants to tell him.

To tell him how the King Steve shit first came about because Carol loved fairy tales when they were little and his parents were gone so much that Tommy called him king of the castle, that he has tons of people who call him their friend but the only people who come close to understanding him are his ex, her new boyfriend, and a gaggle of middle schoolers who're waiting for him to come pick them up.

That he's more tired than any seventeen year old should ever be.

“What kind of king would I be if I didn't protect my people?” he says instead of any of that, refusing to look at whatever his heart is doing.

It's high school, it's politics, it's bullshit, but it's still a game he has to play for a little longer.

Munson is watching his heart, now, and whatever he sees makes something complicated cross his face. For a moment, Steve picks up a hint of longing, but it's gone by the time he looks back up.

“Well then,” he says, wide grin back in place as he bows again. “Consider this court jester protected, Your Majesty.”

—

The phone rings at one am a few days later.

He isn't asleep - had been, earlier, but a nightmare had tipped him quickly into wakefulness, and he hadn't gone back - so he answers it almost immediately.

Nothing good comes from one am phone calls.

“How many teeth do you think those things have?” Max demands without so much as a hello.

“I don't know,” Steve bitches before he's thought better of it. “You want to come over and count the bite marks on my leg?”

There's silence for a moment.

“Yeah,” Max says, and Steve's gut twists.

“It's one in the morning, Mayfield,” he says. “What are you going to do, skate over? It's dark and cold as shit out there.”

“Didn't stop us at the junkyard,” she shoots back.

He's quiet for a moment. Then, “I'll pick you up.”

She snorts. “You're going to show up at my house at one am and pick me up? Yeah, that'll be a great look for you.”

“Then it looks like you're out of luck, and you'll have to pick out the teeth marks on my leg tomorrow.”

She doesn't say anything for a while. He doesn't rush her, just settles back with the phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear.

“Why'd you do it?” she asks eventually.

“I ask myself that about a lot of things,” he replies. “Which one?”

He half expects another snappy retort, but her voice just goes even quieter.

“Put yourself in front of me. Stand up to him.”

Oh.

“I don't need protecting,” she adds, and yeah, there's the attitude.

“I know you don't need it,” he says, even though that's a lie. She does need it, they all do. “I know you can look out for yourself.”

That's not a lie.

“But you shouldn't have to. You should have someone who'll look out for you.”

She scoffs. “And that's going to be you?”

He shrugs, even though she can't see it, and it hurts a little. “Why not?”

She's quiet again. “You don't even know me.”

He does, is the thing. He knows the way her eyes looked when she said Billy was going to kill her, he knows not being able to rely on the people you should count on most, even if it's not the same.

He knows how he felt the summer before high school, when his father finally grew too frustrated with waiting for Steve's heart to change, how he picked it up and nearly threw it across the room. He knows the sound of his mother yelling, how viciously they fought. How his father never touched him or his heart again, but Steve now knew what lurked behind his eyes when he smiled too big.

He knows how his mother has looked at him with disappointment more times than anything else, after that.

But he doesn't say any of that. Instead, he says, “So let's change that. Skate park or arcade tomorrow?”

“What?” she asks, clearly thrown.

“After you're done staring at my leg wound and counting teeth like a creep,” he clarifies. “Am I taking you to the skate park or the arcade?”

“Hawkins doesn't have a skate park,” she says dismissively. “It has abandoned parking lots and dirt holes.”

He waits.

“Arcade,” she says. “And I want popcorn.”

—

His walkie flares to life at night, sometimes.

After the first time, he leaves it on a different channel than their usual one - makes sure the kids know which one it is, if they need to use it - and sometimes, they do.

Okay, more than sometimes. It's not like Steve's sleeping all that well, though, so he doesn't mind when it happens almost every night for a few weeks.

“Steve, you awake? Over,” Lucas says one night.

“Yeah, I'm up,” he mutters into the walkie. Then, after a moment's pause, “Over.”

There's silence, and that wakes him up more than the walkie itself had.

“Lucas?” he asks.

“What if you weren't there?” Lucas says.

“What?” Steve asks.

“At the junkyard. With Billy. What if you weren't there?”

“But I was,” Steve says, frowning.

“I know, but what if you weren't?”

Steve sits up, rubs at his eyes a little. “I'll always be there when you guys need me, okay?”

“You can't promise that!” If it was Dustin or Mike it might have been an angry bite, but Lucas just sounds frustrated. Maybe even a little scared.

“Sure I can,” Steve argues, even though he kind of knows Lucas is right. “I have the walkie, right? You guys call me, and bada bing bada boom, I'm there.”

Lucas is quiet for a moment. “Are you still trying to get Nancy back?”

“What? No, of course not. Why?”

“Dustin said you were bringing flowers to Nancy when he made you help him look for Dart.”

Right, of course he did. Do these kids keep any secrets from each other?

“This isn't about Nancy, okay? This is about you guys. I showed my heart to Dustin and I have my walkie and everything, doesn't that mean I'm in your party?”

“You actually want to be in the Party?” Lucas asks, sounding skeptical. “But you're Steve Harrington.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Steve asks.

“Aren't you way too cool to hang out with us?” Lucas retorts.

This is - quickly becoming a conversation that Steve doesn't really want to have over a walkie talkie at past midnight on a school night. He huffs out a frustrated breath of air, then pushes the talk button on the walkie again.

“This weekend. Arcade or shooting hoops?”

There's a pause. Then, “Really?”

Steve swallows down his urge to be a dick. “Yeah. Really.”

“Basketball. The park?” Lucas asks.

“Nah, we can use the hoop in my driveway. Come on by whenever.”

—

Lucas is good. Unpracticed, especially at any kind of teamwork, but good. Steve has to be careful, with his injuries, but they still get some good work in, and it's fun.

It's not until they're finished and raiding the kitchen for some snacks that he asks, “So what was that about, a few days ago?”

Lucas noisily pops open his can of New Coke, and takes such a long drink that Steve's pretty sure he's doing it to avoid answering. Steve just raises an eyebrow.

“Nancy used to hang out with us,” Lucas says, almost reluctantly. “She even played D&D with us a couple of times. Then she went to high school, and then she started dating you, and suddenly she's too cool to hang out with us. Then - then everything with Will, the first time, and she promised Mike they'd spend more time together, but she didn't. Just kept dating you.”

That's - a lot. He hadn't known that about Nancy, except that she wasn't as close with Mike as she wanted to be, that she didn't know how to talk to him about everything that happened. He thinks about protesting that hey, he's the one who got Nancy to talk to Mike about Will - and had to be a part of it, ugh - but again, he's trying not to be a dick.

“So you're, what, worried that I goaded Nancy into not hanging with you guys?”

Lucas makes a face at him. “No, Nancy doesn't do anything she doesn't want to do. I believe you that you'll be here if we need you for Upside Down stuff again, but why would you hang out with us for the in between?”

That's a fair question. He wants to be flippant, wants to deflect with something like because Dustin keeps showing up at my house and won't leave me alone, but -

He remembers how terrified Lucas looked with Billy pinning him against the cabinet. He kind of wonders if anyone's talked to him about it, or if it got lumped in with all the other weird terrifying shit going on.

“Because it isn't always Upside Down stuff,” Steve says softly.

Lucas goes quiet. “El says Hopper told her you guys fixed it so Billy would leave us alone.”

“I think Max did that well enough, but yeah, Hop and I had a plan.”

“How?” Lucas asks.

Bullshit, is how, Steve wants to say, but he doesn't. “Billy's on the basketball team, and he wants to stay on the basketball team.”

Lucas frowns. “So?”

“So I've been on the team longer than him. Coach knows me better, the guys are used to looking to me. Well - some of them.” In all fairness, the basketball team's been kind of split - some of them gravitating to him, some to Billy, some trickling back and forth like kids with divorced parents.

“So… you're one of the cool kids, and you like us, so the more douchebag ones stay away from us?” Lucas asks.

Steve's nose scrunches a little as he considers that, but it's… not wrong. “Yeah, I guess so. Most of them are good guys, they don't like bullying anymore than I do. It doesn't stop the ones who are assholes from doing it where we can't see it, but it helps.”

Lucas looks like he's considering that for a long moment, until finally he nods.

Steve thinks that's the end of it, but later, as Lucas is heading out to leave, he asks, “So what happens if you're not there, and you can't see it?”

Steve resists the temptation to pinch the bridge of his nose - mostly because he knows it'll hurt like hell.

“The Y is offering self defense classes,” he says, when he's gotten himself under control. “I was thinking about taking one. You in?”

Lucas is in.

This is already written, and my plan is to post one part a day until it's all up here!

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Part 4

Taglist (always happy to add more to this if anyone wants): @fairytalesreality @lostonceandneverfound @wheneverfeasible @awkwardgravity1 @theintrovertedintrovert @ravenfrog @scarlet-malfoy

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie fic #dustin henderson #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #steve and dustin #steve and max #steve and lucas #good babysitter steve

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gtgbabie0 · 8 days ago

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synopsis: {you get into a mini fight with Shauna and Natalie has to take of the damage}

I’m procrastinating hard rn. my thirteen drafts are killing me so have this, she’s such a cutie patootie <3

Shauna just keeps pushing and pushing and fucking pushing— a snide comment here, an ‘accidental’ shove there an insult thrown at you for no apparent reason. It was pissing you off and no matter how many times you try to be the bigger person, to walk away and busy yourself with your chores or just simply ignore her— she still found a way to get under your skin.

There really was only so much you could take.

It didn’t help that she constantly looked like she was seconds away from going on a murderous rampage, you being at the very top of that list, brows knitted and lips curled— paired with that fake smile she flashes or the sarcasm that drowns her every word that tested your patience, not to mention the heat— the sun's rays becoming hotter and hotter each day, the air drier and thicker with an ever-increasing tension. You truly were hanging on by a thread.

“Just stay away from her today, please.” Natalie had whispered to you this morning, just as the first peaks of sunlight hit the horizon— her fingers working through your hair to put it up and out of your eyes, pressing soft kisses to your sleepy face.

Of course you tried— really you did. The last thing you wanted was to trouble your girlfriend further; she already had enough to deal with it. Yet here you were, daring to step closer to Shauna, mustering up the gentlest, friendliest tone so you could ask her for help even if it nearly damn kills you to do so.

Despite your best efforts, you're shot down by her narrowed eyes. “Can’t you do anything for yourself?” She sneers, teeth bared, and itching for a fight. “Or are you just gonna be Natalie’s lap dog for the rest of your life?”

Shauna doesn’t stop and wait for your response, instead, she pushes past you— shoulder slamming into your own with all that high school soccer force, and well you snap, shoving her back with a scoff and it felt good. Awfully good. The way she spins around to face you, the shock on her face, the flicker of anger in her eyes. You shoot back a murmured— “Bitch” beneath your breath loud enough for her to hear, feeling far too cocky.

Short-lived. Because her elbow is flying into your face, the bone hitting your nose making your eyes go all teary— a burning sensation tingling through your skull. Everything else is a blur of adrenaline as you surge into her like you’re suddenly an MMA fighter, smack bang in the middle of camp.

“Hey— hey, what the fuck?!” Natalie breaks through the small crowd of girls, fingers curling into the collar of your shirt to yank you back whilst Tai pushes Shauna away— everyone’s voices blending together in one big, dull jargon of complaints.

Natalie’s hands are rough against your hot cheeks as she tips your head backwards to take a look at your nose— red, thick blood trickling down past your lips and over your chin, smudged across your jaw. “What happened?” She demands, turning to catch Shauna’s glare.

“You need to get your fucking dog a leash.” There's a mean scowl over her face and an even meaner bite to her tone, rolling her brown eyes as Natalie continues to fuss over you before storming into her teepee— Melissa at her heels.

“Err— everyone just go back to what you were doing.” Natalie huffs awkwardly before turning back to you— face pinching into a frown as she practically drags you back to her own teepee.

“Nat—”

“Don’t. Not right now.”

It’s a losing fight so you shut your mouth, giving her time to cool down, head still tipped back as blood continues to thickly trickle from your nose— some of which has now dried uncomfortably against your skin which she gently begins to wipe away with a wet rag, bowl of water beside her. The silence is nearly deafening, occasionally broken up by your pathetic attempt to sniffle and water sloshing around in the blow.

Your eyes dare to flicker up to meet her own, dark, frustrated slits, full lips curled downwards. A frown that made you practically twitch with nerves, you let out a heavy sigh from your lips— your nose completely clogged up.

The air between you both is cut, sharply by her sudden words— “What did I tell you?” she was pissed if it wasn’t painstakingly obvious before.

The whole “she started it!” argument is trapped behind your clenched teeth because you know for a fact it’ll only serve to dig yourself a deeper hole— even if you were completely right, you’d have to bite your pride on this one so you settle for a meek— “Sorry, but she was pissing me off.” your sheepish smile softens her hard gaze, ever weak to that pretty face of yours.

“You’re such a dumbass.” Despite her words, her tone is a lot gentler, which makes you visibly relax, shoulders dropping.

You fail to bite back a smirk. “Hey, you chose this. Says more about you I think.”

She rolls her eyes, nudging her knuckles against your jaw gently to correct your posture as she continues to clean your blood up— “Yeah, that I apparently have horrible taste in women.”

“Dick.” You give her a nasally chuckle, eyes following hers as she gently presses a clean piece of fabric under your nose, the blood thankfully slowing down— a soft grin breaks out across her lips at the way you lean into her touch. “Is it broken?”

“No, but it’s gonna hurt like a bitch for the next few days.” She sighs, letting her thumb brush along your warm cheek as she adds— “And you’re gonna have a killer headache.” That was given, considering the fact it feels like someone has just stuffed cotton into your brain.

The words in the back of your throat melt away as she brushes a kiss to the bridge of your nose— sore and aching— her hands holding your face and it’s enough to make your frustrations melt completely, smiling to yourself. Natalie truly could never stay mad at you, even if you could be the biggest idiot known to mankind at times.

“I can’t lose you out here.” The vulnerability in her voice hits you hard, making your stomach churn— hands resting over the curve of her waist as she presses her forehead to yours. “Not after everything.”

The weight of her words linger, rattling around in your mind and a tiny part of you felt oddly warmed by them— she really did love you. “I’m hard to get rid of,” you reply and it would be a tease if it weren’t for the way your voice quivers. “I’ll be careful, no more fist fights.”

You seal the promise with a kiss to her lips and it seems to be enough for now, the coppery taste of blood making her pull back as your nose begins to bleed once more— “C’mere, you mess.” She smirks, voice a little rough, cleaning you back up again in between tender kisses.

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no-144444 · 22 days ago

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twists and turns masterlist

lando norris was a preppy asshole in secondary school, and you were the girl he despised. years later, you're a hot-shot sports lawyer rewriting the rules of the sport he calls home, and your paths cross, whether you want them to or not.

pairing: lando norris x fem! lawyer! reader

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

chapter one: twists and turns

chapter two: driver no. 4

chapter three: blast from the past

chapter four: snappy conversation

chapter five: inner-workings

chapter six: weapons down

chapter seven: miami, the city that keeps the roof blazin'

chapter eight: emilia

chapter nine: monaco munchies

chapter ten: Desmadrarse

chapter eleven: truce

chapter twelve: dagger eyes and other jealousy tactics

chapter thirteen: don't be a bitch

chapter fourteen: fucked up, but interesting

chapter fifteen: greec-ers -> part one | part two

chapter sixteen: picking up the pieces

chapter seventeen: a soft interior

chapter eighteen: calm before the storm

chapter nineteen: brake failure

chapter twenty: championship

chapter twenty-one: the dam breaks

chapter twenty-two: listening won't help

chapter twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, and the epilogue (unnamed)

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

navigation for my blog :)

mclaren masterlist

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irishmammonagenda · 11 months ago

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"Solomon?" You ask, eyes unblinking like a lizard as you stare at your favourite Rat Bastard. "You know how you're immortal?"

Solomon turns to you in mock shock, "Really? Why I never wouldve guessed."

You deadpan. "It was a serious question."

Solomon smirks his usual evil smirk, which to anyone else observing would look like a pleasant smile. "Yes, and what about me being immortal, MC?"

"Well, did you ever know Merlin?" You tilt your head as Solomon's smile falters for a split second before he fixes it.

"..."

"Solomon?"

"Yes, I knew Merlin."

"Before or after you became a Rat Bastard?" You ask him, eyes trained on his pretty smile. (evil grin)

"Well...I may or may not've been good friends with him..."

"Do you think I could meet him?" You ask, bouncing one of your legs after you sit down on Solomon's workbench.

Solomon moves towards you, something flashing in his eyes for a split second before his hands find their rightful place around your waist. "No."

"Why not?" You pout.

"Because I'm the only famous sorcerer in your life." He states, that something flashing in his eyes once more. Something animalistic. If Solomon was a demon, you were sure his demon form would sprout out.

"What about Maddi?" You raise an eyebrow.

Solomon scoffs. "You hate Maddi. You put on a mask with Michael's face on it, and then tried to drown her in a ditch."

You shrug. "I'm just mad the bitch didn't drown."

"She did damage her oesophagos though." Solomon smiles evilly, actually evilly this time.

"So why can't I meet Merlin. I want his autograph." You bring th conversation back to the topic at hand, your flustered gaze trained to where the Great Sorcerer holds you by the waist possessively.

Solomon scoffs once more, grey eyes narrowed in on you. "And why do you want his autograph?"

"Because he's the greatest sorcerer to ever live? Duh."

Solomon's grip tightens at that. His brows furrow.

"...No he's not." The silver-haired sorcerer replies after an awkward moment of silence.

"Yes he is."

"No he's not." Solomon glares at you, grip tightening once more, it's almost painful. "I can give you my autograph if you yearn for one that badly. End of."

"But-" You pout, eyes flickering with the flame of mischief, wanting to see how far you can take this.

Solomon's eyes snap up and down your body before meeting your gaze, forcefully he moves closer to you, you lean back until he's directly in your face and your back is up against the surface of his workbench.

You feel his hot breath on your ear as he whispers, "The next words out of your mouth better be 'I love you Solomon!' or I'm not hearing them."

Your breath hitches, you suppress a grin, "It's just that-"

"Not hearing it."

"Emrys is just so cool-"

Solomon flicks you on the head for that one. He moves away from your ear so he can look at your face. Grey eyes instinctual and crazed.

"My darling apprentice....you don't want to know where this is headed." The Witty Sorcerer grits out, emphasising the word 'my' like it's an ancient incantation.

You stiffen, you've really done it now. There was no way you could keep teasing your favourite Michelin Star Murderer and come out unscathed.

A dark purple surrounds the sorcerer, are those flames?!

You pout, looking into the crazed feral eyes man who's about to lose control. You'd have to stop being a gremlin and take responsibility.

"Sol...I love you." You say, and you mean it.

And like clockwork, rhe dark purple flamey aura disappears, Solomon's grip loosens on you, he moves a little farther back, allowing you to get up off the surface of the workbench. His usual Rat Bastard smile returns, and the crazy feral look in his eyes diminish, never fully going away.

You raise an eyebrow teasingly, "So that's a no on meeting Merlin?"

Solomon sighs exasperatedly, love ever-present in his expression, "Forget Thirteen, you'll be the death of me."

You laugh, "Back to your Alchemy lesson now?"

Solomon chuckles. "Back to my Alchemy lesson." He nods, taking his hands off of you and walking over to his cauldron.

You follow him like a lost puppy, unaware of the extent of the danger just a few moments ago. Not danger you were in, of course, like Solomon could ever hurt you. But the rest of the realms?....well that's a different story....

Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Never wake a sleeping dragon....

Never underestimate the obsession love that Solomon the Wise has for his Darling Apprentice.

#i headcannon that merlin from bbc merlin is who solomon started the sorcerers society with because im stupid #ignore the fact that this doesnt make sense im so eepy #i was just in the mood for solomon being a dumbass with temper management issues okay #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #obey me imagines #obey me headcanons #obey me mc #omswd #obey me solomon #obey me solomon x reader

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that-house · 2 months ago

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The Tarrasque Can Blow Me or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Make 5e Bosses That Don't Suck

HI, I'm Catherine that-house, and I play Dungeons and Dragons Fifth Edition almost as much as I hate it. I do this because I am a sicko pervert who likes to tinker with abysmal dogshit, not because it's a good game. This screed is dedicated to everyone trapped in the same mine as me.

D&D 5e combat sucks! Here's the flow chart for your melee champion fighter's turn:

IF BAD GUY: smack bad guy

IF BAD GUY WITHIN 30 FT: move to bad guy, smack bad guy

IF LOW ON HP: second wind

IF NO BAD GUY WITHIN 30 FT: dash towards nearest bad guy

action surge, take it from the top

IF YOU'RE FEELING DARING TODAY: maybe a grapple or an item interaction

And pretty much any non-caster monster has a pretty similar flowchart: there's no real back and forth, just the same set of actions over and over and the only time you have to pay attention on someone else's turn is for an attack of opportunity maybe. Finally one side reduces the other side's number to 0, and you can get back to roleplaying in your roleplaying game.

In general, I strive to make my boss fights hard and interesting, with interesting being the more important of the two. For some reason the wicked clowns working at WOTC got it into their heads that the only ways to make a fight hard are Bigger Number and Less Counterplay. I don't have any data on how they sought to make fights interesting because as far as I can tell they were too busy siccing the Pinkertons on people like it's the fucking 1800s.

Probably not all 5e combat is like this. But, like, look at the statblock for the Tarrasque, the CR 30 "strongest monster in the game" and try to tell me that that thing looks INTERESTING to fight. Difficult? Maybe, if your stats are bad. But INTERESTING? It walks at someone and murders the shit out of them, then rinses and repeats. The fetid dog turd that is the Tarraque is the perfect example of the Bigger Number, and even its meme status as the DM's "fuck you" monster is eclipsed by later additions to the game.

The other end of the "strongest 5e statblock" spectrum is shit like Sul Khatesh from Eberron, who earns the title of "most bullshit" by being immune to nonmagic attacks and creating antimagic fields. This is progress, because you might force someone to grapple it out of the field or something so everyone can deal damage! But this is still ultimately a pretty linear fight, not unlike fighting any other caster in the game, but with Less Counterplay.

My DMing style is pretty character goal-oriented, with the occasional bullshit superboss. We sit around for a few sessions while people pursue side projects and gather information, and then I subject them to the Horrors of a 5e fight that requires things like "positioning" and "planning" from turn to turn.

When playing a high level D&D campaign with insanely bullshit homebrew magic items and character-specific custom mechanics, it becomes necessary to pull out the big guns. The biggest guns. I'm talking a gun like my boy Hierarch Ozyas, undead demigod, father of monsters and heart of a living city, who had a meaty 2000 hit points and took somewhere in the vicinity of thirteen rounds of combat to bring down. Building bosses is an arms race and it's my job to lose in style. Here's Ozyas' statblock:

The bitch himself

Anyways I've been talking for a bit without actually saying anything of substance besides making fun of the Tarrasque. Which I will do one more time:

...deep breath...

D&D 5e is a pretty widely-disdained game by pretty much anyone who's ever played more than one RPG system. I myself only play it because I enjoy game design, and the thoroughly-beaten dead horse that WOTC calls a game serves as a decent foundation to do a lot of heavy tinkering. The Tarrasque is perfectly emblematic of all of the trash I have to wade through in order to get to the stuff worth keeping: it is an uninspired, anticlimactic relic of the past that didn't even manage to cling to a shred of its old glory and is instead content to wallow in the filth of what it once was, never once providing a challenge to any character with a flying speed. I would probably attempt to beat it to death with my hands (and fail, because it checks your character's stats rather than challenging you as a player in any way), but Jim the 1st level aaracokra with a save-forcing damage cantrip already solo'd it for me, so I'll settle for chewing through the throat of whichever game designer forgot they were making a "game" and submitted a three step flowchart for D&D's ultimate boss monster.

But anyways, I promised you a guide to how I design boss fights these days, so let's get to that.

Actually, first here's a quick aside about action economy that I didn't bother finding a place to fit in elsewhere: legendary actions are basically a necessity for any boss past level five or so. One big action is going to be a lot more polarizing than several small ones (i.e. one big crit on a large attack could completely flip the course of the fight, whereas multiple smaller attacks offer the same amount of damage output in a more consistent fashion). If you don't want to give your boss a bunch of HP to make it live long enough to take a few turns, you could consider giving it two turns in the initiative order (reducing the damage per turn to keep the damage per round constant). Low health minions are also a good way to pad out action economy, and even if they're easy to kill they tend to buy the boss another turn or two just from the actions it costs to take them down.

ANYWAYS, here's the core ideas I like to focus on in my boss design:

Keep them moving

Keep them working

Keep things changing

Reward good play

Punish mistakes

Make it a game

Along the way I'll be using snippets of the boss I mentioned above to illustrate examples of these principles and how they affected play. Let's begin.

KEEP THEM MOVING Positioning doesn't really matter in 5e. AoEs and movement values are both so large that you can easily get away with not having a battle map and sorta just tracking "in melee" or "not in melee." I run most fights without a battle map and just kinda track that, but for a good boss you need a map.

But how do we keep the game from just falling back into "move into range and hurt people," you ask? Simple: the Zone of Nasty. The Zone of Nasty is something on the map that is going to hurt the PCs if they're in it, and the Zone of Nasty moves. Depending on the boss, it could grow, shrink, follow a player, follow the boss, alternate between areas of the map, whatever. Some bosses might have multiple different Zones of Nasty that move in different ways and do different things.

There are other ways to force movement besides a moving AoE, such as punishing players for being too close or too far from each other or the boss.

The general principle here is that a boss should at times force suboptimal play: optimal play involves simply standing around, spending all your actions on damaging the boss, and it's incredibly boring from a strategic standpoint. There should be turns in which your players have to spend their action economy on protecting themselves or helping their allies. If they find themselves in a Zone of Nasty, it should force a decision between suffering the consequences to continue optimal play, or spending resources to get out of it.

Our boy Ozyas had a Cancer Field that he could move slowly around the arena that damaged and debuffed PCs inside it, and Pretender-God-Piercing Strike, a telegraphed line attack that oneshot anything that stayed in its area too long (more on this one later).

KEEP THEM WORKING Everyone needs a job to do! This job is probably just going to be based on what their class and abilities encourage them to do, but it sucks for someone to not be able to meaningfully participate in a boss fight.

Let the DPS players kick the boss's teeth in, obviously, but make sure the person who focused on AoE effects has some extra enemies that they can deal with. Bonus points if the extra enemies have something that forces them to be dealt with instead of just rushing the boss' HP bar.

Worst case scenario, throw in a secondary objective like completing a ritual, controlling a point on the map, or fighting the boss' soul on a higher plane to give someone who isn't immediately needed for DPS to still have something to do.

Ozyas spawned a bunch of extra monsters from these gross Birthing Pillars around the map, and killing the monsters and destroying the pillars provided a nice secondary course of action for people either not equipped to slug it out with the boss or not currently positioned right to fight him.

KEEP THINGS CHANGING The tarrasque sucks because it does one thing over and over until it works or it dies. The Theros splatbook improved on this marginally: Mythic Traits are fucking baller! Combats should change over the course of the fight, or this could have been a fucking autobattler. But we can go further.

In addition to occasionally shaking things up based on health thresholds, here's a few ways I like to do it:

Rotating list of effects that change every round

Huge list of options the boss can choose from for one of their effects with no repeats

Some sort of meter that increases and decreases based on what's happening in the fight and modifies the boss' abilities

Ozyas summoned new monsters every round and could customize the statblocks with a bunch of quick templates I whipped together, and in his second phase he started alternating between scaling the to hit/damage of his tentacle attack, the reach of his spear attack, and applying extra buffs to his summons.

REWARD GOOD PLAY These next two kind of tie together but the core idea here is that it's okay if a boss is a bit easy, as long as it makes your players work for it.

This can include things like ways to trivialize certain parts of the encounter as long as the players utilize them, typically at the cost of advancing other parts of the fight.

I knew that Ozyas was going to be a long fight, so I gave my players the ability to heal to full health, as an action, whenever they wanted. They were fighting inside Ozyas' body, and he was a generous host. However, any time they healed, he would be healed for the same amount. They got around this restriction by hitting him with Chill Touch to disable his own healing whenever people needed to heal, but that obviously had the cost of losing two actions' worth of damage output.

Towards the end of the fight, everyone was still standing thanks to that healing, but as he began to infinitely scale his stats once he reached his second phase and started taking them seriously, they couldn't afford to waste turns healing anymore and the safety net they built up by healing earlier in the fight kept anyone in the party from dying.

PUNISH MISTAKES The range on D&D characters' HP pools and general survivability can be pretty broad. I like to give my bosses a reasonably-heavy hitting melee and some sort of light ranged attack to remind the backliners that they too can die. But there's a third kind of attack.

The great equalizer.

The One Hit Knock Out move.

These need to be telegraphed. There needs to be copious time to get out of the area, or to stop the boss from using it, or whatever the case may be. But any superboss should have a way to threaten any player on equal standing: a move that will always hit if its conditions are met, and puts them clean to 0.

Ozyas' OHKO was Pretender-God-Piercing Strike, where at the end of each turn he would wind up a spear thrust with enough range to hit across the entire map, targeting a 15-foot line through the nearest player. Neither he nor the line could move after that, and if you were still in that line at the start of his next turn, you were done.

It wasn't hard to avoid: just walk like 10 feet and don't get pushed back in by another enemy. They even lined it up to target some of his own allies sometimes. But it forced them to think about positioning and stay moving, and there were a few times where it aaaaalmost caught someone in the line. The prospect of Instant Death really does wonders to ratchet up the tension.

And now, finally, we come to the most important part:

MAKE IT A GAME D&D 5e likes to jerk off while fantasizing about being real. "Catherine what the fuck are you talking about?" What I mean to say is that D&D makes a fumbling attempt towards a more simulationist style of game, trying to distance itself from the fact that it is, in fact, a game. It tries to comport itself like reality, such that every part of its combat makes sense in-universe, and then immediately falls short because it can't be assed to indulge in actual simulationism.

It is my belief that if you're going to spend 4 hours fighting a boss, and one of the boss mechanics doesn't really make much sense as an in-universe concept but does make the boss more interesting and fun to fight, then that's a perfectly fine mechanic. Obviously finding some way to justify it is preferable, but my bosses prioritize good gameplay over verisimilitude.

The upcoming boss in my campaign has a feature which puts the fight on a ten-round time limit before he begins kicking substantially more ass than he was before (and the prior ass-kickery was indeed already substantial). If this is a desperate fight with his life and his dreams on the line, why doesn't he open with that? If this were a WOTC statblock, barring a mythic trait, that's exactly how it would work. But fuck that, because it would make the fight way less interesting! Now there's time pressure! And sure, the post-round-ten version of the boss is meant to be fled from, not fought, but if he's at a low enough HP it could instead make for an insane climactic finish!

I let my players see the whole statblock before the fight. We talk through all of its abilities, and I'll even point out some of the potential points of complexity and the big risks to watch out for. There's no in-universe justification for why the characters would know this (beyond, perhaps "you're exceptional adventurers and are good at evaluating your foes"): in fact, one of the quintessential examples of classical 5e metagaming is the Guy Who's Read the Monster Manual. I think that's fucking stupid, though. With open statblocks:

Features can be game-warpingly deadly without instantly incurring a TPK born of ignorance. OHKO moves don't feel fair unless the counterplay is known

The players can strategize around the ways in which the boss is going to change throughout the fight

It's fundamentally fair. Some GMs just wait X turns and then let the boss go down when it takes a big, impressive hit (and I fully respect people who do that! That's still more compelling boss design than 5e's normal schlock), but I personally like when numbers have meanings.

You can still hide some information (I like to black out the boss' Mythic Trait, and then only use it if the players stomp the fight too easily), and you can still tweak it to adjust the difficulty, with the difference being that your players know it's being adjusted and how so (which again comes back to my feelings of fairness).

A few other fun mechanics to toss in include stacking debuffs that trigger something horrible at some certain threshold, additional win conditions or lose conditions, and silly little minigames. One trick I particularly enjoy is having my players secretly vote between two or more bad outcomes, and punishing them even more if the vote is tied.

CONCLUSION Your mileage may vary, but I'm hoping at least some of the insights here were useful to you! I have a particular strain of undiagnosed mental illnesses that make me especially predisposed towards piloting huge convoluted intricate bosses with 1k+ word statblocks, and I'm lucky enough to have players who know their shit well enough to play around this bullshit. Find something that works for you and your players.

If you hate 5e combat and think this sounds like way too much work to be worth doing, go play something else, like Pathfinder or Lancer or (heaven forbid) a game that actually struggles to trace its lineage of inspiration back to D&D. Go to itch.io and find some game no one's ever played before, and toss the creator a bit of money. The only way we're making it out of these goddamn Mines of Phandelver is if people try something new from time to time.

On the subject of cool games with cool combat, bear with me as I shill for a friend real quick. If you want a game that cares less about combat as an abstract dick measuring contest and more about combat as a facet of violence and all that that entails, check out [BXLLET> by @rathayibacter.

And, finally, from the bottom of my heart, fuck WOTC. Your books aren't even worth pirating, and the Tarrasque can blow me.

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simonisferal · 1 year ago

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not you again. "scaramouche x male reader"

YOU were the smart kid in high school till he came along and ruined it. Now that he got you shipped away to your grandmother's, you're out for revenge. To beat him is your greatest wish but would that change now when he's your seatmate, partner. and roommate? Oh for fuc—

warnings: physical violence/fighting, the occasional underage drinking, heavily sexual themes and intercourse + some kinky shit (honestly, who knows), scaramouche is scaramouche 🤦‍♂️, exes to academic rivals to lovers, vulgar language, angsty(mentions of SH, suicidal thought, OD/ED), slow updates, homophobia (sort of), i know nothing about law so don't come at me, slow burn, and i think that's it!

written pieces will marked with 📖

pheonix wrights — miles edgeworths

ᴥ season one — glow up, dick up

episode one — who the hell are you and why is your bitchass tryna fight me?

episode two — a man can't punch another man without it seeming homosexual nowadays, can he? 📖

episode three — if im sent away, im taking my dignity with me / fuck you

episode four — yes grandma, i'll rub your bare feet. just don't call grandpa over to tell his war stories again... 📖

episode five — i wonder how much he's suffering right now

episode six — in my slut era!! (i stay home with grams and gramps watching family fued)

episode seven — you'd think being the new kid is shit but it's actually worse since i'm hot

episode eight — who is juicytoot124 and why are they liking my tweets??

episode nine — fuck the school, fuck the students, and fuck the chairs too / who is he talking to

episode ten — this is NOT the USA miley cyrus was partying in 📖

episode eleven — holy shit, he has a sister? or is that his girlfriend..? 📖

episode twelve — kaeya, pass me the bottle; i’m getting wasted tonight

episode thirteen — holy shit. am i hallucinating or do i see a bobble-headed bitch coming my way? 📖

episode fourteen — it might be the paranoia coming in but i hear cops 📖

episode fifteen — how's my day? oh i was hiding in a fucking closet with my ex boyfriend from the police because of someone decided to steal alcohol. i wonder who.

episode sixteen — so i can't be a whore but my enemy can fuck around with his ex? not cool.

episode seventeen — wait, summer's over? i was just getting ready to rot in bed!

episode eighteen — basically what i'm hearing is that i'm a god and everyone loves me! /sarcastic

episode nineteen — yeah, so, what i just said previously was a fucking lie. 📖

episode twenty — ah shit, here we go again. 📖

ᴥ season two — and they were roommates?

episode twenty one — my clear conscience can't take this anymore; time to escape prison!

episode twenty two — everything i say was a joke unless you're into it, then it's not 📖

episode twenty three — first day of hell

episode twenty four — am i interfering someone's love triangle??

status: ongoing

started: 04/13/24

taglist: @m-march7th , @wawanluvr , @shutingstar , @pookiemax , @chemiru , @scaradooche , @swivy123 , @yangbbokari , @academiq , @thystarsshine , @zoropookie , @notrsz , @justyoureader , @mercy-not-merci , @kiekole , @kazumiku , @featuredtofu , @yourfavoritefreakyhan , @b2tr09 , @ell1e2010 , @pwaap , @vxcmx , @vamxpi , @moonslie04, @allaboutiknowthatyoubeingdead , @somnium-kiss , @crxwned-mxnarch , @khisuko , @jad3-n , @emptydinner-plate , @popcorn-milk , @liuaneee , @neversore, @alicerosejane

(@simonisferal 2024)

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mochinek0 · 1 year ago

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Wrong Wayne

Marinette was shocked when she got to work that day, at Wayne Enterprise. Someone had set up a desk and laptop, outside of Damian's office. Some random girl was sitting there, smiling.

Marinette walked over to the office and the girl jumped up from her desk.

"Mr. Wayne, isn't in." she smiled, "Do you have an appointment? I can let him know who you are when he arrives."

"And you are?" Marinette questioned.

"I'm Damian Wayne's newest secretary." she answered.

Marinette turned around and pulled her cell phone out. She immediately began to text Tim.

Coffee Buddy: We have a sitch in front of Damian's office. Bring up CCTV.

Espresso King: Who is that?

Coffee Buddy: Claims new secretary. Send security up and look thru footage. Must have moved someone's desk cuz I can still see my desk in the office.

Espresso King: Got it

Not a minute later, Damian stepped out of the elevator.

"Mr. Wayne, I-" the new secretary began.

"Who the fuck is this?" Damian asked.

The secretary panicked, "I-I didn't get her name! I'm very sorry! I-"

Damian glared at her, "Did I ask you? Marinette, who the fuck is this?"

"She claims to be your new secretary." Marinette answered, "Damian, you didn't tell me you were firing me."

The girl paled, further.

"You-You're stuff was cleared out!" she shouted, "It should be obvious now that you're no longer needed here!"

Marinette sighed, "My stuff is in Mr. Wayne's office."

Damian opened the door, allowing the girl to peer inside. As Marinette stated, there were two desks. One by the door, which she could tell belonged to his actual secretary. The other desk by the windows, must belong to Damian.

"Why?" she questioned.

"I'm barely here." Damian stated, "Marinette does most of the work to keep me updated. I'm here only when I need to be and only then."

Mari smiled, "You have a meeting in ten minutes. I left the details on your desk last night. It's with the board of directors for the new animal clinics on 5th and Main. There's a list on top of important bullet points for you to scan over on the first page."

Damian nodded as he headed to his desk. He picked up the packet and quickly started to read it over.

The lady looked around when security got on the floor. Marinette stood by as they put her in handcuffs.

"Why are you doing this?" she screamed, "I work for Mr. Wayne."

"No, you don't." stated Damian, "I do not know who you are. I tell every secretary, I fire, when it is their last two weeks. Miss Dupain-Cheng is by far, the best person to do the job assigned to her. I have no intention of letting her go."

"You bitch! You can't separate us now! We were meant to be!" the lady shouted, "You helped me that day at the Gala.. You picked up my bracelet after that jerk threw it!

"I rarely attend those annoying things." Damian spoke, "When I do, I tend to stay away from people. The last thing I would do is go out of my way for some trinket."

"We were ten." she smiled, "It was like a dream come true."

"I never stepped foot in Gotham until I was ten." the Wayne heir replied, "My first gala was at age thirteen."

"N-No!" she screamed, stomping her foot, " We met when we were ten!"

"You are likely thinking of one of the children my father adopted; liekly Drake." Damian announced, "He was the youngest Wayne before me."

"Drake?" the girl questioned.

"Timothy Drake-Wayne is the current Co-CEO with Mr. Bruce Wayne." Mari declared, "Timothy Drake became a Wayne at age twelve. Before that, he was heir to the Drake Industries. Mr. Wayne took him in after his parents past away and his step-mother was admitted to a facility in Bludhaven."

"Sharing my life story, Coffee Buddy?" Tim questioned, announcing himself, "We found out who the mystery secretary is. Her name is Maybel Evergreen. Her brother is a night guard. We're having GCPD heading to pick him up now."

"No!" Maybel screamed, "He didn't know about this! I told him I had a lot of work to do and wasn't given my badge, yet! He really thinks I work here! He's a single dad of a two year old. Please, I'll-I'll tell you everything just don't involve him!"

"We'll see if that's true." he spoke, walking away.

He made a call to GCPD to pick up the girl and leave the brother for leverage.

As he walked back to the sobbing lady, he looked her over, closely.

'She seems familiar.'

He snapped his fingers, gaining everyone's attention.

"Gold bracelet with opals." He called out.

"Told you." Damian muttered.

The lady looked at him shocked and nodded.

"Why did you harass my younger brother?" Tim questioned.

"Actually, she mixed you two up." Marinette explained.

"Us?" Tim asked, "Me?"

Damian sighed, annoyed, "She claims to have a crush on you since you helped her that day with her trinket. She wanted to 'help' you, too."

Tim blushed, "Oh, um, that's nice, but I'm afraid I'm seeing someone. His name is Bernard."

"Oh." she spoke, looking down at the floor.

"If you still....want to help, you can always apply." Tim offered.

"Really?" Maybel asked.

"You're dedicated; that's for sure." Tim chuckled, "You do still have to go to the GCPD and they can figure out what the damage is. Next time, just apply. I cannot guarantee that you will work with me, though."

Maybel smiled, "Thank you."

"Damian, you have a meeting in three." Marinette announced.

Damian locked the office and left with Marinette at his heels, reading over the packet.

TAG LIST: @animeweebgirl @a-star-with-a-human-name @meme991001 @vixen-uchiha @abrx2002 @alysrose-starchild @fandom-trapped-03 @dood-space @moonlightstar64 @saltymiraculer @marveldcedits20 @09shell-sea09 @icerosecrystal @animegirlweeb @insane-fangirl-of-everything @blueblossombliss @nickristus-dreamer @megawhitleycalderonpaganus @missmadwoman @meira-3919 @princessdaisysolosyourfaves @blep-23 @fangirlingfanatic @darkhinauniverse @ravenr22 @im-a-satanic-ritual @ravennm84 @bianca-hooks123 @a-slytherinish-gryffindor @starling218

#marinette dupain cheng #damian wayne #tim drake #wayne enterprises #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #misunderstanding #secretary marinette #wrong wayne #infactuation #bi tim drake #maribat #marinette x damian #damian x marinette #platonic daminette #platonic timari #big brother tim #mochinek0

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auvrorsa · 2 months ago

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if i didn't know better - r.c

pairing: rafe cameron x ex!reader

warnings: death of a child, grief counselling

prompt: two estranged lovers join the same support group. this is the first meeting.‍

author's note: this is my first time writing fanfic so pls be kind!!

It's been exactly six months since your daughter passed away.

It's been exactly five months and thirteen days since you had last left your house, until now. Here you stand, like a fish out of water, outside the community centre that holds the grief support group once a fortnight.

It's taken all this time for your friends to manage to convince you to at least try it out. That's the only reason you're here. You didn't believe in any of this therapy shit, but you promised them you would try.

Taking a deep breath, you step inside the building. Now or never.

The room is heavy and you find yourself overwhelmed. This is too much. Too soon, You think to yourself. Just as you turn to leave, someone who you assume is the leader of the group announces it's time to start.

It's busier than you thought it would be, you think as you all take your places in the school chairs that have been placed in a circle. There must be at least twenty-five people here, including yourself. It almost makes you feel less alone.

"Hi everybody, my name is Linda and I'll be hosting this weeks' support group," the woman introduces herself. She must be in her sixties. She has dark brown hair that sits in ringlets and her skin looks almost sun-kissed. You notice that she has soft wrinkles from smiling, although there's no sight of a smile when you look at her today. Immediately, you recognise her as one of your own. You may not know Linda, but it's obvious to anyone who has experienced loss that this woman has been there too.

She continues, pulling you away from your observation. "I wanted to start this session off by saying thank you. Thank you for trusting me and everyone around you with this and thank you for coming. I hope that you all are able to find some semblance of peace after your time here."

Everyone acknowledges her statement with a nod. You swear you even hear a sniffle from across the circle.

"To start off with, we're going to be-" Linda is interrupted by the door bursting open.

"I'm so sorry I'm late. I, uh-traffic was a bitch."

Your head immediately snaps up. You would know that voice anywhere. After all, you have spent the best part of your life in love with it and the person who owns it. Sure enough, your eyes lock onto the father of your daughter.

Rafe Cameron.

Seeing him here threw you through a loop. Of course, Poppy was his daughter too but… Rafe had never exactly been the type of person to sit down and talk about his emotions. It's partly why you two ended. That and losing Poppy. Neither of you were the same, you never would be. Your daughter had taught the pair of you the most valuable of lessons and now she was just… gone. It was cruel. Soon enough, you started arguing and he started staying out late drinking with his friends. In the end, you both realised you needed to separate. You both reminded one another of what you had lost and what you could never get back.

He breaths out your name, breaking you out of your stunned daze.

Linda looked between the pair of you, clearly confused. "Thank you for joining us, Rafe. It is so lovely to have you here. Do you two… know each other?"

Rafe looks at you for a second, trying to determine whether or not to open up the bag that you've both spent the past six months trying to close. He must see something on your face because he shakes his head, "Not really, just both from the same side of town."

"Oh, okay. Anyways, take a seat and we'll get started," Linda says with a warm smile on her face.

Once Rafe takes the last seat, which just so happens to be directly opposite you because of course it is, Linda explains how the session is going to work. Starting with herself, she will introduce herself with a fun fact about herself and then explain why she's here.

"Hi everybody. My name is Linda and I also teach yoga outside of this group. I'm here today because almost five years ago, I lost my husband of thirty-one years to a heart attack."

After Linda, the person to her right introduces herself and so on. It's mainly people who have lost their grandparents or parents. You feel eyes on you and immediately know who it is. When you meet Rafe's gaze, you know you're both thinking the same thing. You're both thinking about how unfair it all is.

Maybe that makes you both horrible people but it's what grief does to you. It takes the person you once were and tears you apart, right through the middle, until you're nothing but a scrap piece of paper.

When it gets to your turn, you're shaking. Somehow, you manage to stand up.

You begin by introducing yourself, "I don't really, uh, have any cool facts about myself. I'm here today because six months ago today I, uh," tears well in your eyes. "I lost my daughter. She, uh, had an allergic reaction at her friends house and she- she didn't have anything to help her." You look at Rafe, seeking that same source of strength from him that you always have, but find nothing. He's simply staring back at you with tears rolling down his own face. The pair of you must be a mirror of each other.

Linda hands you a box of tissues and apologises to you quietly whilst the next person takes their turn.

Eventually, it's Rafe's turn. He rubs his hands on his jeans as he stands.

"Hi guys. My name is Rafe. The coolest thing about me is that I was Poppy's dad. And that's why I'm here today. Because I'm nobody now that she's gone." That's all he says before he sits back down and once again looks at you. A silent conversation being had with just your eyes.

I'm sorry, you say. Me too, he replies.

You both stay like that whilst the rest of the group takes their turns. Simply staring at each other, tears in both your eyes.

Finally, Linda's voice brings you back to reality, announcing that the session is over. You and Rafe stand at the same time and slowly walk over to the door.

Once you both get outside, you head towards the car park. As fate would have it, you find that Rafe has parked next to you. Of course he has.

"This is me," you explain, waving your thumb in the direction of your car. "I know. I remember," is all he says.

Rafe turns towards his own car. He has his hand on the handle when he stops and turns his head towards you. "I miss her. Every single day."

You physically feel your heart crack even more at the crack in his voice.

With tears rolling down your eyes, you reply. "I know, Rafe. So do I."

The next thing you know, Rafe's strong arms are wrapped around you. This is the closest you two have been since you broke up and fuck have you missed it.

"I'm so sorry. It was my job to protect her and I didn't-"

He cuts you off before you can even finish your sentence, "No. No. We did everything we could and- fuck, no one could have protected her from that."

He holds you for what feels like hours, until your sobs turn into mere sniffles.

Pulling back slightly so he can look down at you, "Are you sure you're okay to drive yourself home?"

"I- uh- I should be. Thank you, though."

"Always. Text me when you get home."

You nod softly at him as you get into your car.

When you get home, you pull up Rafe's contact on your phone.

YOU: home.

He reads it almost immediately, as if he'd been waiting for your text.

Rafe: good. Rafe: i'll see you at the next meeting.

#rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x reader #outerbanks #obx #obx fanfic #rafe fanfic #rafe cameron fanfic

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mixelation · 19 days ago

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@phoenixremix69 said this on this post:

i really hope [tori] doesn't corrupt sakura and now she's reading trashy porn of her sensei

and actually i have been rotating tori & team 7 a bit (this post is largely NOT about reading bad erotica novels)

point the first: the wave mission-to-chunin exam arc is meant to be a turning point in tori as like, coming into her own as a ninja. almost everything she does up into this point is stuff she could have feasibly done as a civilian, or else something she felt massively uncomfortable about

the end results of the wave mission is team 7 comes out thinking tori is....... kind of cool? tori calls the missing-nin's boss in front of sakura and then tells sakura "don't do things the way every says they should be done, do them they way that works. there's infinite ways to skin a cat" and sakura feels her third eye start to creak open. it's the first time naruto has seen fuuinjutsu applied in a practical way that's not just (whta he perceives to be) his parents fucking around, and also the first time he's sensed that if he can figure out what tori is saying, it's actually maybe sort of cool. sasuke has been told more than once by his brother than tori should always be ignored, unless it's life-or-death, in which case sasuke should do exactly what tori says* and he finally gets wtf that means

*tori has agreed that sasuke should live at all costs or else itachi will lose his mind. itachi has accept that tori probably cannot stop herself form trying to trick a cute kid into walking into a screen door, but she will do insane things to keep sasuke alive. that's romance baby

also i guess my Vision for the final confrontation was Zabuza/Haku?/Zombie Combi vs Tori + Team 7. i might change the choreo but basically i think tori largely doesn't monologue/say cool lines but what she DOES do is

tori @ kakashi, realizing hidan is probably the the deadliest if you don't know his jutsu: i'm going to take the one with light hair, and then help you with the rest

kakashi, pretending not to be serious even though he's panicking: maa, i wonder why you're the one making the calls?

hidan: BITCH WE CAN HEAR YOU????

tori, attempting to communicate with both at once: you know that when i say i'll do something, i'll make it happen, no matter what god you pray to about it

and then naruto goes home and is like "and then tori siad THIS AWESOME THING--" and tori is like "NOOOO WHY DID I SAY THAAAAAT"

anyway! sakura. sakura is like "i have found someone to look up to" and kakashi is like "please don't" but then the chunin exams come around and actually what IF kakashi let tori train sakura

and i was thinking, in a blatant move for me to work through a lot of the gripes i have with strong!sakura fics..... so sakura's first tournament match is against neji. so i was thinking maybe she goes over to team gai to tell him she's looking forward to their match. she doesn't really mean it; she's kind of afraid of him. but lee likes her and gai and her sensei are friends, and she feels like it's polite. and neji is going through his moody thirteen year old phase and he's like: i'm not looking forward to it. you're clearly the weakest on your team and i don't think you're a serious ninja. look at you. did you waste your time bringing lip gloss to this exam?

and sakura's been having self esteem issues because like. in this au she's really the odd-man out on her team, and she doesn't really have anything special going for her, and that's just..... is she a serious ninja?

and i want tori to be like: sakura, how many hours a week do you train and do physical conditioning? how many hours to do you spend studying and meditating? you're fine

tori: a lot of people act like if you're not constantly training, you're wasting your time. but overworking your body is worse for you than not training at all

sakura: but--

tori: and who fucking cares if you like make-up? most kunoichi wear make-up. the handbook has recommendations for a minimal make-up travel pack to carry for undercover work, and it ALSO recommends cultivating hobbies for mental health reasons. there's nothing wrong with make-up and it could even help you. plus if you didn't wear make-up, he'd just criticize you for not being womanly enough

sakura: but--

tori: if he looks down at you for wearing lip gloss, then it'll just make him all the more surprised when he's missing his skin

sakura: wait what

anyway i don't think sakura starts reading tori's erotica. i think she tells tori all the COOL pre-teens read this other series, and tori goes off and buys a copy. it's really compelling. itachi, what do you think about--

#reborn au #toriverse

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