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hitlikehammers · 2 days ago

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ignis obscura (dragon-sacrifice!Steve falls for random-man-in-the-woods(?)!Eddie before Steve goes to get eaten) (???)

feat. lots of love-at-first-sight, soul-deep devotion sorta shit

When a dragon arrives within telling-distance, the town nearest the lair it claims must send the sacrifice; their most valued possession. Everyone knows this.

It was just that no one in Hawkins had ever imagined—never really believed—that of all the villages, a dragon would come to them.

Steve had imagined it, though. As a boy, he’d thought it an adventure. As a teenager, he’d fancied it something of an escape.

Now, when it happens? As a young man, Steve Harrington mostly just thinks of course it goes like this.

Because he’s the disappointing-but-only son of the mayor, in a town where mayoral wealth rivals the coffers of the crown, and if the dragon wants value? Steve’s the gateway to whatever riches have been hoarded, whatever small power may be marshaled to command more, to rule, to gather up virgins if Steve himself proved insufficient to that fabled task—though he was renowned as the most comely of his people, having just dipped his toe into his prime while keeping the rosy flush to his cheeks alongside the strength in his arms: perfect timing, really. It helped pad the argument for him as the tribute.

As if maybe the dragon had waited, had watched. Had known what it wanted, and swooped in with intent.

Steve couldn’t give two rats’ asses what the dragon did or didn’t do, as he made his way through the woods and up the mountain. The stories of sacrifice always paired with the same end: no matter how you pleased the dragon, the tribute did not live to descend to their home again.

So really, at this point, it was merely a question of how Steve would meet his end. At the dragon’s mercy, of course, but: more like details.

Steve distracts himself with arguments for whether it’s wiser, or more efficient, to carve human flesh with claws or teeth, and it’s a job done so well that he not only finds himself wholly turned around on this trek, far too close to nightfall, and not nearly as near to the cave he’s aiming for as he need be, but more than that:

He fails to notice he’s no longer alone.

“Are you lost?”

There is a honey-smooth quality to the voice that rings out but…deeper. Darker even, though it doesn’t strike warning between Steve’s lungs. It’s…caramelized, and slow slip of thick…almost comfort. Steve fights to keep a clear head: not all dangers are apparent. Enchantment and faerie mischief, even, could have found him in his mindless wandering.

“Lost?” Steve tries to scoff at the right tone of haughty; “I’ve lived here my entire life—“

“In these deserted woods?” the voice, and now there’s a figure that draws nearer, closer in the growing claim of the moon for light but still more silhouette than anything as it—he, the voice is male, Steve is near-certain—turns and assesses their immediate surroundings before tutting thrice:

“Strange choice of domicile.”

And it’s mocking, of course it is: but the honey-caramel of the voice is a molten thing. It warms Steve deep and he cannot even be cross.

“I,” he starts, but sees not point to finishing before he sighs and admits, to himself as much as to the stranger:

“Yes, I am lost.”

“But you’ve lived here your whole life!” the stranger slaps a palm to his own cheek, mouth dropped in faux-horror but he looks so…earnest. And maybe adorable with it, so much so that Steve can’t help but chuckle a little helplessly for it all.

“Hush,” he chides, half-heartedly at best. “I was supposed to get to the caves by nightfall.”

“Ooo,” the stranger leans in, as if to prepare for a secret; Steve didn’t realize he was so close; “scintillating dinner date?”

Steve can’t help it but to snort.

“By a measure,” Steve deadpans, before clearing his throat; “I need to present myself to the dragon.” When the strange man stares at him unblinking Steve deflates a little.

“You know, hot, fire,” he gestures broadly; everyone knows what comes at the end of a sacrifice: “dinner…”

“Why are you looking for a dragon?” the other man asks, his lips pulling down a bit in just-shy-of-a-frown. Steve doesn’t like the look on him, so he tries to put on a bit of a show, match the stranger’s teasing energy from before as best he can in the given circumstances:

“I just so happen to be the village sacrifice,” Steve announces, chest puffed a bit, but he fails to do anything but deepen the frown he’d been aiming to wipe clean from the other man’s face; now Steve’s frowning, too, as he deflates a little, but hardens a little too, crossing his arms and leaning back where the other man’s not even bothered to stop leaning in, despite his apparently displeasure.

“What?” Steve challenges, but it’s brittle, he knows it. “It’s a,” he vacillates, unsure how exactly to describe the…ritual of it. The way it’s cast as a, as a…

“It is a high,” Steve’s voice wavers a bit, like finally saying it aloud makes it all the less believable: “honor.”

The other man eyes him silently until Steve feels it in his very skin, before finally he speaks:

“Hmm,” he tips his head, considering just a little before he seems less to come to a conclusion, and more to a conclusion on how to best voice the things he wanted to say already, at that:

“Well, I know these woods very well, better than any hailing from the village I suspect you’re speaking of,” his gaze flicks Steve top to toes, something warm in it, no, something hot in it, that simmers through Steve’s veins: “and so I can get you to the caves, at the very least for shelter before moonrise-full,” he glances skyward, seeming to doublecheck his words before he nods decisively and reaches out a hand:

“Think you can trust someone you only just stumbled upon in the forest to steer you straight?”

And Steve doesn’t know for sure what he’d have done, what his answer and actions may have been if death-by-some-draconic-means weren’t imminent. But it is, and so he takes the hand offered, and grasps more than shakes, holds more than strikes accord and lets himself notice and relish how smooth and warm it feels against his skin:

“Lead the way.”

He doesn’t know what he’d do in lesser circumstances.

But for the grin on the man’s face, the way it shines brighter than moonlight, than sunrays even, he suspects: for the way it makes of the man a star on his own somehow?

Steve wants very much to believe he’d trust the man anyway, regardless of sense, just for the breadth of that smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Looks like the dragon’s out for the night.”

Steve makes an extra survey of the den nestled a good bit into the cave when his mysterious guide comments on the undeniable silence of their surroundings, the telling echo of their footsteps in the empty space.

“Curses,” Steve huffs, both frustrated and dismayed because: “I’ll have angered him, what if he doesn’t think I’m enough for—“

“One,” Steve’s beguiling guide ticks the point off with a finger raised on a strangely elegant hand; “you think dragons to be too irritable.” Steve rolls his eyes to himself—this Man who knows so much of the temperaments of dragons, the ego to presume—

“They can be quite pleasant so long as they have sufficient treasure. And they’re long-lived, so they’re patient,” the man continues on, which: it seems his ego’s well-reasoned out at the very least, Steve supposes.

“Which brings us to point number two,” and of course there’s a number two, a pair of fingers now waving almost accusingly to the side of Steve’s face:

“You’re more than enough to be worth waiting for.”

Steve blushes furiously and thanks the sparse cracks of nearly enchanted—quite possibly enchanted, actually—light for very little chance to be seen for it.

His companion grins with a glimmer of that sparse glow catching his eyes, glittering in it like enchantment themselves, and Steve thinks both that yes, he’s likely been seen and caught so that likewise yes, he needs to move out of the shaft of light that betrays him and with haste, because to think such a thing about this strange and beguiling man—beguiling, good gods—says far to much about what Steve feels about him, and far too soon, even by his standards.

Which are lightning quick already on a day in which he knows restraint.

“Sparse for a horde,” Steve surprises himself for how steady his voice is, given how obvious his bid to change the subject lands, not matter his tone.

His companion is gracious enough to allow the shift without comment:

“You think mortal eyes can see such things without a dragon’s explicit permission?”

But not gracious enough to abandon that ego.

“How do you know so much of dragons?” Steve finally just asks; subtlety’s never been his strongest characteristic, and in honesty, it’s past time to have asked it.

The other man smirks, scoffs a little.

“This may be your village’s first encounter with them,” and it’s said not quite in censure, and not unkindly, but Steve is cowed a bit nonetheless—the man had never named but has more than once referenced where he thinks Steve’s from, and Steve suspects if his vestments and the crests embroidered to them weren’t enough, his lack of knowledge would be—his people have been blessed in many ways, and live privileged lives on the whole, most especially his family, in comparison to their neighbors.

“But here is the only perch for the span of tens of villages,” the man points out; “and they’ve not been left untouched for so long.”

Right. Of course.

“You’re from a neighboring town?”

“One word for it,” the man shrugs, in such a way now that it shivers through his unruly curls; “and you’re from Hawkins, I gather.”

Right. Unsubtle to the bone it seems, indeed.

“For the whole of my life I can say I know only one thing about your home,” the man takes Steve grimace as the confirmation that it is; “and it’s how they share notoriously little to know.”

Steve chews at his lip, knows the failings his family’s rule has had for the people without and without their borders. Has tried to find ways to help without power of his own in the order of things.

“I always wished to see other lands, even the nearest of them,” Steve finally lands on something to say; “I tried to convince my parents, but—”

“Parents?”

It might be the first time his new…friend? Looks properly halted.

“Son and heir,” Steve points to himself with a weary sort of smirk, the whole thing laughable, really; “the tribute has to be valuable, right? I thought upon seeing so little here, I could offer from our own troves before the end, as appeasement but,” Steve sighs, suddenly drained, only now realizing, now that the option eludes him, just how heavily he was counting on the option of at least trying to bargain with the dragon, appealing to its intellect and far more, its love of treasure.

“But if it’s as you say, I may have much less by way of offering at all.”

There’s an instant sort of chill that fills him as he starts to acclimate to the reality that he’s going to die, and soon, and there truly is not hope for an escape. He—

“Let me assure you,” the man’s hand startles Steve, battles and swiftly overcomes the chill in him as it wraps tight around Steve’s wrist, his voice following Steve’s own almost without break, a cutting finality to it, definitiveness in his tone and his eyes alike once Steve meets them—and once Steve meets them, the not-quite-stranger doesn’t let him look away.

Magnetic.

“Based on what I have seen?” and the words could be casual, but the low rumble they’re spoken with is anything but:

“You could walk here wholly empty handed, and no dragon worth their flame would turn you away as unworthy.”

Steve feels less his cheeks, and more his whole body, inside and out, flush bright and there’s no light to hide from, save from the one shimmering in the gaze locked into his own.

And Steve, for all his postures of pride: this time?

He has no desire to hide the way he flushes, never mind the way he shivers, if it means trying to evade those eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~

Incidentally, it’s too late for the other man to turn back, though he clearly knows these woods so well. Steve insists that he stays.

Not for any ulterior motives, of course.

The man argues, if almost for show alone, but agrees on one condition: they neither of them have bedding. The other man apparently hadn’t planned to be out past the hour for rest, is only stuck because of Steve and Steve—

Steve has a pack but he…he presumed he’d either be dead and his offerings deemed fitting, or the dragon would keep him as the dragon desired, bedding or clothing or neither, until the dragon was satisfied.

And then, again: he’d be dead.

It is unthinkable to take the meager blankets Steve can see in a corner, not without permission; not from a dragon, so. The other man is asking to…lie close.

And Steve is not opposed. The man is almost…surreally exquisite, especially in the passing moonlight. His angles are…particular. Alluring. They steal the breath in Steve’s chest a little, long before they’ve earned the right.

“It feels more than overdue now to ask your name,” Steve whispers, not that it’s necessary. Not that there’s anyone to hear.

“Eddie,” the man whispers back, his voice so warm and almost enveloping, like an embrace in itself and Steve feels less absurd for speaking so soft, so privately.

Nearly intimate.

Good gods, now Steve is being absurd and should feel it to his bones. He deserves to suffer the uncomfortable twist of embarrassment it leaves in stomach, at this rate.

“Steve,” he manages to say low enough that his mortification isn’t audible.

But then:

“That is a beautiful name, sweetheart,” Eddie breathes, and he’s shimmied closer somehow while Steve was stuck in his shame-spiral for being the too quick to show his cards, even to himself in his own head.

“Nothing special to it,” Steve mutters, demurs a little but in a coquettish way, doesn’t even mean to. Just…there’s an energy between them now, and Steve’s primed to match it.

“Isn’t there?” Eddie asks, heated and near in a way that dances up Steve’s spine:

“I would hesitate to be so sure.”

Again, Steve doesn’t mean to, or plan to, when he rolls further into Eddie’s frame where they’re laid together, already so close, now nearly in each other’s arms.

He doesn’t mean to, and yet: his arms are gathered close against the chest of a man he doesn’t know, and yet feels…more comfortable next to than any body he’s pressed against in his life.

And there have been fair few.

“You’re so warm,” Steve mouths more than anything, lips dragging on this half-stranger’s neck by accident, because it could be nothing save an accident that Steve now knows that Eddie’s skin tastes of salt and smoked cinnamon sticks and the air in the forrest at night: elemental, somehow. Necessary.

Only by accident would Steve torture himself this way.

“I’d keep you warm always,” Steve hears as the world blurs soft to black, the phantom sensation of arms curling around him, welcoming him to sleep—the whole of it odd in every way because he hadn’t spoken loud enough to be heard, really, even so close, and to read his words from the drag of his mouth to flesh was of course impossible.

“To the end of the Age and beyond if I could,” the words drift blissful, wistful like an invitation into sleep: “if you’d let me.”

So of course: it must have been a dream.

~~~~~~~~~~

Daybreak finds them entangled.

Steve…freezes, as if he didn’t feel snug and perfectly warm wrapped up so close. He weighs the merits of bolting, and making apologies after the fact, against trying to extricate himself without rousing his companion, versus—

“Good morning, sweetness.”

Steve stills somehow further, feels his face heat yet again and yet this time, despite the dark of the cave, he’s…crushed ever so pleasantly against the bare smooth planes of a chest that…shouldn’t be bare, should it, because they moved together close for heat against the chill and for certain it is past dawn but it is still nowhere near warm enough for—

“Did you sleep well?”

Steve groans, which only leads him to burrowing further into the unavoidably welcoming give of Eddie’s chest, lean but strong, Steve can tell, much like he can feel as much as hear the rumbling laughter that cascades through that chest: so much like an invitation to sink into the chest and the sound alike, to never be singular, to never be cold.

What a ridiculous notion.

But then lips are unmistakably pressed to the crown of Steve’s head, not even in passing, no: they linger. They…feel right.

Steve wants for them to be right until the day he dies—

Well. That might actually be possible, or close enough for what he’s earned in this world.

The irony.

Eddie takes to the hunt—the reason he was in the woods to find Steve in the first place, apparently; he says his bow and knives are just down toward the ravine, which Steve vaguely knows but not well, too close to the borders of other lands.

“Don’t fret, though,” and this time the lips press to the low half of Steve’s cheek, affection that does not press its advantage but makes it desires clear, too close to Steve mouth to be anything less.

Steve…is unsure what to make of that. Because he cannot make what he thinks of first; he cannot possibly follow that thread in his own mind—increasingly in his own chest.

“I’ll find you, if you get lost again.”

As if Steve will wander, would risk missing his dragon captor’s return, to even consider one misstep to unintentionally enrage his looming executioner, to even consider missing a single instant in the meantime with this man—

But the glinting smile that man shoots Steve’s way as he strides out the yawning opening in the rocks, its glinting like stardust and warm radiance that fills Steve’s veins then spills over and seeps into his marrow:

Steve doesn’t think that man actually meant getting lost that way.

And what on earth is he supposed to make of that, save everything that he can’t have; that cannot be?

Though, in fairness: it would be on brand. Steven Harrington of Hawkins.

Falling hard and fast and more real than ever before, mere hours before he leaves the mortal coil.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re anxious.”

Steve knows now that his dreams were realty, last night. The words, the arms.

He is awake in them now after they eat what Eddie’s secured for them, cooked over a fire perfectly pitched outside the mouth of the cave, its warmth not insufficient as they’d eaten in pleasant company together.

Not insufficient at all. Just not this chest; these arms.

And now they are both of them bare to the waist, knowingly and happily curled into one another, and Steve feels on one hand boneless, weightless, inexplicably held and kept beyond the physical in the embrace of a man he barely knows and yet feels…close to. Something-he-cannot-bring-himself-to-say-at-first sight, like in the fairy stories.

But that man’s palm is splayed across Steve’s chest; can feel the birds’ wings of his heartbeat at first stroke.

For the first time in Steve’s life, it doesn’t feel like a weakness he’s caught out on; with Eddie nuzzling at his hair, Steve doesn’t hesitate to speak his fear with a heavy sigh:

“You said you’ve dealt with dragons.”

“Time to time,” Eddie hums, presses his lips to Steve’s scalp like reassurance.

“How will it happen?” Steve whispers shakily, but for the first time in his entire life, he shakes into someone who seems to care, against all reason; who holds tighter to him for needing rather than casting him away.

“I mean, I know,” Steve licks his lips; “I know what will happen, just,” and he can’t quite finish, chokes around his words. Eddie moves closer against him, under the weight of Steve’s frame, maneuvers them so that he can tilt his head just so to kiss down Steve’s jaw while still holding him close; ever closer.

“Well,” Eddie pecks against the peak of Steve’s cheekbone before moving down, all the while massaging circles against Steve’s chest; “a town sends their most valued,” and he sucks a little the, against Steve’s jawline; “but some towns have less to pick from,” and then he finds Steve’s pulse point and suckles there with real feeling until Steve may be terrified, but he’s simultaneously soft clay in a beautiful man’s hands, under a beautiful man’s mouth.

“A dragon is not a mindless beast,” Eddie adds after Steve can feel he’s been well and thoroughly bruised.

“I’ve always heard they’re very smart,” Steve breathes, maybe nods, mostly just savors Eddie’s heat, his nearness, how he touches Steve like he has value; like Steve has value to him, and what a thing to feel, to want, to possibly hold, even for these stolen moments; “it’s how they tell if you send them less than they’re owed.”

Because of course Steve knows the stories. Steve can remember countless tales of horrific ends for villages, towns, whole kingdoms even, razed for being so haughty and foolish as to try and swindle a dragon—perhaps embellished to encourage children’s behavior, but. The bones of the narrative fit the oft-smoldering evidence often enough, so far as Steve could tell in the proper histories.

“Not owed,” Eddie corrects, firmly but somehow also gently, his capacity for dynamism an oddly comforting thing, so human and forgiving of overstepping boundaries so freely as to maybe not even draw any to begin with, at complete odds with Steve’s entire life; “not how most people think, at least.”

Eddie flip Steve over gently, firmly again, settles them chest to chest, one atop the other as Steve looks down at him, feels his heartbeat crash against Eddie’s own closer than ought to be felt, like their ribs clear way for the two of them, for whatever they could be, and Steve wonders if part of why his heart is racing so is for the loss of the possibility that rushes through him, that swells between them in every moment—something that grows in every moment, every look and touch and blink, that expands effervescent and filled with so much without any knowledge that there is not space to hold it, that what time they have is borrowed at best.

Steve thinks maybe; his sick heart for it could be railing where the rest of him is fixated on etching every one of those looks and blinks and touches into his bones so that they may be among the last parts of him to leave the earth.

“A dragon, above most things, has a particularly keen sense to know precisely where value lies,” Eddie’s explaining again, his hand now still, pressed against Steve’s heart akin to a shield, or a safe-hold. “And how.”

Steve ponder that for a moment before he meets Eddie’s eyes, having felt them heavy and molten upon him with new fire before taking them in for all that they are: brilliance.

Blinding.

Steve leans as Eddie arches and they meet in between to press their lips together after what feels an eternity and an instant of living in a world where they didn’t taste one another in such a way as to drink their fill. As to breathe each other’s breath.

So as to tease and cherish deep, to tongue against the very heart.

And there Steve makes certain, before he loses himself wholly to sensation:

Looks. Touches. Blinks. Carved into his bones, but first.

First he’ll gild them in every single kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~

They transition fully into lovers in a seamless fashion, insatiable like Steve’s never known it. Eddie never keeps him wanting, gives selflessly and Steve does all that he can to reciprocate and more, because Eddie is everything, of that Steve is certain, and therefore he deserves no less.

He also seems dead set on making sure that they are posed as equals. That to lavish one another with affections as much as to ravish each other endless never unbalances one way or the other. Wherever Steve seeks to give more where Eddie should have it, Eddie turns the tables to takes Steve apart so that all he knows is tingly euphoria. A happiness he’s never felt, didn’t quite believe could exist.

Yet here he is. Here they are.

Steve smiles more than he remembers, playful and ravenous and overflowing with feeling, and Eddie doesn’t rise to meet his enthusiasm: he’s already there, matched with him and ecstatic to entwine. It’s a heady thing, addictive and overwhelming and a gift, Steve thinks: maybe the universe forgive him for doing less to stop harm and deprivation in his home, for wishing to help more and acting where he could even if it wasn’t enough. Maybe he gets this sliver of heaven out of pity for what’s to come.

He will take it with open arms. He will welcome it. He will make himself of it until there is not Steve that exists outside of it.

But it cannot overcome the inevitable, in its impending, suffocating weight.

Come the sixth day like this—the sixth night like this—something in Steve gives way. Existing on the precipice of life and death with no telling of when the hammer with strike finally takes too much of a toll, and his nerves betray him.

“Likely they are hunting, it can take many days, weeks even I’m told,” Eddie tries to console him as he shakes, can’t even sob, like his body can’t coordinate even that much to work properly, too distraught are pieces of him he’s flooded with pleasure but finally could no longer be denied, fed on his wonderment and picked until it cracked enough for his fears to bleed through. “But if you are still so anxious we could, or, I could try and look for some clue as to where it’s gone?” Eddie offers carefully, holding Steve together as he does his utmost to shudder out of his skin. “And you can stay here, in case it returns?”

The only thing Steve can do then is shake his head until it hurts, until he’s dizzy with his own vehement denial: it’s the first things that’s properly matched, body to feeling.

It’s fitting that way.

“I,” Steve starts, just voice barely a scratch as Eddie reaches, tips his chin upward and cups his face so delicate:

“What, angel?”

Steve blinks at him—takes him in, presses down to pain as he draws it, brands it onto his skeleton to be remembered, all the tangled but powerfulfeelings he has for this man so fast, so strong.

For this man, for all he feels: Steve makes himself speak what’s heavy and true and real in his galloping heart:

“I have no intention of reneging my duties,” he rasps, holds on to Eddie as tightly as he can, as if maybe their bones could brand one’s another and fuse into one.

“But until no choice is left, I,” Steve chokes, and his eyes burn as he holds Eddie’s gaze, lifts Eddie’s hand away from his cheek and over to his lips to press all his hopeless hopes against Eddie’s palms:

“I don’t want to be out of your sight, nor you taken from mine.”

The tear that escapes him then is caught by Eddie’s thumb. Adoringly.

Each that follows is lost between Eddie’s lips; might belong to them both.

Steve thinks he can believe that much—in these fleeting, sacred moment—to be true.

~~~~~~~~~~

The dragon has still not appeared, and Steve has since collected himself for the most part, with Eddie ready to brace him steady when he starts to falter. It’s a wild novel thing, to be supported this way. To be cared for.

With such care, comes perception. For better or worse.

“What troubles you, beloved?” Eddie eyes him knowingly, a level of sight straight through to Steve’s soul that should not be fathomable in a lifetime, let alone a week’s time.

“My own mind,” Steve admits freely, unwilling any longer—if he ever had been—to hide from Eddie, unsure what the point would be even if he desired to: “it is cowardly, and selfish.”

“I doubt that,” Eddie catches Steve’s jawbone with a single finger, playful, endearing: but clear in its pointed redirection of Steve’s gaze, and his disparagement of his own thoughts:

“I would doubt that quite strongly, in fact.”

Steve lets Eddie touch prompt him to a kiss, as if he needs coaxing before he leans into the crook of Eddie’s neck and breathes him in: the best savours of the ground and sky.

“I would not run from my fate, here,” Steve says, not wholly to remind himself but, not without that purpose at hand; “save that it feels like my fate is…”

And he slides his hand to Eddie’s chest, hopes it speaks for him where he doesn’t know words for the depth and breadth and weight of these feelings; Eddie’s hand covers his, automatic, and he knows he’s understood.

“I wish not to be parted from you, now that I’ve found you,” Steve whispers, swallows hard, then looks Eddie in the eyes, speaks straight to the soul in them so that he is not misread, or underestimated in the weight of his own words, now:

“I think that I may be in love with you.”

And he’s never been before. He’s believed it may be love, but: no. No, it was never love before.

If ever it was love: it is this.

“Oh my precious one,” Eddie pets his hair and kisses after his own touch: “I don’t think that I’m in love with you,” and Steve stiffens only for the instant Eddie leaves between those words, and dipping down to Steve’s ear to exhale with feeling:

“I know it.”

How it is possible to die brokenhearted and happier than he’d ever dreamed, Steve doesn’t know.

But he’s about to serve as object lesson, in just days.

Maybe less.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Know that when,” Steve is speaking to the cracks in the rock that peek at the night sky as he speaks, Eddie on his chest like a blanket, save so much better; “when it happens,mwhen it devours me whole or takes me in pieces,” and his voice catches, but he remains resolute; “it will know you in every inch of me,” and he cups Eddie closer to him then, holds him against the thunderous roar of his pulse.

“My heart is full of you, and it will taste only of devotion,” Steve near-hisses for the fervor in him. “You’ll be the last bit of me known to the world.”

“Never.”

The growl that comes from the body that curls around him, protective, possessive, beloved in a way and to a magnitude Steve didn’t know he could feel before now: the venom in it makes it clear that it’s not a refutation of Steve’s declaration for the sentiment.

It’s a refutation to the cosmos itself.

“I would never allow it,” Eddie bites out, pressing closer to Steve, to his heart: “you will not be forfeit to some dragon,” and oh, but this man Steve loves is wild with his passion, foolhardy and yet all the more lovable for it.

“I would fight with all that I am to protect you,” he vows, presses his lips to Steve’s chest and speaks there like he means well and truly to means to tell Steve to the heart of him this sole, unshakeable truth: “and should somehow I lose the battle, it could only be because there is nothing of me left to fight.”

And for the first time, in all his life: Steve clings to something, someone, he’d happily rip his beating heart out to protect.

And that—he realizes in a single world-rewriting instant—he fears the loss of more than any other thing.

Any. Other. Thing.

~~~~~~~~~~

They don’t speak of it, or of a choice to be made when the time does come: Steve thinks maybe that’s the only way they manage at all, really, is to simply hold it between them in those last days. Known. Seen.

Loved.

And feared.

But always together. Always so close, in every way.

Until the stasis breaks.

“Steve,” Eddie breathes into the afternoon, innocuous. Steve’s stopped counting how many days they’ve stolen together.

“I must leave, my darling.”

Steve narrows his eyes, trying to understand him. He watches as Eddie hurries to gather both of Steve’s hands, to bring them to his lips.

“Only for a short while,” he murmurs between Steve’s fingers, kisses at his knuckles with apology, and with heartsickness thick between his breaths: “barely a moment,” and his breath is short, thin, like the thought of leaving hurts.

And Steve…Steve has been in love for the first time, with the perfect match to his very soul. Unthinkable, but undeniable.

But it hasn’t made him wholly blind.

He means to press, to see if the slight little inklings he’s had every so often hold any weight, point in any direction of significance, means to ask just a simple thing, but then Eddie’s expression breaks open, a miasma of emotion spilling forth as his breath catches, monumental on a sob and he takes the hands at his lips and instead uses them to bury his face.

“Oh, my Steve,” he breathes, and all Steve can really see are the heaving lifts of his shoulders, and the way his curls fall a little like a monsoon.

“I am sorry,” Eddie whispers into Steve hands and Steve feels dampness there, and oh. No.

Not from Eddie. Not for whatever this is. Steve can think of nothing, save Eddie leaving for good before the end, that he should be moved to apologize for. And even that Steve would forgive.

Because Steve loves him.

“Why?” Steve asks, incredulous, his own half-formed ideas to seek to know gone at the sight of his beloved in distress. “What reason on earth do you have to be sorry, you said,” and Steve halts, wonders if that’s the catch, and tries not to falter without reason, tries to stand tall: “only a moment,” and that is what Eddie said, he said only a—

“I lied.”

Steve does to falter.

He starts to fracture and fall entirely. Because what, what all was a lie, was it all a lie, he—

He doesn’t know if he can breathe. He’s never lost his heart before. But he imagines that if death is still waiting for him, and he’ll face it alone: it’s what he’d planed for. What he’s prepared for from the start.

He knows how to be alone. It has to hurt less, than losing his heart now.

It will have to hurt less, at the very end, if it comes to him without a heart in his breast.

“It was worth every second, no matter that it must end, in joy or heartbreak,” Steve finds himself saying, and if his tone rings hollow, it’s only because his heart’s already leaking from him, already half-gone: he means it with every bit he has left, nonetheless.

“You are the moon, pulling me close,” he turns his hands so his palms line to Eddie’s; “the sun wrapping me in warmth,” and he folds their fingers together, clutches tight one last time, greedy as anything:

“You have been the greatest gift at the end of all I’ll ever know.” And that is the truth, that is the last words and final rites written on his bones. “Because of you, I will die fulfilled in ways I didn’t realize I was lacking.”

And then there’s just one thing, because Steve, Steve needs to say this part, he doesn’t think he’s said this part yet:

“Thank you.”

He means it.

But Eddie only holds onto him harder, painfully but it’s perfection; only shakes his head over and over before he finally rasps, barely audible:

“You misunderstand.”

Steve leans closer to hear him, to feel him, to know his warmth in the lat moments that might be left. He wants to understand. He doesn’t want the end to be anything but clear.

Even if it hurts.

“I have lied,” Eddie swallows hard; “but you misunderstand for what.”

Steve…still misunderstands.

“You have been my moon,” Eddie nearly moans, his head nuzzling into Steve’s hands, his hold, with nothing short of desperation:“you have been the sun since the first revelation when I was taught as barely a hatchling that my kind were born of suns, made from fire.”

And that. It’s been those small things: some dragon. Not owed. No dragon would find him unworthy.

The ego to presume.

This is no longer a small thing, spoken now.

“You stole my heart straight away, and I gave it freely but,” Eddie hiccups the slightest bit; “I only grow in relishing that of all the souls in all the worlds, yours has welcomed mine,” and he sniffles, by every god and power in all the worlds—

“You are a privilege.”

And oh, oh, but by every god and power: Steve loves him.

“And you have a dragon’s heart now, no matter how you choose to use it, to keep or reject it,” foolish words Eddie speaks so messy, so rushed and ragged, so ripped out from him visceral and slick with feeling: “and your end will be my end,” and his lips brush Steve’s hands, kiss the pulse on both his wrists:

“And either that will be unmeasurable ages hence,” and his breath catches, and Steve only wants for him to look up, just look up, because he’s said it without saying now, hasn’t he, muddled and frantic and so human, to say he’s anything but as he admits to the thing he thinks he needs to offer apology for.

“Or,” he trips over the next words, but they’re so sodden with candor, the blood in his veins:

“Or my heart may turn ash if you leave but,” and he brings the heels of both Steve’s hands to his mouth and kisses, speaks into them worshipfully:

“Your life will go on as a mortal’s, once I’ve—”

“You’ve given your heart?”

Because Steve had suspicions. Of why Eddie said certain things, certain ways. How warm he was. How strong and even and…ancient the beating of his heart resonated beneath Steve’s ear, his touch, like it radiated heat as a sun in itself.

“Of course,” Eddie’s head snaps up, like he’s offended at any suggestion to the contrary; “almost immediately.”

He blinks; he forgets himself. There’s a lid to his starburst eyes that closes unlike Steve’s, the opposite direction, almost invisible.

But Steve’s watching. Steve doesn’t blink once, cannot miss this.

Cannot pause what he writes into his bones because even if he plans for nothing less than ages unmeasurable, now, he wants this written on the bones that come in the end.

Whenever the end stretches out to.

“And if it’s ill received,” Steve asks slowly, his brows pinching as he picks through the implications of this part: “you—”

“Wither, slowly,” Eddie says, far too matter-of-fact for Steve’s liking, or willingness to stand: “but the end comes, yes.”

“Eddie,” Steve scolds, and Eddie flinches, thinks he’s been caught, been known and revealed now and in so being is anything but wanted with all of Steve’s being.

There is a tiny part of Steve that’s grateful for his foolishness: it makes Steve feel less alone, to be swept so by a love this vast.

“You are the dearest treasure I’ve ever known,” Eddie whispers, but it’s a pleading thing, something even Steve can tell doesn’t feel as if it had a hope to grasp; “if you let me keep you I would hold you closer than all things. To give a dragon’s heart means to place whatever holds it closer than the heart itself ever learned to rest on its own,” and Eddie gathers Steve’s hands again to his chest, stacks them, presses so very hard.

The life in him is a sobering thing. The idea that Steve holds this power somehow in his hands, literally and otherwise, is…staggering.

No less then amazing.

“You are my single desire, but more,” Eddie breathes; “you are my single care, my sole concern,” “my only.”

“Why do you leave, then?”

And Eddie stills. Pulls back only so much as to weigh what he sees in Steve’s face, Steve’s eyes—what Steve sees in his is clear: Eddie didn’t think he’d get to this part. He thought Steve would balk at learning his lover was something more than mere human.

Specifics aside, Steve could have told anyone that from the night that they met.

And so Eddie, bowled over by the shock of the fact that Steve still holds to him, does not waver, seems to speak unvarnished when he answers:

“The things you have shared,” and Steve knows without expansion what Eddie means: tales of home, of his family, of his parents, of how he came to be here, pledged as sacrifice for the good of his town, whispered in the dark as they watched the stars move slow; “I can bear it no longer, my darling.”

And Eddie straightens further then, and Steve sees what he dismissed as the play of the light: the glow in Eddie’s eyes unmistakable as something other, something from within.

“I demand the most valued,” Eddie’s words come out in a hiss, shape even as he hesitates, leaves every moment for Steve to pull away should his touch be unwanted as he reaches to brush Steve’s hair from his face.

“You are that and more to me and yet,” and he shakes his head, and it’s so strange still to be marveled at this way: unbridled and unashamed.

“You said it yourself, valuable,” Eddie nearly spits the word, like a poison he seeks to eke out; “and yet I believe that I said something different.”

Steve frowns, tries to put together the pieces but then his face is framed in long fingers that span the whole of him, fittingly so, as Eddie looks deed in his eyes and says with force and feeling:

“Valued,” he emphasizes with a kiss; “beloved,” and another, and Steve cannot help but smile into it just the slightest bit, his heart soaring as the other pieces—borrowed time and impending ends and forevers in view all at once rearranging into what he thinks might be an always with this man who’s more than a man when he speaks against Steve’s mouth:

“Precious beyond all else and others.”

He pulls back, and marvels more, then narrows his eyes in a way Steve’s never seen, pupils contracting inward from the sides into slits.

“You are mine,” Eddie growls; “but the demands we make are not idle, and they did not value you as you deserved,” Eddie scowls, and Steve sees it now, where he’s going, what he’s doing:

“And they thought it acceptable to send you to me as their most valued, believing they sent you to your death?” Eddie seethes:

“It cannot go unpunished.”

Steve…sees it. Understands, now.

It does not hurt, the idea of losing people who were family only in name, especially not to the man before him, who is all that family should mean, could mean, will mean.

Always, now.

“The villagers are innocents, please,” Steve whispers, and Eddie cups his cheek, so lovingly it aches.

“Fret not,” he says with that warmth that Steve’s melted in from the very start; “I know who deserves my ire.” His expression sours, hardens:

“And they will know their hard-earned consequences.”

Eddie kisses Steve with a kind of devotion bigger than the sky somehow, and it’s only because Steve’s reeling to get his footing back that he trails behind Eddie and not at his side as he makes to depart.

“Please do not follow me, beloved,” he calls over his shoulder, not breaking his pace; “I do not wish you to see-“

“I will stay,” Steve answers, like the words were waiting on this tongue of this very moment: “if.”

Eddie stills; turns.

“If?”

“You promise to return with all haste,” Steve reaches him quick and is the one who kisses with all that he knows, all that he can imagine, all that he holds inside of himself and shares already with Eddie uninhibited; “I will be cold without you.”

And that makes Eddie soften; smile as he promises:

“Done.”

“And,” Steve adds, pulling away from Eddie’s lips to look him straight on as Eddie’s brow quirks in question:

“And?”

“Change for me.”

And Eddie, for once, is wholly dumbfounded. Speechless.

It’s quite a feat to behold.

“You,” he stammers; “you wish to see,” he shakes his head, disbelieving; “beloved, it is not, I am,” and oh, oh: Steve did not expect this part: “we are cast as fearsome creatures for good reason.”

He is wary. He is cautious. He thinks himself the monster. He wants to hide this part from Steve.

But Steve will have nothing hidden between them, least of all this: the whole of who his love is.

“I do not fear you, I could not,” Steve pledges in truth; “and any creature with your heart, who has captured my soul,” Steve grabs Eddie’s shoulders and draws him in, bows those foreheads into one another:

“You could never be anything short of exquisite. Breathtakingly so.”

Eddies breathing is hitched, stuttering. Steve wants to cry for the way he is surprised. Wants to mourn for whatever hurt him to make him this cautious, this stunned by Steve’s love: unconditional.

Undying, now that it’s possible to give as such, and in truth.

And Steve waits, watches him, stares patient until Eddie sighs deeply, steps back far and then closes his eyes and…becomes.

Larger, of course. The wings are a feat. The talons are less a surprise from his spindly fingers.

He’s, he is…

“You are,” Steve reaches, waits until Eddie comes to him, welcomes his touch this way and to feel him, smooth scale not so unlike the chest bare against him in the night—warmth and safety and all that is right:

“Magnificent. And I would know you,” Steve tells him, seeks his gaze as he speaks from the very core of his being: “even if I hadn’t seen it for myself.”

He steps closer, waits for Eddie to be curious enough to bow his head low so Steve can mimic how they’d stood, forehead pressed just moments before.

“These unfathomable eyes,” he whispers between them, and smiles at how those eyes fall closed in something like relief, like comfort after laying down a heavy burden as Steve reaches for the soft underbelly in lighter scales against the charcoal of the rest of his beloved’s form:

“The might of this heart,” and he presses, and yes, exactly as he knew he’d find: thunderous. Could part seas, reshape the globe, stir the stars.

And it’s Steve’s. So he doesn’t hesitate to press his lips above the breathing and breathe out:

“Unmistakable, my darling.”

When he pulls back those eyes truly are just the same: they wonder. They marvel.

At Steve. Just Steve.

It’s intoxicating.

“Do what must be done,” Steve nuzzles at the side of Eddie’s face, pulls his snout to his shoulder so he can kiss at what he supposes is something of a cheek, and then he pulls back, lets go.

But only their bodies. Nothing more. Never anything more. Not ever again.

“Then come home to me.”

Steve could be wrong, or just wishful, but he thinks Eddie glows from within through the whole of himself, and not just his eyes, as he takes flight and shoots like the star Steve always saw inside him, up into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s not long. It’s just as Eddie promised.

After everything, Steve hadn’t worried at all that it would be anything else.

“It was painless,” is what Eddie says as he walks back into the cave, a man again; “and it was for the sake of justice overdue,” as if he must explain. Or seek forgiveness.

Steve pulls him in and kisses him until he’s breathless as an answer for both concerns.

“What now?” he can’t help but ask. He is still more in love than he can breathe through. Will live and die exactly that way for time innumerable.

“You wish to be here, with me?” Eddie asks, almost hesitant; seeking.“You do not feel indebted, or, or coerced? Or tricked or held by force or—”

Steve grins at the babbling, the nervous rambles. To think they’re because of him.

It might just give him an absolutely unbearable ego of his own if it’s to be the norm forevermore.

“Love,” Steve presses a single raised finger to the missile of Eddie’s lips, watches as he adorable crosses his eyes to follow its trajectory.

“You are all that I have imagined and never thought to find.” And it really is as simple and as unthinkable as that, in the end. Or the beginning. “The only way I would be anywhere but your side is to be torn from it, or sent away.”

Eddie growls at the first suggestion, and huffs in pure offense at the suggestion of the second as he reaches and pulls Steve flush to his body: warm, warm, warm.

Steve’s heart flutters against him, reminding him that he owns it wholly.

Eddie’s drums in protective answer, welcoming as much as seeking to leap into Steve’s chest on the same promise, the same pledge as he murmurs into Steve’s lips:

“You still misestimate what it means to be loved by a dragon,” and drags his mouth against Steve’s bottom lips, a little wanton even as his words carry the weight of the universe entire:

“This,” and he clutches Steve’s closer still, so as to not be mistaken; “is for as much of eternity as is for us to grasp.”

It is not sacrifice at all to kiss the man, to love the dragon, in front of him, now.

And for the rest of time ahead.

For @a-little-unsteddie, who requested the quote 'Magic' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher

divider credit here

💫 ao3 link here

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hanjiwuver · 1 day ago

Note

Could you maybe do one of seungmin getting mad at you in public for wearing revealing clothes, ty!

Seungmin Drabble #1

*~Disobeying Dom Seungmin~*

pairing: hard dom!seungmin x sub!reader

warnings: MEANIE PANTS SEUNG! no smut but very suggestive, lots of degredation, reader is called a bitch, i think thats it.

note: personally…i could never disobey him but thats just me🐶 good luck with that tho!

heres ur order!! smut under the cut!!!!!!!!!!!

it was going to be a perfect night. your boyfriend seungmin finally got reservations for that fancy, expensive diner you’ve been dying to go to.

the only problem was..you were running a little late.

you took a nice, long shower beforehand, using all the scents you know he loves on you. laying out three different dresses on your bed, you quickly tried to decide which one would be the best fit for tonight’s important date.

one was grey, and wrapped your body elegantly with silk fabric. the second was light pink, with a high cut waist and a frilly bottom, seungmin loves that one. and the third…oh.

seungmin hates this dress. he specifically told you not to wear it in public anymore. its was a black, hollow out dress with sheer fabric and strings where there wasn’t your boobs or your ass showing. nothing different than a stripper dress.

now, you know seungmin better than anyone. and when he says he hates that dress, its not because its ugly in any way, shape, or form. no. the way you look in that dress could make even him fall to his knees for you.

it’s because of the attention it brings to HIS precious girl. seungmin isn’t an insecure man either, he obviously wants to show you off on his arm when you get all dolled up for him, but with THAT dress? you couldn’t even get a few feet away from him without being approached or even made a pass at.

he knows you would never leave him for another guy, he just can’t stand people sizing up his pretty little prey like wild beasts. so, you aren’t allowed to wear it per his rules, fine. but honestly, you’ve always wondered what would happen if you disobeyed him.

so..maybe you wore the dress anyway..how bad could this go, right? now the problem was, how to get there.

normally he would pick you up in his car, but you know for a fact he would make you change immediately. so that was out. maybe you could just text him?

minnieeee?

hi, sweet baby🩷 you ready to be picked up?

uhhh

hm?

actually min, can i drive myself and meet you there? i have a suprise for you.

uh oh.

WDYM UH OH

that can’t be good. you’re scaring me💀

ITS JUST A SUPRISE OKAY

…its the dress isn’t it?

..no actually! its a secret so you’ll know when i get there so i actually have to go now and walk my fish see you soon love you bye-

we’ll see.

your nerves are alight as you pull into the parking lot, biting your lip in fear and arousal at how seungmin will deal with you. you’ve never disobeyed him before, always wanting to recieve his sparing praise and not cause a fuss.

your heels click against the floor as you step into the new diner, looking like the most expensive thing there. the confidence you’re radiating is only surface level though, the truth is, if you had a tail right now it would be tightly tucked between your legs.

when the host tells you where seungmin is sitting, you hesitantly make your way over. he is indeed there, he smiles at you sweetly before looking down at that dress. that stupid fucking dress.

he looks back up into your eyes with a dissapointed, mean glare in his. if you were at home, that look would have you begging for forgiveness. you immediately look down, shying away from his gaze as you put your purse down and bow slightly at him.

“hey, seungmin..”

“sit down.”

the demand has you plopping down in your seat without hesitation. his tone is clear and calm, but equally cold.

“i thought i told you not to wear that dress. hm? or are you just too dumb and slutty to remember my rules?

oh. his harsh words make your thighs rub together, still refusing to meet his eyes.

“m’sorry..”

“sorry what.”

“so..so sorry, sir.”

“look at you. i do all these nice things for you, give you all my attention and look where it gets me. is my attention not enough? need it from the other manwhores here? i think you’re just too much of a slut to be thankful.”

his words have bite, making you equally feel bad for disobeying and almost drool from the degradation.

“yes sir, im a slut, sir.”

“i know you are.”

“just..wanted to see what you’d do..”

“want a punishment? is that what the dumb whore wants? hm?”

“um..depends what it is?”

“you don’t get to choose, stupid.”

“…well, what are you gonna do then?”

seungmin leans forward, resting his elbows on the table and looking at you with an amused expression. only this time do you meet his gaze, looking up at him through your lashes expectantly. seungmin scoffs.

“don’t fucking look at me.”

your eyes shoot down, just listening to him obediently. he leans forward to whisper in your ear.

“..when we get home, im ripping that slutty stripper dress off of you for good this time. then, im gonna muzzle you and make you beg for me to pound that slutty pussy like a good bitch. then lastly..you’re writing lines, sweetheart.”

sorry for ending it there..u just look so cute when ur teased<3 order again soon!🐶

#skz smut #18+ mdni #skz x reader #seungmin x reader #seungmin smut #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #customer ask!

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zuppizup · 21 hours ago

Text

“Do you know where Stella found it?”

“I have no idea where Stella finds most of the stuff she’s “acquired”.”

“What do you want to do about it?”

“What can we do? It’s not like Stella can tell me where the wee one’s mother is.”

“So, you want to keep it?”

Rayla finally looked up from the wriggling bundle in her lap, seeming confused by his question. “You don’t want to keep it?”

“I didn’t say that.” Callum sat next to her, trying to get a better look at the squirming pink ball. “When Soren said you’d got a baby “moony” animal, I thought it was going to be a shadowpaw kitten.”

“You don’t like moonstriders?” Rayla’s face fell a little as she hugged the little creature closer to her chest.

“I, well-” Callum sighed, reaching out and stroking its back only for it to squeal loudly and push itself closer to Rayla. “I guess I think they don’t like me. Or shadowpaws prefer me-”

“It’s a wee puppy, Callum. All she likes right now is milk and sleeping.”

“She likes you well enough.”

“Are you saying I’m not usually likeable?” Rayla teased as he rolled his eyes. “She probably just feels my moon energy. Might feel a bit more like her mama than you.”

“I guess.”

“Here, you hold her.” Rayla shuffled closer to him, passing the wriggling moonstrider puppy into his arms.

She cried and called out before Rayla even took her hands away.

———

“Hey, sorry I’m late, training ran over,” Rayla called out as she hurried inside their room. “Soren-”

She stopped suddenly, surprised to see Callum asleep on their couch. As usual, he was snoring softly, his mouth a little open, a hint of drool on his bottom lip... and the moonstrider puppy fast asleep across his chest.

- Rayllum fluffy prompts to cheer me up.

Rayllum “acquiring” a puppy/kitten prompt suggestion by @thedizzydinosaur and @leftboob

Love those memes of the bf not wanting the animal but then is the best dad to the animal. I feel like Callum would still be haunted by his first experience with a Moonstrider. Runaan’s going to want this one, isn’t he? And ain’t no way Callum is giving his baby up now.

#rayllum #rayllum fanfic #the dragon prince #tdp #rayla #callum #tdp rayla #tdp callum #zuppi fanfic #zup tumblr ficlets

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half-oz-eddie · 2 days ago

Text

I didn’t know I wanted you (Until I couldn’t have you)

Part 3/5

For the next 3 weeks, it had become nearly impossible for Buck and Tommy to have much free time to see each other.

And see each other, in Buck’s mind, is having one on one time with Tommy, without Eddie. Sure “hanging out with the boys” was fun and all, but there was a lighter element in the air when Buck was alone with Tommy. He couldn’t quite describe it, but sometimes, he preferred it, craved it, even. He could be sitting right next to Tommy during a beer and movie night with Eddie and still feel so far away from him.

The most interesting surprise for Buck was Tommy texting him during one of their movie nights.

They shared a glance, smiling at one another.

That’s really weird. I can’t say that!

Buck tucked his lips in, trying to contain himself. Tommy was sitting close by and he didn’t want him to see a big, stupid smile on his face.

When he briefly glanced up at Tommy, he was already looking his way. Buck shot him a half-smirk and a nod, and Tommy nodded back.

His heart was racing again.

Tommy’s really cool.

The next day, Buck and Tommy met for dinner and beers. They joked, they laughed, they had a great time.

“How’ve you been doing? I know you told me plenty about how Gerrard’s been treating you. You okay?”

“As okay as I’ll ever be. I miss Bobby. The energy of the 118 is…different now. I just hate it. I love my job. But I-I hate this feeling.”

Tommy nodded in understanding. “Sometimes change can be good, but sometimes change can ruin your day-to-day life. Especially when it’s a person single-handedly trying to make your life a living hell.”

“Exactly. That’s all he’s been doing for weeks.”

Tommy looked at Buck with soft, sympathetic eyes. His gaze felt like a comforting hug, and Buck couldn’t look away. He couldn’t resist the urge to just fall in.

“Evan…I know it’s not easy.” Tommy smiled. “But you’re doing great. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

Buck broke eye contact, sheepishly looking away. “I-I just feel a little defeated sometimes.”

“I’m sure Bobby will get his job back sooner or later. It’s just the natural order of things. The 118 belongs together, right?”

Buck nodded in agreement. “Right!”

“Ready to get outta here and head to the theater?”

“Uh—yeah. Let’s go.”

After seeing a double feature of two amazing films Buck had never even heard of, Tommy rode with him in an Uber back to his place and Buck offered him a cup of coffee.

“Hey, so, Wednesday, you’re coming with us for drinks, right?”

Tommy sadly sighed. “Sorry, I can’t. I have a date.”

“A-a date?” Buck forced a smile. Why did this bother him so much? “Who’s the lucky person?”

“Just…someone I met during my run.” Tommy answered dismissively. “But maybe we can do something next weekend?”

Buck nodded. “Y—ah—yeah—yeah. Next weekend sounds great.”

“Great!” Tommy looked down at his phone. “My Uber should be here in 5, I’m gonna head down. Text you when I get home.”

“Okay uh…see you later.”

Buck held his breath until the door shut behind Tommy and he let out an exasperated sigh, shoulders drooping with disappointment.

He wasn’t sure what was bothering him, until he remembered what Tommy said at dinner.

Sometimes change can be good, but sometimes change can ruin your day-to-day life. Especially when it’s a person single-handedly trying to make your life a living hell.

Not that whoever Tommy was dating would intend to make his life hell in some way, but just the thought of spending less time with Tommy made him feel a loneliness he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Buck felt strangely about the way their conversation ended. He only had himself to blame for being so dismissive. He couldn’t fight the nagging thought that he had to fix it somehow.

Buck didn’t want the conversation to end. It was late, and surely they were both exhausted, but every second that passed, he felt like Tommy was slowly slipping away from him.

He hated this stupid thought. Tommy didn’t belong to him. Tommy was his friend. He was Eddie’s friend. He was everyone at the 118’s friend.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that they shared a special friendship. One unlike the friendship he shared with everyone else. Buck was the only one Tommy wanted to take on weekly hiking trips. Buck was the one Tommy texted late at night to just talk and distract him from what stressed him out. In a way, Buck felt like Tommy was his.

And he was going to lose him.

#i didn't know i wanted you (until i couldn't have you)#bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #firefly.social #firebeast.doc

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bimbo-baggins17 · 17 hours ago

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Coming Home: Leon Kennedy

☆…━━━━━·:*☆…━━━━━·:*☆…━━━━━·:*☆

CW: MDNI!! noncon, bootworship, implications of stalking, possible minor re4 spoilers?, mentions of blood, cum, afab anatomy, no use of protection, lmk if I forget anything else. You are responsible for your own media consumption

AN: Eeee my first time writing on here for a character that isn’t played by Hayden Christensen!! Not proofread! Likes, reblogs, and follows are always appreciated! Hope you enjoy! <3

☆…━━━━━·:*☆…━━━━━·:*☆…━━━━━·:*☆

The gravel crunches under Leon’s heavy boots as he makes his way up your driveway, mumbling under his breath. The last mission had too many close calls. Way too many. He couldn’t shake the feeling of almost dying multiple times.

That’s why he’s here, trudging up your front steps and digging his lock picking tool out of his pocket, still muttering to himself. Originally his plan was to keep an eye on you from a distance until he saw the most perfect opportunity to reveal himself. But again, being so close to death, having that parasite forced inside of him, his only thought was you. He knew what he had to do when he got home.

The lock clicks and he pushes the door open, stepping inside and breathing in the familiar scent. Your scent.

Usually Leon steps through your place slowly, admiring each little trinket you owned, every picture you had on the walls but this was not the case. He stomps through like he lives there, he knew the layout well. He welcomes himself to your fridge, taking a beer off the shelf and heading to your living room where he plops down on your recliner. Letting out a long sigh, he pops the tab, really he prefer bottled beer but beggars can’t be choosers. Maybe he could convince you to get his favorite next time.

You’re just getting home, exhausted from work and planning on taking a nice hot bath to help unwind. You slip your shoes off at the door before setting your bag and keys down on your counter. But then you hear it, the faint hum of voices from your tv. Surely you turned it off before you left this morning, right?

You make your way into your living room and come to abrupt halt seeing a man sitting in your recliner. Your heartbeat instantly picks up, hammering like a rabbit’s in your chest. “Uh..”

“It’s about time you’re home.” He huffs, polishing off the last bit of his beer.

“What are you doing in my house?”

Leon sighs, “God, I missed seeing your pretty face.” He responds completely ignoring the question, looking up at you again, the tv casting a glow on your face that made you seem even more ethereal to him.

That only serves to confuse you further. You didn’t know him. “Who are you??”

He just shakes his head, his eyes tracing over every inch of you once more. Oh how he’d missed you, and loved being able to see every inch of you up close in person. Not just from a distance or through a screen. “It doesn’t matter,” he stands up and your eyes follow him. He practically towers over you where you stand.

Your body starts to tremble slightly from his intimidating presence. “You need to leave.” You attempt to keep your voice from wavering with fear.

Leon tuts and shakes his head, “Now why would I do that, sweetheart? I just got here.” He reaches out and caresses your cheek gently with the backs of his fingers.

Immediately you bat his hand away which earns a growl of frustration from him. He pulls his hand back, clenching it into a fist, “That wasn’t very nice.” He mutters.

You scoff in disbelief, “I don’t care, you’re in my home. I’m calling the police.”

His eyes narrow as he watches you reach for your phone. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He warns.

Ignoring his warning, you pull it out, shaky hands trying to pull up the emergency call button.

Easily he closes the small distance between you both and yanks the device from your hand, slipping it into his pocket. “Nope none of that. Can’t have the police ruining our fun before it starts.”

You swallow thickly past the lump forming in your throat as you stare at him. In a split decision, you take off towards the front door. Leon isn’t surprised, rather annoyed. He lets out a long sigh, “I can’t just get one moment of peace.” He grumbles before taking off after you.

His boots thunder against the floor behind you, quickly gaining on you. The door is locked and you know you wouldn’t be able to undo it in time before he caught you so you quickly turn to your kitchen. Maybe you could grab something to defend yourself with and buy some more time.

You scramble to pick up a knife out of the knife block on your kitchen island. Easily there’s about 5 feet between you now. Leon sees you with the knife held out to him from across the granite top and he chuckles.

“What? You think you’re gonna stick me with that?” He clicks his tongue, “You can do much better than that silly little thing.” To prove a point he reaches down to the knife holster on his leg and pulls out his hunting knife, flipping it into the air and catching it to prove a point. “Here. I’ll even give it to ya.” He mocks, sliding it across the countertop to you.

What was going on? Shakily you reach for it and hold it, the weight feeling foreign to you.

“There ya go. Much better, yeah?” He slowly starts to step around the counter. Each step he takes towards you, you take one back, making him circle you.

“Stay back.” You warn, the blade still pointed in his direction despite your shaky limbs.

He laughs again, “You know, you’re cute when you threaten me but I’m honestly growing tired of this rather quickly. I just got back from an exhausting mission, so why don’t you do me a favor and just cut the tough girl act, mkay? Put the knife down and just come here.”

“You’re insane!”

He tuts and shakes his head once again at you, giving you a mock pout, “Insulting me? That’s not very nice.” He then lunges towards you but you quickly (and stupidly) throw the knife at him instead of stabbing. It thankfully connects but just barely, nicking his cheek by his eye. “Ow, you little bitch.” He seethes, hand reaching up to dab at the blood already coming out.

You see your opening and go for it, taking off towards the door again in a full sprint. This only makes him more upset.

You reach the door and as your going for the lock he catches up to you, one hand gripping into your hair and shoving your head to hit against it, “I risked my life and this is the thanks I get??” Leon tightens the grip in your hair and throws you down onto the floor. “Ungrateful bitch.” He spits the words out, wiping at the blood on his cheek with the back of his hand. “Couldn’t just play nice, could you?”

Leon grabs you by the ankles and drags you across the floor back to your livingroom. You try to dig your nails into the ground, attempting to claw away. Anything. But it’s no use. He presses one of his boots against your back, keeping you pinned to the ground. He bends down close to your ear to whisper into it. “I’m feeling rather generous tonight so I’ll let you make it up to me and maybe, just maybe, I’ll go easy on ya.”

What did he mean?

He takes his foot off your back and brings it down right in front of your face, “Kiss it.” He instructs simply.

Your eyebrows pinch together, “Wha-“ you try to sit up but he quickly stops that, bringing his other foot to your back once again, pinning you down more firmly against the ground.

“Kiss. It. My shoe. Show me you’re sorry.”

When you don’t immediately jump to do so, he adds more pressure, forcing the air from your lungs. It was a silent threat. Hesitantly, you stretch your neck out to be able to reach the toe of his boot, pressing your lips hesitantly to it.

He tsks, “You can do better than that, sweetheart.”

Fearing retaliation, you try to add more enthusiasm as you press more kisses to the leather of his shoe.

“There we go. Not so hard, hm?” He praises, “Could use a little work but I’ll let it slide this time.”

The boot is pulled off your back and you swallow thickly, turning your head to look over your shoulder at his looming figure. Your whole body was shaking. Was that all he wanted?

Before you can say anything, he’s hoisting you up off the floor and placing you on your feet, “Up you go.”

“What..what are you gonna do to me?”

Your question is ignored as he nudges you down the hall towards your bedroom. Your footsteps are anything less than graceful, stumbling and bracing yourself against the wall for support as he keeps shoving you.

Leon lets out a breath through his nose, savoring how your scent was stronger in your room. And now he was finally in here with you. Not alone, sifting through your drawers which was something he’s done countless times before.

He turns to you. “Strip.” He orders.

Your eyes start to water and you make no attempt to listen to his instructions.

He wasn’t a patient man, especially now. “I said strip.” To punctuate the word, he rips your shirt easily, letting it slip off your body, earning a gasp as you flinch. “Do the rest yourself or I won’t be so nice.”

With a sniffle, you hesitate but then shakily reach behind yourself to unclasp your bra. You hear him suck in a sharp breath at the sight of your bare breasts finally in front of him for real.

“Atta girl. Keep going.” He feels the familiar strain in his pants.

His gaze doesn’t leave you as you reach for the button on your jeans, undoing the fastenings before you ease them down your legs.

“So beautiful.” He murmurs, his tone laced with adoration, his eyes taking everything in. The slope of your breasts, the curve of your hips, the meat of your thighs. He wanted to reach out and touch you, spend hours memorizing your body but he was selfish and needy. That would wait for the next time he decided to pay you a visit.

“On the bed.” He nudges your shoulder once again towards the mattress.

Your body trembles, unwilling, but you knew this was something you couldn’t get out of. You’d have to see this through.

His eyes are laser focused on you as you crawl onto the bed, letting out a hum of approval. “Hands and knees.”

Swallowing past the lump in your throat, you follow his orders, positioning yourself onto all fours in front of him. He lets out a breath seeing your body splayed out in front of him. Waiting, even if unwilling.

You bite down on your bottom lip when you hear the jangle of his belt., sucking in a sharp breath at the feel of his fingers trail down your spine, large hand resting on the small of your back.

“So beautiful and all for me.” His tone was almost reverent and it made you nauseas. “I’ll try to be gentle. No promises though.”

Leon spits into his hand before working it over his shaft, collecting some of the precum already beading at the tip and combining them together into a makeshift lube.

He steps up to where you’re presented before him, letting go of his cock to spread your cheeks apart. “Oh sweetheart.” He breathes out, taking in your pretty pussy.

The seconds feel like an eternity as you wait for him to do something, already anticipating what he was going to do. You try to keep your cries quiet so he doesn’t hear them.

Leon lines himself up, running his tip through your folds, bumping against your clit as he does causing you to shiver despite the disgust you feel. “Please don’t.” You whimper, one last feeble attempt to stop this before it goes any further.

“Shh.”

Slowly he eases his tip into your unwilling hole and he hisses out. God you were already so tight. You cry out as he forces more of himself inside. “It’s okay.” He tries to soothe you while he pushes more of your length into your gummy walls.

The resistance of your cunt only fueled his desires as he sinks the rest of his cock in until he’s fully sheathed. “Jesus Christ you’re squeezing me so tight.” He grunts, starting to rock his hips into you.

He wanted to be nicer but he couldn’t hold back. Not when he’s finally gotten you like this. Leon snaps his hips into you, pounding into your poor pussy.

Your cries are loud and almost make him feel like he should stop. He did feel guilty. At least partially. But you should understand, he was a man with needs and whether you were aware of it or not, you had become his home.

“Stop! Please stop! Just stop!” You wail.

Gritting his teeth, he reaches for your head, fingers gripping tightly into your hair and yanking your head back. “Stop fighting me,” He growls, “Just take it.”

He releases his grip from your hair in favor of shoving your face down into your comforter, muffling any sounds of discomfort or protest. Couldn’t he just get five minutes of peace?

His formidable cock continues to plunge deep into your pussy, finding spots that haven’t been reached before and making you feel so incredibly full.

“Can’t say you don’t like this,” He grunts, “Can feel how you’re gripping me.”

Leon feels the familiar build up growing stronger in his lower belly, the need to cum consuming him as he continues to rut into you.

Without warning he sinks himself fully into you, keeping you locked in place with a tight grip on your hips as he spurts his hot load deep in you. He whines pathetically, eyebrows scrunched together in pleasure.

The only good thing is that you assumed the worst was over. That is until he’s working his hips in and out again.

“Please no more.” You whine, trying to look back at him but again he shoves your face into the mattress.

He’d keep you here all night if it meant forgetting the horrors he’d been subjected to most recently, taking it out on your poor cunt.

“You’ll shut up and take what I give you.”

☆…━━━━━·:*☆…━━━━━·:*☆…━━━━━·:*☆

Taglist!// @kllyslutz @diorvalentina @fresitaskywalker @moonlight-tyler @halfm00nchild @julxstrawberry @padme-urlove @hearts4sammonroe @naberriess @valyna27 @supersoldatbarnesstuff

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icarusredwings · 3 days ago

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"Shh... shh It's alright.."

Logan's eyes flutter open, hearing the raspy voice. Like he's been crying. Sitting up, he watches as his husband was once again in the corner of their bedroom, rocking and patting his babydoll, sitting next to her wooden crib that Shop Class had made for him, Fordge's great niece Cherri to be exact. Sweet kid. Wade ruffled up her ears every morning, despite her groans to stop, she would giggle and become upset if he didn't.

God those kids loved him.. but it seemed recently this specifc kid, Their plastic kid at that- had his attention most evening's.

"Wade..?" He whispers, but he's ignored. This isn't uncommon. Usually, during these episodes, it was best to let him go. To let him rock the baby until she 'stopped crying' or until HE stopped crying.

"Yeah, I know sometimes things might not always make sense to you right now. But hey, what daddy always tell you? Straighten up, little soldier. Stiffen up that upper lip. What’chu crying about? You got me.. daddy won't let no one hurt'cha... Promise" He whispers, giving their daughter a small kiss on the scalp, holding her so gently and yet so firm, afraid of hurting her by squeezing and or dropping her.

The way he sat cross legged and stared at their daughter, Logan could almost see his cogs turning.

Was that so hard for his own father to do? To protect him? Not hurt him? Love him?

"Shhh... shhh..Now, hush little baby don’t you cry everythings gonna be alright. Stiffen that upper lip up little lady I told ya, Daddy’s here to hold ya through the night."

Was that... Eminem??...

Of course Wade of all people would since Eminem to his infant...

He whispers, rocking back and forth with closed eyes, holding her tightly, patting her as he went on.

"I know mommy’s not here right now, and we don’t know why. We feel how we feel inside. I might seem a little crazy, pretty baby, but I promise mama's gon' be alright."

Look- Logan was old. But he wasn't that old. Wade had changed the lyrics. Just slightly enough to still match beat, but it meant so much, telling the baby doll that her 'feelings' mattered even if irrational, telling her that he was insane, and promising her everything was going to be alright.

You may not think so, but this was progress. Moments like these were looked down upon, and while people might not realize it, this sort of play IS a form of regression and was just as good as a coping mechanism as him playing with horses was, the only difference was he was playing with dolls. By comforting Evelyn, he was sootheing himself. It was much easier to tell someone else it was okay rather then yourself.

He was tricking his brain. Subconsciously forcing himself to believe things would be fine. The only part that he wasn't sure of was 'Evelyn's' need for a mommy. Was this Wade missing his own mother.. or was this missing Vanessa and what they could have had? V was still around. They saw her once a week at the very least. Still went on dates, Still hung out afterward (if you get my drift) The only thing really different was that the 'baby machine' was no longer in business. Having shut down a while ago. She had (at least- if Logan understood correctly) Had a partial hysterectomy so her painful periods would stop.

"And daddy’s gonna buy you a mocking bird. Imma give you the world, I’ma buy a diamond ring for you. Imma sing for you, I’ll do anything for you to see you smile." He sang quietly, giving her sweet hugs, soft kisses, and the patting became lighter, more off beat and calm.

It wasn't that Wade would be a "Bad" father but he could barley take care of himself. Anyone who knew him- actually knew him- knows Wade wouldn't ever be able to hurt a baby. Not on purpose anyway, but with how his mind was, it wasn't a good idea. Kids? Sure. A baby? No.. And it's not like Ness didn't talk to him about it beforehand, letting him know that she was keeping her eggs but they would never be able to have a baby unless someone agreed to be a surrogate. He wasn't mad. No, not at all. He understood perfectly.... a bit too perfectly.

Logan, being the person who he is though, could smell him crying in the shower later that day. He couldn't imagine being in those shoes.. to be told the person you were planning on having little kits with- Er I mean kids with- wouldn't be able to carry them anymore.

"And if that mockingbird don’t sing and the ring don’t shine, Imma break that birdies neck! I’ll go back to the jeweler who sold it to ya and make him eat every karat, dont fuck with dad.. hah....you like that? Yeah?... Daddy's little psycho.." He smiles, seeming to have finally 'calmed' Evelyn enough for her to stop 'crying'.

Deep down, Evelyn scared him. Wade behaved as if she truly was telling him things at times. At first, he thought it was just his own voices playing tricks on him. And then he thought it was lingering elements of a bad dream, a random little girls voice running through a nightmare.

Wade went into detail about each dream, talking about it for days afterward, describing how his darling girl was reaching out for him, calling for her daddy with open arms. From the sounds of it, she wasn't an infant, though. Fluxuating ages but the ones where she begs him not to leave well... leaves him like this. In shambles, crying on the floor at 2 in the morning.

"You comin' to bed, papa bear?" He teases.

Glancing up, Wade sighs, the kind of relief in which he could finally lay Eve back in her cradle, giving it a good push before coming to crawl under the sheets. "Comin' mama bear."

#deadpool and wolverine #poolverine #logan howlett #wade wilson #deadpool #deadpool 3 #wolverine #deadclaws #Babydoll Evelyn #Evelyn Wilson Howlett #coping mechanism #finding home au #finding home #interactive fanfic #eminem #vanessa carlysle #SoundCloud

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yandere-romanticaa · 2 days ago

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Live, laugh, love Reinhard van Astrea Agenda™! There is a genuine demand for the man, and I am here to DELIVER! If anyone ever has any ideas to share - do not hesitate!

Even with his countless accolades, various achievements and plethora of skills, Reinhard van Astrea is still nothing but a man at the end of the day. He sits in a chair and admires the sunset, how the pretty colours all flow into one another in order to create a warm embrace of light, to which the knights heart cannot help but to sting a little.

When was the last time someone had embraced him? Reinhard thought to himself, his usually calm face suddenly turning sour.

The longer he allowed himself to linger at those thoughts, the more jealous he became of the sun, those same beautiful rays now mocking him in his cold, dark emptiness, with no one truly being there for him in his corner in his hour of need.

Does a hero like him even have an hour of need? Such a difficult question indeed...

Perhaps that was why Reinhard ended up gravitating towards you. He could not explain away the thrill of seeing you on the street and talking to you, nor could he keep count of how many times he felt his poor little belly rise in an uproar of nausea, a sensation which was otherwise completely foreign to him.

Frankly, part of him wondered if you were a member of the Witch Cult at the start. Why else would he be feeling this way? Reinhard's mind kept doing all sorts of mental gymnastics over and over, but it all fell flat whenever he would look into your eyes and the strongest knight in the world would suddenly turn into a starstruck little puppy.

It was humiliating how his heart nearly broke through his chest and fell straight onto the pavement beneath his boots, all because you had been a careless and sweet little thing by grabbing his strong hand into your own.

The way you held him so casually, it was horrifying but in the most dazzling way possible.

Reinhard recalled his grandfather saying something how you should never get into a way of a man who is blinded with love.

The redhead was finally beginning to grasp that sentiment in its entirety.

It was so easy to fall in love, so impossibly easy to fall into that sweet clutch and hold onto it. Reinhard fought it with all his might, he really and truly did. His sworn duty was to be proper and honorable, who was he to chase after his overbearing desires?

And all of those concerns and worries would melt away like snow in the heat whenever he was granted the blessing of being in your company.

Reinhard van Astrea was a lovesick fool. He hadn't even realized just how deep he was in, just how bad the situation had gotten.

Playing mind games with himself became a common occurrence as he came to the thought that if he took you, all would be well. He had the resources to take care of you and he was the strongest man in the kingdom.

It was definitely the right thing to do.

The Sword Saint held you in his embrace, his grip iron tight as you trashed in the darkness, spewing curses at him. It pained him to see you like this but he had no choice.

Reinhard hated being called a monster. But hearing that cursed word fall from your lips hurt like nothing before.

No divine protection, no amount of training, no mystical spell could have prepared him from the boiling, white hot pain he was in.

You had just called him a monster.

If he wasn't in such a rush, perhaps he would even cry.

He was going to make you see otherwise, thought Reinhard with determination. He was going to show you that all he wanted was the absolute best for you, nothing more. Reinhard was going to be your hero and there was no going back from that.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yancore #yanderecore #yandere aesthetic #male yandere #yandere male #tw yandere #re zero #re zero x reader #reinhard van astrea #reinhard van astrea x reader #yandere reinhard van astrea x reader #yandere re zero #yandere re zero x reader

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onlycosmere · 1 day ago

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“He kept on the proper face all the way to his rooms, and was proud of himself for it. Then he stepped inside and found an empty nothingness. His were the quarters of a highlord, supposedly luxurious and spacious. He had little furniture though, and that left it feeling hollow. Dark, the sole light coming from the balcony. Every honor he’d been given seemed to highlight how vacant his life really was. Titles couldn’t fill a room with life.

Still, he turned and closed the door with a firm push. Only then did he break. He didn’t make it to the chair. He sank down with his back to the wall beside the door. He tried to unbutton his coat, but ended up bending forward with his knuckles pressing his forehead, digging into his skin as he hyperventilated, gasping in deep breaths of air while he trembled and shook.

Exhaustionspren like jets of dust gleefully congregated around him. And agonyspren, like upside-down faces carved from stone, twisted and faded in and out. He couldn’t cry. Nothing came out. He wanted to cry, because at least that would be a release. Instead he huddled, knuckles pressing against the scars in his forehead, wishing he could shrivel away. Like the eyes of a person struck by a Shardblade.

In moments like this—alone and huddled on the floor of a dark room, tormented by agonyspren—Moash’s words found him. The truth of them became undeniable. Out in the garish sunlight, it was easy to pretend that everything was all right. In here, Kaladin could see clearly.

You’re just going to keep hurting.…

His entire life had been a futile effort to stop a storm by yelling at it. The storm didn’t care.

They’re all going to die. There’s nothing you can do about it.

You could never build anything that lasted, so why try? Everything decayed and fell apart. Nothing was permanent. Not even love.

Only one way out …

A knock came at his door. Kaladin ignored the sound until it became insistent. Storms. They were going to barge in, weren’t they? Suddenly panicked that anyone should find him like this, Kaladin stood up and straightened his coat. He took a deep breath, and the agonyspren faded.

Adolin pushed his way in, a treasonous Syl on his shoulder. That was where she had gone? To fetch Adolin storming Kholin?

The young man wore a uniform of Kholin blue, but not a regulation one. He’d taken to having embellishments added, regardless of what his father thought. While it was sturdy—a little stiff, starched to maintain neat lines—its sleeves were embroidered to match his boots. The cut left the coat longer than most—a bit like Kaladin’s own captain’s coat, but more trendy.

Somehow Adolin wore the uniform, when the uniform had always worn Kaladin. To Kaladin, the uniform was a tool. To Adolin it was a part of an ensemble. How did he get his hair—blond, peppered black—so perfectly messy? It was both casual and deliberate at the same time.

He was smiling, of course. Storming man.

“You are here!” Adolin said. “Rock said he thought you were heading for your room.”

“Because I wanted to be alone,” Kaladin said.

“You spend too many evenings alone, bridgeboy,” Adolin said, glancing at the nearby exhaustionspren, then grabbing Kaladin by the arm—something few other people would have dared.

“I like being by myself,” Kaladin said.

“Great. Sounds awful. Today, you’re coming with me. No more excuses. I let you blow me away last week and the week before.”

“Maybe,” Kaladin snapped, “I just don’t want to be around you, Adolin.”

The highprince hesitated, then leaned forward, narrowing his eyes and putting his face up close to Kaladin’s. Syl still sat on Adolin’s shoulder, her arms folded—without even the decency to look ashamed when Kaladin glared at her.

“Tell me honestly,” Adolin said. “With an oath, Kaladin. Tell me that you should be left alone tonight. Swear it to me.”

Adolin held his gaze. Kaladin tried to form the words, and felt of the ten fools when he couldn’t get them out.

He definitely shouldn’t be alone right now.

“Storm you,” Kaladin said.

“Ha,” Adolin said, tugging him by the arm. “Come on, Brightlord Master Highmarshal Stormface. Change your coat to one that doesn’t smell like smoke, then come with me. You don’t have to smile. You don’t have to talk. But if you’re going to be miserable, you might as well do it with friends.”

Kaladin extracted his arm from Adolin’s grip, but didn’t resist further. He grabbed new clothes—tossing aside the ones he’d been fighting in.

He did, however, shoot Syl another glare as she flew over to him. “Adolin?” Kaladin said as he changed. “Your first thought was to get Adolin?”

“I needed someone you couldn’t intimidate,” she replied. “That list at best includes three people. And the queen was likely to transform you into a crystal goblet or something.”

Kaladin sighed and walked out to join Adolin, lest the highprince think he was dallying. Syl eyed Kaladin as she walked in the air alongside him, keeping up with him despite her dainty steps.

“Thank you,” Kaladin said softly, turning his eyes forward.”

- Rhythm of War

#the stormlight archive #rhythm of war #cosmere #cfsbf #root #correct cosmere quotes #kaladin stormblessed #syl #adolin kholin #sylphrena #brandon sanderson

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st4rrzynight · 3 days ago

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𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 — 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐠𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐬

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 – 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐠𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭– 𝐧𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭, 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞, 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

five years. five years since i lost the love of my life. the woman i promised i was going to marry. the only woman who was there through thick and thin.

i lost her. i lost her to a man who buys her roses when her favorite flowers are tulips. a man who takes her out on dates to the bar when her ideal date is a restaurant.

a man who doesn't appreciate her worth, a man who will never know her the way i knew her. she was the love of my life and i refuse to let her go. he is not worthy enough of her beauty.

but i have to let her go. i have to accept that she is not the woman she once was back in high school. the woman who completed me.

it's my 5th year at uconn and i have promised myself to let her go, yet i can never seem to get her out of my mind. the way her brown hair frames her face so exquisitely, the way her brown eyes light up once the sun shines on her face so delicately enhancing her already beautiful features into something more.

all that travels through my mind when i see her with her boyfriend is 18 year old me back in high school. the day after she got sent away to god knows where, it was tragic. i tried calling her every second of the day, i went to her house only to be reprimanded by her parents.

i was told that i was the devil, i was satans spawn for implanting these sinful ideas into their perfect angels head. they never wanted to see me around their daughter again.

now five years later at 23 years old, i still feel everything i felt when i was eighteen. no distractions could ever tear away the pain and weight i feel in my heart from not being able to be with her.

i look in the mirror and all i see staring back at me is my eighteen year old self with the same look in her eyes.

its time, its time to move on and find someone new. speaking of someone new, i have started talking to a girl named gianna. she was beautiful. she has brown hair, brown eyes, beautiful inside and out.

but nothing can capture the sting of how y/n made me feel. she made me feel out of this world, and i don't think anyone will ever compare to her.

speaking of her, here she comes now, walking through campus hand in hand with her boyfriend, i stared in envy knowing i should be the one holding her hand. she looked happy, but i know deep down even if she doesn't realize it herself, that shes miserable.

she's not truly happy with him and i know it. the way she always distances herself from him, the most physical affection shes ever had with him out in public is holding his hand, and a mere hug, side hug at most.

but i could never blame her, no this is her parents fault. they sent her away and she came back a completely different person. she broke up with me, dropped all friends we had in common and acted as if i had never been in her life.

i'm tired of living life day by day without a proper explanation of why she did what she did, why she broke my heart, and why shes acting as if i don't even exist.

the moment i saw her alone and not with her boyfriend i took the opportunity to talk to her. i built up the courage to walk over to her and i tapped her on the shoulder.

the moment she turned around i could see shock and confusion spread through her face, she looked around for a second and she looked like she was about to walk away.

"wait, i know i'm probably the last person you want to talk to right now, but please y/n i at least want to know why, why so suddenly. i mean jesus i know it's been five years, but i loved you, so much." i rambled trying to keep her attention, tears forming in my eyes as i confessed my love for her once again.

i could see she looked conflicted, not knowing whether she should brush me off like she had always done or actually spare me a minute of her time to talk to me.

"i– i just– look, its nothing personal. five years ago we were still practically children. i didn't know what was best for me, my parents did they assured me of it." hearing her actually speak to me lifted a weight off my chest for a split second before it felt like it got dropped back on me 30 pounds heavier.

"what are you talking about? what do you mean 'your parents assured you of it?' what did they do?" i was scared, scared of what they did to her, what they said to her that made her go down this rabbit hole of forced heterosexuality.

"they wanted me to go down the right path and sent me to blue fire wilderness church camp. they fixed what was wrong with me, they made me realize that what we were doing was immoral and wrong, so please stop chasing after me, stop waiting for me because i got led down the right path and found my beautiful boyfriend, and you should try and go down the right path as well." hearing her tell me what happened, getting an explanation for the first time in years was a mix of emotions.

i felt refreshed for finally getting an explanation, then again i wanted to throw up right then and there for what the explanation was.

"conversion therapy, they sent you to conversion therapy y/n. can't you see that deep down if you never had any feelings for women you wouldn't have had to get sent to conversion therapy? they corrupted you and you don't even know it! i mean come on, i see the way you don't truly feel comfortable with your boyfriend, your body knows what you like and theres no changing that." i pleaded with her trying to get her to understand, wanting her to come to a realization that everything that was said to her was a lie.

she took a deep sigh frustration evident in her voice as she spoke to me, possibly for the last time ever.

"look, i need you to understand that i'm not a lesbian, i'm straight. i have a loving boyfriend that i'm going to marry, and you need to move on from whatever happened in high school. i was a dumb teenager who didn't know better and needed my parents to knock some sense into me. i don't know what you think you "see" but i love my boyfriend. please just leave me alone paige."

her words stabbed at my heart a thousand times over and over again as she kept speaking, my heart shattering even more with every sentence.

hearing her say my name for the first time in five years, and for the last time forever was emotional for me.

she walked away from me reuniting with her boyfriend as they walked away hand in hand once again.

i had lost her, forever.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 —

@mrsarnold @sweetluna20 @patscorner @tndaqlifwy @jadasogay

𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭! 𝐢𝐦 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐨𝐧 ��𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠

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gotskamstuff · 10 hours ago

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I am actually heartbroken right now, there’s no other way I have to describe it if not heartbreak and the thing is that I don’t even mean it because of the emotions evoked by the story, it’s actual pain by seeing my favorite show being ruined.

‘Cause I’m sorry but the show is forever ruined for me and I won’t be able to look at it with the same eyes ever again. I’ve said it once before when we were discussing rumors and I’ll say it once again now that we have seen it become a reality…this to me goes behind JJ being a fan favorite and even behind the ship, this is genuinely something that made me lose trust in the storytelling and in the core that’s this show.

This makes no sense, ABSOLUTELY NO SENSE.

Once again I’ll repeat it, I’m no snowflakes when it comes to characters death in shows (hello? Game of thrones fan here? I suffered like a dog) but damn, there’s gotta be a sense for a character dying and there’s absolutely none here, this is also not the type of show when it would be needed.

I’ve always said it and a character like JJ could’ve ended only in ONE WAY to give justice to him and to his story: LIVING HIS FUTURE.

When I say this ruins how I view the show and my trust in the storytelling I mean it with my whole chest, this has ruined JJ’s story from season 1 episode 1 “The Pilot” to this day, JJ’s ENTIRE story doesn’t mean anything anymore…what was the reason for all this? JJ’s story has always revolved around him never believing to have a righteous future in store for him, never believing he could have something good for himself and you get the idea, his whole story arc was about him never seeing anything for him…and he doesn’t? HE ACTUALLY DOESN’T HAVE A FUTURE? What was the point? What was the poiny of seeing JJ struggling from day 1? What was the point of exploring his insecurities? What was the point of seeing him falling in love? This is what I find the most heartbreaking, if I put season 1 episode 1 on right now and I see JJ on my screen, the first thing that comes to mind is: What was the point of any of this? If he never overcame his struggles and still didn’t get closure with Luke? If he died still believing only a episode earlier that he still didn’t have a future for him? If he still struggled to accept the love and never overcame his insecurities? If he never got that future he dreamed about? (which yeah ok he got for like what? 5 minutes of screentime) …what was the point in JJ’s entire story if he never got to prove himself wrong?

The only right way a character like JJ could’ve seen his story end with dignity would’ve literally been living that future he was sure he’d never have: have a house, a job, a family, HAVE KIDS, grow old not being a drunk in prison. And they killed him TWICE in my opinion, physically and also morally by making him die not being himself and still with all that anger and fear inside him and without his story ever finding closure.

None of this does justice to JJ’s story and his arc.

This is honestly what I can’t wrapped my head around, the reason why JJ was a fan favorite was not casual…it was because of his story, when we say “we watch for JJ” is because he’s one of those characters in a show that you’re rooting for, that you wanna see defeat the odds and get the ending his heart deserves…and I’m sorry to the writers because unintentionally they made him the protagonist just as much as John B if not even more at times. When we say there’s no excitement to watch the show now this is the reason: what’s there to root for if we were rooting for their better future and this was the whole story SINCE SEASON ONE?

I had big hopes for this season and I actually enjoyed part 1 but wow was I let down, this ending just killed the entire show for me…there’s no sense in this.

I know I’m repeating myself now but I can’t stress this enough, it destroyed the show ‘cause it ruined the entire purpose of the story. Looking back now nothing about JJ’s story was worth the pain and suffering he went through and looking forward what’s there to say anymore? They’re gonna go hunt for this crown and get rich? Ok, wasn’t the whole moral of the story about the real treasure being their found family?

I loved this show since April 2020 and I would’ve gladly watched it for YEARS AND YEARS ON, but wow I would’ve rather seen it end in the trilogy or with this season with a different ending, leaving a good memory.

I’m not gonna lie…I knew this was gonna happen, I tried to not trust the rumors and I tried to think rationally but when Rudy and the producer unfollowed each other, when Rudy didn’t share anything about S5, when in part the whole story was building around the Pouges being mad at JJ and not saying “I love you back” I kinda figured AND STILL I was hoping to be wrong and I was hoping to be pleasantly surprised ‘cause I knew how bitter it would’ve left me.

And I mean it, I’m heartbroken AND MAD. The story totally ruined.

And can I get this straight, everyone is already jumping on Rudy’s ass ‘cause yeah let’s be real, he probably was done with the show and and all that jazz and it’s not cool at all, but IT HAPPENS ALL THE TIME…actors ask to leave shows all the time and in the end it’s still the writers call to decide how to make it happen, there are tons of different ways to write a character off ESPECIALLY A CHARACTER LIKE JJ, who always had that element of spontaneous take outs and with the blank paga that they had with the “surf trip”. There’s only ONE season left, I don’t think that Rudy would’ve refused if asked “hey of we can work around this, how about 5 minutes of screen time in the final episode?”…an open ending for his character that left the audience wonder “what’s JJ doing around the world?” “Where did he go?” would’ve been much more dignified for his story. In the end if they put a definitive ending to him and it was THEIR decision.

I’m actually devastated and I know it sounds exaggerated but this to me has also ruined the entire Jiara community as well…like what do we have left?

There was still so much they had left to their own story, KIARA’S STORY!! What was the point for her to fight so hard for him? to lose everything for him and get what in the end? TO HAVE HER WHOLE STORY REVOLVE AROUND HIM (‘cause that’s exactly what they did this season)? What a waste.

And it makes me incredibly sad ‘cause it has ruined all my excitement towards this part of the fandom that we built a community around…waht do we do with Jiara now? There was still so much I wanted to write for them in fictions and wanted to read from others but this has for the moment completely ruined my motivation to write for them and to even read their ff, knowing their story in canon ended and ended tragically, there’s nothing for their future. This is what I find so sad, there was left NOTHING to the imagination, nothing to let us wonder about their future.

This story ended today and I’ll never be able to look at it the same IF I’LL look at it. What’s the point of a story moving forward if the thing people were rooting for is gone? What are we rooting for if the Pogues are dead and the family is done? ‘Cause yeah, JJ was the core of the Pogues.

I find hard to believe that season 1 and 2 are the same show from season 3 and 4. The writing killed the show for good.

I hope WITH ALL MY HEART that I’ll be able to find back my excitement for my favorite show once again and that I’ll still be able to enjoy Jiara’s content again but I really find it impossible now.

I would’ve never thought that OBX, that show I watched in 2020 with genuine admiration for its story and way of portraying it could’ve been ruined like this. 💔

#outer banks #obx #jj maybank #obx netflix #obx4 #obx s4 #jiara #kiara carrera #outer banks netflix #obx spoilers #outer banks spoilers

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prettyoddfever · 3 days ago

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the "Ryho" mindset is still happening

I didn’t like how part of the fandom treated Ryan during the pre-split years. This might end up being a lengthy explanation but bear with me because it’s relevant to the modern fandom.

So it was a well-known fact in 2006 that Ryan was straightedge/sober (Spencer was too, but he got less attention from the media). Being straightedge kind of became part of Ryan’s image (here’s a random example) and a lot of fans really connected with that. Then Ryan got drunk for the first time at the end of 2006, and we started seeing pictures of him partying with friends in early 2007 before the band even went to the cabin.

By summer 2007 Ryan was like a completely different person. I get that the drugs & alcohol probably helped him become more outgoing, but I also think he was just becoming way more confident & comfortable as he grew up. And SO many fans seriously hated the change. Fans still randomly criticized the other 3 guys, but that stuff seemed more like the regular small complaints that happen just for the sake of complaining when people are bored (ex: Jon’s beard existing or vanishing). The stuff about Ryan was very different in tone and there were some consistent themes throughout the last half of 2007: Ryan was too in love with Keltie, he dressed like a hippie now, and he partied a lot. Basically, he was changing. He was no longer the same person that he was during the Fever era.

It honestly seemed like many fans were angry at this new version of Ryan for taking the old version away from them, as though they had some sort of ownership. There was tons of drama over the fact that we were seeing lots of pictures of Ryan partying with various friends (some of whom posted detailed stories about their nights or how drunk everyone was). Some fans said Ryan was a hypocrite or a liar and tried to make him out to be an alcoholic, as though he’d personally betrayed them by destroying who he was "supposed" to be.

However, I think most of the complaints were actually rooted in something bigger: Ryan looked happy.

I felt like a lot of the younger fans had latched onto the idea of a shy, wounded guitarist who needed to be saved or *understood* or whatever… you know the cliche I mean?? That was the vibe that the media sometimes tried to give him during the Fever era, so even they knew it would sell! But now Ryan was partying a lot with a wide range of friends, was dating Keltie, had completely abandoned his Fever-era aesthetic, and seemed to be closest with Jon in 2007 instead of Brendon. He was “destroying” the static image of Ryan that fangirls had taped onto their bedroom walls.

I remember a decent amount of fans actually admitting that they wished Ryan would go back to being depressed. Like they literally wanted him to be unhappy & unsure of himself because they liked him better that way. Others accepted that Ryan was changing and were happy for him, but still thought his bitter lyrics were better. And then even if other people wouldn’t admit that they were clinging onto an old version of Ryan, their main criticism still seemed to revolve around the fact that Ryan was living his life, having fun, and being different than he was the previous year.

I saved one fan’s post because it summed up some of the complaints this year:

The nickname “Ryho” really took off in late 2007.

Obviously a ton of fans loved Ryan (and the kids who were bashing him still claimed to love him too). The petty criticism just became annoying to me. People slammed his new clothes, his new hairstyles, the way he carried himself or talked, his weight/body, his “creepy” fingers, and the “girly” things he told Kerrang he liked (pumpkin spice candles, vanilla milkshakes, his puppy, and Titanic). Even the kids who used to love Ryan’s mild arrogance were now holding it against him. A lot of the fans who were criticizing Ryan in the last half of 2007 jumped right back to being his “fans” once the Pretty. Odd. era got going and things were interesting again, but I guess it shouldn’t have been surprising that so many fans were able to easily switch to bashing Ryan once again in spring 2009 when he was changing yet again. It’s like they were so focused on what Ryan wasn’t doing that spring (ex: recording the third Panic album) that they couldn’t see or accept what he was doing: building a whole new life for himself in a completely different music scene with the new crew of friends he’d been hanging out with for a while (Alex Greenwald’s scene).

One of the things that stuck out to me in late spring & summer 2009 was how many fans felt rejected by Ryan (and Jon). Those fans had basically idolized prior versions of Ryan and were hurt to slowly watch him destroy all of that as they realized he didn’t want to be part of the machine of the music scene that the fandom still loved. That hurt translated to them lashing out in anger.

So you know how I mentioned that in 2006 part of the fandom liked the idea of a shy, wounded guitarist who wrote bitter lyrics and needed to be *understood * and saved? And they resented Ryan for destroying that concept in 2007 and taking away the Ryan that they loved? They wanted to view him as a static character and couldn’t accept that he’s a constantly-evolving human. This is still happening today. Some fans are still upset that the version of Ryan that they want was taken away (ex: Ryan left the Fever era behind, left Panic behind). Except now instead of resenting Ryan for the choices that he made, some modern fans have rewritten the past to blame external forces like Brendon instead. I've been trying so hard to wrap my mind around this for a while, so here's my take on it... keep in mind that this is just my own observation/guess. Ryan isn't very visible now, so people are free to project a lot onto him. I think that by blaming Brendon (who is the visible one left), people can still happily view Ryan as a helpless victim who needs saving, and never feel rejected or betrayed by his choices... it's like Ryan didn’t actually want to leave them, and could still be the person that they need him to be. Idk I'm still trying to comprehend what happened to the recent fandom tbh.

I'm absolutely not saying that all of Ryan's current fans are like this!! It's just that some little bits I've seen are concerning because they essentially take away Ryan’s agency & erase him. Even on a smaller scale, I've still noticed how some modern fans focus heavily on stories that dramatize Ryan's pain & portray him as a passive victim, regardless of whether those stories conflict with reality. Like why exactly is that angle a priority? Some examples:

Camisado is for dancing

the "funeral picture" isn't real

Lollapalooza was a fun show

June and July are different months

Ryan participated in the stage gay

some of the Ryden stuff could probably qualify too

Keep in mind that I'm saying this as a fan of Ryan. I am genuinely happy to see that he has so many newer fans! But sometimes I'm a little concerned that patterns might be repeating and maybe some people are more focused on their own creation of a character/image than an actual musician who has had many many phases.

#i will see tomorrow if it was a good idea to pull something from my draft #add a few sentences #and then post without really editing #i'm tired whatever

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yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt · 2 days ago

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Yanno something I don't think is explored nearly enough? Ambrosius's relationship with the Director, and I'm referring to both versions here because they're both interesting in both similar and different ways

For the movie version (I will talk about the comic version on this post too, don't you worry) first of all my pal @walrus150915 wrote an incredible fic exploring this for the NBB please go read it right fucking now, but moving on from that, Ambrosius arguably saw the Director as his mom, or at least a stand-in for his mom.

She was (or seemed to be) a nurturing but authoritative adult who guided him in the role he was supposed to fill. A lot of people like to write her as an overtly nasty bitch in pre-canon fics, and while I completely get that, let's not forget that Ballister, at the beginning of the movie, found it potentially believable that he was her favorite student. He was dumbfounded and devastated to see she had been the one to frame him, he couldn't believe it and never suspected her for a second. I'll talk more about Ballister's relationship with her in another post, but the point is this is an Oscar-winning actress, people!

Ambrosius had every reason to look up to her and believe she cared about him. And she went from (in his perspective) treating him with patience, kindness, sympathy and respect, to trying to MURDER HIM.

You don't just get over a parental figure doing something like that to you (then oh yeah, promptly fucking d y i n g). The pain, the loss of realizing someone you loved and trusted was never who you thought they were (after he'd been battling those same feelings about Ballister) and never really cared about you as a person, it would be devastatingly traumatic. Like poor guy what the fuck. He had to cope with that WHILST trying to repair his broken relationship Jesus Christ

And that's not even getting INTO the comic version, which I will be getting into now. There's a big difference between the two and I think that's in no small part due to the timeframe. C! Ambro has been under the Director's thumb a full 15 years longer than his counterpart. This gave her time to exert more control over him, and also gave him time to grow more aware of her behavior. M!Ambro and the Director have the relationship of a person and their (non-sexual) groomer, while C!Ambro's relationship with her is more overtly that of a person and their abuser.*

She's regularly seen threatening him, threatening to have his loved one (Ballister) killed if he doesn't obey her thereby forcing him to do things against his will (like murder a child), insulting him, and showing him absolutely zero sympathy or kindness, even when he's seriously harmed. I think Ambrosius would, by this point, know that the Director isn't a good person and that she doesn't love him, but she's had much more time to sink her claws into him.

He's not going to leave her. This life, being the Champion, working for her, it's all he knows, and it's all he has. Where is he going to go, back to Ballister? Ballister hates him (because the Director took measures to isolate Ambrosius from him) and he's worked for the Institution his whole life. He knows the Director is bad, but he still trusts her. This is the devil he knows, at least, so by the time the story takes place he at least feels confident that they have a mutual understanding.

I imagine it took time to get to this point. He saw her as a mentor and spent most of his life desperate for her approval. After the joust, I can only imagine this got worse. She was all he had, and he'd do anything to prove himself worthy of the championship title he knows deep down that he stole. He probably saw her as a real friend for a long time, no matter how obvious she made it that the feeling wasn't mutual, and that he'd have to try ever harder to earn her praise.

What I'm saying is this man spent fifteen years under the boot of his abuser, then after fifteen years of grooming and psychological abuse she threw him in the trash, stripped him of his title and everything he'd worked for, tried to have his lover executed, then fucking died. And NOBODY TALKS ABOUT IT??? HELLOO?????

*this is not to say that M! Ambro's relationship with the Director was not abusive, it was, or that C! Ambro wasn't groomed, he was. Simply that for him, the grooming had more time to develop into overt, recognizable abuse.

#ambrosius goldenloin #nimona #nimona graphic novel #nimona 2023 #ballister boldheart #nimona analysis #cw abuse #cw grooming

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landinrris · 21 hours ago

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Since you’ve been re-blogging all these great gifs of young Lando, what did he and Carlos find most intriguing about the other the night they first met at that party in your football au? I imagine there must’ve been such a lovely spark. Don’t know if you’re going by canon, but it reminds of how Carlos said Lando was quite shy during their first meeting at the MTC, which is very sweet.

The young Lando gifs are destroying me tbh. The short answer is that Carlos is immediately drawn to Lando because of circumstance (both hiding out from a party). And then he stays because Lando is just real with him- he doesn't pay attention to football, even to the club that plays down the street, so he has no idea who Carlos is. He sticks around and wants to get to know Carlos for him rather than because Carlos might be able to get him match tickets or a tour of the club. Lando definitely gets more confident over time, but Carlos makes him a little wild from the start.

The long answer is that I have written this part, so why not a little prequel action! Takes place while Carlos and Brentford are still in the Championship League rather than the Premier League.

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If Carlos had a choice, he would not be at a house party right now. A house party after playing an away match three hours away that was grueling and maybe the longest ninety minutes of Carlos’ life to date. They’d barely come out on top, a fact about half the guys wanted to celebrate after a rocky start to the season.

Pierre had somehow managed to convince him to come out. Carlos was the captain after all, and his tagging along would be that much more of a morale boost. Plus, it’s not like the party was a total stranger’s. The house belonged to some kid Marcus knew who was busy being productive in uni.

So, Carlos swallowed his pride, resolved to stand in the corner with a beer or two, and provide moral support to whoever needed it.

The house itself is modest. It’s close by the university— small and shared by three guys whose parents names are probably on the deed. The party already looks like it’s in full swing, and Carlos wonders how long it’ll be until the police are called.

A few people recognize and cheer when they see them, but for the most part, the party goes on as it had. Pros and cons about not being in the Premier League, Carlos supposes.

Carlos loses Daniel and Pierre pretty quickly and is sure he lost track of Liam and Marcus before they ever got into the Ubers to come over.

He sighs as he takes in everyone around him. He’s probably not much older than half the people here— certainly closer in age than Daniel is to everyone, but that doesn’t mean Carlos feels connected. He knows he looks older than he is, not helped by his clothing choices— jeans and a navy henley. Not that he has much better “going out” options, but still.

The lights are half out in the living room, spilling out into the back garden where he sees plenty of people chatting and playing some kind of yard game.

In the distance, he sees the glow of what must be the kitchen and heads in that direction. The sacred place. The holy land. As much as he’ll hate it, maybe he can linger in there and someone will make small talk with him. He’s not always overly thrilled to talk about football when he’s not required to, but maybe that would help pass the time now.

The kitchen is small— proportionate to match what Carlos judges to the rest of the house. It’s plain to see boys live here, though they’ve tried to clean up as best as they can. The appliances are begging to be replaced, the coils on the stove rust colored with age and definitely not level. The cabinets are white clapboard as well with dull brass knobs. Carlos didn’t go to uni, but he’s no stranger to the cheapness of a setup.

On the far counter sits a few bottles of liquor and juice. If one was more lazy, a sports drink cooler sits next to that, undoubtedly containing a concoction Carlos could only dream of. He’s not looking to fall victim to alcohol poisoning though.

As if someone in the room could read his mind, a voice speaks up from behind him. “There’s some beer in the fridge if you want something less caustic.”

He turns around to see who’s just spoken to him and finds a boy sitting up on the countertop next to the stove, a plastic cup in his hand and the heels of his feet resting against the bottom cabinet door.

Carlos spends more than a few seconds staring, but he can’t help it.

The kid— because he looks like a kid— has frizzy brown hair that looks like it’s trying its hardest to do something against the laws of nature. Even in the yellowish light of the kitchen, Carlos can tell his eyes are mesmerizing and hard to explain. His face is dotted with what looks like a combination of freckles and acne.

Carlos wordlessly turns to the fridge, pulls out the first beer he finds, and floats over to the other side of the kitchen helplessly.

“Thanks,” he tilts the bottle in the guy’s direction and looks around for a bottle opener.

“Behind the liquor bottles.”

Carlos needs to get his head out of his ass because the bottle opener isn’t even hiding. He does spare a glance at what he’s about to put in his mouth and figures he’s had worse.

“Did you know those beers were there because they are supposed to be drunken or because you are one of the people throwing this party?”

“Probably no to both. My roommate dragged me here because he’s friends with the guys throwing it. I just snooped in retaliation. Don’t know why they’re there.”

Carlos can’t help but laugh disbelievingly. He props his hip against the stove a few feet to the guy’s right like he’s posting up residence. “Well then, I thank you…”

“Lando, not much of a party guy.” He sticks his hand out in introduction, and Carlos can’t help but take it. He repeats Lando’s name to himself in his head a few times, mind rolling over the n and d like it's some foreign word he's learning for the first time.

“Nice to meet you, Lando. I’m Carlos, also not much of a party guy.”

“Did you also get dragged here or are you just a masochist?”

“No, I am also here with friends, but they disappeared almost as soon as we walked through the door. One of them knows one of the people who lives here. I guess. My plan was to just hide in a corner with a beer for an hour and then make a quiet getaway.”

“Well, it’s not much of a corner, but it is relatively quiet in here.”

“I am touched you would share your space. So you are in uni then?”

Carlos tells himself it’s not a crime to make small talk despite feeling like a dinosaur around people a few years younger than himself. There’s just something in this Lando guy’s eyes that has Carlos leaning in closer and wanting to know more. It doesn’t hurt that he’s cute on top of the strange pull.

“Yeah, it’s my first year. I live down on campus with a few people. It’s been decent so far. Mostly spent this term trying to get my bearings and figure out what’s going on.” He glances down into his cup, and Carlos suddenly wonders if he’s even old enough to drink. Carlos should probably leave him alone.

“And what are you wanting to do?” he asks instead.

“Art— sculpture and pottery more specifically. I like making things and getting my hands dirty, you know? Something tells me you are not in uni though.” Lando purses his lips like he’s only now coming to the realization and is somewhat dismayed by it.

Maybe Carlos’ face revealed too much.

He bends his head down and smiles ruefully. “Ah, no, I am not. I just turned twenty-two. I suppose this makes me a bit of a loser being at this kind of party.”

Lando shrugs. “Maybe. I doubt hiding in the kitchen helps that.”

Carlos laughs. “Fair. Does this also make you a loser?”

Lando scoffs in what looks like mock offense. “I’ll have you know I have plenty of friends. They’re all just…” he gestures elsewhere, “Making out with girls somewhere else. Also not really my thing.”

“Randomly making out or the girls? Because if it’s just the making out, I’m sure there are plenty out there who would get to know you first,” Carlos asks before he can stop himself. He’s not even drunk and here he is asking about Lando’s sexuality.

Lando’s eyes go wide. “Uh… no, it’s the girls. Not really my scene, and I’d rather not find out which of the guys’ it is either. Not a few weeks into my first year.”

Carlos hates the way his heart skips a beat. “I know what you mean. Sometimes it feels like it is better to stay quiet than open yourself up to people who can judge and hurt you.” He doesn’t know why he admits as such to a complete stranger. He’s not out publicly, and just because Lando didn’t say I know when Carlos introduced himself doesn’t mean he doesn’t know who Carlos is. For all he knows, Lando could go online later and tell everyone that Brentford’s captain is gay.

Lando doesn’t look surprised though. He doesn’t reach for his phone to tell the world. If anything, his eyes are understanding in a way that strips Carlos bare.

“Have you found someone? Who doesn’t do that to you?” Lando asks.

He sounds like he’s asking partly out of his own curiosity and partly for Carlos’ well-being.

“My family and some close friends know. But if you are asking if I have a boyfriend, no I do not.” Carlos will not admit to reveling in the way Lando’s cheeks redden. It’s like he didn’t expect for Carlos to figure him out quite so easily.

Lando nods and takes a gulp of his drink. Carlos can’t help but look on amused and sip at his own.

“I didn’t mean to pry, I’m sorry.”

For an unbearable second, Lando looks like he’s about to hop down from the counter and flee, which is the opposite of what Carlos wants.

“You didn’t pry, it’s fine.” When Lando looks unconvinced, Carlos repeats himself. “Lando, it’s fine. You don’t have to be sorry.” He wonders if Lando expects him to ask the question in return even if he admitted he was essentially single a few minutes prior. But Carlos won’t let himself open up any kind of possibility with Lando right now. Not before—

“How old are you, anyway?”

Carlos is about to wonder why Lando looks suddenly morose at Carlos’ question before he answers. “I’ll be eighteen in a few weeks.”

Carlos almost chokes on his drink. “I thought you said you were in uni.”

“I skipped a year and I have a late birthday.” Lando sighs and leans his head back on the cabinet behind him. “It always freaks people out.”

It’s understandable, especially while Lando’s still young. “I can imagine. I didn’t mean to be like other people. It just surprised me. How was that for you?”

Because Carlos finds that he wants to hear and wants to still learn everything about Lando even if it’s only for friendship right now. Lando may be mesmerizing, but Carlos can and will control himself.

Lando doesn’t look nearly as downtrodden when Carlos doesn’t run away. Instead, he launches into stories about school that gradually meander into conversation from other areas of life. Carlos steers them clear of anything related to football, utterly uninterested in learning whether it changes Lando’s opinion of him.

Sure, Carlos isn’t a Premier League player, but Brentford is sitting fourth in the Championship, and Carlos knows there’s no limit to what people will do for a leg up.

The topic doesn’t even come up in general, making Carlos think that Lando doesn’t even watch it— and wouldn’t that be something. Of course, it’s not outside of the realm of possibility, but to seemingly click so well with someone in a genuine sense and not because the other person is trying to make themselves appealing because of what Carlos does for a living? It’s refreshing.

He loses track of time huddled in the kitchen talking to Lando. He learns that Lando sells some of his pottery online already and that he wants to grow his business throughout school and beyond it. He shows Carlos some of his work— beautiful and flowing vases and pots with artful designs that remind Carlos of pieces locked away in his mother’s china cabinet. He’s been involved with pottery since primary school when clay pots consisted of connecting coils and pinching a ball out into something usable.

They talk about their families— the woes of growing up the middle child with multiple sisters. Lando makes Carlos laugh harder than he thought possible, the two of them seemingly syncing their laughs in a way he’s ever only done with a few close friends. It makes warmth bloom in his chest.

Only once Daniel wraps his knuckles on the door frame of the kitchen does Carlos realize it sounds quieter beyond the kitchen than it used to. Carlos tries not to react as if he’s been caught out doing something secretive.

Daniel hesitates as he seemingly takes the scene in. “We’re getting ready to go, you coming? Most everyone is starting to clear out.”

Carlos looks down at his watch and balks at the time. So much for only staying for an hour when it’s been about three. “Uh, yes I will meet you outside?”

Daniel nods and turns back into the living room.

Carlos turns back to Lando and takes a leap. “Give me your phone number? We can keep talking and maybe hang out properly?”

Lando’s eyes widen. “Yeah? Yeah, okay. I can send myself a message from your phone if you want.”

“Okay, perfect.” Carlos fishes his phone from his back pocket, navigates to a new message, and hands his phone over. He saves Lando’s contact after Lando hands his phone back, going so far as to tell Lando to pose for a picture for his contact photo. Lando puts his hands under his chin and squints his eyes into an exaggerated close-mouthed smile. It’s hopelessly endearing. “I will see you around?”

“For sure. Thanks for keeping me company.”

“Anytime.”

Carlos is somewhat morose to leave the little room that had become his haven over the last few hours. Lando’s face might as well be burned into his retinas for as long as he’s been looking at him, and yet it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. The living room and front walkway are too dark, the people not as endearing.

Somehow Carlos is going home with the same people he came with, though they’re definitely on the tipsy side compared to Carlos who had only had an additional beer.

“Everything good?” Daniel asks, lingering as Pierre and Alex climb into the waiting Uber.

Carlos startles out of his own head and looks to see Daniel watching him. “Me? Yes, everything is good.”

“Carlos, mate,” Pierre exclaims when they’re seated. “I thought for sure you would have left like an hour and a half ago.”

“Nah, Sainz looked like he was having a good time, didn’t you?” Daniel protests.

Carlos thinks of Lando sitting on top of the counter with his blinding heart-like smile. He doesn’t have any qualms about agreeing and letting them gloat. “Yeah, I did actually.” Carlos doesn’t pay attention to whatever Pierre says after, choosing instead to look out the window instead and watch the trees and houses roll by.

#football au #surprise blurb!#a not small part of me really wants to explore the early years of their relationship so I've got a couple small things written/thought out #carlando #husbands™#writing tag

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