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eiightysixbaby · 1 year ago

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i’ll be home for christmas

PART ONE: Last Christmas

series masterlist || next part

word count: 5.8k

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: you feel like you’ve been floating through life since eddie left town last christmas. what are you supposed to do when everything reminds you of him, and christmas doesn’t feel the same anymore?

cw: switches between past and present tense, angst angst angst, reader’s nickname is ‘sunny’.

author’s note: i cannot express how excited i am to finally be sharing the first part to this story! i have truly poured every possible ounce of my energy into this and i really hope it shows. thank you in advance for reading, i hope you all enjoy it as much as i’ve enjoyed writing it.

Present Day: December 17th, 1989.

Snowflakes swirl around your face, dancing in front of your nose before being whisked away in a flurry of cold air. It’s not snowing hard — just enough to make Hawkins feel more magical. You stuff your hands into your coat pockets, eagerly awaiting the steaming cup of coffee you’re headed for. Behind you, Nancy pleads with Mike to put a hat on because his ears are bright red from the cold, and of course he doesn’t listen. Stubborn as usual. Steve calls him a little shit, and you roll your eyes to yourself as they bicker. You can’t quite bring yourself to laugh, though, and you don’t turn around to join in on the teasing like you usually would. Your eyes are angled down, watching as your boots press imprints into the dusting of snow that coats the pavement beneath you.

“I always thought Hawkins looked its prettiest when it’s snowing,” Robin’s voice says from behind you, getting clearer as she jogs to catch up to you.

Your shoes scuff against the frosty sidewalk, a little hum leaving you as you glance around at the town center. The storefronts are all decorated for the upcoming holiday, strings of garland and pretty green wreaths with red ribbon hanging on every door. Cheery window displays with Santa Claus and artificial Christmas trees liven up the shops. Shiny red and gold baubles hang from bare trees, string lights wrap around ornate light poles and coil up until they kiss the big red bows that are tied around the tops.

Robin’s right. It is pretty. The snow makes everything even more picturesque, like you’re living in a town inside of a snow globe. This could be the setting of a holiday movie, as far as you’re concerned. You’ve always loved Christmas, it’s always been the happiest time of the year for you. This year, though, is different. The warmth and joy you usually feel every December is gone, left behind on a snowy night last year. Robin senses your sadness, of course she does, because she’s sensed it just about every single time it’s crept up on you over the course of the last 12 months. Ever the empath, that one.

“Hey, I know it’s hard for you this year, kid,” she says, softer now, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder as you walk side-by-side. Her vibrant blue eyes catch yours, studying you carefully. “You know we’re feeling it too. And we’re all here for you,” she adds, nodding in the direction of the rest of your friends.

Steve, Nancy, Jonathan, and the kids all trail behind you, spread out on the sidewalk. You know they’re all feeling the difference of this holiday, too. In their own ways, they’re hurting too. You know you’re not the only one. You almost feel selfish, but you know that’s not what your friends would want, so you try your best to shove it down.

“I know, Rob. Thank you. I promise I’m not trying to be a downer,” you say, taking a shaky inhale. Crisp, cold air fills your lungs, the icy chill almost burning.

“No, hey, don’t do that. You’re not being a downer. We’re gonna have you all merry and bright in no time,” she says with her signature pretty smile, but you feel like she’s trying to reassure both you and herself as she says it.

You hope she’s right. You long to break free from the shackles of the numbness that’s clung to you this entire year. A certain someone’s absence that’s left you feeling hollow.

You reach the coffee shop, holding out a gloved hand to open the door for your friends. You trail in behind everyone, warm air hitting you in a comforting wave, like a blanket wrapping around your frame. The entire place smells like fresh coffee grounds and hints of vanilla, and you inhale deeply, letting it envelope you.

You vaguely hear Dustin and Max arguing about whether hot chocolate or coffee is the better hot beverage, before your ears tune in to the Christmas music playing over the speaker. “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” rings out in the small space, and you feel as though you’ve been punched in the gut as the soothing voice croons through the sound system. What should be a happy, comforting song only adds salt to your wounds, and if you had any say here you’d turn it right off. It reminds you of all of the things you wish you could forget, reminds you that you won’t be spending this Christmas with the person you should be. Longing coils its way around your heart, squeezing tight enough you feel it could shatter.

“What’re you gonna get?” Jonathan asks from beside you, bringing you out of your head as you realize you’d been staring aimlessly at the menu.

“Huh? Oh, um, probably a vanilla latte. Boring, I know,” you give him a little smile, the best you can muster, which he returns.

“Nah, it’s a classic. Can’t go wrong,” he says, walking towards the waiting cashier to go and order.

He orders his drink and yours, paying for both before you can get a word in edgewise. “Jonathan—” you start as you both move to the side to wait for your items.

“Don’t offer to pay me back. It’s my treat, okay?” he insists, giving you a knowing look. It’s his way of trying to cheer you up, to bring that holiday spirit back to life inside of you.

You and Jonathan had been friends for years now, he’d been a part of the group since the beginning, but only in this past year did you become especially close. He’d been such a big support system for you, letting you vent when you needed to and only offering advice when you explicitly asked for it. He’s an exceptional listener, the perfect confidant, and you’re grateful for his friendship. You’re grateful for the whole gang — their warmth and consistent companionship making everything easier for you.

Jonathan tells you to go sit with the others, assuring you that he’ll collect the drinks and bring them over to the table. Coats and scarves and gloves are discarded, hung on the coat rack that’s nestled in the corner right behind the two tables Nancy chose for you all. She sits next to Robin, the taller girl draping an arm over the back of Nancy’s chair, fingertips brushing her shoulder affectionately through her fluffy sweater. You sit across from Steve, opting for the seat closest to the window so you can look out. Max, Dustin, Lucas, Will, and Mike all sit at their own table, animatedly chatting about the Secret Santa gift exchange they’re doing. You giggle lightly when Dustin accidentally reveals that he’d drawn El’s name, the table immediately grilling into him and roaring with laughter.

Jonathan sits down beside you with the drinks and you immediately grab your cup, the warmth from it soothing your hands. You slip into easy conversation; talking about what Christmas gifts you all still have to buy and coming up with a plan for the group Christmas party, discussing your jobs and all of the usual things.

“And so I’m banging on the bathroom door, right? Yelling at Steve to come help me with this customer,” Robin rambles animatedly, her hands flying as she tells a story from work. “He comes out of the bathroom, and the fucking button on his pants pops off. His pants literally fall down around his ankles in the middle of the bakery. I’m peeing myself laughing at this point, the customer is still angrily waving his fist at me—” she keeps talking, you know she does, but your attention is diverted elsewhere in the midst of her anecdote.

A car horn honks outside, making you turn your head towards the commotion just in time to see a van pull up at a stop light outside of the coffee shop. A van that makes your heart feel like it’s plummeted to the bottom of your stomach. A Chevy, a deep burgundy in color with a cream stripe running along the side. You feel your mouth go dry as you’re plagued with a flood of memories. You vaguely register Jonathan and Nancy’s laughter towards Robin, you know you should be laughing too, but your mind is already far away from this moment — transported somewhere else. Back to a year ago. Back to Eddie.

Christmas Eve, 1988.

You hoist yourself up into the van, a smile on your face as you sit down, instantly pressing your hands to the air vents to try and warm them up. You’re buzzing from the party at Steve’s, waving enthusiastically to the host in question as he closes the front door to his house. Eddie had insisted on warming the vehicle up for you while you said your goodbyes to everyone, and he watches you from the driver’s seat as you buckle your seatbelt.

“So, where are you taking me, handsome?” you ask, barely able to contain your joy.

“You’ll see,” he says, giving your hand a squeeze. He shoots you a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, but you shake it off easily, assuming he’s just getting tired. You know you were.

Snow flies sideways in the beams of the headlights, those big, fluffy flakes that have always been your favorite. You drive past houses decorated like something out of a scene from a movie; rainbow lights coiled around bushes and pine trees, white bulbs lining rooftops and candles glowing in windows. Every door seems to don a wreath with a big red bow, and even some snowmen wave at you with their stick arms, mittens held high in the air.

It’s magical, that’s the only word you could use. Your heart feels like it could burst out of your chest, giddy like a child again. Christmas music plays on the radio and Eddie hums along to it beside you, making you want to grab him and kiss him and just never let go. What you two had going on was unlabeled, at the moment, but the tension between you was tangible. Your seemingly upcoming relationship had become the butt of the affectionate jokes in your friend group, the gang being less than subtle about what they expected from you and Eddie. And they didn’t even know about the kiss yet…

Being with him felt like everything good in the world, wrapped in a tiny package and sealed with a bow. Sometimes he would look at you like he loved you, and sometimes you felt like you loved him. There was no rush, no hurry, no deadline with Eddie. You let things flow naturally, progress gradually as you enjoyed getting closer and closer with one another. You’re feeling like tonight might be the night, like he might finally ask you to be his.

The van drives across snowy backroads, a dense layer of trees on either side. You know exactly where you’re headed now, hands rubbing on your thighs in an absentminded fidget. It’s not long until you pull up beside Lover’s Lake; your usual spot, your special spot. There’s a lonely dock leading out to the water, a dock that you’ve spent many a night sitting at while you gazed at the stars with the curly haired boy. It, too, is decorated for the holiday now, strands of lights twisted around the railings, illuminating the surrounding frozen water.

Eddie puts the van in park, killing the engine before his door swings open with a reluctant creak. You open your own door, only to be met with him extending a hand for you to take, helping you down onto the icy ground. You tug your hat further down over your ears, slipping your gloves out of your coat pocket and onto your hands. Eddie’s grabbed a blanket from the back of the van, tucking it under his arm. You can see your breath with every exhale as your boots crunch through the dirt and grass, walking to the dock with Eddie right in front of you.

The blanket is laid out on the old wooden planks, serving as a buffer between you and the cold, frozen surface of the dock. You gaze out at the vast expanse of the lake, a few lights twinkling on the opposite shore. You reach for Eddie’s hand, giving his fingers a squeeze before just holding them, your gloves providing him with some extra warmth.

“I have something for you,” he says then, taking you by surprise.

“Eddie, I thought we were exchanging gifts tomorrow—” you start, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“This couldn’t wait,” he insists, and his eyes hold an emotion you can’t place.

Is this it? Is he going to ask you to be his girlfriend?

His hand fumbles around in his coat pocket before he finds what he’s looking for, retrieving a tiny velvet box. A dainty ribbon is wrapped around it, tied with a bow on the top, and you gasp a little when you see it. He hands it off to you, watching as you delicately pull the knot loose, setting the shiny ribbon in your lap. You open the box with so much care, a hand flying to cover your mouth when you see what waits for you.

A beautiful gold necklace with a heart pendant rests on the silky bunch of fabric inside the box. You lift the pendant with a finger, noticing an engraved ‘E’ in the center of the heart. The whole thing is dainty, not flashy, not too much, but yet more than enough.

“Eddie—” you breathe, tears pricking in your eyes as you meet his stare.

He looks nervous. He’s not smiling.

“I want you to have that so you never forget me, and how much you mean to me,” he says, scooting closer to you.

He pulls you to him, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I could never forget you, what do you mean?” you ask, clutching the box close to your body.

“Sweetheart, there’s something I need to tell you. And I need you to try and understand,” he says, and the words immediately make your stomach flip. You feel ill, and he hasn’t even told you what he needs to tell you yet.

You close the box, holding it even tighter, as if it could freeze this moment in time.

He pulls back just slightly, enough so he can look you directly in the eye. One hand rests on your cheek, the shockwaves of his touch reaching the deepest parts of your soul.

“I’m leaving Hawkins. Tomorrow,” he says finally, a shuddering breath leaving him.

And that was the moment your whole world shattered.

Present Day: December 17th, 1989.

You’re torn from your memories at the feeling of Jonathan’s hand on your arm, his voice calling to you through the fog you feel floating in your brain.

“Sunny, hey, you okay?” he prods, concern evident on his face when you turn to look at him.

Nancy, Steve, and Robin look expectantly at you from the other side of the table, worried about where you’d drifted off to.

“Yeah, I— I’m fine,” you say, giving a smile that’s less than believable. “Sorry, just… thinking. Lots going on for the holidays, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Jonathan says, squeezing your shoulder as if to let you know he’s here for you.

He gives you that look he always gives you when he knows there’s something you aren’t telling him, he knows you too well. You feel bad lying to him, but you don’t want to bring up Eddie in front of the whole group right now. Robin was telling a funny story. Your friends deserve to laugh, to be happy. They don’t need your anguish. Saving face is the easiest option.

To your appreciation, they simply ease back into the conversation at hand. Your hand reflexively reaches up to your chest, grabbing at the small pendant that rests there. Your thumb runs over the engraving that you know is the letter E, your breath leaving you shakily. You take one final look out the window, the van from before now gone — much like the man it reminded you of.

You end up making an excuse to leave your friends early that day, no longer feeling able to force a positive attitude. You know they must be worried, know that they see through your facade, and guilt gnaws at your insides. All they’ve done is try and try to keep your spirits up, to help you move past everything, and you’re just stuck in the past. You haven’t exactly been easy to help, either. You miss Eddie, but every time he’s called you decline speaking to him. You can’t — certain that you wouldn’t even know what to say and that you’d just cry helplessly into the phone. And nevertheless your friends persist, always there when you need them and always willing to cheer you up. Plans are made with Nancy and Robin to bake Christmas cookies sometime soon — an offer you couldn’t possibly refuse at the way they so excitedly ask you to join them — before you bid everyone goodbye and part ways.

You stomp your snow-covered boots on the doormat just inside of your apartment, kicking them off haphazardly as the icy sludge begins to melt on the ground. You float around the space as you hang up your coat and remove your gloves, hat, and scarf, your body physically completing the actions but your brain residing somewhere else entirely. You curl up on your couch, wrapping yourself in your favorite blanket as you stare blankly at the black screen of your tiny television. The glow of your Christmas tree does nothing to soothe you — where it used to be a comfort, it now feels like a headache. You have half a mind to tear down all of your decorations, but you know it wouldn’t truly make you feel any better.

As if you weren’t sad enough already, as if the past eleven months haven’t been torturous enough, you really can’t get Eddie out of your head now. Seeing a lookalike van to his shouldn’t bother you, nearly a year later. Something so commonplace shouldn’t phase you. You press the heels of your palms to your closed eyes, willing your tears not to fall, willing yourself to forget him and forget it all and leave him in your past. You know it’s hopeless, you know you can’t possibly forget him, and it only makes you more frustrated.

One hand grips the pendant of your necklace, pulling roughly on the chain and making it snap. You toss it onto your coffee table, sobs wracking through your entire body now. Your fingers rest where the necklace once was, feeling the loss of him, something tangible. Laying down on the worn cushions, tears blur your vision as you cry, left alone to remember. And you remember everything.

Christmas Eve, 1988.

Your brows furrow, your brain not comprehending what he’s saying. “I don’t.. I don’t understand. What do you mean you’re leaving?”

“I found a place in Chicago. I can’t be in Hawkins anymore, Sunny, I’m sorry. I don’t… I don’t belong here. I need to go out on my own and make something of myself,” he says, wincing as if it pains him to speak about. You don’t have the grace in this moment to see that it does pain him. More than he can say.

“No…” you say, tears welling up in your eyes as you shake your head furiously. “No, this is a joke. This has to be a joke,” you try to convince yourself, moving to stand. Your chest feels tight, like all the air has been stolen from your lungs.

“Sweetheart—” Eddie says, standing with you, reaching an arm out to steady you when your boot slips on the icy dock.

“Don’t touch me!” you shout, louder than you’d ever wanted to be with him. “You can’t—” your voice breaks, your lip wobbling. “You can’t leave me.”

“I have to. You’ll be better off without me, okay? You have Nance and Robin, and Jonathan and Steve.”

“What about them?” you ask, voice quiet.

“What?”

“What about them? Did you tell them that you’re leaving? Did you tell the kids?”

“I… no. I need you to explain everything, okay? I didn’t want to ruin the Christmas party,” Eddie says, his eyes averting your gaze, shifting on his feet.

“Oh, but it’s okay to ruin my night? It’s okay to ruin my life?” you hiss. Eddie’s visibly taken aback by this, his eyes impossibly sad. You know the last part may have been too much, but you don’t care.

“You’re going to be fine without me,” he says, puffs of fog leaving his mouth with each word against the cold wind.

“What about us, Eddie!?” you cry, your throat raw with the way you scream it. “You’re going to act like this is nothing? Like we have nothing!?”

He doesn’t know what to say. He stands maybe two feet away from you, silent, his figure illuminated only by the string lights wound around the railings to the dock. His silence rings in your ears.

“So that’s it. You’re just going to go away, leave me here and forget about me,” your voice trembles, your feet stepping backwards as you start to distance yourself from him.

“I could never forget about you, I don’t want to forget about you!” he emphasizes, moving towards you. “You’re the only person I’ve told this to besides Wayne! Because I care about you far too much to just go,” he says, his voice breaking as he steps closer still.

“Oh, my hero,” you scoff, shaking your head as you wipe tears from your cheeks.

You turn on your heel and start running towards the van, your heart feeling like it’s being wrung out in your chest. The wind hurts your face, every snowflake that hits your skin pricking you like a needle.

“Sunny. Sunny!” he shouts after you, his shoes crunching on the frozen ground as he tracks you down. Hearing the nickname he’d so fondly given you ages ago — because you’re always ‘a ray of sunshine’ in his words — simply feels like he’s driving a knife through your heart now. “Please, I need you to understand—”

“How could I? How could you ask this of me!?” you sob, your defenses raised high. “I could’ve gone with you!”

“No! You need to be here, you’re happy here! You have friends and family and a job that you love — here.”

“You have friends here. You have Wayne, and you have me,” you say through gritted teeth, sniffling hard.

“I need to go. I need to get away from this town,” he says softly, mournfully. “Please…”

“Take me home, Eddie.”

“Baby—”

“Take me home! I don’t want to be near you any more, take me the fuck home!” you grit, pushing him away when he tries to hold you.

“Okay,” he sighs, defeated. “I’ll take you home.”

The ride to your place is alarmingly silent, your mind hazy as you stare blankly out the window. The happy hugging families and Christmas lights and snowmen mock you as you drive past, every joyful scrap of the holiday feeling like a sick joke now. Your stomach is in knots, your heart breaking inside of your chest with every passing second. You feel like you’re in a daze, like you aren’t even real.

His van finally pulls into the parking lot to your apartment, the snow swirling harder now in the glow of his headlights. It doesn’t look light and delicate as it had before, it doesn’t shimmer the way it used to. It looks foreboding, plummeting to the ground in fast, aggressive streaks.

“Sweetheart—” Eddie starts, and you scoff before he can keep going. Tears slide down your face as you shake your head, your lip wobbling.

“Don’t call me that. Don’t you dare call me that if you’re really about to leave me,” you say, voice thick with the bile that rises to your throat.

“I have to go. I’m so sorry. You’ll be better without me, I’m so sorry.”

“Goodbye, Eddie,” you say, so quiet he almost doesn’t hear it.

You open the passenger door, hopping out of his van for the last time. You’d climbed into this van a mere hour ago so hopeful that tonight he’d make you his, and instead he’s ripping it all away. You chance one final glance at his face, the defeated and empty expression that sits on it. It makes you want to crumble, fall to your knees right there on the snowy concrete and wail until your throat is raw. But you don’t give him the satisfaction, and you slam the door shut instead. The sound of it reverberates in your ears, making your head throb. The little velvet box sits in your coat pocket, your hand clutching it as you walk quickly to your building.

You barely process the fact that you reach your door, that you unlock it and step inside. You only process the hard floor beneath you as you sink down onto it on your knees. Sobs wrack through your body as you hunch over, gasping breaths making your chest shudder. Taking the little necklace box out of your pocket, you stare at it for a moment. Chest heaving, tears streaming down your face, you open the box. You take the necklace out, fumbling with it through your blurred vision. It somehow feels right to put it on, it feels like you need to put it on. It’s the only piece of Eddie that you have.

The pendant rests above your heart, your hand grasping it and clutching it tight. Through all of your anger and your hurt, there’s an unspoken love for Eddie, and there’s a part of you that clings to his gift like it’s a lifeline. Like maybe wearing the necklace could make him change his mind, like you could summon him. And so you sit, still in your coat and your scarf and your hat, curled in on yourself on the floor of your apartment as you cry. Letting yourself feel every ounce of emotion, cursing Eddie’s name for how alive he made you feel and how he’s taking it away in the blink of an eye.

Present Day: December 18th, 1989.

The next morning comes with a blanket of heavy snow, the sun rising over the sleepy streets of Hawkins and making the white powder sparkle. You’d hoped, nearly taken up some faith and prayed that after some sleep you’d feel better. That your problems could be washed away with the morning’s light.

Naïve? Maybe. Probably.

Because as soon as your alarm clock blared in your ears and you opened your tired eyes, you felt honestly worse than you had the night before. You feel as though someone has scooped up your insides, tossing them out and leaving you hollow as you lie in bed and stare at the ceiling.

The promise of coffee and the obligation of work is what gets you out of bed, your head instantly pounding when you stand up. Your feet slide into your cozy slippers as you trudge down the hallway to your kitchen, getting a pot of coffee started before moving to your living room. You go to pick up the television remote when something shiny catches your eye. The light reflects off of a gold pendant, making it sparkle.

Eddie’s necklace. Your necklace.

At least in your sleep you’d been able to forget that you had taken the necklace off. And in your post-sleep still-tired haze you’d been able to remain unaware, if even for a short while. You stare at it for a moment, tempted to put it back on. But then your puffy, sore eyes from last night’s sob-fest and the snot-covered tissues that litter the floor encourage you to leave it off.

All Eddie’s done in the last year is make you cry, so why should you wear his necklace every day? He doesn’t deserve it.

Or that’s what you try to convince yourself, at least, as you stomp into your room and hide the necklace away in your jewelry box. You can’t stomach looking at it for too long, desperately trying not to cry again. You’re not even sure if you have any tears left, or if the reservoirs have run completely dry. Shaking it off, you return to your living area, clicking the TV on and turning it to the news station.

“We sure got quite a bit of snow last night, and we’re definitely not the only ones!” the weatherman says, too perky for this early in the morning. “I was just recently in Chicago and, let me just say, be thankful that’s not us. Talk about a lot of snow!”

Chicago. Your eye twitches at the mention, and then the TV is promptly clicked off. Way to start your day strong.

You were hoping things would improve when you got to work, as your current job could barely even be called a job. Your front-desk position at the school was on hold for the winter break, but this year Hawkins Middle was sponsoring an ice skating event. A temporary ice rink was installed in downtown Hawkins, and you had offered to help run it. You’d mainly been in charge of skate rentals and serving up hot chocolate or coffee, and it was actually really fun most days. Chief Hopper had even been convinced to dress up as Santa, showing up on Fridays and Saturdays to greet the eager children.

Today, though, of course the world has to test you. You can hear kids shrieking and throwing tantrums before you can even fully see them, and as you walk in to the worker’s trailer you hear Vickie, one of the teachers at the middle school, getting royally bitched at by an impatient mother. Wincing, you put a hand on her shoulder when the woman leaves, signaling that you’re here to take over and rid her of misery.

“I’m warning you,” she says. “It’s crazy out there today.”

To make matters worse, on your drive here the first song you found on the radio was one of Eddie’s favorites. You had changed the station only to find another one of his favorites before turning the damn thing off entirely. Then, on the short walk from your car to the ice rink, you’d been walking behind someone who looked exactly like Eddie. The curly hair, leather jacket, white sneakers… it made your stomach turn. You were more disappointed than you wanted to admit when you saw his face and it, of course, wasn’t actually him.

It’s like Eddie was everywhere you went, an inescapable constant.

You just wanted to not be sad anymore. Your heart was tired of hurting, and you truly felt as though Christmas couldn’t be over and done with fast enough.

You try to put on a chipper attitude as you greet families, politely helping them get their skates and giving the kiddos your best tips and tricks for the ice. There’s a larger crowd than you’d expected today, everyone in town seemingly flocking over to grab some hot cocoa and go skating. You expertly maneuver between skate rentals and drink-making, insisting your other helper keeps an eye on the ice rink itself. It keeps you busy, at least, your brain pleasantly distracted by the chaos. In brief moments of downtime, you watch as wobbly children try to stay upright on the slippery rink, parents following close behind with outstretched hands, ready to steady them.

You’re putting skates back in their respective places when the door to the little trailer opens and shuts, a strawberry blonde head of hair lingering in your peripheral vision.

“Hey, Chrissy!” you greet her, setting out cups for the next round of cocoa orders. “How’s break been going for you?” you ask, smiling at her as she pulls off her earmuffs.

Chrissy was one of the cheer coaches for both the middle and high school, and you’d become friendly with her through school events and the like.

“Oh, you know, it’s going fine I guess….” she says, biting back a smirk as she stretches her arms out, hands splayed flat where she holds them in front of her.

You glance down, instantly clocking the sparkly diamond ring on her left ring finger. Eyes widening, you gasp, taking her perfectly-manicured hand in yours.

“No way. Jason proposed!?” you ask, watching as a pink lipgloss smile breaks out on her face and she nods.

Her and Jason had been the it couple for the majority of your high school career, and they’d still been going strong since graduation a few years back.

“Yes!! Can you believe it!? I had no. idea. he had this planned!” she squeals, her ponytail bobbing as she bounces slightly on her feet.

For some reason, it makes your heart feel like it’s about to crack beneath your rib cage. It shouldn’t, this isn’t about you, but the air is whisked from your lungs regardless.

“I— I’m so happy for you,” you say, stammering a little as you try to feign happiness. “Congratulations.”

“You okay?” she worries, her brows furrowing as she tilts her head at you. Her perky demeanor is gone, concern taking over her features.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, sorry, I just feel a little weird. Haven’t eaten much today,” you lie, forcing a smile on your face. “Seriously, congratulations,” you say again, sighing in relief when she thanks you and walks back out of the trailer, going to check on everyone skating.

You slump against the counter, a lump forming in your throat. As much as you wish it didn’t, this only makes you think of Eddie. Again.

You can’t help but let your mind wander to what could’ve been if Eddie had stayed, if maybe in a couple short years he could be proposing to you. Last December you’d been so hopeful that the two of you would make things official soon, and when Eddie gave you that necklace you were nearly certain of it — for a moment, at least. What if he had been here, in Hawkins, this entire year? Surely you’d be spending Christmas together, decorating together and baking together and simply existing together. It feels like you’ve been robbed. All of your feelings for him have had no place to go, the adoration you boxed away clawing at your heartstrings desperately.

There’s a part of you that’s so envious of what Chrissy has, and there’s another part of you that feels guilty for that. It’s not her fault you’re broken, not her fault you’ve been a shell of your former self for months now. You’re too in your head, and before you know it you’re turning away from the service window, furiously wiping at the tears that have started to fall down your cheeks.

The rest of your day is spent the same way it started — the same way all of your previous days had been spent; thinking about Eddie Munson, and what could have been. If only you could change what happened last Christmas.

taglist: @hellfirenacht @writethrough @littledemondani @prettyboyeddiemunson @trashmouth-richie @succubusmunson @likedovesinthewnd @tlclick73 @mrsjellymunson @idkitsem

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson angst #support banner by cafekitsune #i’ll be home for christmas

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starless-nightz · 1 month ago

Note

Hi idk if you do platonic headcanons but if yes could I request overprotective Artemis with an adopted daughter/figure reader? :)

Platonic! Overprotective! Artemis with adopted! daughter! reader

note -> Artemis is one of my favorite gods i love her so much <33

warnings -> none.

content includes -> fluff, overprotective! Artemis, teasing from the hunters.

Artemis found you, lost in the woods as a child, alone and afraid, yet with a fire in your eyes reminiscent of herself. She didn't mean to get attached, but you clung to her that night, and she just couldn't leave you behind.

Artemis is extremely overprotective. The moment you came into her life, she swore to herself that nothing bad would ever happen to you. She doesn’t let you more than a few feet away from her side and when the Hunters are travelling through hostile territory it's even worse. The few times she does let you go off and do some exploring a few of her Hunters are always in sight, watching over you.

When it comes to threats near you, Artemis shows no mercy. She has faced her fair share of monsters, but since you've been around, she's a little more ruthless than usual. If some poor creature looks too close in your direction, she will confront it. You have seen her ove her bow at the snapping of a twig too near for comfort.

She cannot show affection, but it will manifest in the little things. She will sit with you by the campfire at night, pointing out the constellations. She will hunt you a rabbit when you are down, cooking it personally because she knows that is how you like it best. And though she's not one for physical comfort, she'll drape her cloak over your shoulders when the nights grow cold, pretending it's just because you look "chilly."

As you grow older, you two fight more. The fights are not frequent, but they are intense. You are independent, and Artemis respects that, but she cannot help the strong urge to keep you safe. You fight when you want to do something dangerous—perhaps accompany the Hunters on some more dangerous quest—and her silver eyes flash, her voice assumes that adamant tone. "You don't understand, you're not like the rest of us." It's only later, when the fire's faded from her eyes, that she'll come and sit beside you, awkwardly trying to explain that she just doesn't want to lose you.

Artemis is terrible at apologies, but she makes up for it in her own way. After fights, you'll wake up to find some rare flower placed carefully beside your bedroll, or a gift of a small, silver charm for your bow. She'll never admit to having spent hours looking for the flower, but you know.

You are the only mortal with whom she has ever fully lowered her guard. On quiet nights, she will speak to you of her long years, of the weight of immortality and what she has lost to time. It is a privilege she has never extended to any of her Hunters, excluding Zoe, but she can trust you with these moments of weakness.

She's fiercely proud of your skills—you're a really good archer now, thanks to her training. But every time she sees you draw back your bowstring, there's a shadow in her expression. A silent reminder that no matter how strong you get, she'll always see you as the little girl she found in the woods.

The Hunters have grown to regard you as a younger sibling, too, but none are quite as overprotective as Artemis. They tease you that you've turned their goddess into a worrywart, but behind the words is an edge of keen sincerity. They truly know just how much you've come to mean to her.

Artemis won't let any other gods near you, not even Apollo, who is especially curious about her "little mortal." The rest of the Olympians are just so unpredictable, and only the thought of you getting embroiled in their games can send Artemis's blood up in a storm. Once, on the rare occasion that Apollo did get to meet you, Artemis hovered, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, ready to intervene at the first hint of trouble.

She trusts you, though sometimes, with all of her over-protectiveness, it may not always show; she has seen the strength in you, in the resilience that keeps you moving forward when things get hard. But even as she wants to hold you close and protect you from everything, it seems, she knows in the end she is going to have to let you forge your path.

But until then, she will hold you close to her, protectively guarding you as the moon would guard the night sky, prepared to face all dangers that may come your way. To her, you were that one speck of warmth which she never had imagined coming her way, a light in her endless, lonely nights. And she will do all it takes to keep that light safe.

#artemis #artemis x reader #pjo #pjo x reader #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians

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yesbutmakeitgay · 3 months ago

Text

Caught Red Handed

GIF by sersi

Carol Danvers x Reader

We’ve Loved A Thousand Lives

Same beginning, different story every time.

Part 10

Fury!R, Light angst, Fluff.

Beta'd by @cordeliasdarling 💜

Word count: 1.1k

Masterlist | This collection | AO3

Carol enters her ship after another successful mission wanting for nothing more than to relax and rest, until she senses someone else’s presence in her space home.

She walks slowly, pointing one of her lit up fists in a general forward direction, but before she becomes too alarmed, you decide to make your presence known by stepping closer to her.

Once she sees you, her body stops glowing, but her muscles remain just as tense, "I don't like where this is going," she says as she notices your very official uniform and your unwavering posture.

"I haven't even said anything." You tread carefully.

"But you will." She steps into the living room while taking her gloves off. You can only give her a sympathetic look, following behind her and deciding to rip off the bandaid. "Agent Danvers, you're fired," you state firmly. Even though she knew it was coming, she still makes a pained expression.

"I already apologized, are you sure there is nothing I can do?" she groans in desperation.

"Pleading with me is useless, I’m afraid, I’m just the messenger here."

"Can I at least talk to Fury again?"

You feel a pit in your stomach, "I disabled your comms, and your ship is permanently on manual mode," Carol slumps on the couch with a big sigh, you remain standing on the other side of the room, staring at her, "I know I’m not supposed to say this, but I’m really sorry," you tell her genuinely.

"You should be! This is all because of you," she weakly snarks.

You were waiting for her to bring it up, "Well, you shouldn't have let Fury catch you," you taunt her.

"How was I supposed to know that you're his daughter?" Her tone is aggressive, but it doesn’t carry any venom.

"You never were the sharpest tool in the shed."

"I didn't even know your name then!" she defends herself.

"Oh, wow, maybe don't let him know that."

She side eyes you, "Like you're the epitome of morality."

"I mean, I knew your name," you point out smugly as you walk closer to her.

"Everyone on Earth knows my name."

"Not for long," you take a seat beside her, "you’re still fired."

"I cannot accept this, who's gonna take over my job? Has he thought of that? It's not like any of the Avengers are fit to do it."

You bite your lip, "Monica was interested."

"Really?" she asks in shock.

"It was either her or Kamala, but then Fury said, 'over 21.'" She reminisces for a bit, as much as she trusts her, it would be too dangerous for Monica to do her job.

"Why couldn't he come fire me himself? He doesn't have the time for his most dedicated agent?" There’s a slight acidity in her words.

"He was going to," you concede.

"And?"

"I, uh, insisted on coming myself." Your heart starts beating faster.

Her brows furl, "Why?"

"So I could do this one last time." You grab her by the back of the neck and pull her into a slow, passionate kiss, she leans in for more, but you pull away connecting your forehead with hers as you breathe heavily.

"I hate you," she whispers with a grin on her face.

You shake your head, "You love me."

"Love?" She raises an eyebrow.

"You don't seem to have much else going on, so…" you shrug.

She gently laughs, "You’re gonna be the death of me."

"Get away from her, Danvers." A deep voice comes through the ship, you lazily peck Carol's nose and stand back completely, a knowing smile growing on your face as you turn to look at the source.

"Hi, dad," you greet the hologram.

"I thought you disabled that," Carol asks you.

"I lied," you mumble back.

"So, my ship is still—?"

"Yup," you quickly admit as you turn back to Fury.

"I knew I shouldn't have trusted you with this," he scolds you, you stand up to meet his gaze properly.

"You gave me the job, now you accept the consequences."

"What do you even see in her?"

"Are you kidding? She's gorgeous!" Carol exclaims proudly, the compliment makes you feel like a giddy high schooler.

"Wasn’t talking to you, Danvers," he clarifies with a stiff jaw.

"Oh, well, it's still true." She remains on her spot on the couch to let you two talk.

"You’re the one who said I should get out more, meet new people," you try to object to your father’s displeasure.

"Yes. New. People. You've known Carol since you were five."

Your lips curl into a huge smirk, "And that's how I know she's the hottest woman I've ever met."

"Stop being disgusting," he rolls his eye, making you chuckle, "did you do it?" He proceeds with the conversation.

"Yes."

"Then, what are you waiting for? Get back here."

You’re about to oblige when a sudden burst of confidence takes over you, "No."

"What did you say to me?" He is startled by your stunt.

"I said no."

He squints his eye daringly, "I am your boss and your father, when I give you an instruction, you follow it immediately."

"Or what?" You cross your arms defiantly.

"Do not challenge me, young lady!"

Your tough expression melts into a softer one, "Dad, I love you, but I’m not twelve anymore, you have to let me be my own person."

"Yeah, let her be a person, Fury," Carol repeats provokingly.

"Don’t help me," he growls.

In an instant, she realizes, "You just had me fired, I don't have to listen to you anymore," she smiles, Fury is offended by her words, "but, as a friend, I'll tell you what I’m gonna do," she stands up behind you and protectively wraps an arm around your waist, "I am going to hang up this call and let your daughter disable my communications system, I’m gonna take her on a date, probably stargazing, then, I’m gonna make her dinner, we'll have some fun, and afterwards we'll go to sleep together, sound good? Good, bye!" And with that, she ends the call.

You remain frozen in place for a few seconds, "A date?" you repeat tentatively.

"If you’ll have me."

"That sounds nice."

"Wait until you see what I have planned after dinner." She shoots you a wink that makes you blush.

"I can't believe we just did that."

"I can't believe he fired me." Carol is still outraged on the inside.

"Don’t worry about it, give him two weeks to realize literally no one in the universe can fill your shoes and he'll come back begging," you turn to her and wrap your arms around her neck, "as for me, though, I think I’m gonna have to take refuge here, indefinitely."

Your exaggeration makes her giggle, "You’re always welcome to stay with me."

"Thanks." You stare into each other’s eyes for a long moment.

"I love you."

"You do?" you gasp.

"Mhmm, aren't you gonna say it back?" She’s smiling so big, the corners of her eyes wrinkle.

"I love you too."

#carol danvers fic #carol danvers #carol danvers x reader #captain marvel #carol danvers angst #captain marvel x reader #carol danvers fluff

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eleanor-bradstreet · 2 years ago

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Two Lines (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Modern AU Rated: G - domestic fluff Word count: 1.7k

Summary: As you settle into your new home, you have a surprise for Benedict.

Author's Note: Sometimes late at night, modern Ben shows up and hands me a one-sitting story. This is one of those. I cannot express enough gratitude to @bridgertontess who put so much thought and care into making the custom photo edit above 🫶 I hope you enjoy this little cottage moment, my dear 💙

Two lines. Eight, if you were counting all the tests together, the reason you had locked yourself upstairs for the afternoon. Each of them clear as day, opening some new chamber of your heart and flooding it with so much feeling, you had to sit on the floor and allow yourself a little cry. You had tried for so long, the process eventually becoming so demoralizing that you had stopped planning and both started to make your peace with it. You would let nature decide, and had nearly convinced yourself she simply wasn’t in your corner, until now. Right when you had stopped worrying about it, that’s when she caught you by surprise.

Your husband hadn’t even registered your absence. He was too busy painting the rooms of the ground floor. The cottage you had purchased was the definition of a fixer-upper, every wall and window and fixture needed attention. You had been daunted when he showed you what he had found, but that undeniable light in his eyes would have made you agree to move into a caravan. He was enjoying himself with all of the projects, something to pour his boundless energy into when he wasn’t working. He was taking on more than he should, in fact. You loved him, but he was tragically posh and really had no place touching the electrical box. But he would be damned before he’d allow you to hire someone. All probably something to do with male pride and being king of his proverbial castle.

With your heart pounding in your throat - it had only pounded as hard before on your wedding day - you descended the cramped staircase and walked to the dining room.

“Benedict Bridgerton, please be careful on that thing!”

The ladder he had found looked to be as old as the house itself. Some splintery relic that wobbled with every brushstroke he made. He had unearthed it from the shed and saw no point in shelling out for a new one. Now it was the only thing keeping him suspended over the double length windows as he turned the dingy walls a muted sage green.

He looked down at you with a shrug, which caused another wobble. “It’s fine.”

You moved to the ladder, ready to brace a fall. “I can’t afford to have you break your neck. Or anything else for that matter.” You suddenly realized what a challenge it would be to keep him intact over the coming months, especially as your mobility gradually became impaired.

The look on your face must have been upset enough, because he pouted and descended a few rungs, reaching a stable center of gravity. “But wouldn’t it give you just a little bit of vindication? Proof that you were right and we should have hired someone?”

That smirk. That smirk was the reason you had allowed him to try his hand at everything in the first place. His undaunted confidence. It made you admire him to the point of resentment.

“No, it wouldn’t,” you spat. “I don’t want my husband in hospital, even if it proves my point. You’re covered. Take a break.”

Glancing down at himself, he saw that his hands and forearms had practically been dipped green, and the splatters were never going to come out of his orange t-shirt or jeans. He didn’t have many tops to speak of, so he had better start using his brush more carefully. Somehow, this lauded artist who could stipple and blend the most delicate details into a portrait or landscape, looked like a five-year old with a bowl of spaghetti sauce when it came to wall paint.

“The sun is setting anyway,” you handed him a cloth. “Come watch with me.”

You could see through the west-facing window how the sky was layering orange, pink and purple. Your little spot of countryside afforded you the most breathtaking sunsets, the sellers hadn’t lied about that. It really was the perfect home for an artist and Benedict had known as soon as he saw it. All sky and wildflowers and distant sounds of birds.

He wiped his hands and swiped the bottle of wine your new neighbors, the Crabtrees, had brought over. He grabbed a glass.

“Do you want some?”

You waved him off. “No, thanks. I’m alright.”

The back garden held another relic, a stone bench that was surprisingly comfortable. That was where you watched the sunsets together, plotting all the improvements you wanted to make. Benedict sat and poured the wine, and you laid down beside him, resting your head in his lap. The hand not holding his glass trailed softly through your hair. You realized he was probably turning it green, but you didn’t mind.

He took a sip and looked down at you curiously. “Are you feeling okay?”

You furrowed your brow. “Is that some commentary on my drinking?”

He laughed. “No…I mean, well, you do always join me, but…” His voice grew soft. “I just want to check.”

There he went, intuiting everything. Your pulse jumped wondering if you had already been too transparent. If he could see right through you, as usual, and knew what you were about to tell him. But you checked yourself. Of course he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to keep calm with the news. You smiled, snuggling into him. “I’m feeling fine. Very good, in fact.”

He smiled back, lopsided and devastating. “Good.”

You both looked skyward, watching the orange slip out of sight, then the pink fade to indigo, and the purple to navy. It was autumn and the last of the birdsong was accompanied by gusts of wind, blowing about the falling leaves and grey brush in the flowerbeds stretching before you. The garden had been the lowest priority as you focused on making the cottage comfortable, especially as winter approached. But now there was a new deadline to prepare for, more to take into consideration on what you tackled and how.

Benedict finished his glass and kept one hand combing through your hair, bringing the other to rest on your ribs.

“We need to clear out these beds.” You gestured to the abandoned mess of long-dead foliage in front of you.

“I know,” he nodded. “It’s on the list.”

“If we do it now and plant some bulbs, they should bloom in the spring just in time.” You wrapped your hands around his forearm, sliding it lower, his massive grasp spreading out across your abdomen.

“In time for what? Do you want some grand housewarming once all the projects are done? I’m not sure my family will fit in this place.” He snorted.

You held your breath, feeling the warmth of his fingers pressing softly onto your body, a cosmic point of connection where the three of you intersected. Your momentary little secret.

You couldn’t help but quip. “Your family fits in here just fine.”

If he noticed your goofy grin, he didn’t comment on it. You turned your head and nuzzled into his stomach, that knee-weakening sandalwood scent still evident under the paint fumes. This man, he gave you so much by simply existing. Now you had something to give back that finally felt like an adequate reciprocation. You were ready.

“I want the flowers as a backdrop for a portrait.” You said matter-of-factly.

He leaned down and ran his nose into your hairline, murmuring against your skin. “Mmm, that would be lovely. You in our garden.”

“Yes, the both of us.” You whispered, breathless with anticipation.

He kissed your forehead and chuckled deep in his chest. “If you want me in it too, I’m not exactly sure who is supposed to be doing the painting.”

Keeping one hand pressing his into your torso, you brought the other to his hair and gently pulled him to look at you. Locking into his eyes, you spoke, quiet but purposeful. “I didn’t say you’d be in it.”

He stared at you, blue-grey eyes darting back and forth at your pupils, the smile on his face fading from bemusement to confusion, a furrow forming between his brows. Then the penny dropped, and you felt the jolt run through his every muscle. With a shout he melted over you, rocking you as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. You didn’t know if he was forming words, he seemed to be gasping and letting out wonderful little sounds of desperate happiness. His arms bound tighter around you, trembling with nervous energy. You could feel the heat of his tears on your skin, and it was enough to break you. You cried too, clutching back with fingers curled into his dark hair.

Such euphoria, that you had planned on for so long. Had nearly written it on your calendar you felt so in command of when it would occur. Then when it had been denied and denied and denied, the least painful route was simply to give up hope. To comfort yourself with the knowledge that Benedict brought you so many other euphorias, it almost seemed selfish to demand this one too. But now it was yours, and you felt spoiled by the universe. Spoiled but oh so grateful.

Gaining some semblance of control over himself, he hovered his face above yours once more, eyes wild, breathless. “You’re…oh my god…we’re…”

You laughed through your tears. “Yes, my love.”

His hand brushed warm over your belly, reverently. You could already see in his eyes that he was going to treat you like you were made of glass for the next nine months. It would be equal parts endearing and aggravating. The house projects would be laden with a new layer of stress, everything now with a greater sense of urgency, and he would try to do it all himself.

Immediately confirming your assumption, he snapped to attention. “I’m clearing the beds tomorrow.”

You pulled his lips down to yours and hummed. “Not if I don’t let you out of ours.”

At the very least, you could delay his preparation mania for one day. You wouldn’t let him bear every burden on his own. You would build your home together, the two of you, until there were three. Then you would keep building, and see what other gifts lay in store.

With a smirk, he scooped you into his arms and rushed back into the cottage, the two of you giggling like fools.

No tagging, just goofin

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #female reader #domestic fluff #fluff #my cottage #modern au

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sokkastyles · 7 months ago

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Zutara Month Day 2: Diary/Journal

And since there is no end and no beginning / You will run, you will run, you will run

- Lost Girls, Tilly and the Wall

It had been a long day of combing through the palace vaults, one of which was filled to the brim with old scrolls and leather-bound books, all of them spoils of war taken by the Fire Nation. So much knowledge locked away, Katara thought. Of course one of the ways to destroy a people was to take away their knowledge, to deny them their history, but what surprised her was that it hadn't been destroyed. Rather, left to rot in the dust and the dark, which was almost worse.

"Some of these were used," Zuko said, his voice a quiet rasp, "to find out how best to conquer the other nations. I was here once, after my banishment had been decreed, grabbing what I could find about the Avatar and the Air Nomads to take with me." Katara saw him flinch at the memory. There were cobwebs in his hair, nesting in the loose topknot at the top of his head. He didn't wear the hairpiece today, and he looked like any other young man in loose dark-colored clothes with small red and gold embellishments. "But most of it's just been sitting here. It should go back to the people it belongs to."

What was salvageable would go back, Katara thought, but she didn't say that aloud. Zuko tried, he really did, but there was so much damage that couldn't be undone, so much destruction that had been caused by simple carelessness if not outright maliciousness. It made her sad, and angry, but still she persevered, eager to do what she could.

She had been unfurling what appeared to be a cracked and soiled earthbending scroll when she heard Zuko call her name, his tone rigid with urgency. "Katara. Look at this."

He was holding a thin bundle of yellowed pages held together by rotting animal hide, peering at the faded, looping script.

"What is it," she asked, but he simply looked up at her and said nothing. Wordlessly, and with an expression she couldn't read, he held the book out to her.

Katara took the old thing from his hand, holding it carefully for fear that she might damage it. She looked at the page that Zuko had held open, and began to read:

Well, this is the first entry in what I believe will be a long journey. Tomorrow, I will leave the Northern Water Tribe, with nothing but the clothes on my back, a few rations that will see me to the nearest Earth Kingdom port, and the necklace my betrothed made for me, to symbolize a union that will never be. I will never forget you, Pakku, but I cannot marry you. I hope that one day you will see that. My love for you is not enough to change who you are, I understand that now. I always have, but today I make my decision. Perhaps one day you will read these words, and know, too, of what I have done for love.

There was more, the words so faded and stained that they were difficult to make out, and Katara realized she could read no more for the tears that filled her eyes.

Gently, Zuko shoved aside a stack of scrolls and moved closer, placing an arm around her shoulders. Katara could not bite back the sob that escaped her, echoing in the empty vault. Her hand reached for him as he held her, fingers curling in the cloth of his shoulder as his own fingers gently combed the dust from her hair.

#zutara #zutaramonth #zutara month #zutaramonth2024 #my fic

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sadnightforus · 1 year ago

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RINGING YOUR LINE (CTY)

ex-turned-bf!taeyang x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS: The breakup was almost a year ago, but he still can’t forget you. It’s very much expressed through the song he produces and posted out of impulse, secretly hoping that you’ll listen to it.

WORD COUNT: 3K.

WARNINGS: hinting that the reader is a cold person (even though they’re not), one cuss word. In the song, the artist uses the she/her pronouns but the reader’s gender is never specified. Not much tbh but it can be a bit emotionally draining. Mentioning Shota as the MVP friend (thx q 💪🏻).

INSPIRED BY: LESSON (โค้ชลงเล่น) BY YUNGTARR.

A/N: well…. I’m not so proud of writing these short stories instead of working on the ones for my series but my brain is not working. Also I deeply apologize if the translated lyrics are not correct. I use google translate for it.

reblogs, comments and likes are appreciated!

In the dimming room of a small studio room, there sits Taeyang, whose headphone is glued to his ears while his eyes cannot tear itself away from a folder that has only one song in there.

He is hesitating, rather more anxious than anything combined as he clicks on google, then looks at the opening tab, displaying his YouTube channel with over 360K subscribers on the site of YouTube studio.

He knows it’ll be a bad idea, a terrible idea even. His mind screams at him to not do it, but the need of expressing his honest feelings is eating him up.

Normally, when his friends ask him how he has been doing, he’ll simply answer with the usual ‘I’m fine.’ but he knows he’s far from being okay. The breakup with you has been hard, even though it was a mutual agreement that you guys are better off not being partners and parted ways on neutral terms that is. Everyday since then, he feels like he doesn’t want to live anymore because he regrets that decision so much.

He should’ve stopped you.

Just like how he should’ve stopped himself from uploading the new song onto the YouTube channel where you can obviously see that. Heck, he thinks you’d think he’s weird for still being unable to get over you.

But too late for that as the new video ‘THEO - Ringin’ Ur Line (Official Audio)’ being posted and he just sighs in defeat, realizing that he makes such a fool of himself with the way he didn’t think of making the video unlisted or even private before it uploads onto the account.

And at the same time, you’re mindlessly scrolling through some apps when you see a notification from the channel called ‘THEO’ uploading a new song pops up on the screen. As much as you pretend not to care, you click onto it, ready to get your heartbroken, knowing that he most likely will never mention or even talk about you in his songs.

Who would get over someone who makes music and especially a catchy one anyway?

But what surprises you is the fact that he makes the song and sings with his own voice in this one, mainly because he’s a music producer. Although his appearance screams very ‘celebrity-like’ due to how good looking he is, he claims that he just wants to lead a normal life with no pressure that comes between his personal life and professional life. He chooses to work behind the spotlight and produces some of the greatest hits for well-known names in the industry. Never once does he put his own personal works out like this.

So what changes?

You sit up to hear the lyrics and observe the song more carefully.

และสุดท้ายรักมันคืออะไร baby เธอตอบฉัน

And finally, what is love? Baby, you answer me.

You scoff at the thought of him having someone new he might be possibly singing about. Clearly, he wouldn’t really sing about you, would he?

บทเรียนสุดท้ายและครั้งที่สองเธอไม่พลาดพลั้ง

The last and second lesson, she didn't fail.

You wonder what he could possibly refer to. What does he mean with this exactly? Love lesson that gives him the kind of pain that is unforgettable?

It’s your cue to go because it’s not even about you.

You feel pathetic for ever assuming that it was about you, the person he sang about. You feel foolish and you’re mad at yourself for that. The cold wind doesn’t help much with warming your body either.

Somehow, you continue to listen because of the charming lyrics and melodies.

เธอตั้งใจทำอย่างนั้น

She did that on purpose.

เธอตั้งใจให้ผมเจ็บ

She intended to hurt me.

You wonder which girl really hurt him and how she managed to do so. Deep down, you wish to have the same effect that whoever did to him in this song.

You sigh as you continue listening.

baby เธอเองก็รู้ว่าใจดวงนี้มันสามารถซ้ำ

baby, you know that this heart can repeat itself.

เธอหยุดได้มั้ย baby ถือว่าผมขอร้อง

Can you stop, baby? Consider that I'm begging you.

Taeyang looks at the time on his phone and realizes something, he’ll forever sit alone and let you slip away from his life for good if he didn’t do something tonight.

He needs you in his life. He needs your love. He doesn’t want to continue to imagine the way you could only say those ‘i love you's' that his brain could only replay of the way you said it so much in the past that it deeply engraved in his mind like a clockwork.

He doesn’t want his heart trembling at the way you look so beautiful in the well kept polaroid of you two in his wallet anymore. He is done with torturing and lying to himself.

Grabbing his car keys, he impatiently waits for the engine to start working and looks around for the blind spots to make sure that the parking spot is empty before driving away.

pretend ว่าตัวผม strong

Pretend that I'm strong

ในสิ่งที่ทุกๆวันขณะในใจผมเจ็บขนาดนั้น

For something that every day in my heart hurts that much

He stops at a flower shop, owned by one of his good friends, Shota. Shota has a talent in rearranging flowers, although he wouldn’t need to utter a word for the customers to roll in because he’s adorable. Taeyang remembers that his first flower ever given to you was from Shota’s flower shop and now that he wants to reconcile you both, he figures that he should do that too.

He pants, upon the hurried travel to his friend’s store. Shota eyes him blankly, but continues to say nothing, waiting for the other person to speak first.

“I need a flower that says forever love. Not roses, obviously.”

“Was that for Y/N?” He questions, although he already knows the answer.

“How do you know that?”

“You can pretend that you’re fine and be strong for our sake, although you’re not really. You still think of them.”

Was the pain so obvious that even Shota, who normally just doesn’t comment and not caring about things most of the time can see?

He really realizes that you’re his better half.

And as for you, you find yourself relating to the lyrics he sings in this song. You truly dislike how reflective it is to your state of mind because you’ve been pretending you’re strong and you’re not hurting everyday.

Both of yours and his heart are aching for one another, wanting to belong as one again.

แค่เห็นที่ต้องเจ็บซ้ำ

Just seeing it hurts again.

เป็นเธอไม่มีสายใยแม้ไม่มีเธอเองก็ไม่ต่างกัน

It's you, there's no connection, even without you, it's no different.

There’s something you can never admit to your friend or anybody else. You’re ashamed to still confess out loud that you’re thinking of your ex boyfriend and that you read both of your text messages with each other.

You can’t understand it. Why can’t you get him out of your mind if he’s not exactly the most ideal man there is?

You sigh, it’s truly unpleasant to be having these late night thoughts where it betrays what you stand for.

Similarly to Taeyang, who also does look at the text messages you both shared, but with a different thought.

He used to take you for granted, but with you gone, he realizes that he had a gem but he was too blind by his own insecurities.

And if there’s no you, then nothing will make sense to him anymore.

“Hyung, your flower is ready.” Shota places the flower on the table, in front of where Taeyang keeps zoning out. The producer grabs the flower, amazed that the younger florist chooses pink asters, knowing that it represents eternal love, innocence and devotion for a person you deeply care about. He then stands up, slams the 10$ and 20$ on the table and screams out before exiting the shop.

“I know you’re gonna charge me 25$ but just accept 30$. Keep the change.”

Shota just shakes his head, sighing before going back to work.

I think about everyday, baby we used to talk.

Now you run away.

But baby I'm still walk.

Driving as fast as he can, he makes it his mission to place his vehicle in a place he knows it all too well. Nighttime has never looked more unexpected and almost scary to him because he can’t predict what is going to happen next. He can only hope that the music he mistakenly and might be posted under the influence of his idiocy conveys what he truly feels about the seperation.

Just only a month and 19 more days until it’ll be marked since a year you both break up. But yet in those days before it approaches, you occupy his thoughts every day and night.

Frankly, you’re the first and last thing he thinks of every single day.

He’s thanking the universe that he didn’t just crash and die right here with the way he’s speeding to you.

คิดถึงแต่โทรหาไม่ได้

I miss you but can't call.

อยากจะเรียกเธอมาช่วยเชียร์แต่ว่ามันทำไม่ได้

I want to call her to cheer me up but I can't.

Whenever he’s having a hard time, he wants to call you. But he can’t.

Whenever he’s happy, he can’t also call you.

And whenever he thinks of you, he can’t do that because you guys are not together anymore.

He wants to hear your voice, soothing his worries or cracking some jokes and laughing out so delightfully.

This trip to your house might be the last time he’ll get to see you. Or his wants will finally be granted.

Baby เธอตั้งใจ broke heart

Baby, you accidentally broke my heart.

You’re supposed to hate him, with the way he sings in this song. This line, a particular line, just like he said, it accidentally breaks your heart into pieces too.

You’re gritting your teeth in anger, were you never that important to him?

Had he never loved you enough that his heart could possibly break at the thought of you, of this too?

Were you the only one feeling this way?

You feel really start to resent him. God, what a fucking scumbag.

The love has never been reciprocated, so why can’t you let the thought of him completely slip out of your mind?

ย้ายความเจ็บปวดเข้าไปที่ broke heart

Move the pain into a broken heart

It’s only around 10 minutes, if without speeding up, until he’ll be at your door, making a fool of himself, without knowing if you still want him back. He doesn’t know if you’re seeing someone new. Because if you do, that flower in the passenger seat that he is meaning to give it to you will be left to rot, as a proof of his undying love.

He doesn’t think that he can ever move past the pain of not having you if the rejection comes through.

I'm still ทิ้งลงถังมันไม่ได้ baby

I'm still can't throw it in the bin, baby.

ทำลงไม่ได้ baby

Can't do it, baby.

Standing in front of the trash bin, you’re facing the most difficult of your life; whether to throw or not to throw every polaroid of you both together.

The song keeps playing, you’re holding 6 polaroids of you and him, which are taken on his birthday. There was a whip cream on his nose that he didn’t bother to wipe before taking the photos because he wanted to look cute and have fun, which you let him. It’s one of the fondest memories, out of every celebration you both had done together and you’re about to throw it away.

But your hand freezes, gripping onto those small pieces of pictures a bit too tightly.

And what happens if you throw it away? Would it only exist in your memories now with no physical evidence? Is that what you’re looking for?

And would you be happy to only have events that exist in your heart now?

What good would it do if you do anyway? You’d still continue to see the ghost of him everywhere you turn.

You can’t throw it away, you really can’t.

มันตัดใจไม่ได้ baby

I can't get over it, baby.

He can’t get over your smile, your voice, your personality, humor or you.

He almost feels sorry for himself that he acts like this, let alone letting you know how he feels.

It’s what he thinks as his car has come to a stop, safely parking itself in an open space era. He then opens the car door, holding the flower bouquet to his chest before closing it and locking the car door.

Something in your mind tells you to stop standing still and keep the polaroids hidden away if you’re not gonna throw it, burn it or even destroy it.

So you listen to your guts as you gently tuck your upper lips, anxious and confused on why did you back out on it last minute.

You know the answer way too well to that question. But you didn’t want to accept it.

เพราะผมรักจะตาย baby

Because I love you to death, baby.

“Ding!”

Your doorbell rings, startles you out of your trance when you’re so busy putting the polaroids back into a hidden box.

You’re confused on who would come to your door this late at night. It’s almost midnight, just only roughly 19 minutes to be exact as you look at the time displayed on the digital clock.

A gut feeling tells you that you might need to open the door as it’ll reveal the answer to everything you’ve been hoping for.

You’ll regret it if you don’t.

Most importantly, you’re hoping it’s him who is behind that door, ringing your doorbell, asking you to be back in his life. But you shake your head at the ridiculousness before you stand up, taking slow steps to get to the door. Your palm grips tightly onto that doorknob, not knowing if you want to do so.

และสุดท้ายรักมันคืออะไร baby เธอตอบฉัน

And finally, what is love? Baby, you answer me.

Is the last phrase you hear before your phone dies. You sigh as you twist the doorknob and you’re met with the man you thought you’d never get to meet again.

Choi Taeyang standing in front of you. With a bouquet of pink asters in his hands.

He wears a white sweater for tonight, a casual look but it makes him look almost breathtaking because he is simply the most beautiful guy you’ve ever known. He looks anxious, not knowing what to say at first as he hands you the asters and you gladly accept it.

“Did you hear my new song?”

The question catches you off guard. Because what game does he want to play now?

“I do.” You nod, face lack of any expression, opposite to the male in front of you who looks unsure and almost on the verge of tears. You can sense the anxiousness radiating off him but you choose not to ask about it.

“Well- what do you think about it?” He looks at you, hoping you’d respond to it differently than you do now, because it’ll kill him if you continue to be standoffish like that.

“It’s nice.”

“The song… it’s about you.” He confesses, observing the way your eyebrows quirk in confusion and the gleam in your eyes that plead him to almost repeat whatever he just said.

“Ever since we broke up, it’s never been easy on me. I want to call you so bad but I know you wouldn’t pick up those calls. Every day that I live, the memories of us haunt me so bad, it’s like you intended to hurt me and to make sure that I’ll never get over you. It’s lame that I can’t move on and I’m still in love with you. And now, here, making a fool of myself, asking you to be mine again.”

You stare at him, a bit dumbfounded and losing yourself in the moment that all of this happens in real time and it’s not your imagination anymore. You let each of the phrases that escape his lips sink into your mind and process itself into your brain as you can only admire him, no words being exchanged.

Taeyang is scared, preparing for your rejection already as you go absolutely silent. He could die right now, if not for the fact that he hasn’t heard the final word that determines whether he’ll continue to live in misery or start a new chapter with absolute happiness.

“Y/N, please say something. If you’re gonna reject me, please do it fast!”

“Idiot, I never stopped loving you.” Your face breaks into the biggest grin he has ever seen and every tension and worry just completely escapes from his body.

He takes a step forward to hug you, losing himself in your embrace. He misses your love, your warmth. His home, his livelihood all just connects back to you as he feels like the happiest man in the world.

“Thank god because I thought I’ll live with regret for my entire life.” He mumbles, feeling so content by the physical contact for the first time in months. You try to gently peel yourself off from him, he pouts at you sadly, pleading to be in your embrace for a little longer but before allowing that to continue happening, you scold him.

“Get off of me! What kind of house owner would I be if I let my guest stand outside for this long.”

He smiles, showing off the adorable eye smile that you love so much.

“Is that your way of inviting me inside?”

He teases you back, taking off his shoes as he observes you and every corner of your living space, happy to have you back in his life again.

“Oh shut up before I kick you out.” You give him a stern stare, with your now boyfriend trailing behind you to chill in the living room. He only grins at you teasingly before responding back.

“Fine.”

COPYRIGHTED BY SADNIGHTFORUS, 2023

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thief-of-eggs · 10 months ago

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‘Thoughts of You Consume’ writing update for you all (plus a sneak peek of a later chapter)

First off, I want to say thank you to all of you who have been reading and invested in my works. Truly, I cannot tell you how much your support means to me, and it never fails to make me giggle and kick my feet when I think of how many people are enjoying my silly stories.

For everyone asking- yes, I am still writing my snowjanus longfic ‘Thoughts of You Consume’. I’ve gotten a lot of comments and asks, and it felt easier to post this then answer them all (although I still might try to)

There has been a lot that’s arisen in my personal life this past month (unexpected move, loss of a pet, relapse with my auto-immune disorder) that has caused me to put my fics on hold while I focused on getting my life back on track. (Aka- i’ve been reading a shit ton of books. Sometimes the writer just needs to be the reader for a moment)

I have not forgotten about the fic, or about all of you lovely readers! I have the next chapter half written, and I try to visit it every day to add even just a little <3

I’m hoping to have a new update for you soon, but in the meantime, as a treat- enjoy this little excerpt from a future chapter:

(Spoiler Warning)

Coriolanus is quiet as he sneaks back in to the Snow’s apartment, though he’s not entirely sure why. Surely their grandmother has already gone to bed, and it’s not like he has anything to hide. So he’d been out with a friend- that’s not too absurd is it?

Yet he still feels as though he’s done something wrong.

He begins to head straight to his room, but pauses as he passes their kitchen, seeing a candle lit on the table. His cousin is bent over her latest bit of embroidery- some tablecloth for Fabricia. He doesn’t know what leads him to it, but he finds himself walking closer, crossing in to their little kitchen.

His foot steps on a creaky floorboard, causing Tigris to startle, before laying her eyes on him.

“Oh! You’re home- I hadn’t heard you come in.”

Coriolanus hums, walking silently to their worn kitchen table, and takes a seat across from his cousin.

“Did you have a nice night?”

Again he hums, watching as she returns to her embroidery. Her needle slides delicately through the fabric, weaving an intricate floral design with mere thread alone.

“Did you eat while at the Plinths?”

A spike of fear grips his heart- how did she know where he’d been? He certainly hadn’t told her, that’s for sure. But then… where else is he known to go? He doesn’t maintain friendships outside of the Academy, hasn’t gone over to anyone’s place besides Sejnaus’s. Yes, that’s right. It was a mere logical deduction on her part, nothing more. She hasn’t picked up on anything, other than his mundane habits.

The thought eases a bit of his chest, though really, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if she knew. Tigris has come to be his one and only confidant, and the fact that he’s kept this from her so long eats away at his insides, a muddled up secret begging to be set free.

The two of them sit in relative silence for a while after. Coriolanus watches the candle sink lower and lower, his mind playing over the events of the day, playing over Sejanus’s face, Sejanus’s words, Sejanus’s everything.

Eventually, it becomes too much to bear. He opens his mouth and pauses, weighing his words in his throat before finally speaking.

“Can I- can I ask you something Tigris?”

His cousin looks up from her embroidery, her needle in hand as she peers at him in the dim light. She cocks her head, care and concern laced in her expression.

“Of course Coryo. What is it?”

Coriolanus takes in a breath, holding it carefully in his chest before releasing. He tries and fails to formulate just how to go about asking what he means. Eventually, he settles for something more cryptic than he’d have liked.

“Would it be so wrong if I were… different?” Coriolanus asks, desperately hoping Tigris will somehow pick out his deeper thoughts and meaning.

“Different how?” She replies, and Coriolanus feels his chest deflate like a balloon. Of course she couldn’t know- and he isn’t likely to tell her just now.

“Never mind,” he mumbles, standing from the table. He’s suddenly quite exhausted, and finds he’d like nothing more than to curl up and let the day be washed away in the grips of sleep.

“Coryo, wait-“

Tigris stands as well, reaching out to grab onto his arm. He allows himself to be stopped, turning to face his cousin as she steps closer, standing directly in front of him as she places her hands on his shoulders.

“Different is never bad, Coryo.” Her eyes bore intently into his, so full of tenderness, full of love and care. “You could be all sorts of different, and it wouldn’t matter one bit to me.”

Coriolanus can’t tell if she’s grasped at anything, or if her statement is truly a blanket one. But still, it makes the ache in his chest loosen, makes his eyes flood with tears that he can’t fully understand, besides knowing that they’re partly forming out of relief that his cousin wouldn’t abandon him should she find out he were disgrace to their family name.

“Thank you Tigris,” he murmurs. She reaches up to cup his cheek, gently wiping away a stray tear that falls.

“Oh Coryo,” she whipsers, before pulling him close in her arms. He buries his face in her neck, holding his breath as though he could hold in his tears, his eyes screwed shut as her hand passes gently through his hair.

He pulls back a moment later, his vision blurred by his unshed tears. “I’m off to bed,” he says with a sniff, stepping back with his gaze trained at the floor. He doesn’t wish to see Tigris’s pity in her eyes just now, doesn’t wish to see all the ways she might suspect him different.

“Alright,” she murmurs. “Sleep well Coryo.”

He nods, turning on his heel to trudge back into his bedroom. Once past the threshold, he closes his door, leaning back on the thick mahogany wood with his eyes squeezed shut, his breath held tight in his chest.

It’s no use now that he’s alone. The sobs come quietly, because Coriolanus had learned early on in life how to manage his grief in silence. Slowly, he slides down the door until he’s sitting on the barren floor. He tugs his knees up to his chest, buries his face in his hands, and weeps.

He can’t fully work out just what he’s weeping for.

#snowjanus #snowjanus fic

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blackjackkent · 5 months ago

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So, I thought I'd already explored this whole place, pretty much, on Hector's run, and was just having Rakha go through all the motions in a different order, but @rhysintherain has informed me that there's a whole area down on the lower level that I didn't know you could reach at all, down by the feet of the giant Shar statue in the center of the temple!

Rakha wasn't really expecting to find the library with the Spear down here, and she's correct; in truth what led her down here, rather to her shame, is the lingering smell of the blood that stains the floor. There are long streaks of it, deep sticky puddles, and - most curiously - a small circle painted into the dirt by Shar's feet.

Rakha's heart clenches in her chest. She remembers another such circle painted in the dirt beneath Alfira's dead body. This one is smaller, though; considerably less elaborate, and surrounded by dark and unlit candles. The Shadowfell magic swirls around it in uneasy ripples.

A book lies on the floor at the circle's edge. One Becomes Many reads the title, almost obscured by dust, on the front page.

Rakha squints at these words in abject bewilderment. Only one word sticks out to her, dramatic and familiar - Raphael. She cannot tell if it it is a signature, an invocation, a warning...

The rest is subtler. The words are rhythmic, poetic, cryptic - but there is a spell at the center of them. Itori mustag.

She does not know what it means, but she can visualize the way those words would resonate through the Weave. She can imagine the spell even if she has never seen it. A splitting, a rending apart...

"This speaks of magic that can divide someone into many... but many what?"

A flicker of suspicion touches the back of her mind.

She crouches to examine the brazier nearby, which is filled with dried gore and the bones of some indeterminate animal.

As she reaches out and places a hand carefully on the brazier's edge, there's a shimmer of magic next to her and yet another rat appears out of the darkness, almost into the circle's center.

Narrator: The rat stares at you. It almost seems like it wants your attention.

The creature is much smaller than Scratch and Buddy - but nevertheless Rakha can see similarities in the rat's expression (such as it is) to the moments when Scratch wishes to beg for something - a piece of sausage from Rakha's dinner, or a scratch under his jaw, or a run through the woods.

She turns and squints more closely at the little animal, trying to parse the details of its behavior.

[ANIMAL HANDLING] Study the rat. Try to figure out what it wants.

Narrator: It wants you to leave it and its fellow rats in peace.

(A/N: I know there's more content here if you speak with animals; however as mentioned, I'm saving that for my stream playthrough. We have the option of backing up and leaving the rat in peace, at which point it just runs off. However, what follows if you attack it is FAR more interesting, and also has the added benefit of tying into the Dark Urge and making Rakha feel miserable yet again. So we'll go with that. ^_^ )

Pain spasms through Rakha's head. The beast's mocking laugh in the back of her mind - Peace? Hah. Kill it. The crunch of innocent bones under a boot; you know the song, how sweet it sounds. Her vision whites out.

"Rakha!" she hears Wyll shout. He knows the signs by now, and he has sworn to help her fight the urge... but she's too quick. Her boot stomps down on the creature's head and there's a light spray of blood in all directions.

Suddenly the cavern echoes with a cacophany of angry squeals, and around them the shadows come alive. From every corner surges a tide, a wave, of angry rats bearing down with teeth and claws.

------

This fight is WILD.

We get a series of increasingly large waves of rats coming in from all directions. They start out normal, but start to incorporate more "Necrotic Rats" (which have more health and do extra damage) and "Soporific Rats" (which explode on death and put the attacker to sleep).

You might also notice that there are several cats and dogs in the combatant list in this screenshot; that's because Rakha had to use Tides of Chaos to pass the animal handling check, and thus this happened when she cast her first fireball on the rat horde:

She transformed herself into a dog, Wyll into a cat, and several of the rats also into cats and dogs - which gave them more health and enhanced their combat options while severely limiting her own. Never let it be said wild magic doesn't keep things interesting, but to say Rakha was miserable during this whole process would be putting it VERY mildly.

She knows perfectly well what she did and why and she hates it, and now her magic has turned her into a dog to add insult to injury. It's not as bad as the sheep, at least.

The whole team was never really in danger of dying per se, at least not on easy mode, but nevertheless it definitely got a little hairy in the latter rounds when about fifteen rats were spawning onto the field at once.

Eventually, though, the waves slow, and then stop as they manage to finish off the last of the rats. And as the last one falls... its dead body begins to shiver and shake and tremble... and transform.

A form in Justiciar armor, similar to the empty armors they fought in front of Balthazar's lab. This one, though, is fleshed; there's a man inside it, and he is trembling violently as he staggers to his feet.

"These hands... too big..." he mumbles frantically. "Where are the others? Where's the rest of me?!"

His head lifts and his eyes fix on Rakha from behind the blank stare of his mask.

"You!" he howls. "Why did you have to keep prying? WHY COULDN'T YOU JUST LEAVE?"

She was right. That spell - itori mustag - a spell of splitting, of rending. It turned this man into all the rats that she has seen scurrying around the temple. Has he been here since Ketheric's Sharran forces were driven out? Has he been here, housed in all the rats, for a century?

"Hold on," she says. "Who are you?"

"Lyrthindor. Last Dark Justiciar," the man hisses. His voice has a skittering, hectic quality to it, very akin to the chittering beasts he inhabited. "I kept watch over Lady Shar's temple. Kept the faith alive, after all the others were killed."

He fumbles unsteadily for the sword at his belt. "But you ruined it!" he yelps. "Trespassed! Spoiled our-- my-- secret. Now you'll rot in the dark!"

(A/N: There are a few dialogue options here, but none of them are Rakha-ish - one apology, one assertion that there's no need for violence, and one claim that all Sharrans are better off dead. The other option is to attack, and all of the dialogue leads to violence at this point anyway, so...)

Attack.

Rakha sees him move, sees the blade halfway out of its sheathe-- and she moves first, swinging her quarterstaff around to clock him at the hinge of his skull. His head snaps sideways with a loud crack and he falls into a still pile at her feet without a sound.

-----

(Annoyingly, we don't have the option to talk to Shadowheart about this at all; this seems like something she should have a reaction to. But that's FINE, I'll do it myself. XD )

As soon as the Justiciar is dead, Rakha's arms fall to her sides and she scowls, turning away sharply. "Damn," she mutters, and stalks away to begin clambering back up the slope that led them here. "Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn..."

Wyll has no love in particular for the Dark Justiciars, but he does nevertheless look at Shadowheart with an apologetic expression. "Sorry," he says.

"It's not your fault," she answers. She is looking at the corpse with great intensity. "We all saw what happened. Rakha--"

"Let her be," Lae'zel says abruptly, tone rough. "We saw indeed. And we know that was not her."

She glances at Wyll, who nods. "I should have been watching for it," he mutters. "I told her I would..."

Silence. Shadowheart sighs heavily. "He said he was the last Justiciar. All the more reason I must be strong. I must find the Spear and complete the trials and be a new hand for the Dark Lady." But in spite of the confidence of the words, she doesn't move for a long time, just stares down at the dead man's body with a troubled expression playing around her lips.

#bjk plays bg3 durge #rakha the dark urge #long post alert XD #i had had some spoilers on some aspects of this but that was still nevertheless not quite what I expected XD #bjk writes her own party banter

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mannatea · 1 year ago

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The World Could Be Beautiful, a Tales of Symphonia ‘fic (Chapter 10)

Word Count: 55,229 Summary: After a chance encounter in Izoold, Raine and Regal both get a lot more than they bargained for. (A one-night stand 'fic with consequences.) Chapter Summary: Raine asks a theoretical question of Regal; Lloyd and Colette discuss their exsphere journey with Raine. Pairing/Characters: Regal/Raine, Genis, George, Lloyd, Colette, and assorted OCs as the story requires. Zelos shows up later. Warnings: Blanket warnings for the entire fic: pregnancy (and all that comes with it), discussion/mention of abortion, power imbalance, fantasy racism. Rating: Explicit. (No sex in this chapter.) Genre: Romance/angst/friendship vibes.

The title is the link to Ao3 for Chapter 10! (This is the halfway point in the story!)

Notes (to be read after the chapter) under a cut:

I've always been a bit fascinated with Raine's relationship with Iselia. I feel like it's a place Genis could call home, despite the turbulence of the game, but with Raine's long history of being unwanted and unwelcome it's hard for me to imagine she ever truly feels like she can go back there. I think logically she knows it would be okay, but she can't untangle the way she feels about it.

There's something to be dissected here about how she stayed there way longer than she intended to, and cannot separate that she lived her life there was a lie and any goodwill or comfort received while she was there was sort of...based on the lie and not the reality.

That said, it was the safest she was ever allowed to feel, so it's not hard to think she's sometimes a bit homesick for it, or at least for the kind of life she wished she could have led there.

In this "thought experiment" she posits, Regal mentions that he would have known immediately she was not an elf, and I stole that from the OVA because I love it (and for no other reason). I really liked that detail—that he would know and respect that it was a secret she kept to protect herself and her brother.

Lloyd and Colette's journey to find the exspheres and destroy them/render them unusable comes with some interesting conundrums: what do they do when they come across someone who needs their exsphere? When should they shift their focus from mass exsphere sales/production issues to The Individual, and how do you convince other people to give up their exsphere when you yourself are wearing one?

Raine's understanding of the old man Lloyd and Colette talk about comes from a short period in her life where she and young Genis happened upon an abandoned little farmstead and lived there for some months. There was a garden and, in similar fashion to the old man, she tried to protect it so that she and Genis would have food...but she was 14 and there wasn't much she could do against grown adults (who were probably also hungry and wanted that food).

She didn't die but she knows it wasn't because she picked herself up by the bootstraps or anything; she just got lucky.

She never had a lot of opportunity to be kind to others, having never had much excess, but I like the idea of her being able to see Lloyd and Colette try to make the world kinder.

LLOYD'S POEM. Shut up don't touch me don't look at me. I crafted this idea so carefully. I imagine Lloyd was a bit of a goof in class, trying to "not take assignments seriously" but this almost always backfired on him because Raine could still see the potential there.

And I think Lloyd is best at art and expression through art forms! ;)

Anyway when I was in middle school we had to do a writing assignment where the story had to start with "Almost" (and then an event), and I tried to be cheeky about it and wrote a story called "Almost Mowed Over" (about a blade of grass who narrowly avoids being mowed over LOL) because I thought the assignment was so dumb. Then my ass got picked to compete in Power of the Pen? So. I was channeling that energy here. LOL

But in a more wholesome way!

COLETTE AND REGAL. COLETTE AND REGAL. I love their friendship! Sometimes Colette can be a bit silly and goofy but I love the idea of her getting to live for herself and growing and maturing because of that.

I don't know what people expected from a girl who thought she was going to die at 16. If she took things too seriously she'd just be depressed all the time. I love her silly side. But I also wanted to explore how she and Lloyd might struggle sometimes with nightmares and other problems. Normally they talk to one another about these things, but I firmly believe everyone needs friends who exist outside of their romantic relationship, so Colette leans a little on Regal here...and finds the knowledge that he also struggles with this to some degree to be cathartic. Like, oh, it's not just us! We're not alone!

#tales of symphonia #regal bryant #raine sage #regal x raine #mannafics

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existentialmagazine · 1 year ago

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Review: julip’s debut single ‘Ectothermic’ explores a bittersweet breakup, reminiscing on a lover turned cold with a soft glowing sound to match

The San Francisco-based artist julip has just unleashed her debut riveting pop-rock anthem ‘Ectothermic’, paying homage to contemporary indie luminaries like Alvvays, Phoebe Bridgers, and Clairo. As she finds herself taking inspiration from her education, as well as the desire to masterfully balance raw emotion with catchy, sing-along melodies, julip is certainly one to watch with this exceptional first offering to her name.

A dreamy haze of sound commences the glowing two minute journey of ‘Ectothermic’, soft and radiant all at once just like the most mesmerising of pink-tinted sunsets. Lulling you into subdued electric guitar strums and floaty vocals alone, there’s a vast sense of the soundscape established immediately, intimate and echoey like the emptiness of an open, unfilled hall. A rising drawn-out synth note begins to fade in as julip introduces more instrumental nods, wrapping a blanket of steady drums and this continued lingering key amidst the minimal sound, an embodiment of the track’s inability to let go. As the pre-chorus shifts, ‘Ectothermic’ falls into scattered electronic beats, loose guitar strums and julip’s heavenly vocals with haunting backing layers that add an emphasis to her every line before a paired-back but insanely catchy chorus finds itself front and centre. From just tenderly strummed guitar and whimsical synth whirs in the chorus, julip’s personal but snappy lyrical releasing is one that’ll have you loudly singing along to every word as it becomes centre stage of the sentimental moment. Soon re-adding clashing drums and more prominent strums, ‘Ectothermic’ climbs into more of an emotional outburst of sorts, expressing all the built-up emotion through its more strengthened performance and closing bridge before blissfully fading out with one final simmering towards closure.

Matching her more somber sound, julip carefully entangles a narrative of a former relationship turned sour, delving into the bitterness of their parting alongside the tether between them that still resides within. From the opening line ‘I would count the freckles on your forehead, to try to make the seconds pass even slower’, julip seems to immediately acknowledge the beauty of what they once shared, reminiscing and perhaps alluding to a yearning to relive these simple moments once again. But reality seeps between these reckless thoughts and wishes, reminding ‘now your name is starting to taste foul’ , recognising that the joy once carried for their presence has been forever tainted and cannot be changed no matter how much she desires to redo things. As julip sings ‘looking into the static for signs this isn’t through yet’, she finds herself unafraid to speak of the complexities that come with love and heartbreak, knowing she deserves more and yet emotionally still finds herself caught up on this ex regardless. Tying in her STEM education, julip infuses her lyricism with a unique blend of scientific references, touching on the term "ectothermic” that is typically associated with the cold-blooded and temperature-fluctuating nature of reptiles and insects. Turning this animalistic expression into one representative of her former lover, julip’s poignant lines ring out with a mass of unearthed depth: ‘the fact you don’t wanna talk is really getting me off, I want to keep you burning, but you’re so ectothermic.’ Suggesting inconsistency, cruelty and a coldness while she pleads to relight their flame, this poetic comparison is one that seems almost desperate to find an expression for her suffering, feeling as though this once treasured person has become distant and unknown as they morph and shift into another species entirely. Though she notes ‘you’re in my rearview’ as though this person remains in her past, there’s a definite hung-up lingering on this relationship she can’t find herself letting go of, an unfortunate and unsurprising consequence of the many unanswered questions and betrayal through their actions that brings such an immense lack of closure.

Check out ‘Ectothermic’ for yourself here to delve deeper into the poetical lyricism of julip and the more intimate sound to match.

Written by: Tatiana Whybrow

Photo Credits: Unknown

// This coverage was supported and created via Musosoup, #SustainableCurator.

#tatiana

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hildyj · 1 year ago

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The reviews are in!

"Like you can literally take this in any direction possible and I'd still be hooked!"

"Great writing, amazing characterization"

"I am impressed by your depiction of the characters, mainly of mason and arthur obviously."

"Just binge read up to this point and it’s absolutely adorable!!!"

"I like how well you have written everyone. I can hear their voices so well."

"i loveeeee this fic so far omg"

"Jesus, this was a masterpiece."

"I love this pairing and the way you’ve written both of them feels so genuine and beautiful."

"Omg, blushed and giggled my way right through this. I love how obvious they both are with their little crush and yet are absolutely oblivious to the signs, too scared of the possibility of rejection."

"This whole chapter is incredible. I am obsessed with the dynamic you’ve created between them. I want them both to be happy forever but also angsting after each other."

"Really restrained and slow burn, with conversations and manners very similar to what you imagine the people of that era would say and do."

"Anyway, this whole scene felt so intimate and soft but also SO intense at the same time, I literally thought they were finally going to kiss because damn, even without saying anything, it's already so painfully clear how much they already long for each other."

"I love how the emotions and the tension are just there, so carefully woven into their interactions without anything being said explicitely. It's just so incredibly well written and I'm very overexcited for what's about to come next."

"I just love the way you’re handling each of their interior/exterior worlds, it provides such interesting juxtaposition that I feel other writers would portray more combatively (that is, sexual and emotional repression), which is totally valid but the isolated nature of their relationship here allows for a tenderness and intimacy that’s really special."

"Cannot express enough how soothing and calm this fic is. I love every word of it."

"A torturous read in the best way at the end there."

"Loved both chapters, it definitely added more depth to already skillfully fleshed out character!"

"The details included here, down to the Lemoyne Raiders' conversations and the barkeeper's and his wife's interactions leading to the photo make me interested with the side characters and the world at large and not just in the main characters, which is also a defining characteristic of the original RDR2 game. This AU feels alive, well done!"

"Damn it THE TENSIOOON! You are too good at it, the damn prolonging 😭 I love it but DAMN! GET IT TOGETHER, BOYS!"

"heartbreaking chapter, but beautifully written!"

"I really admire your way of writing them and pacing the story. Really stunning, beautiful work."

"I'll genuinely miss looking forward to your updates each week but I'm so glad for the happy ending!"

And they lived happily ever after.

Here's the final chapter of The Man Who Shot Arthur Morgan

#yeah I'm going to hype this one #I mean look at that #people like the fic I wrote!#compiling this post was just the best feeling #I feel very smiley and floaty right now

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starshipsofstarlord · 4 years ago

Text

Sebastian convincing you to have another baby...

Pairing | Sebastian Stan x reader

Summary | Seb wants another baby, but he still has to convince you into wanting the same thing.

Warnings | smut, breeding kink, fluff, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, mentions of birth control, creampie, swearing, cockwarming

Requested ✖️

Y/e/d/n = Your eldest daughter’s name

Y/d/n = your daughters name

Y/s/n = your son’s name

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

The idea of pregnancy gave you many things to think about, the gruelling and simultaneously tiresome journey had been one hell of a rollercoaster. The countless times (approximately two) that you had endured the swelling of your feet, and the divine hunger for the strangest combinations of food, had left you with three beautiful children.

First you had birthed a little girl, that sparked a new light behind your husband’s eyes, and reinvented his world. She was the princess he adored, and the one that you loved to watch Disney movies with, even if she insisted on Frozen every singular time.

And then, after her, you had a pair of perfect twins. They brought sound and restlessness to the household, after your daughter demanding that she wanted a sibling. Deep down, you had wanted more at the time too, but now, you felt as though your life goal was fulfilled.

Your family was everything that you had ever wanted, it felt as though you had been taken off an idealistic screen and transferred into reality. And if that had happened, you wouldn’t be one to complain, for all your greatest wishes had come true.

But if you were to ask your husband, he would make it very clear that he wanted more little devils running around the house. There was a joke that Evans and Mackie had with you every time that they saw you on set, clothed in a tight catsuit to fit your role. They would act amazed at the appearance of you not bearing one of Sebastian’s gorgeous children, their false shock earning laughs from your various co stars.

It wasn’t the fact that you weren’t open to the idea of another child to grow within your womb, however, it was more out of fear. You were well aware that you had been blessed with the birth of your lovely twins, though you were scared that you would endure the premise of double labour again, and it wasn’t exactly the kind of pain that you were willing to experience for a second time.

Being practically split in half once was bad enough, but twice, one instance straight after the other was bound to be the worst torture that a mother could be provided with. As you stirred your evening cuppa, watching as your kids were all huddled playing a board game after their dinner, two arms found placement around your waist, lightly tugging you back into a strong chest.

“Look at our babies.” Your husband mumbled into the crown at the back of your head, his fingertips rolling circles beneath your shirt. “Aren’t they the sweetest?” He asked, pressing a delicate kiss upon the back of your neck. The feeling of his stubble making your body shake wantonly, but you withheld from making sounds, not wanting to draw the attention of your children.

“When they’re quiet.” You agreed, watching as your eldest helped the twins with beating her. “They’re the most important people in my life, and then, it’s my annoying husband, who cannot stop trying to get in my pants for five minutes.”

“That’s called love; your husband loves you.” Sebastian stated, nibbling on your ear lobe as you ushered a sound of approval, clutching onto his hand that was firmly planted on your side, as his tongue traced the shell of your ear. “And I’m sure he’d love to show you how much, if you stop being mean to him.”

“Mean?” You laughed, taking a sip of your drink before spinning in his arms, allowing him to push you flush against the counter. “I can show him mean.” Biting your lip, you traced the seam of his sweats, that appeared to be all that he was currently wearing, brushing your hands up and against his well attended to torso. “But later.”

Seb groaned, leaning his head back, as he moved closer to you, pushing his thigh between your legs, glancing over your shoulder at the kids. “We could put them to bed right now, and then go to our room, then, you can show me how much of a horrible wife you are.”

“As much as I love that idea bubs, the twins need to be bathed, and you have to help your daughter with her math homework.” Leaning forwards, you pressed a kiss on his bicep, moving out from the entrapment of his arms, and lightly patting his ass.

“You know I was joking about you being mean, but now I’m seeing some truth behind my earlier words.” Sebastian plodded away, and towards the open living space, plopping down on the sofa, as he watched his offspring on the floor, smiling at their kindness to one another, though he was sure that tomorrow would be another story.

With one last look, you headed upstairs, going to the main bathroom, and began to slowly the run the tap. During the time you allowed it to run, you grabbed some pyjamas for your babies, as well as a couple of towels and flannels. By the time you had returned to the bathroom, and put everything down ready, the tub was half filled. And so you stopped the stream, putting in a tad of cold water before descending down the stairs.

“Honey, help y/e/d/n with her school work, I’m gonna get these two trouble makers ready for bed.” Your husband nodded as he pursed his lips, trying to ignore how you leant down to pick the twins up, pretending as through the top of your breast had not been caught by his eyes.

And with that, you got the kids cleaned and ready for the following day, meeting Seb at the doorway of y/d/n’s and y/s/n’s room, giving them each a kiss on the forehead before tucking them in for bed.

As you were walking towards your own room, Sebastian lifted you from behind, carrying you the rest of the way. “You can’t keep it in your pants, can you Mr Stan?” You laughed as he dropped you upon your double bed, him instantly kneeling at the end of it to peel your shirt off.

He trailed kisses along your legs, humming from the much desired contact, as his blue eyes flickered up at you. “That’s your fault, you deprive me.” He muttered against your skin, reaching his fingertips up higher to grasp at the sides of your underwear, pulling the material down.

Your husband blew hot air upon your pussy, grinning to himself as it instinctively clenched around nothing. As he moved closer, he breathed in your scent, rubbing the tip of his nose along your clit, before diving in to feast, sneaking his tongue through your slit, instantly prodding at your entrance, causing your head to wind back, and your hand grasp his hair.

“We should have another.” He mumbled against you, and you were almost too delirious to complain, although a light groan emitted from you, as you fought with yourself whether to let him continue eating you out and not respond, or do the responsible, adult thing, and speak about it.

With much resilience, you pulled his head away, licking your lips at his slick stained chin away, tugging him to be laid beside you. “Is that really want you want Seb?” You asked, biting your lip, wanting to hear his thoughts in hopes that it would relax you for the possibility of you bearing more of his children.

“Of course it is draga.” He answered, his icy pools making your own freeze, he cupped your chin, bringing your lips to his own, placing a few pecks upon your lips, before continuing. “I know that you’re nervous, but I will look after you every step of the way, like I have done both times before. Anyways, I feel like directors take a kick out of challenging themselves with making their actresses appear not pregnant, look at both you and Scar through the years.”

You nodded, understanding that your career wouldn’t take the brunt of things. “I want another but... I’m scared. Just, what if I have two again?” You rambled with your hands, and he clasped them between his own, pausing your panicked hand signals, and rubbing his nose against each set of your knuckles.

“The chances of that aren’t very high my love. But if it happens, then maybe this time you’ll let us call them Wanda and Pietro...” his words earned him a light eye roll and a tender hit on his shoulder, as he rolled on top of you, causing you to squeal. “Remember, don’t wake the kids.”

“Kinda hard when I can feel how hard you are.” You retorted, moaning as he began to suck at the spot on your neck that made your knees shake, his hands drifting beneath your shirt, as he began to raise the material up your torso, and over your breasts. You whipped the material over your head, discarding it as his attention turned to your boobs. “I’ll never get tired of these.”

He hummed, before leaning down, taking a rosey pebble to be captured within his mouth, sucking on it as his fingers fiddled with the other. “Seb, I just need you in me.” You prodded his hips with the heels of your feet, pleased when he leaned back, pulling down his sweats, so that his erection bobbed upwards, the head already leaking precum.

“You want a baby that bad?” He asked in a brisk voice, clambering back onto your awaiting body once again, grasping his base with his heavy hand, dragging his tip to circle around your clit. “Want me to fill you up, so that you grow nice and full with my baby.”

A furrow made its way onto your brow, as you held onto his biceps, lightly rolling your hips up against his leaking head. “Honey.” He paused his movements, staring carefully down at you, reading your expression. “I’m still on birth control.” You informed him, watching as his eyelashes fluttered, and he pressed down unto you again.

“A little practise never hurt gorgeous.” Sebastian spoke, slipping his cock into your entrance, sinking into you as you moaned out his name. “Fuck, so tight, even after three kids.” He groaned, putting his hands either side of your head, as he began to thrust in and out of your pussy, breathing heavily through his nose.

“So big.” Your hands grasped at his naked back, casting down to grasp his ass, causing him to suddenly buck deeper into you, emitting another series of moans out of you. “Love your cock.”

“Yeah?” The romanian smugly asked, his lips drifting up the tip of your nose, before running them back down to your own, biting onto your upper lip, as one hand continued to brace his weight above, and the other moved down to fondle with your clit, causing you to tighten around him, your eyelids blinking repeatedly. “You love my fat cock inside of you, about to pump you full of my cum?”

“Yes Seb, love it.” Your eyes screwed shut, tears slipping out the corner of your eyes, as he made his administrations harder, hitting his hips languidly against your own. “Love it so so so mu- ah - ch.”

“Cum angel. Coat my cock, pretty girl.” You complied, reaching your high, as your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer as your essence pooled around him. “Want me to make you round with my babe, want me to make you full of my cum?”

“I do, I do, I do.” You squealed, your breath hitching as he stilled for a minute, filling you with seed. “Fuck.” You breathed, your chest rising and falling, as he remained in your for a moment, before pulling out, but you stopped him, clasping his back with your sweaty hands. “Stay.”

“Okay.” Seb said tiredly, his skin flushed as he rolled over, so that you were laid on his chest, your head falling to below his chin. “So beautiful, you know that?”

“Mmh.” You hummed, drawing circles upon his skin. “I’ll come off my birth control tomorrow, then, we don’t have to just practice.” He leant down to press a long kiss upon your lips, sneaking his tongue through their natural seam, gently sucking on your own.

“That sounds more than good to me darling.” He stroked down your back with his talented fingers, pulling you closer again. You felt his dick twitch within you as he felt both of your mixed juices trailed down his balls, that huffed from the sensation.

#sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan fic #seb stan smut #sebastian stan oneshot #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x you #sebastian x y/n #sebastian x reader #sebastian x you #imagines #imagine #xreader #mcu cast smut #mcucastxreader #sebastian stan fandom #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan fluff #sebastian stan au

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dragonmuse · 2 years ago

Note

In the LH&K verse and prompt fills it's been hinted that lucius is self conscious/ insecure about his physical appearance at times? Would love to see some moments of Izzy or Pete (or both!!!) reassuring/ comforting/ reacting to Lucius feeling insecure!

(both! Both is good! First half is just a few weeks into Pete and Lucius' relationship, second half is between I Want to Break Free and Laugh with the Sinners)

“It’s hot as hell out there,” Pete pointed out in what he thought was a reasonable manner. “You cannot be serious about wearing layers. Or even a long sleeved shirt.”

“It’s my whole look,” Lucius folded his arms over his chest. “Enjoy my self-expression. Also I’m going to be in an air-conditioned bar all night that’s set to ‘if it gets above freezing my makeup will melt’ temperature.”

“You’re running around all night. I’ve seen how sweaty you get. It can’t feel good.”

“Rude,” Lucius scoffed and started looking for his socks in his overnight bag. “You’re not supposed to tell someone they look gross, you know.”

“I don’t think that’s what I said,” Pete frowned. “You look uncomfortable, not bad.”

“You’re all uncomfortable on nights like this, what does it matter?”

Pete watched him for a long minute. They’d only been dating for two months or so and he wasn’t sure how much he could push this or if he should even bother. Maybe it was just how Lucius preferred to dress. He certainly half-lived in his favorite blazer and most of his outfits had a general sameness to them. Out of drag, Pete was much the same so it was hard to get to get on a high horse about it.

But...

“I like when you look comfortable,” he said. “You smile more and your face is all....you’re always hot, but you’re really beautiful like that.”

Lucius stopped moving and then he turned to him very slowly. “Please tell me you didn’t just say I’d be prettier if I smiled more.”

And Pete had apparently stepped on a landmine. Boom. Wonderful.

“No! Yes? Shit. That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, please explain,” Lucius all, but growled. Woe betide anyone who thought Lucius was the easiest target on staff.

“I mean I like when you’re happy,” he tried again. “I like knowing you’re okay and doing your thing and not...dunno. Suffering for no good reason?”

“...yeah,” the fight went out of him. “Sorry. I know what you meant. I don’t exactly drown in compliments.”

“I don’t know why,” Pete shook his head. “You’re ridiculously cute, you know that right?”

“I am aware that I can project that image,’ Lucius said carefully and sat down beside Pete, their thighs touching.

“Yeah, you cannot actually Jedi mind trick me into thinking you're attractive,” Pete pointed out. “I told you day one that I thought you were my type.”

“I’m also painfully pale, noodle-armed and still prone to breakouts like I’m fourteen,” he groaned. “I don’t want to wander stripped down. It’s like wearing a sign that says I’ve never worked out a day in my life.”

Pete stared at him.

“What?” Lucius snapped.

“That’s how you see yourself?” He asked incredulously.

“...sometimes,” he mumbled.

“But you’re,...” Pete looked for the right words. Lucius always had good words for things. He loved them and Pete was always trying to piece something together that would at least not sound like total nonsense. Not that Lucius seemed to care. Maybe they were alike in more ways that he’d originally thought. “I started shaving my head because I was balding.”

“Uh, yeah?” Lucius blinked. “I figured that out, believe it or not. You can tell through the stubble and all.”

“And I thought that it was over for me,” Pete plowed on. “Like at clubs and things. Because at least before I looked young before that. There was nothing left to hide behind.”

“You don’t-”

“Shh, my turn,” he chided. “I thought that and I was wrong. Plenty of guys like a bald head. I didn’t have to like it for that to be true.”

“Oh,” Lucius reached out and ran a hand over Pete’s scalp which felt great, but he didn’t lean into it. “I like it.”

“And I like your arms. They’re strong enough to do what needs doing. And I like your skin, it’s soft and pretty. I never notice your pimples unless you point them out and even then, who cares? I still get them too. Just being human.”

“Huh,” Lucius’ hand drifted down to Pete’s face, cupping his cheek which also felt good. “I guess it’s pretty stupid to complain to you about not wanting people to see me, huh?”

“It isn’t. I’ve had my whole life to make peace with my face. Doesn’t mean you can’t feel a way about yours.”

Lucius leaned in and kissed him, then drew back with a sigh. “It is hot as balls out. I’ll leave the jacket here.”

Several years later

“What are you doing?” Izzy asked from the bed. He was sitting up, laptop on his lap, bare chested.

Lucius had snuck in on Izzy’s day off for a nooner and been pleasantly surprised by the warm reception. Generally, Izzy wasn’t open to surprise changes in schedule, but this had gone smoothly enough.

“Putting my clothes back on?” Lucius frowned. “What’s it look like?”

“Thought you were just going to go hang out with Stede.”

“Yep,” he reached for his jacket. “And?”

“And....just seems....” Izzy searched the air for the right words apparently and Lucius ignored him in favor of giving the jacket a good shake to get out some floor-born wrinkles. “Like a lot of layers for lunch.”

“You don’t want me to cover up the tank top,” Lucius surmised.

“...yes.” Izzy admitted.

Lucius had worn just the white undershirt for most of their activities today and Izzy had shown his appreciation as best he could without the use of his hands. It had been fun, but that had been a very much private, inside bit of pleasure.

“I think Stede would have a stroke if he saw my naked shoulders,” Lucius laughed it off.

“Doubt that,” Izzy said.

“...you’re not going to take a perfectly served opportunity to make a joke about Stede dying? Are you sick or something?”

“Seems a shame is all,” Izzy’s eyes dropped back to his laptop. “Didn’t think you ever did anything because of what someone else might think.”

“I-” Lucius stopped mid-pulling on his shirt. “Come again?”

“You’re pretty clear about doing your own thing all the time. So what do you care if someone has thoughts about your shoulders being out on a hot day?” Izzy started typing, apparently only half-paying attention to the conversation at all. “I mean, I’d put on some sunscreen cause you burn like a motherfucker, but otherwise....”

“I like flirting in public, excuse the fuck out of me if I put myself in the best position for that,” he grumbled.

“I will bet you whatever you want that you pull more in the tank then with the shirt on,” Izzy glanced up at him.

“You’re on. I want one of those stupid Gordon Ramsey level complicated recipes for dinner next week when I win.”

“Fine. What do I get if I win?”

“Which you won’t,” Lucius let the button down drop to the floor. “But let’s say....you can finally take that nude picture of me you asked about.”

“Agreed,” Izzy said quickly.

“How are we measuring this?”

“I trust you to be honest about it,” Izzy shrugged and went back to typing. “Have a nice lunch. Bring sunglasses, it’s bright out there.”

Lucius: This cannot be happening.

Izzy: what’s that?

Lucius: I have been trying to get the new waiter at this place’s attention for weeks. Stede tried to convince me he was straight because I was being so pathetic about it.

Izzy: and?

Lucius: and he gave me his number on a cocktail napkin under my drink just now like I’m in a Sex and the City episode.

Izzy: You’re a Samantha, right?

Lucius: how do you even know that reference? This day makes no sense.

Izzy: Fang called me a Miranda once and I was pretty sure it was an insult so I had to do research.

Lucius: How much research?

Izzy: Pete is a Charlotte and Stede is a Carrie. Eddy is Big.

Lucius: So Miranda and Samantha are having a nude photo session is what I’m getting from this conversation.

Izzy: You can wear the tank if you want. And I’ll still make you beef wellington. Always wanted to try that anyway.

Lucius: i want to put you in a jar and study you like a bug sometimes. But sure, we can do both Tuesday.

#leda house and the kraken verse

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 4 years ago

Text

Seized

An addition to Approval. Do not read this until reading that first.

Character: Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader // Damian Wayne x Batmom

Summary: What happens when Talia Al Ghul learns that someone has stolen the affections of her past lover and her son?

Word Count: 3,000 [One Shot]

“Delinquents have been detained. I can hear the sirens,” Damian stated calmly in his comms.

“Good work, Robin. You know where to meet me. You have a minute,” Bruce responded as he whipped the bat mobile through Crime Alley to grab his son.

Just as Damian opened the door and hopped in, an alarm went off within the vehicle.

“The Manor,” Damian thought aloud as he read the screens with his father.

Bruce ignored his comment and was calling Alfred immediately.

“Master Wayne,” the butler instantly picked up. “I followed protocol, but they were already gone when I arrived.”

“Y/N…” Bruce immediately asked.

“They took her,” Alfred told him, distress clear in his tone.

Damian’s head whipped to his father to watch his reaction.

But Bruce’s jaw only tightened and he sped the batmobile even faster.

Returning faster to Wayne Manor than ever before, Bruce jumped out of the batmobile and up the secret entrance to get to the main house.

Damian was hot on his heels. He’d already sent an encrypted message to his brothers, informing them of the situation. It was only a matter of time before they were at the manor as well. Though Damian suspected Jason would not come, instead already starting to scour the streets of Gotham for Y/N and her captors.

Alfred was already waiting for them. “Master Wayne, I am so sorry.”

Bruce ignored him and walked to the master bedroom. Y/N would’ve been sleeping when the attack occurred. It wouldn’t have mattered if she had been awake, she had no training in self defense. She was merely an innocent civilian.

“Father,” Damian muttered quietly.

Bruce turned around to find his son ripping a shuriken out of the door frame.

They shared a look, both recognizing the particular shape and color.

“The League…” Damian muttered quietly, saying what they both were thinking.

——————

Y/N was barely awake.

They clearly had drugged her with something to make her more compliant. Everything was foggy and muffled.

Yet they still tied her hands and ankles together, as if her brain could even manage to get her body to move.

But Y/N could feel the effects of the drugs losing their strength, yet keeping their hold on her.

She squinted as she looked around. The air felt different. It was colder and dryer, making Y/N believe that she was no longer in Gotham. Little did she know, she wasn’t even in the country any longer.

“I do not know what he sees in you,” a woman hummed from somewhere in the room.

Y/N blinked as he listened, but her eyes could not adjust to the low lighting and she didn’t even have the strength to turn her head.

“You are weak. Ripped from your own bed without so much as a fight.”

Then she heard the grunts and clashing of metal.

The woman smiled. “Right as expected, my son.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed at ‘my son.’ Then she finally lifted her head and took in her surroundings. There were swords and other weapons stored everywhere, and there was armor hung from the walls.

“Talia?” She whispered.

The woman chuckled. “Weak, but not utterly foolish.”

Then the door of the room was thrown open.

Y/N looked to see Damian in his Robin uniform.

“My son, finally returned," Talia greeted with a smirk.

“Mother.” Then his gaze flickered to Y/N. Very subtly, he was scanning her body to access any possible injuries.

His gaze turned back to his mother. “What is the meaning of this?”

“You have forgotten where you come from, Damian. You are not just the heir to the Wayne family. Before anything else, you are my son and the heir to Ra's al Ghul’s throne.”

“She has nothing to do with this,” Damian said with a gesture to Y/N.

“She has everything to do with this,” Talia snapped. “She has made you weak.”

Damian said nothing.

“She has taken you both from me,” Talia growled.

“Father does not love you,” he growled.

“A small lapse in judgment on his part, but not something that cannot be remedied. Our love gave us you, and I fully believe he will return to me.”

“His heart belongs to someone else. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you can give up your fantasy.” Then he hesitated to say the next part. “I never plan on returning to The League of Shadows. I wish to stay with father.”

Talia’s amusement vanished at her sons words.

The next second, she unsheathed her sword. “Perhaps I should just kill her and remind you of your place, my son.”

With that, Damian rushed forward and intercepted Talia’s attack with his own sword.

“Do not touch her,” Damian growled.

Their swords continued to clash as the mother and son fought each other. The fight raged on for what felt like forever. Too evenly matched, but also both too terrible at hiding that neither actually wanted to kill the other.

In the distance, Y/N could hear even more fighting. She could only assume it was Bruce fighting his way to her and his son.

Talia and Damian’s swords locked again, both of their stances shaking from the hold.

“Do you really think you and your father stand a chance against the entire League? Why do you think we lured you all the way here? You are outnumbered.” Talia hissed.

“You think us foolish enough to come alone?” Damian smirked right before there was a boom that shook the entire compound.

Talia’s focus slipped half a second, allowing Damian a window to go on the offense.

He flipped his mother’s sword out of her grip and held his own to her throat.

“Yield,” he growled down to her.

“You truly choose her over your own mother?” The hurt in her eyes was clear.

“You abandoned me, used me as a tool to disrupt father’s life. She taught me that there is more to life than killing and destroying. She loves me and care for me, even when I gave her no reason to do so.”

“And it will be the death of you,” Talia warned.

He glared at her. “Yield!”

But he knew she would never. So he whipped out a dart and blew it to her neck – a sedative. It knocked her out within seconds.

Waiting until he was sure it had worked, Damian sheathed his sword once again and ran to Y/N’s side.

With a knife, he cut the ropes around her wrists and ankles.

“D-Damian,” her voice was still slurred from the drugs and she was weak. How long had she been here without food or water? “I don’t think I can walk."

Damian helped her to her feet. “Y/N, please try,” he begged as he wrapped her around around his shoulders. He was still just a boy, one that was shorter than her. But he wouldn’t give up that easily.

There was another explosion.

“What’s-What’s happening?” Y/N asked as she dragged her feet and held on tightly.

“That would be Todd, most likely taking his job of distracting to an unnecessary level.”

“You all came?” She asked in shock.

“Of course,” Damian scoffed.

Suddenly an object came flying at them and Y/N cried out in pain.

“No!” Damian bellowed as he looked up to see that another League member was attempting to stop their escape. And with it, they had thrown a shuriken that had landed in Y/N’s side.

She dropped to the ground.

Damian screamed as he unsheathed his sword once again and charged the assassin. It wouldn’t take him long. He knew that every minute spent fighting was a minute Y/N was bleeding out and edging closer to death.

He didn’t hold back like he had with his mother and quickly disarmed the enemy. Then thrusting his sword into a nonfatal area of his body, enough to neutralize him.

Damian rushed back to Y/N’s side, where a pool of blood was forming from her wound.

He knew it was useless, but he still tried to lift Y/N into his arms to carry her. He cried out in both panic and frustration.

The building had now caught aflame due to Jason’s explosions. Damian would need to call for backup, hoping one of his older brothers could help.

Then a shadow was cast over him.

Damian tensed, believing it to be another attack.

But he looked up to find his father standing before them.

However, Bruce’s gaze was on his unconscious girlfriend.

With the arrival of his father, Damian’s cold and calculating disposition melted.

“She’s hurt,” his voice trembled and tears formed in his eyes. “Help her.”

Damian rarely cried. He cried less than grown men. He was raised that way. It didn’t help that his father was not a great example of healthy emotional expression.

But Bruce knew what his sons tears were for: Damian was frustrated, he felt weak, and he thought he had failed his mission. But most of all, Bruce knew his son was crying for fear of Y/N’s death. Because the boy had grown to love her.

As if there were a world when Bruce wouldn’t give his own life to save Y/N.

Bruce bent down and carefully brought Y/N into his arms.

Damian heard her mutter his father’s name, though still delirious from both the drugs he’s sure his mother pumped into her and the blood loss.

“Red Robin, get the jet to my coordinates immediately,” Bruce instructed through his comms.

Damian wondered how his father could be so calm when the woman he loved was bleeding out in his arms. This wasn’t bat business, this was personal. But Bruce spoke like it was just another night of patrol.

A few minuets later, Damian and Bruce had fought their way through the flames and burning compound.

Tim lowered the platform of the jet.

Damian made sure his father and Y/N got on before he followed. He turned and gave one last look at the burning compound that would no longer exist come morning. He did not fear for his mother’s life. He knew someone from the League would come for her – if she didn’t save herself first.

When he boarded the jet, his father already had Y/N on the surgical table that elevated from the jet floor.

Bruce had taken off his cowl, allowing Damian and his brothers to study his expressions.

Damian had been wrong about his father handling the situation like any other mission. For now he could see the terror and worry in his father’s eyes, despite him trying to control his emotions.

Damian looked to Jason, who still had his Red Hood helmet on.

“My grandfather?” He asked his brother.

“Escaped,” Jason muttered.

Damian stepped forward to help Bruce with Y/N’s injuries.

“She’ll be OK,” he muttered to his father.

All of them had high-level medical training to know.

Thankfully the assassin’s aim was not great and didn’t land in lethal place on Y/N’s body. But she still lost a lot of blood and would need many stitches.

All the brother’s shared a look when Bruce ignored the statement.

———

Y/N woke up to someone gripping her hand. She recognized from the smell and the feel of the bedding that she was in Bruce’s bed at the manor.

She winced as she opened her eyes to find Bruce was the one holding her hand as he sat in a chair only inches away from the side of the bed.

“Hi,” she whispered to him with a sad smile.

“Hi,” he said back with a smirk.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Two days.”

Then Y/N looked past Bruce to realize there was someone else in the room.

Damian passed out on the velvet chaise that was pushed against the windows.

“He hasn’t left your side,” Bruce told her. “Dick had to convince him just to take a shower for 5 minutes when we first got back.”

Y/N’s heart melted at the revelation.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

The sound of Bruce’s voice as he said it made Y/N’s gaze snap back to him. Had it shook? Or was she imagining it?

Y/N squeezed his hand that was still wrapped around hers.

“I know,” she told him with a sympathetic look.

He hid it well, but Y/N knew Bruce. And she knew that her being kidnapped from his own home probably drove him mad with guilt. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d already designed an entirely new security system to prevent something like that ever happening again.

Bruce took in a shaky breath and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

He wanted to say that he always feared her being with him would put her in danger like this.

He wanted to say that maybe she should stay away from him.

He wanted to say that him and the kids didn’t deserve her.

He wanted to say that the only reason this happened is because Talia hated that she loved her son better than she ever did.

But Bruce had never been good at saying how he actually felt – or even acknowledging he had any feelings at all.

So Y/N brought his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. “Bruce, I know,” she said once again.

“I won’t let it happen again. I promise you,” he told her evenly.

“Bruce, I knew what I signed up for when you told me you were Batman. If I wasn’t willing to face the reality of it, I wouldn’t have stayed.”

“No one would’ve blamed you if you hadn’t.”

There was a knock at the door and then it opened a second later.

Damian jumped awake at the sound. But then he quickly brought his attention to Y/N. “You’re awake.”

But everyone’s attention was on Dick, who was standing at the open doorway.

“Hey,” he greeted Y/N, surprised to see that she was awake. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore. Tired. But I’ll be alright.”

He seemed to relax from her answer.

Then he winced when he looked at Bruce. “They put the signal up.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened.

He was about to open his mouth to ask them to handle it, not wanting to leave Y/N alone now that she had woken up.

“Go, Bruce. I’ll be OK.” Y/N told him, reading his mind.

“I think it’s the Joker,” Dick added with a serious frown.

“Bruce, go.” Y/N repeated.

And he saw the sincerity in her eyes. He leaned forward and kissed her gently, deciding he didn’t care if his two sons were witnesses to the intimacy.

Then Bruce kissed her forward. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Alfred will be here if you need anything. Do not hesitate to call.”

Y/N nodded.

Bruce stood up and acknowledged Damian and Dick. “Let’s go.”

Once they were ways down the hall, Bruce heard Damian stop.

“Father?”

Bruce and Dick both turned to face Damian.

“I wish to stay with Y/N.”

Bruce and Dick shared a look, and then Dick decided to give the two a moment alone and muttered something about waiting in the cave.

Bruce walked back to his youngest son.

Damian’s gaze was glued on the floor. “Mother truly would’ve killed her?”

Bruce sighed. “Most likely, yes.” He saw no point in lying to his son.

“Because she knows that you and I love her?”

“Yes.”

Damian was quiet for a moment. But Bruce knew he had more to say.

“I used to think I had to earn it.”

Bruce frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Mother’s love. I had to earn it. Win in combat. Successfully execute a target. Outsmart a puzzle or challenge.” Damian looked up at his father with a broken expression. “Her love always came with a price.”

Bruce kneeled down to his son.

The boy shook his head. “But Y/N made me realize that I don’t have to earn anyone’s love. I don’t have to prove that I’m worthy of it.” He bit his lip. “She’s not my father or my brother. She didn’t have to love me. But she does…even when I did nothing to earn it.”

“Everyone is deserving of love, Damian.” Bruce gripped his son’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for not teaching you that myself.”

Damian nodded. “So, may I please stay with her tonight? I don’t want her to be alone.” But then he quickly corrected himself. “Unless of course, you require my assistance, father.”

Bruce smirked at him. “I think we will manage, Damian.” Then he squeezed his shoulder. “Look after her for me, alright?”

Damian relaxed and quickly nodded his head. “Of course, father.”

When Bruce returned hours later, Damian was cuddled next to Y/N in the bed. But clearly laying in a position to be mindful of her injuries. Both were fast asleep. The bright television was the only thing lighting the room, as it played a Pixar movie.

Bruce couldn’t help but grin at the sight.

“I got him,” Dick whispered to him before stepping into the room and carefully lifting the boy in his arms, clearing the space in the bed for Bruce to join Y/N.

Bruce moved about the room as he changed into cotton shorts and went without a shirt.

Y/N woke slightly as he joined her in bed.

“Everything OK?” She whispered sleepily.

“Everything’s fine. Did Damian keep you company?”

Y/N smiled and shifted her body so she was cuddle into him. “Yes…my little protector.”

Bruce smiled at that. “Don’t let him hear the ‘little’ part…”

She chuckled. “Good call.”

And then she was fast asleep once again.

-----------------------

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