#Yellow Gold Star Finger Ring

[spideyanakin]

always remember us this way (e.m)

summary - corroded coffin member!reader, what if you wrote 'always remember us this way' for Eddie Munson?

warnings - sad ending, star is born vibes im sry :(, mention of sex

word count: 7.3k

thank you @inknopewetrust for proof reading some bits <3

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eddie munson masterlist

That passion in your heart, burnin' in your eyes.

You fiddled with your pen as you watched Eddie from the other corner of the classroom. He was somewhere else; eyes distant and removed from the room you both occupied with 25 other bored souls. Mrs. Click was a drag. Her red manicured hands gripped the white chalk as it scratched the green stone.

The sound pulled him out of his stupor. He mumbled something incoherently and drew his pencil onto his paper. 

On the other side of the room, you couldn’t focus at all. 

A tune was haunting you. It was singing in the back of your mind as the melody began to swim around you. The notes of a song begging to be put onto a page and heard around the world. It was all you could think about; refrains coming to you two days ago when the boy across the room was six-feet-deep in a game of Dig Dug on your last date at the arcade.

A rhythm that you couldn't get out of your skin.

The mix of game chants and arcade music melted into one beat that you ended up humming all night. Fingers mindlessly drumming on the side of machines every time Eddie played his turn. 

You knew that when night fell, Eddie could sense you had music dancing in your mind. It was what brought you two together, after all. The melodies of songs that shaped a life; how stories could express feeling without ever feeling too vulnerable. Eddie knew the sensation all too well. For many a night he had been the victim of that vacant expression and mindless humming of the same few lines over and over.

You were so lost in the tune that when Eddie’s turn was over and he had been defeated for the ten millionth time that evening, his eyes burning a hole into your head hadn’t even fazed you. There you were, half leaning against the machine with eyes glazed over on the odd shapes and colors that danced on the carpet your polished shoes touched. Perhaps you could see the lyrics on the floor. The shapes and colors filled with blues and yellows jumped from their home and painted a score above. 

He called your name once. He called it twice. 

"What are you thinking about?" 

Eddie leaned on the machine’s panel that separated him from you, whispering the words in your ear. The light from Dig Dug illuminated his profile. He belonged in a place like this. A place where he could be free and seen and heard. No bands needth play when the song of Eddie Munson’s eyes filled your soul with warmth. Goosebumps passed through you. You blinked away the music from your mind and caught his gaze. 

He was looking at you with so much love you thought you were about to burst. Leaning so close you could see the tiny sparks of gold in his eyes.

One of his hands came to hold yours, reaching up with his ring-clad fingers to play with the bracelet he had gifted you two weeks before–a dark blue band with mini skulls braided in. It screamed Eddie and that's probably why you loved it so much. He had never seen you take it off since he had gifted it, and it made a small smile appear on his lips each time he saw it where it was meant to be.

And that's when the first piece of lyrics came into mind.

'You look at me and, babe, I wanna catch on fire'

When the words started fitting together in your mind, you could feel the way it made you flustered—heat creeping up your neck and traveling up to your cheeks.

You really did feel like you were about to catch on fire that evening.

Two days later, in the desks of Mrs. Click’s class, you tapped your pen on the back of your hand as it rested over a loose-leaf sheet of paper that had scribbled lyrics that kept popping up. It was like catching butterflies with the words. They came and went, difficult to grasp and hold onto if you didn’t have a pen handy. 

That passion in your heart, burnin' in your eyes

You look at me and, babe, I wanna catch on fire

It's buried in my soul, like California gold

You found the light in me that I couldn't find

The words “CHORUS” were written in sloppy big letters in the middle of the page. You scratched your head with the back of your pen, pouting as you tried to reach unknown corners of your brain for any kind of inspiration.

You had been on literal fire writing the first stanza. The words flowed freely and quickly and without remorse that perhaps it was cheesy that a boy in high school who you envisioned a life with had inspired those lyrics. 

When you look at me and I can't find the words

When the sun goes down,

And the clouds all fade

You looked back to Eddie in hopes something would appear. He was the reason for the song, the whole why as to why those words had made their way to the page in the first place. You watched as he scribbled something of his own, dropping his pencil onto his own desk before suddenly turning his head around and meeting your eyes.

It would be a lie to say that you weren’t caught off guard. Seized in the midst of your contemplation, in mid quest to squeeze any more inspiration out of the being that was Eddie Munson.

He smirked, mouthing something but you couldn’t do anything back. You could barely make out his words. He made you all choked up. Your cheeks started to burn again at the simple thought of him. His smirk, his pretty face… it all disappeared as he turned his head back around.

 He really had to choose now to be a good student?

You munched on the tip of your pencil before eying your page again. And as a light went off, you felt like scribbling something new. 

So when I'm all choked up

When you look at me and I can't find the words.

~

"You keep staring lately." 

Eddie took you by surprise, making you jump as he appeared behind you and laid his  chin on your shoulder.

"I always stare… you’re my boyfriend, Eds," you pointed out, tightening your grip on your piece of paper where your lyrics had been written—hoping he wouldn’t see it.

"Then there’s something different to your stare," he offered, leaving his place at your shoulder to step in front of you.

You grinned, shaking your head and smiling before leaning in for a kiss.

There was something so cheesy about being one of those couples you had once snickered about in the halls. Love had not reached you then. It hadn’t filled every part of your being with the pure adrenaline and immense pleasure it could provide by looking at the one you loved. It had never been obvious to you before that what those people had, you now did too and it was something you would never trade for the world. 

"Maybe it’s just because you’ve finally realized how desperately in love I am," you whispered against his lips and Eddie thought he could melt right there. He too had felt that love. He knew the Earth could swallow him whole and he would fly up to a heaven knowing that the girl of his dreams had loved him back. 

Instead of answering with words, he brushed a strand of hair that had fallen onto your forehead, gently pressing a new kiss to your lips.

"I love you so much" he breathed out, leaning against you as your foreheads touched. The bell sounded–the passing period was over. Eddie backed away, raised his arm to lay over your shoulders and the two of you bounded off to class for the fifth hour of the day.

~

Eddie's bed was filled with random papers, scattered pencils, and mini figurines—your two bodies mingled in the middle of it all. Your chin rested on his bare chest while your legs were tangled up together.

You watched him frown as he dropped the paper he was holding and blindly tried to find another one. He wiggled under you in an attempt to fetch a half-crumpled piece of paper from the other corner of the bed, succeeding after a minute of struggle.

You chuckled at his theatrics. He was never one for subtlety. He moved the paper away from his face to meet your eyes and grin back at you.

"How's that campaign going?" You murmured, almost too scared to break the silence.

For the past thirty minutes, the only noise that could be heard were the rustling of the trees and the uneven buzzing of the fridge coming from the living room mixed with yours and Eddie's pencils scribbling on paper.

It all started an hour and a half ago, when you both couldn't sleep. You thought that maybe tearing each other's clothes off and moaning the other’s names would have been enough to put you to sleep—but there you were at 2 am, after having cooked a box of cheap mac and cheese that had been bought so long ago it expired in a week. You were wearing the shirt he had been wearing that day while he was just in his boxers.

You still felt guilty for laughing at him when hot cheese splashed onto his chest, slightly burning him. You had been a laughing mess when you scolded him for not wearing a shirt while cooking. It was dangerous, you had to chuckle at the act as it was so abundantly Eddie. 

But now the bowls rested empty in the sink and Eddie was focusing on his campaign while you continued to think of the song that haunted your very being. The melody wasn’t catching. The lyrics weren’t forming and the ones that had stuck, from earlier that morning, loomed over your head like a big raincloud. 

Sleep was still far from both your eyes.

"It’s going well," he beamed, lifting his head while you perched yourself off him to steal a kiss.

You leaned back into the position you were in and watched as he began to work again. He grabbed a D&D figurine from the box he had almost fully emptied on the bed minutes prior. He inspected it, trying to find any specific detail that could be scoured for ideas before diving back into his paper and scribbling something new.

You couldn’t keep your eyes away from his face. To the way his tongue slipped between his lips in focus, or how he drew in his eyebrows, and tapped the tip of his pencil to his temple.

He scrunched up his nose before using the little space left on his chest next to your head to erase his scribbling.

You sighed in content. Tracing circles on his skin with your free hand, you had to force your eyes away from his face to look back at your page of writing.

The lyrics slowly began to take shape. The melody wished to fly from your mind and out from your lips, the tune familiar to him. Eddie had heard it for two days straight and couldn’t place it. He knew it was new. He knew it was original.

Your hums broke Eddie's train of thought and he brought his attention back to you, a figurine still in his hand as the pencil wavered in the other. 

"You keep humming this tune lately. I don’t recognize it," he spoke. 

You felt the joy of songwriting leap from you. There was a grin on your face that threatened to hurt your face. You were certain that you were smiling so hard that the strain in your cheeks was unnatural. 

"That's because I made it up,” you admitted. “It came to me that night at the arcade." 

Eddie's face lit up. He dropped the paper he was holding to give you his full attention. Everything in his hands disappeared and found refuge on the floor. 

"I've started writing lyrics to it as well," before you could even try and say something else, anything else to sell him your song, he was already wiggling himself away from the bed and walking to his guitars scattered around the room. 

He didn’t have much, but what he had was certainly enough. 

"Electric or Acoustic?" He asked, hand on his hips as he pointed to his most precious possessions.

"Acoustic… It’s 2 am, Eds, you don’t want to wake the whole trailer park," you chuckled.

"Who said I was plugging in an amp?" He turned to you, eyebrow quirked high in judgment before you gave him a flat face. He was joking. 

"I'm still going to pick Acoustic," he rolled his eyes before grabbing his black guitar and settling with it on the carpet.

He waited until you followed him. Eddie patted the floor in front of him as if to say, ‘hurry up, we haven’t got all night.’ So, you sat right in front of him with your paper delicately placed between the two of you. Lyrics now exposed to the world, the melody was beginning to be strummed without rhyme nor reason, just talent and the sheer excitement of producing something new. 

"What’s it about?" He questioned aloud as he started fiddling with the strings and pegs.

"You.” 

Eddie’s fingers froze in place. Head raising to meet your eyes, his face brightened and he gave you his best grin before muttering:

"Will you sing it for me?"

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as they caught the lyrics. 

"Ok," you cleared your throat before reaching for the paper on the floor. You already knew the lyrics. They had been burned into your soul by this point because it’s the only thing you’ve been able to think about for 48 hours. But, you needed something to distract you from his burning gaze. "You ready?" 

“To hear you sing? Always,” you blushed. His hands were already clasping his guitar, impatient to hear you.

"Also, it's far from being finished–"

“Sweetheart,” Eddie let out a breath,  “just sing,”

“Alright,” you shifted on your spot "Ok,"

"Ok," Eddie repeated with a smile. Nodding, as if to tell you everything was going to be just fine.

"That passion in your heart,” you sang in the way you imagined you could hear it on the guitar. The rhythm and the pacing; all of it was to be done without the chords but the silence of the room and the tonal shifts in your voice. 

“Burnin' in your eyes. You look at me and, babe, I wanna catch on fire,” your head was low, eyes fixed on your lyrics as Eddie's jaw almost dropped to the floor, his heart beating in his ears.

"It's buried in my soul, like California gold, you found the light in me that I couldn't find," he thought he was going to melt right there on the carpet of his bedroom floor as the words sunk in.

"So when I'm all choked up, but I can't find the words," you raised your melody, knowing you hadn't any lyrics to this part yet. You weren’t sure what would fill the space when your mind stopped working and all that was left was the loud, thumping of your heart and a mind that raced to find the words that Eddie Munson made you feel. 

"When the sun goes down and the clouds all fade," you let out a bit more, until you stopped and finally gathered the courage to stare up at him as the words disappeared from mind. 

"I think I've found lyrics for the next verse, but I'm not sure yet," you commented, dropping the paper on the ground again, meeting Eddie’s starstruck eyes with clarity. 

You waited for him to say something, anything, that would make your anxiety about sharing this piece of work with him go away. But when he didn’t reply, his eyes just stared wide at you, mouth agape, heat climbed up to your cheeks and you suddenly felt shy. 

"So… what do you think?" you barely mumbled under your breath. 

"Are you sure this is really about me?" He asked, jolted that someone would write a passionate song about him.

"Yes, silly!" you took the lyrics on that loose-leaf sheet of paper and slapped at his chest lightly. "You've been judging me for staring at you too much lately! I'm sorry to say, but you inspire me and if staring at you is going to get me to write, then I’ll do it forever." 

A bright smile appeared on his lips and before you knew it, his guitar was on the floor and he was kissing you.

"What's the next verse?" He muttered in between kisses, hovering over you as you reached to get the paper back. 

"Tonight's scenery," your eyes scanned over the page and back to his eyes. You never wanted to look away from them, pools of honey that melted with his love for you. They were softened by his smile, you had to steal another kiss before you could read the rest to him.

"Lovers in the night, poets tryin' to write, we don't know how to rhyme, but damn we try"

"How are you so damn good at writing?"

"Because you inspired me," you tucked a rogue curl behind his ear.

"We’ve got to show this to the rest of the band!"

"It's not finished though!" you shrieked at the possibility of those boys witnessing this song in its incomplete nature. "It's far from being finished!"

"That's alright!” Eddie brushed it aside. “We can at least work on the melody with them if you'd like? We don't have to show them the words just yet."

He was so sincere. So honest and considerate. It made those words jittery on your fingertips; an itch to write again and put down more of what Eddie meant to you. 

“Ok,” you nodded at him, a smile of your own creeping its way onto your face. “That would work.” 

~

“This is useless,” Gareth pointed out, throwing his drumsticks to the floor and tugging at his hair. “Without Eddie were never going to get the proper rhythm, no offence Y/n.”

“Non-taken,” you shrugged, biting your lip as you looked down to your instrument. 

It was a cheap blue and pink electric guitar you had gotten two christmas’s ago. It suddenly felt heavy, hanging by the strap wrapped around one shoulder. It wasn’t as near powerful or clean sounding as Eddie’s ‘second sweetheart’. The notes didn’t sound as graceful and as Rock’N’Roll as his warlock did. Your fingers tapped on the side of it, you occasionally played it as a backup for Eddie’s, never even attempted to lead using it. 

It didn’t make the situation any better that you didn’t know how to play like Eddie, and that factor seem to aggravate the mood even more.

You knew that if Eddie had been absent with a reason, it wouldn’t have affected this rehearsal one bit. You had practiced multiple times without him before: like when he got caught up in detention or what ever odd side quests Eddie Munson was up to that week.

But this time, something was wrong and it was buzzing in the dusty Hawkins air, slithering through the streets and making people double lock their doors at night and barely leaving their homes. The paranoia was becoming unsettling, and it was starting to bubble in the stuffy air of Gareth’s garage.

Eddie had gone missing for two days now, he had left you soon after your last campaign, and you hadn’t seen him since. It didn’t help that Wayne Munson wouldn’t answer your calls and that Dustin Henderson refused to answer any of your questions. He’d told you a vague ‘He’s alright, don’t worry’, before scurrying off and getting into Steve Harrigton’s car, leaving with unanswered questions and mixed feelings.

No one wanted to tell you the truth and you had gotten answers from no one. 

The rest of the band knew as little as you did. 

There had been a murder at the trailer park, and Eddie had gone missing.

You also knew it wouldn’t be long before the police came at your doorstep to ask you about Eddie. You were just grateful Wayne hadn’t let your name slip.

Great.

Just great. 

“You know what,” you spoke up, breaking the heavy silence. “Let’s just cancel band practice today,” you removed the guitar strap from your shoulders, heading to put it back in your case. “I don’t think any of us can focus.”

“Yeah,” the boys muttered, watching you leave without another word. 

They all knew this was taking a toll on you, and all felt like they could use a good rest anyways. 

You missed Jason, his gang and Lucas by luck that day.

~

“Hey, do you hear that?” Eddie jumped, a faint whisper of a voice making the hair on his arm spike, goosebumps tumbling down his spine. 

The upsidedown was already a creepy place, and the last thing Eddie needed was whispers to start haunting him–he seriously didn’t know how much longer he could last in this place.

“Hear what?” Nancy turned, her torchlight lighting up Eddie’s face.

“I thought I heard a whisper,” Eddie muttered, eyes squinting from the light aggression. 

“Didn’t hear anything,” Robin concluded and continued her walk through the dodgy forest.

Eddie recognised this place, they were already far from lover’s lake and were almost by the main road, not far from where you lived. 

He bit his lip as he thought of you. He hated not telling you anything, but he knew it was to protect you. He couldn’t risk that the the evil he was wittnissing first hand to get to you, or hurt you in any way. He knew he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if anything were to happen.

“Eddie,”

He jumped like a startled cat, the whisper had been clear, sharper. 

“This time you guys must have heard it too!” He whined, gulping when everyone turned around with annoyed looks on their faces.

“Litsen, we’re not going to make it far if you keep stopping because you think you heard something!” Steve grumbled towards the metalhead, the aggravated look on his face becoming more serious. Steve’s hand was impatiently resting on his hip, now covered by Eddie’s battle jacket.

“I don’t think! I heard it loud and clear!” Eddie spoke up, matching Steve’s tone. “It called my name.”

“Great, now were loosing Eddie!” Robin whined before taking a step towards him and snapping her fingers in front of his face. “Get it together, Munson! We have to find a way out of here!”

“Right, sorry,” Eddie shook his head and continued his walk, pushing away what ever was happening to him–and ignoring the unknown whispers that nagged at his ear.

“Eddie please, answer me,” your fingers gripped the side of your talkie, in hopes that maybe, just maybe he would answer you. 

But by the fourth time you called, the talkie unwinglingly dropped from your hand, tumbling from your bed to find a new home on the carpet of your bedroom floor. 

Eddie had been missing for four days.  

Four days of escaping Jason, four days of trying to squeeze an answer out of anyone. 

“Eds, where are you?” You whispered to yourself, closing your eyes as your head fell straight into your pillow, clutching it at your side as you tried not to cry.

You hadn’t left your room today, only muttering a thank you to your mom for lying to Jason when he came at your door, again.

Things were leading to nowhere and the rumours were doing nothing good for your spiralling thoughts.

You lifted your head up from your pillow, sighing as your eyes caught a polaroid of you and Eddie. It had been taken by Gareth right after one of your gigs at The Hideout. You remembered Eddie asking you to do his eyeliner a few hours prior. You had neatly applied it all around his eyes as if he had been Billy Idol prepping for a concert, but after shredding his guitar like freaking Jimmy Hendrix on that small crooked stage, he looked more like a slanky raccoon than a rockstar.

His arm was wrapped around your shoulders, your hair was as wild as Eddie’s, going all over the place from the hour of performing. Both your eyes sparkled with some kind of after show high, but yours held something else entierly as you looked at Eddie. You looked so in love it only reminded you how much you cared about him.

About how much he means to you.

Stop. You decided it was enough sulking for one day. Swinging your legs on the side of your bed, socked feet touching your soft carpet before you snatched your notebook and pen from your nightstand, throwing it on the floor before taking your acoustic guitar from it’s spot on your wall. Your eyes barely caught the ‘This machine slays dragons’, spray painted in pink–done by Eddie himself on a rainy afternoon.

You sighed as you crossed your legs, resting the guitar on the edges of your thighs before starting to tune it, mindlessly twisting the pegs as you tride to push the ache from your heart away–maybe even channel it into words and music. 

You opened your notebook, hoping to find something to save you, but it was just a reminder. The song still rested on the white pages, words mending together in pretty loops of letters. You had almost finished it before he vanished, and even if writing music had been the last thing on Corroded Coffin’s mind, it was the only thing that could keep you from spirialing. The only thing that kept you sane in this mess of a situation. 

The page you were staring at had been wrinkled by your aggressive erasing during the past few days. The pencil writing of your most recent words were already smudged from the tears and constant doubting on the way it sounded with your melody.

But all I really know, you're where I wanna go, 

And maybe, just maybe if you had told him these words before you would know where he is. Maybe you’d be with him and help him sort through this mess.

 ~

A week.

A week of silence.

And Hawkins had crumbled under your feet.

Your grip tightened on the cardboard box filled with clothes to donate. You had gone alone–sent by your mother who had been too busy to go herself. You tried to calm down your nerves as you walked in through the large double doors of the gymnasium. You didn’t know why anxiety was munching at your stomach, threatening to swallow you whole–but the bad feeling was rising in your chest and you couldn’t push the intuition away.

You caught a glimpse of Dustin talking to Wayne, frowning when the conversation didn’t look very joyous. Dustin had his fist closed, handing something you couldn’t see from that far to the older man sitting in front of him.

“You should give it to her yourself,” Wayne mumbled, pushing away the boy’s hand away. 

Dustin blinked, shock seeping through him at the suggestion. God he didn’t know how he would even tell you.

And just like that Dustin found your eyes. You were already looking at him from the distance–eyes wide in silent question–maybe also fear; he couldn’t be sure, he couldn’t know until he actually talked to you. 

He gulped.

Dustin’s face held nothing but anguish and the closer he was to you the better you could see the tear stains on his cheeks and the slight glaze in his eyes.

He didn’t have to even speak. He didn’t even need to voice it–the look in his eyes said everything that needed to be said.

Tears prickled at your eyes and you felt the sudden erge to throw up. The feeling rose and your heart physically started to ache–was that what grief felt like? Was that the feeling that came crashing onto your body like waves onto cliffs.

You didn’t even know what Dustin had said. It was all a distant echo, a distant voice in a parallel reality–muffled by the way your body’s reaction.

You caught some words. Sentences that didn’t ease the feeling.

‘He talked about you t’il the end.’

‘He didn’t want to put you in danger.’

‘He really, really loved you.’

‘He left this for you’

You didn’t know how long ago he had left. How long you had been standing there–Eddie’s pick necklace resting against your palm. 

But it was long enough for you to register the sudden feeling of loneliness, washed up from the storm on the shores of your mind. 

Your other half was gone.

~

"This is um- the song" You zipped up your bag, slipping out the tear-stained paper you had spent the last few days blankly staring at. Maybe hoping it would bring him back.

Jeff grabbed it without a word, giving you a tight smile. You could see he had been crying too.

You looked away as his eyes started shifting across the paper. You looked at the small window of Gareth's garage, the sunset bringing the rays of golden hour across the musty room.

If he had been here, everyone would have taken a break and you would all be watching the sunset. You'd be wrapped in his arms giggling to some dumb joke he made about whatever was on his mind.

But that wasn't the case.

And everything felt so dull now.

You looked around. You were slouched onto an old green bean bag chair, the one you and Eddie would fight over every single band practice, but now he wasn’t there to fight you for it–you had the dirty, half empty and wrapped up in duck tape poor exuse for a sagbag all to yourself. The used up thing didn’t even look appealing anymore, and you hoped Gareth would throw it away for your sake. 

The garage’s owner was blankly staring at his cymbals, drum sticks barely hanging from his hand and threatening to drop on the carpet. He looked like hell, not much of a difference from his band mates if you were honest.

Jeff's bass was hanging low around his shoulders as he read, tears nudging at his eyes.

"You- you wrote this?" The strain in his voice was evident. "For Eddie?"

"I wrote it with Eddie, but I want to change a lyric, before we um, do anything with it."

"Yeah go ahead," he blinked the shock out of his eyes.

The lyrics felt so beautiful, so magical. To him, you and Eddie had been nothing but one of those high school couples that would either go on to get married, just to have that classic white picket fence life or end up breaking up before graduation. Nothing more, nothing less.

But as he looked at you wiping tears off your cheeks he realized it was so much more, and it had always been so much more.

The both of you were never going to fall into either of these two options. The two of you had always been the odds one out of the pack, the whole of Hawkins had been a witness to they way your crazy minds worked–but your relationship didn’t just hold on your similarities. The two of you had been in love, truly in love. Like the type of love Aragorn and Arwen shared, or the one in the stupid movies channel six passed on friday nights. The ones poets wrote about and people died for. 

You were meant to be rock stars together as you crossed the world. The two of you were supposed to be the pillars of this band, the glue that would hold everything and see members come and go. He didn’t know why it took him all this mess to realise. 

"You want to read it?" You looked at Gareth who looked up from his drum set with a blank expression.

"I'd rather hear you sing," he muttered.

"Alright,” you cleared your throat. "Can you-" You were about to ask if he could play the guitar for you but remembered that was Eddie's job. Jeff played bass, and Gareth was on the drums. "Nevermind," you took the decision on your own–you’d do it accapella.

You weren’t bad at guitar, you knew how too strum a few simple chords, but you weren’t Eddie.

"When the sun goes down" your voice cracked and you had to close your eyes to keep focus "and the band won't play," your words felt heavy in the room, and a sad smile adorned Jeff's lips. "I'll always remember us this way," you continued, and suddenly Gareth started playing the rhythm that you had rehearsed two weeks prior. Jeff started on the bass, and as they started duetting–your eyes fell upon Eddie's guitar.

You picked it up.

You grabbed the guitar from the corner of the room, hanging it on your shoulders and attempting to keep singing as you plugged it in the brand new Marshall amp–a gift from Gareth’s mom to the band. 

You thought that maybe Eddie would be proud–proud of all of you for continuing music even if he wasn’t there.

"Lovers in the night," Gareth picked up the pace on the drums, and you desperately tried to follow the rhythm, hanging on to what Eddie had taught you. "Poets tryin' to write, we don't know how to rhyme, but damn we try," it took everything for you not to cry. “But all I really know, you're where I wanna go," You closed your eyes in anticipation of the next line, the one you had written just yesterday, "the part of me that's you will never die"

"So when I'm all choked up, and I can't find the words" Eddie was peering up at you with the brightest smile you had ever seen. "Every time we say goodbye, baby, it hurts" Your fingers glided over the guitar strings, Eddie knew you were fully into the song but he just had to stop you.

"What?" You smiled as his hand reached the guitar and his other your cheek.

"I cannot believe you wrote that about me"

You giggled, "is that so bad about?"

"I love you," you could have stared at the giddy smile across his face for ever.

"I love you too,"

"And I love the new lyrics, please continue, I'm sorry I've cut you off" He sealed the moment with a kiss, before leaning away and sitting patiently in front of you again.

"When the sun goes down, and the band won't play," the memory was cut by you opening your eyes again.

The sun might have been setting a beautiful color upon the walls, but the garage felt so much darker without him. Without his voice.

"I'll always remember us this way"

~

"So what inspired you to write this song?" The interviewer pursed her lips before settling her papers back onto her lap, fixing her glasses before staring back to you.

You looked down at your skull bracelet, sad smile forming upon your lips.

"Isn't it obvious?" You quirked an eyebrow, hiding behind humor to stop the bubbling feelings.

"Love?" She smiled back and you nodded your head. You wanted this conversation to end like it usually did. You always gave the same answer; Love.

The same music with cheeky gazes and smiles always followed;

‘Is it anyone we know?’ 

‘Is he in the band?’

‘Are they famous?’

‘Are you in a relationship?’

You never answered. Gareth, Jeff or the latest addition to the band would change the subject–but as the crowds grew, so did their curiosity. You knew you couldn't hide from the eyes of the public much longer.

"Yes, but we all want to know more,” she urged on, her tone staying sweet and comprehending. “You once said it was one of Corroded Coffin's most personal songs if I’m not mistaken." 

There it was. You were alone–no boys to help you change the subject with a joke or random statement about the song. You looked at your shoes for a brief instant; maybe trying to sum up the courage and push away the feeling of dread. Attempt to mend the hole in your heart, just for a few minutes. After this you could leave back to your hotel room and find a way to drown your sorrows.

When you didn’t reply, she continued.

"I can't help but notice that there's a certain sadness to the lyrics?"

She hit the bull's eye.

"Well," You looked up, meeting her gaze. Maybe it was the unspoken comprehension of a woman towards another–the subconscious bond that created itself just by your similar place in the world that made you more comfortable to share. Maybe it was what caused her to spot the hidden meaning–or maybe it was just her journalist mind that picked the song apart, ready to latch onto any information you were ready to hand over.

"What people don't usually realize is that the song takes a turn,” you shifted uncomfortable in your seat–you had never gotten this personal in an interview before. "It starts out as this love song. Two soulmates who can't believe they've found each other," Eddie's pick necklace felt burning hot against your chest, the ring you had slid on the chain too–a diamond ring that belonged to Eddie’s grandmother. 

You remembered the moment you had discovered it. You were going through Eddie’s room accompanied by Wayne, trying to naviagte around the ruins of the trailer and scavenge for anything that was left plausible to use or donate. Boxes of random objects and clothes laid in between all the mess and you had already managed to find his guitar–releif when it was in perfect condition, left untouch by the damages of the earthquake. Which now hung on your living room wall, preciously behind a glass frame.

Your attention had been caught on the broken closet while Wayne was going through the drawers of the small desk. The earthquake had broken one of its feet; making half of the drawers hang open with clothes tumbling out of it. You had organized his shirts and jeans already–piling up the ones you could keep and the ones you could give away or give to the corroded coffin boys to share upon themselves.

Your fingers gripped the handle of the third drawer–and you'd only realize this after but it was probably the last time you’d have any a glimpse of sanity in your bones; if you had even any sanity left since he passed away.

If you were honest with yourself you didn’t even really know what this drawer contained. He had never really opened it in front of you and you couldn’t say that you had much curiosity towards it before. You half expected it to be his sock drawer–but your breath caught in your throat when you slid it open.

A collection of souvenirs–mainly of you, laid at the bottom of the hard wood. Photos, souvenirs, concert tickets, boxes with what you assumed even more trinkets and things he collected since the start of your relationship.

You gulped in a pour attempt to push the tears away. 

You started sorting through the collection papers and polaroids–everything bringing memories that were dug deep into your brain’s memory, hidden behind other memories of Eddie. You already knew you’d keep everything, probably throw everything in a box and sort it out in the comfort of your own room–when Wayne wasn’t there to see you crumble even more as you gazed upon Eddie’s collection.

There was a mediumish wooden black box nestled in the far corner of the drawer, and it immediately caught your attention–like something pulling you towards it, screaming for your acknowledgment.

The box wasn’t heavy in your hand, it almost looked like the boxes Eddie used to store his extra special drugs and you expected that to be the content. Eddie hid drugs everywhere in the trailer in a poor attempt at covering up the fact that he wasn’t a drug dealer in his spare time. That if the Hopper or some other dumb officer ever came around they couldn’t possibly find everything he hid. 

But even if there was, most probably a zip-lock bag with some kind of funky psychedelic powder or pills hidden inside–you still wanted to be sure. You fiddled with the unlocked buckle, and pushed the lid open; but you were met with no drugs. 

Instead there was another black box. A small squared box draped in black velvet. You frowned, it… couldnt be? No. You refused to even think about the idea–this was again probably one of Eddie’s weird drug hiding spots.

This must have been something even more special than the special K.

With trembling hands you grabbed it, fingers wrapping around the top of the box and popping it open.

You blinked, all words dying in the back of your throat. You didn’t trust your voice, but your mind had talked at loud on it’s own.

“Um, Wayne?” Your voice was definitely shaking, and he immediately turned to face you. “Do- um- what- huh-” You couldn’t formulate a proper sentence, and you watched Wayne’s expression soften when his eyes caught what was in your hands. 

His mother’s engagement ring.

“So that’s where the little devil’s kept it,” Wayne almost laughed, almost chuckled at the absurdity of the unworldly situation. Your frown deepened and your heart raced to your ears, you couldn’t formulate one single thought and Wayne seemed to take notice because he continued, “we found it in a box a few months ago, Eddie was adamant of keeping it,” Wayne weighed out his words, wondering if he should continue. He knew well enough this was going to break you even more, but now that Eddie was gone, he couldn’t keep the subject of his conversations with his nephew to himself, “to give it to you someday.”

Wayne had insisted that you kept it. That it was meant for you and that he’d have no use of it–that it would be collecting dust in a drawer when Eddie wanted you to have it, when Eddie had kept it stored in the back of his closet for you.

You had worn it on your ring finger for months–as if he had actually given it to you himself. As if he had made it past graduation and got down on one knee, locking your lives together forever.

Gareth had caught you speaking of him one too many times at bars. You would have one drink too many, some guy had probably made a move and you shoved your hand towards his face, drunkenly rambling a life you wished had been real.

But your drunken and fuzzy mind always caught up with the fact that you were lying. That your fiance wasn’t really on a trip and you weren't just at a bar with your best friends to celebrate being engaged and soon to be married- and that's when the tears became uncontrollable.

Gareth-the usually sober one often found himself attempting to dry your tears, trying to sober you up on the floor of the dodgy tour bus or in some hidden corner of the bar if the bus had already been taken hostage by Jeff and his latest conquest.

But when fame rolled down at your doorstep you had to remove the ring from your finger to keep any unwanted rumors away.

And right now you couldn’t just open your room’s mini fridge to scavenge for anything that could take the pain away from your chest, you had to continue that interview.

"But then the song becomes a requiem," you continued, trying to keep your voice from wavering. You watched the interviewer face almost fall, her mouth opening into an 'o' as she pieced up the lyrics together.

You thanked the stars she was being respectful, maybe even understood.

Soon enough the interview was finished, and neither Jeff nor Gareth or the world was ready for what you did the next time you stood on stage. 

Because for the first time in years you spoke his name.

For the first time, you told the world who this song was about.

[stereodaydreams]

Safe & Sound

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader, 2.3k (18+, smut, oral(f!reciving), pnv sex, established relationships, use of baby/baby girl, no y/n, smidge of angst)

Notes: I write for another fandom in a different blog and couldn’t help but jump on the Miguel train. 💛✨

-

18+

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Nueva York’s metro moves like a metal bullet tearing into a lavender and yellow sunrise. Birds break out into the skies, traveling from one tree to the next. Steam rises from vents as those waking rush to heat their homes, covering the streets and taxis in a man made fog. The thick mist drifts past cafes where open signs have just flipped and welcome bells ring. But high up on the 76th floor of a condominium, two bodies intertwine beneath warm sheets, too far to be awoken by the commotion.

Miguel’s legs drape over the edge of a bed, bare feet caught in strips of golden sunlight. It’s a king sized bed and somehow he manages to spill out of it, especially when he bullies his way over into your side, broad shoulders blotting out the sun and keeping you in the shadows where your sleep remains undisturbed.

There’s a wide gap from where his side of the bed should be. No matter how many times you tease him about a hostile takeover of what little domain you have of the king sized mattress, Miguel finds a way to fit himself around you. Your bare skin is warm and soft against his. You smell like a blend of your body wash, the pile of bed sheets, and a little like him and it drives him fucking wild. He’ll take whatever time he can have pressed up against you because... well.

Being Spider-Man is more demanding than a full time job. Try as hard as he might, there are nights where his superhero duties don’t end in a timely fashion and you sleep alone with a hand on his pillow. He tells you it’s because no one else can do what he does and… well, it’s half of the truth.

“I’m the one and only Spider-Man,” he laments to you. “The city needs me.”

“You have to come back in one piece. Promise?” you ask as worry etches itself on your face and on your body.

Large fingers wrap around your chin and Miguel pulls you in for a chaste but sweet kiss. Brown eyes blink slowly and his cheeks wrinkle in a smile.

“Always,” Miguel answers.

While you know his big superhero secret identity, there’s another secret that’s he’s been keeping from you— a little white lie. Miguel O’Hara is the only Spider-Man of Earth-928 but he’s not the only Spider-Man. He’s seen alternate realities, other universes where he’s an ordinary man working at a lab while a teenager gets bit and becomes Spider-Man or one where he’s a bodybuilder turned movie star. The multiverse is vast and entertaining to pick apart until Miguel gets a peek of realities that make his stomach twist and drop.

The fortunate events which link you two together often leads to roads where one of you is doomed to an early grave. So he decides he doesn’t want to leave your lives up to chance. Everyday, he whittles at his algorithms, tinkers with new wrist tech, all in the hopes of containing the status quo of his reality.

Miguel’s confident. Statistically, there has to be a reality where it all ends well for you both and it very well may be this one.

He watches your chest rise and fall as you doze and slowly moves his arm from your waist to your wrist. His fingers idly trace a band of metal on your ring finger and he smiles to himself, turning his gaze to a matching gold band on his hand.

You’re his, as he is yours and you are here, alive and safe and—

Miguel buries his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in. Your back tenses as you wake, lungs inflating from a quick and deep inhale. With one eye open, you find the time on a wall clock and wince at the numbers you see.

“Mig…” you protest. It’s early, but not unreasonably so and you wouldn’t mind if it wasn’t your day off together. No superhero business, no work calls, just the two of you and a lazy morning. “Five more minutes. No… wait, half an hour.”

“Baby,” he purrs back in your ear.

You make a noise while burying your face into the pillow, your body twisting away from his grasp. Miguel laughs and exhales a warm breath that tickles the nape of your neck.

“Are you still tired?” he asks, voice low and laced with desire.

You know that tone and if his wandering hands slipping from your waist to your backside are any kind of indicator, Miguel won’t be letting you slumber for much longer. You can’t help it. Your back arches to his touch, lips parting in a half moan.

“Mhmm,” you mumble, your face digging into cotton as you nod. “Can’t wake up m’too sleepy.”

He chuckles, chest vibrating against your back. You’re lucky he finds you cute. Miguel’s palm grips your butt and gives it a small squeeze before the weight behind you dips as he shuffles his large body further down the bed. His hands engulf your thighs, fingers pressing into your skin as he pulls them apart. You’ve no choice but to reorient yourself onto your back, following his movement down your thighs.

“Mig, what are you up to?” You eye him warily with a lazy smile tugging at your lips. Your vision blurs as your eyelids threaten to shut.

He lays a kiss on your inner thigh. Bright red tints the edges of his eyes, threatening to spill over and replace the soft brown.

“Do you need help waking up?” At your nod, he continues, “That’s what I’m up to.”

He smirks, fangs catching the light of the morning sun and it’s gone once his face dips lower. His tongue drags along the seam of your sex, dipping between your folds for a quick taste. Miguel lets out a rumbling sound, pushing his face in deeper to breathe you in. Your fingers work their way into his hair but your grip is loose, a sleepy sort of pawing at his head. Still half awake, your thighs are slack, tensing only as his tongue rises and reaches a hard nub of nerves.

“Mig…” you moan, eyes fluttering shut.

“That’s my baby. Come here.”

A hand wraps around your back and lifts your hips up for him while thick fingers prod at your cunt. Miguel wraps his lips around your clit, licking flat, broad strokes as amber eyes watch you writhe and jolt beneath him.

“You don’t look so sleepy anymore,” he goads. You shake your head and he chuckles. “No?”

“Nuh uh-h. Oh god—”

He eases two fingers in knuckle deep, groaning at how wet they get. Pumping them in slowly, Miguel curls them around sensitive nerves, feeling you clench down on his hand. It’s easy to lose yourself to the feel of your husband’s mouth on you and the stretch of his fingers pounding into you, but you eventually notice something’s off.

You can feel him grinning while he licks and swirls his tongue around your swollen nub, hands beginning to slow to a halt. His fingers pull almost all the way out you, causing your eyes to finally open and a noise of protest leaves your lips.

“Mig—” you begin, swallowing down a hiccupy moan. “Miguel, please.”

Miguel raises an eyebrow at you, shrugs his shoulders like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Wicked as ever, his tongue moves at unrelenting speeds. Heat flares from your abdomen, thighs twitching out of your control. Between you and him, there’s a damp mess between your legs as Miguel bullies your clit. Your hips try to chase his fingers as they leave you for good, desperate to clench around something, anything. You let out a sob when he stops to press a kiss to your clit.

“Babe!” you cry out, pulling harshly at his hair.

His face rises just enough for you to spot how drenched his chin is. A pink tongue darts around his lips and he smirks.

“You want it, baby girl?” His voice takes on a rougher quality as he challenges you. Large fingers push at your cunt, almost in but not quite. “Work for it.”

Your limbs are still heavy from sleep but the need to feel Miguel makes you roll your hips until you feel yourself push down and squeeze around his fingers. He doesn’t move though, grins wider while he watches you fuck yourself on his hand.

“Isn’t that better?” Miguel asks like he doesn’t know the answer. The hand on your back slips away, flattening onto the bed as he rises above you. You’re too busy trying to follow his other hand to realize he’s right by your head, wide shoulders blotting out the morning sun.

Breath hot and heavy, he snarls in your ear, “Does it feel good when you listen?”

“Mhmm!”

You cling to him, clumsily grabbing his arms as an anchor. Between gasps and moans, his name is a chant on your lips, drawing him closer.

Miguel’s an odd entity. Without the mask, he’s soft with you, cracks smiles throughout the day and fills your ears with loving whispers of devotion. He’s not demanding of you in the way that he is with his team of superheroes at his beck and call. You’ve overheard him being prickly and impatient when things don’t go to his plans, seen him bare his teeth in anger. But never at you.

In here, where the sheets are silken, the atmosphere a little lighter, a little slower… Miguel’s a different man.

“You’re so close… I can feel it,” he growls out. He places a hand on your hip to still your twisting form and it’s infuriating how little effort he uses to hold you like a limp doll. With slick sounds, his fingers slide in and out of you, dragging across taut nerves. “Not yet, baby girl. Not yet.”

“Mig, please. I need you. I need…”

“Hmm?” He lays a kiss on your cheek, lips lifting in a smirk. Miguel wanders down, repeating his hummed reply, kissing your jaw and nipping at your neck. “Say it again.”

You whine and rake your nails across the broad expanse of his shoulders, drawing red lines on sun-kissed skin. “Need you in me, Miguel.”

Your words seep through his skin and into his bones. Every fiber of him aches for you. He’s the king of edging himself, of self control as he fights to ignore the throbbing twitch of his cock. You call to him once more, needy and desperate for him, and Miguel’s done. His hips rut forward, seeking your soaked cunt and he finds it, the fat head of him nudging at your entrance.

He groans out your name, head hung forward and his hands splaying around your face. The sheets strain from his claws retracting and returning and all you see in his eyes are red. Miguel’s shoulders push into the backs of your knees as he hinges forward, forcing your thighs further open for him. There’s mumbled Spanish flowing past his lips as he claims you slowly, your husband taking his sweet time filling you up.

“Fuck, sweet girl. My wife. So fucking tight for me,” he groans.

The pace he sets is fast and devastatingly deep. Miguel reaches spots that makes you incoherent, makes your head toss back as you spew whatever your fucked out mind can give him. It’s messy, rough and he fucks you like you’d never break. And you never do. You always give him what he needs and knowing that brings him to his knees.

Red eyes find you in the waves of passion and Miguel’s looking at you as though this moment is finite. He’s never going to tell you about the other you’s— can’t let you know the statistics which haunt him daily.

Instead, Miguel devours your every moan, lips crushing yours so he can taste you as you tremble. You’re impossibly tight around him, muscles clamping down on him and skin slick with sweat. Your nails mark his back and shoulders, smaller fingers winding into his curls and tugging hard. He can feel you falling off the edge and leans into it, all too happy to chase the end with you.

His hand works its way between you, firm thumb rubbing tight circles around your clit. There’s no reprieve from the cascade of sensations he’s building. Miguel chases your climax until you come around him with a cry of his name.

“Yes, baby girl. Fuck. Fuck,” he moans.

Hips rutting faster, cock pushing you towards hypersensitivity, he wraps an arm around you and pulls you in close. His back muscles seize beneath your hands as he comes with a groan. Miguel’s muttering your name in a breathy chant, hips slowing to a roll as more of his thick spend fills you.

His nose bumps yours, eyes brimming with warmth and fondness. It should feel dirty and hot with how wet it sounds between your legs but you don’t hear it when Miguel murmurs in your ear.

“Still sleepy?” he coos.

You grab at his cheeks and squeeze, receiving an eye roll on his part. He’s handsome but stubborn, your husband.

“Mig…” you laugh. “Can’t feel my bones after that.”

He nuzzles your cheek and hums an acknowledgment. You’re warm, still clinging to him in more than one way. Outside, the sky’s turned blue as the sun finds its way through the windows, shining brightly on your skin. Beads of sweat caught on your neck and chest glitter in the light. He’s never seen anything as beautiful as you.

“Breakfast?” he offers.

“Shower,” you insist and twist your hips to remind him of the stickiness which coats both your bodies.

“Mmm. But I like you like this,” Miguel teases. He rolls his hips, cock still hard and buried deep, eliciting a moan from your lips. “So full of me, baby.”

“I like it, too,” you answer and squeeze his cheek again.

Miguel smiles as if he’s a man unburdened. Here in Spiderman 2099’s universe, you’re safe and sound.

[orderforbrian]

Day 6 - Time Travel for @jonmartinweek!

im late again but only bc i drew waayyy too much for this lol - i couldnt help it tho i really love those kid-centric aus where jon and martin's future kids come visit their s1 selves - they're just full of so many cute moments and little jokes 🤭 i'm also just a sucker for anything jmart kid related. plus watching s1 jon and martin, who have budged hardly an inch past absolute loathing, grapple with the fact they not only get married in the future but have KIDS too is soooooooo good 😆they get to talking and realize "oh god you really are my ideal partner ohno OHHH NOO"

[Start ID: Multiple images of Jon and Martin from The Magnus Archives as well as their future children for an AU. Jon is a thin Persian man with dark, curly hair streaked with grey and rectangular glasses. Martin is a fat, mixed Polish/Korean man with dark brown, wavy hair, browline glasses, and a beauty mark by his lip. 1st image: Jon and Martin are sitting at a wedding table decorated with flowers, a plate with half eaten cake, and a green napkin. Jon is wearing a white shirt with a dark green bowtie, his hair is slicked back into a low bun with some styled stray hairs. His black suit jacket covers the chair behind him. He has light beard and a gold column earring. Martin is wearing a white shirt with a dark blue bowtie, his hair is styled back as well and he wears a gold diamond drop earring. They sit side by side, noses almost touching - Jon smiles wholesomely at Martin, holding up a coupe glass of champagne, and Martin smiles back with his eyes closed, left hand resting around the base of his own coupe glass. Jon's left hand sits on top of Martin's, each hand has a gold band on the ring finger. The drawing looks like a polaroid, Jon's handwriting at the bottom says "Jonathan and Martin Blackwood-Sims. June 27th, 2023." Martin has placed a red heart sticker and written "J+M" in blue marker on the photo. 2nd image: Jon and Martin are older and pose with their children on their backs. Their children, Mina and Jules, have dark, curly hair like Jon's, Mina has a beauty mark by his right eye and Jules has one on her left lower cheek. In this image Mina has her hair tied back into two pigtails and is smiling with one tooth gone. She wears overalls with a scalloped shirt, a sensory bracelet on her right wrist, and sneakers. She is riding on Martin's back, gripping his shirt with one hand and lifting up the other one behind his head, laughing loudly. Martin side eyes her with mirth, his hair is more choppy and down past his shoulders, he has a patchy beard, and wears a simple lined shirt. In this image, Jules has her hair tied back into a ponytail and is wearing a t-shirt, jean shorts and sneakers with a star on them. She sticks her tongue out towards the camera and winks one eye, both her arms are laced around Jon's neck. Jon's hair is past his ears and he has a fully grown mustache and beard, he wears a collared short sleeve shirt. Underneath ths photo Jon writes "Picnic after 2nd year primary. Mina (7) Jules (8)." Martin has drawn a yellow sun and written in blue marker "too old!!" and a crying face. 3rd image: Mina and Jules (off frame) hold up multiple photographs to younger Jon and Martin (season 1). Martin is wearing a collared shirt and his hair is side parted, cut just past his ears. Jon has his hair slicked back aside from a couple large curls at the front and wears a suit jacket, collared shirt, tie, and vest. Martin and Jon stare down at the photos with flustered surprise, confusion, and disbelief, both blushing. Martin pinches one of the photos with his right hand. Jon holds his glasses in his right hand.

4th image is a 7 panel comic. Mina and Jules both wear glasses and school uniforms with a backpack, Mina wearing a tie and vest, her hair done in two braids, and Jules wearing a collared shirt and tie, her hair in a bob with two clips. 1st panel: Jules outstretches her hand while looking angry at Mina who is looking away with a huff. "We would've gotten here way sooner if you didn't have to stop and pet that dumb dog!!". 2nd panel: Jon crosses his arms and sneers at Martin, who is looking unimpressed and annoyed and holding a tea mug. "They get that from you...". 3rd panel: Mina points at Jules and retorts "Well if you weren't so impatient we wouldn't have gotten caught, stupid!!". 4th panel: Martin lifts up the tea mug to take a sip and shoots back to Jon, who frowns, "They get that from you...". 5th panel: Mina and Jules yell at each other with closed eyes and hunched shoulders, "UGH!!! WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS ARGUING WITH ME!!!". 6th panel: A simplified drawing of Jon and Martin, one speech bubble connecting both of them saying "They get that from you". 7th panel: Jon and Martin whip around and stare at each other with offended anger, saying "ME?!".

5th image is of Mina and Jules in full color. They have the same descriptions as in the comic, the school uniform is a purple gray, the skirts plaid. Mina wears a green colored sensory bracelet and Jules wears a blue colored one. Mina has a nervous frown, a couple sweat marks coming off her head, while Jules smiles with quiet confidence, a couple gold sparkles by her head. They hold hands in the middle, Jules is slightly taller than Mina. Above Mina are the following words: Mina (Mia) *younger sibling *a bit shy *fave color is green *loves when Dad does her hair. Above Jules are the following words: Julia (Jules) *older (by 11 months) *more adventurous *fave color is blue *loves when Baba buys her ice cream. End ID.]

[glassrowboat]

Silken Shadows (Pt.1). Pantalone.

Summary: You had many customers, many clients. Regulars even. They dragged you along to dinners, to drinks at bars as they chatted about something you couldn't care less about, and to parties of all sorts. All something that came with the job. What you weren't expecting, however, as you stood on the corner of a side walk cursing the chill in the air as you waited for the latest job to come pick you up was a Fatui Harbinger. Well, you were told it would be a big money job.

Word count: 4300+

Authors note: I'm not sure how long this is going to be, but probably less than fifteen chapters? But someone had to give this old man some love, so I took it upon myself.

Also, the reader is a hired date for anyone who needs specifications.

Link to series

Shards of glass sat around him like glistening stars as a pale light streamed in through the large windows of Pantalone's office. Nonexistent constellations were to be found in what was scattered around him in his own personal galaxy. Bits and pieces are as large as one's finger and others as tiny as diamond inlaid in a ring. The only difference being: it wasn't gold encasing a jewel that shined under every twist of the wrist as it reflected a candle's flame, but a wooden floor. One he had taken great pride in picking out once upon after first receiving this office.

Time had scratched its lacquered surface.

How typical.

Another thing he can't control. Just like the natural instinct to grit his teeth so tight, Pantalone can hear them grinding against each other in protest, crying out for some form of mercy.

It made his jaw ache. Yet his lips still twisted into a smile.

They had to.

Even if Pantalone couldn't help but want to physically recoil at his own image, his reflection in the glass at his feet. An aged label with yellowed spots attached to what was left of the bottle, an 817 vintage from Fontaine, the only thing blocking where his narrowed eyes would be in this warped copy.

All the while, one thought kept replaying in his head, repeating like a broken record slotted on a gramophone: that damnable woman.

Signora canceled on him.

Right before a banquet that was supposed to be quite the occasion at that.

It would have given him just the perfect chance to introduce the frosty diplomat, his fellow Harbinger, to a colleague of his. A man just as like minded as Pantalone when it comes to the exchange on mora. A fellow businessman, to put it in simple terms. Someone who also speaks in the turnover of gold from one hand to another.

A man who could prove beneficial to Pantalone had the right opportunity to familiarize himself but man but all the ‘Fair Lady’ had to say, in as arrogant sounding voice as she could muster, for that Pantalone was sure, was that she's being shipped away to Inazuma soon. For the gnosis in accordance with the last meeting's conclusion, of course.

That, however, didn't change the fact that she wasn't leaving right away.

There was time she could use, to leverage if she so wished, but now he was left with a tree that wished to bear no fruit. There would be no sweet taste of a win today, of another deal secured at this rate. What a wasted opportunity.

Not to mention, he was still expected to show up with someone on his arm in accordance with the invite marked with a check right on the box for a plus one.

All that right after La Signora didn't even bother to sit down, to go through the proper greetings and laybe even have tea with him to share this bit of information. Rather, she stormed in as Pantalone was drafting out a contract, unfortunately startling him in the process as the door slammed against the wall behind it. It was enough to have the ink scrawled out under his hand smudge as his hand curled around a black fountain pen at the idea that her uncaring actions would leave a dent in the drywall.

Surprise. It was never an emotion he cared for, but it was all he was being given today. Or at least that's how it seemed.

The floral scent of the ink he specially ordered to refill this pen the last time it emptied out from pages upon pages of tireless work that had led to an ache in his hand was the only thing to sooth Pantalone's otherwise swirling mind as he figured out where to go from here.

That here has led him to Columbina.

Her saccharine smile when he slipped into the music room was familiar, something he was as used to as a well-worn book as she held up a singular finger. Asking for one moment more.

The song on her lips quelled only when she was ready.

Besides, it would be unbefitting to ask her to stop with the nonsense already as her voice rose to the heights of the pure white room. One never cuts off the star of a stage, on or off of it. Columbina had a way of bringing the notes to life, of making any eye believe you could see the sheet music she had long since memorized to the point someone might just believe they could see those ever perfect lines of five weaving around columns all up until Columbina took her final bow.

Pink and black hair covering her face still as his hands clapped together, the metal bands wrapped around his fingers, causing a small ring each time they collided. “Wonderful as always, Damselette.”

“I am always exultant to have a proper audience.”

Her head rose from its low hang with a grace only she could have. Every action she took was akin to a bird flapping its wings to soar among the clouds. Fitting for a dove.

“As much as I would like to sit down and show you proper respect and courtesy, Columbina, I am afraid I am too short of time for such a luxury.”

The event is, after all, tonight at 8 o'clock sharp, and while Pantalone has always heard it's fashionable to arrive late, it was never a practice he appreciated others participating in. He wouldn't deign to be the outlier to such a basic rule when there was no need for such.

He didn't need to arrive late to get anyone's eyes to fall on him in rapt attention. The citizens of Snezhnaya knew what his time was worth. As for those who did participate in such boorish behaviors? Simply put, they were not worth the precious minutes that could be delegated elsewhere.

“First and foremost, are you otherwise preoccupied this evening?” Pantalone asked.

Columbina turned her back to him with ease, fingers fiddling with the sheet music before her as she scribbled something down he could not see. Not that it mattered. If it wasn't the very notes she was just singing, it would be an indent on the piece written in a language far older than he.

“Now, what would you want of me that requires I not be ‘preoccupied'?”

“That Marquess in the West, you and I both know the one, has come to the main city for a short reprieve and is holding an event.” As Pantalone spoke, he stepped further into the room, taking care not to scuff the white floors with his own black shoes. “One that does not require a show of a song, but I'm sure they would not deny it if you offered.”

A gentle series of clicks continued until he was standing beside her.

“So, you want me to act as your substitute plus one since the one you originally planned to invite canceled on you at the last minute. Is that it, Regrator?”

Her tone had Pantalone wanting to click his tongue, but he resisted the urge.

“A regretful circumstance I shall have to amend in the future. If you agree to my proposition, that is.”

“The Fair Lady truly pulled that lavish rug under you. Something I do not see often.”

Pantalone kept from looking down at her, instead keeping his eyes instead fixed on the musician's stand, his gloved finger ran over. It would be lace covered eyes and ribbons galore as usual. Nothing he hasn't seen before at every harbinger meeting or the times they cross paths through the ornate halls of the palace, most of which have him catching the sight of her scuttling into this very room.

The faintest layer of dust now coated his finger that had Pantalone itching to grab the handkerchief tucked away in his pocket to wipe it off.

The Damselette always did tend to scare the maids off.

“As stated before, I am currently lacking time. Your answer would be most appreciated.”

“Oh, right, that.” Columbina mused. “Steak dinners, champagne, maybe even chatter amongst people who are delightful company. Just like my plans for tonight with Arlecchino.”

Of course she didn't lead with that.

That means two possible options off his already lackluster list of those to invite along.

The last words Pantalone was given before he walked out with a bow of his head to the higher ranking harbinger was “I hope you find someone to fill the empty seat beside you tonight.” Only for the song to continue on like nothing happened, like nothing interrupted, like he didn't even come in at all.

He made sure to leave the door cracked open on his way out.

Sandrone was all the same, giving him a no. The only difference was she spit the words out like venom the moment his fist knocked on her workshop's door and she flung it open with a flourish, covered in oil and the finest grinds of aluminum that flew in the air. It had him cleaning his glasses off as he walked away.

Lenses punched between the fine fabric of his handkerchief as he went over what to do from here.

If it wouldn't reflect poorly on his image, Pantalone would just show up alone. Wave it off and say his date was busy. Yet here he is, arm twisted. Social expectations are truly the bind that holds us all as he couldn't simply message the Marquess on the fly with something along the lines of ‘I couldn't dain to bring a date after my plus one canceled on me.’ Signed the Ninth.

If it wouldn't come across as poor care for attention, bringing his most trusted secretary along would be a viable option. That is if that very employee wasn't a married man who was only just rambling about plans to take his partner out for dinner earlier this very day. It was their five year anniversary being married, as he recalled. He had even given the man a gift in congratulations.

Dottore would at least prove to be an entertaining option. One segment or another would likely get stuck along his side, maybe even the one with the pink bow tie, and it looks like he's ready to bite the finger off anyone who approaches.

No, best not.

Little options left. If any.

At this rate, his arm would get stiff as it's tugged and twisted into position.

Well, there's always the place a certain man, a debtor, mentioned last time. His whining was just the perfect pitch that made it hard to ignore as Pantalone's guards tore apart his shack of a house apart in an attempt at finding the funds he was due. Only a measly fifty mora that would prove no use in taking. One can not pay if they can not work as starvation tears them apart from the inside out. The excuse? He went to one of those houses in the area.

Exchange time for a woman's company. Nothing he hasn't heard before. Nothing he isn't familiar with. The Northland Bank served customers of all walks of life.

The name, however, was one that rang a bell in Pantalone's head. One that sold a woman's time over her body.

This is what he has been backed into? Truly?

Still, he called the guard that was stationed by the doors he just walked though, fingers snapping to get this individual's attention as Pantalone told them to find a messenger. The need to tell them to be quick about it would be nothing short of an unnecessary addition. They knew that well enough by now.

Steps filled the hall just as the creaking of loose floorboards did. They had long since needed to be replaced but actually getting around to hiring someone to do that had been waved off time and time again that everyone had since learned to simply live with being woken up in the middle of the night by someone trying to get a cup of water.

Loud and clear with each echo.

Making the hand that wrapped around your arm and pulled you up off the stool, just another thing you expected as a shrill voice cried out to get your attention. Scratched and broken from what was no doubt the cigarettes The Madame might as well switch out for her meals filling your ears while she jabbered about whatever had her coming to you this time.

That being: a job.

It was no wonder then why a wet rag was being shoved into your face, trying to wash- or better yet- scrub off the powder on your face. Messy blobs of green and pink having been painted on your eyelids the same way a crayon would a child's coloring book, only becoming more of a mess to handle at this treatment as your nose scrunched up as the fabric rubbed against you.

“Wash this shit off your face and give it a real try, kid. Don't know why you keep letting the bucket girl apply makeup on you.” That old hag barked out. In as good of a mood as any as she pulled her hand back to finally give your skin some reprieve. “And try to keep yourself lookin’ real good. This client has some big bucks to spend, and I don't need you messing it up like last time.”

“You always know just what to say.” You retorted as you snatched the rag away from her to wipe the eyeshadow off your face properly. Gently.

Even going so far as to lean down to get a proper view from the vanity and its cloudy mirror to make sure there wasn't a speck of makeup left.

“This ain't your usual crowd, kid, but you're going to high tail it out of here in your best dress and meet this guy two blocks from here so some carriage can pick you up.”

“Ahh, one of those guys. I'm on it. And do me a favor and don't bully the ‘bucket girl' while I'm out.”

It wasn't a surprise when the Madame threw a quick “no promises” over her shoulder as she left the room, leaving you to get ready. Brush already in hand as the door slammed shut. Most likely her doing, but you chose to think of it as a simple draft of wind as the bristles brushed through a soft pad of pink.

The same pink of the gloves you currently dawned. Fingers twitching with each passing minute to keep blood pumping through the digits you were breathing on, trying your best to keep yourself as warm as possible while standing at the usual spot for clients that needed to pick a girl up a few blocks away from the Marmeladova house.

Sure, they had their reasons, but it always came across as the clients having no sense of decorum for a freezing lady. A frozen tundra of a nation, yet they still expected you to stand on the street like a hooker trying to call in her five hundred for the night.

How charming.

Not.

It was when you were pacing back and forth, kicking up bits of powdered snow with every step, did the rolling of the carriages passing by on the street lead to one stopping right before you. Wheels turned stock still as the lines behind painted a clear path right to you. It's not an accidental pullover by some temperamental horses then. Though if you only looked, such a thought wouldn't have even crossed your mind in the first place.

A carriage with golden accents, horses with shining leather straps, a coachman in clothing that looked actually weather appropriate, and a Fatui symbol stamped right before you. Like the sign to a haunted house as the other girls drag you inside, claiming it will be fun, only for you to walk out annoyed and grouchy at the lackluster experience.

Something told you this wouldn't end that way.

A footman, or at least you assumed that's what he was when he was wearing the Fatuus emblem and one of those masks you see the soldiers wearing so openly while walking around without a single care in the world besides holding their heads high pulled the ornate door before you open.

A hand held out to help you up along the steps that had a nice coat of snow dusting them only knocked away by the heel of your boot while ducking inside the red velvet walls. Instantly, you could tell it was warmer in here from the moment you sat down. The thing probably insulated for what reason would you put yourself through the agony of the cold when you can simply buy your way out of it?

At least, that felt like a fair comparison as your eyes met those of a man you've only ever seen in the newspapers. Most of which were fished out of the trash from nicer neighborhoods to use as kindling, but that face was unmistakable.

“Lord Harbinger.” You found yourself saying as you greeted the figure before you. Your own words sounded like they were coming from another's mouth as they were drowned out by the curses flying across your mind. Faster than any bird in the sky or whizzing bullet as he greeted you back.

The shock of it all had you a reeling mess, but not enough so to miss the ice tune of Pantalone's voice as he said “A pleasure to meet you, miss.”

In the very least, this would give you a decent idea of where you stood in this dynamic.

“The pleasure is all mine.”

Your hand was held out between you both on instinct, hanging there for a moment under the small lantern that lit the carriage with the curtains closed shut. Like a barrier to the outside world.

The shake was strong, sturdy, and his leather gloves did little to help you figure out anything about this man the public didn't already know.

An example being how he'd surely have a writer's bump. A man whose bread and butter is contracts surely knows how to hold a quill. How curious. Not as much, however, as the Lord Harbinger wiping his hand off on his jacket the moment yours left his. A folder occupying the other he was holding out to you.

“Read this over and try your best to memorize the names inside.”

With little to no choice otherwise, you took it from him. The folder failed to bend back under your touch as you opened it, not even when your gloved fingers rubbed the material between them as the names were run over again and again in your mind. Good quality, as he expected, as you took in the long list.

Far too long actually.

“I expect you to remember as much as you can, but I'll be there to assist you all the while.”

Your eyes flicked up to look at him, meeting his gaze over the folder. “Assist me all the while?”

“I am to be attending an event tonight. Do I need to piece out more for you, or can you truly not ascertain things for yourself?”

Something about his smile rubbed you wrong. You were once taught that if someone was truly smiling, out of joy, or some bull along the lines of being a happy person naturally, their eyes would have wrinkles creasing at the sides. His lacked that. Though it was hard to tell exactly if that was the case when they were closed.

But could a smile so freely given from a Harbinger be…? It's best not to finish that thought. He's still your client.

“Don't doubt me just yet. I haven't even had the chance to prove myself.” You said, matching his smile in turn.

“Then please, don't disappoint. First, however,” you could barely catch his eyelashes moving when the wheels started to turn again at the simple rap of his knuckles against the carriage roof.

Whatever that meant would prove little to mull over as you leaned back into the cushions.

You later learned that was him giving you a look, or as close to one as Pantalone could manage behind those thick spectacles of his you were tempted to break as he walked into a dress store, picked something off the rack, and stated it would be what you were going to wear tonight. No input from you, no double checking to see if it fits. Not to mention, the fabric had been irritating you from the moment it adorned your skin.

How you wanted to claim it rested upon your body like silk, but it was more like that one scratchy blanket you always get stuck with as everyone else steals the nice ones.

At the very least, it was pretty. Had a decent range of movement, too, as the Lord Harbinger dragged you along by the arm he interlocked with his as you were met with new face after face.

Some of the names you could recall reading only an hour prior, others not so much.

Giant grins.

Pretty women with ornate hair styles.

Champagne glasses.

The moment you picked one up, Pantalone plucked it from your hands and hissed as low as possible for only you to hear “I am not paying you to drink.”

This was nothing unusual, the event, that is. Pantalone is a whole other story, but you have been to many parties of all sorts during your time. This was just another rich boy party with underhanded remarks and fancy cheeses.

One that dragged on far too long for anyone's liking.

At some point during the night, you just barely caught the richest boy himself telling someone who asked about you that you were just a friend. One that once upon a time knew his parents. How you're only back in town for a short visit, that he couldn't pass up the opportunity to bring you along.

And it kept like that til the point you were tempted to peel the bandages off the back of your heels after they had been slipping on you the past hour. Peeling from your skin like a piece of string on a fine shirt just begging to be pulled. The thought of them still plagued your mind as Pantalone bowed to the same man you were first introduced to that night again, an individual who took no shame in the jewels hanging from his tailcoat and the golden ring with some odd emblem on his pinky. Wishes of a splendid night on both their tongues as the two of you departed.

It was only when you were both back in that carriage, you suddenly have a lot more appreciation for as it gave you a chance to rest your aching feet, did any words pass between you two again.

Pantalone, a man who was short and concise with you, but had plenty to say to those folks in the hall as they stuffed their faces with meat as they all sat around tables covered in cloth the same thickness as the blankets you use every night. Who made it clear before you even stepped past the threshold of the mansion (though it looked more like a cheap attempt at copying the opera house's architectural style) that you would speak only when spoken to. Interrupting the few remarks you did say when it was just the two of you during those sliver of moments someone wasn't coming up to sing his praises.

It's not like you weren't used to being treated like arm candy. Maybe that's why you truly couldn't care less as he sat in the seat across from you without daring to break the silence, to say anything, until you did.

“I was right about you. You are a rather smarmy individual.”

His hand that had been messing with the fabric of the curtain blocking you both away from any prying eyes trying to peek inside the windows came to a stop with a soft sigh from his lips. Pantalone's hands still pulling it taught, the same way you did on a wrinkled shirt to see what it would look like perfectly pressed and ironed when he spoke.

“How does an escort like you even know that word?”

“How does a Harbinger like you end up with no options for a date besides one you have to hire?”

The second the question left you Pantalone's head tilted towards you in such a slow, deliberate manner you knew you should have kept your mouth shut. Unfortunately, knowing when to do that isn't a trait that comes as easily to you as it does others.

“What's your name again?”

You told him, shared it without second thought before you could take a moment to step back and recall he had been the one introducing you to everyone all night. He had known your name but asked anyway.

Well, you'll have to remember that trick for later use.

“It is an honor to properly be introduced to you, Lord Harbinger.”

With a smile, you held your hand out to him, repeating the same action as before. Two can play at this game, you thought as you waited for him to comply, to play along, and take it. And like a fool, even if it was just in good humor, he did.

If he was going to wipe his hand off again this time, you'll give him a damn good reason.

Your grip turned tight, unyielding, to ensure Pantalone couldn't simply pull away. Making sure, just as he might with each mora coin, he pinches between those fingers, that there's no possible chance to let it slip away as your lips pressed to one one of his silver rings.

It was cold against your skin, but no more biting than the words you were expecting as you silently dared him to say something.

Between the rocking of the carriage and the low light of the lantern between you two you couldn't help but notice that was the first time you've seen his eyes all night.

[divine0rdainment]

Adamsapple Week!!!

Day 1: Wings and Forbidden Fruit

A/N: I will say this is my first time doing something like this so please be kind. I'm not so much a book writer as much as a Script writer. I have not yet had the chance to edit, and plan to do so later, i just dont have time today. So please don't comment on the grammar or spelling for now, I will fix it when I'm free.

 Taking What Is Forbidden 

Eden was always cold to Adam. Beautiful, safe, and wonderful, but cold. At least it was when he first came to exist and had to wander the garden alone. Naming animals, plants, and exploring. Learning everything by himself. He never understood the cold feeling because the sun was warm, the breeze was soft and brought warmth to his skin. But the cold didn't come from the air or wind or night sky. It came from his chest. He knew something was missing from him the moment he was brought from clay and dirt. But he didn't know what it was. 

Not till about the 13th moon rise, when he heard a noise he hasn't before in the garden. Melodic, soft, and…almost mesmerizing. He followed it like a man possessed, searching for its source. And low and behold, there, Infront of him, sat large white wings, sitting Infront of one of the many lakes in the garden. The noise came from the extended white wings that seemed to glow in the moon’s delecat light. 

Adam watched the wings as they locationally flicked and shifted as the sound continued, the man had seen many birds, named every one he had seen, from elegent Dove to the fierce Hawk to the fleeting humming birds. But none of them had wings this beautiful, gigantic, and smooth. And never has he seen a being with 6 wings either! So he couldn't help himself but to reach out and touch, his finger grazing a single feather till the sound stopped and the wings pulled away. And there, sat before him was no bird. But a face like his own…well almost? It didn't have a nose like his, and the skin was white, pale dove white, like the wings. And the hair on the beings head was like color of soft sunshine. And on its cheeks, instead of freckles or a blush was two large circle patterns, much like the parakeet, but a softer pink instead of the bold red. And the eyes…the eyes were the soft color of the sky. 

Adam stood there enraptured by this being, having seen nothing like it, except when he looked in the river at his own reflection. The beauty was indescribable to a man who was still only 13 days old.  Adam saw panic in those beautiful eyes, and a part of him thought it just made this beast more pretty. And after a moment Adam spoke. “Um…hello…I…I need to name you right?” 

The being blinked then slowly it seemed to look less terrified and more amused, and then it laughed. Oh that noise was just as pretty as the earlier one! If only Adam had a name for it, but he was too distracted to come up with one.

"No, no I uh, I have a name…b-be not afraid Adam…” the being stood and Adam got an even better look at the new creature. It had a white…something? Covering its body, like wool on a sheep but more tame and covered in patterns of blue and gold. As it stood, Adam is also able to notice a golden ring over its head, with a star-like shape in the center. It stayed even with his head with every move he made, like it was attached to him, but it seemed to just be floating. 

“My name is Lucifer, I am an angel of the Lord! I am sorry to have disturbed your night, but I was coming to…check on something i had created.” They said, a soft dust of gold coming to his face. It made Adam even more warm. Wait…warm. He touched his chest and he realized, he didn't feel that cold feeling inside him when he stood with this angel of the Lord. This…Lucifer. 

Lucifer then turns from him, his eyes landing on the lake where Adam sees white birds with orange beaks that were flat. He likes to call these birds ‘Ducks’. He didn't know why, but the name felt right. And the small yellow ones beside it, which he learned were younger ducks that come from Eggs, where Ducklings. He thought that was a cute name. 

“You created the ducks my angel?” Adam inquired stepping forward to be beside Lucifer. The angel nodded and turned to Adam. “Yes, they are one of the only things the other angels approved of…” he said sheepishly. "Many of my other creations where…rather dangerous according to Michael-" 

“Whats a Michael?" Adam asked confused. He hadn't named anything Michael had he? But he was greeted with that laugh again, and it made Adam feel like there was a twist in his stomach, but in a good way?

“No, Michael is my brother. An Angel like me. There are many angels." He explained. Adam listened intently, smiling wide at the angel as he did. “A brother? That is when you share..the same parents?" He asked to make sure. Adam himself didn't have parents, or siblings, so it was still a rather foreign concept to him, but he remembered the words. He didn't know why, they were just there when he first came to exist. 

The angel nodded “Exactly! My you are so very smart Adam!" He said pleased and it made Adams face grow warm. He didn't understand why this angel made his body feel weird, but he didn't want it to stop. Slowly he reached out again and touched the angel, this time on his arm. " My angel…" he started. “What is this on your body?" 

Lucifer turned to look and smiled “it is Robes, or Clothes…you will have some one day, when you are ready.” They informed the other. And Adam nodded looking down at himself and imagined himself in clothes like Lucifers. It made him giggle because it looked silly. 

“Clothes huh…” he shifted and slowly his hand moved down Lucifers arm to his hand, which he gently took and brought closer to himself, examining. "...you are like me…the animals aren't like me at all but…you are…” he smiles softly "I like that your like me." And he leans down, nuzzling Lucifer's hand, making the angel blushing that soft golden color again. Adam’s amber eyes look up at Lucifer and he smiles softly once more as he speaks. “Will you stay here now that I've found you?" 

Lucifers smile fell and the angel looked down. "I…I don't think I can Adam, I'm sorry…" he slowly pulls hos hand away from Adam. “You weren't supposed to see me. I was a fool and…I broke the rules.” 

Adam tilts his head, his stomach feels tight in a bad way now. And he didn't like it. He reached out and touched the angels face, pulling the shorter being to look up at him. “...can you come back then? When no one is watching. I…I want to see you again. I want to feel your warmth…” he said with pleading eyes. “Please My angel Lucifer. You make the garden warmer!" 

Lucifer opens and closed his mouth, looking unsure what to say, but slowly, Lucifer nodded. “Ok, but I can't do it every day, only when I know no one will see. Does that seem…fair?” 

Adam didn't know what ‘fair’ means but he liked that Lucifer would return. So the human nodded. "Yes!" 

.

.

.

It has been 100 days since that first night, and Adam happy and warm every time he saw Lucifer, it made him excited to tell Lucifer about all the animals he named and all the flowers he found, how he learned how to swim all on his own and how he learned to get fruit off a tree with a new tool he created, a ‘rope’ as he called it. 

But Adam also learned things from Lucifer. Like the noise Lucifer made that night was called “Singing" and Adam could do it too with some practice. And practice Adam did. Every day. He wanted to sing like his angel. He learned notes and songs and melodies, anything Lucifer was willing to teach. He even learned more about the other angels. He now knew there was a Gabriel, who was funny, a Raphael who was very stricken, a Ariel and Uriel who were “Twins" and a Michael who was…boring. Adam didn't quite know what that meant but he memorized everything he was told anyway. 

As Lucifer said, he didn't come every night fall, but he came often enough for Adam to grow attacked. And every time the angel came back, the more he NEEDED to see him again. He didn't know what it was but Lucifer made him feel WHOLE. He never explained it to Lucifer, not wanting to make the other confused, Because Adam didn't understand it either. But that didn't matter, what mattered was, every second he spent with Lucifer was a blessing and a joy. And he wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. 

But sadly, that joy wasn't to last. As one night, Lucifer came with great news. The two were sitting in a flower field, Adam makeing a flower crown with the help of Lucifers instructions, gently guiding his hands through the prossess, the flowers were blues and whites and yellow, all Adams favorite colors Becuse they reminded him of Lucifer. And soon, he finished and smiles, putting the flower crown on Lucifers Top hat. Smiling bright “there!" He said happily. 

Lucifer blinked than giggled. “Oh Adam it's lovely. Thank you for this gift. I will treasure it…” he said a soft golden glow on his cheeks, something Adam always worked hard to see. Adam sat back in the flowers, watching as Lucifer ran his soft fingers over the petals and giggled to himself. 

After a moment, Lucifer spoke. " Oh, I have news Adam! Wonderful wonderful news!” He exclaimed and reached for Adams cheeks to make sure the other was looking at him and had his full attention. It was funny to Adam that Lucifer would do this. Didn't he know he already always had Adam’s full attention at every moment they shared?

“We are almost done with your wife Adam!" He said, very pleased, "And she is beautiful! Tall, long hair, beautiful green eyes, she is perfect for you Adam! You will no longer be alone. And you won't only have me and the animals for company!" 

Adams' smile slowly falls. “Wife?" He sits up fully and looked at Lucifer. “What…what is that?” 

Lucifer blinked. “Well..you know how some birds mate for life? Well humans are supposed to do the same! She is your mate! She will be by your side and make you happy and comfortable, and one day, when you are truly bonded, you will have children! Like the ducks have ducklings and the wolves have cubs!" 

Adam blinked. He…he didn't like that. He didn't know why but he didn't WANT this Lilith. Who even was she? Couldn't someone Adam knows he his mate? Someone like…like Lucifer. 

Lucifer sees his hesitation and pouts. “Does that not excite you?" He asked “you will have more people to talk to. You can teach her about the animals and music…” 

“No…” Adam pulled away. "I was having fun with you. I don't need her. Can't you be my wife? I know you! I don't know her!” Adam shook his head defiantly and Lucifer blinked in shock as Adam stood and crossed his arms. Anger boiling inside him. “I like spending time with you! I don't need a Lilith! I don't need this new wife!" He sounded like a child. A child throwing a tantrum. Lucifer had seen many younger angels do the same. 

Lucifer sighs and slowly stands, taking Adams hand. “I can not be your wife. I am not human, and I am not a women. Remember how most animals have a Male and a female? She will be female! That is how you will create more humans. I promise you will love her once you see her! You just have to give her a chance! She is beautiful just like you. And she will be your Equal, I am not your equal. I am an angel. I am in heaven…we could never be together like you will be with her. 

Adam felt tears in his eyes but held them back. He knew it made Lucifer upset when he cried. “...fine. but I won't like it. I'll marry Lilith and make children. But you will still be my favorite!" 

Lucifer smiles “All I ask is you give her a chance. A real chance. Get to know her, see what there is to like about her. Then decide if you do not want her as a wife…”

Adam agreed. But he didn't mean a word of it. Lilith would NEVER be his mate. 

.

.

.

As Adam has suspected, he did NOT like Lilith. She was beautiful, yes, even he could admit that, but she was different from him. She was Bossy, she didn't like to listen when he told her things. She wanted to wander off on her own, which, honestly, was fine with Adam. He didn't want her around. She only ever came back at night with fruits and then would try to be friendly and talk to him. But Adam didn't give her the time of day. Night time was for him and Lucifer to bond! Not him and Lilith! If she didn't wanna be around him during the day, he didn't want her around at all! 

Another thing about Lilith is that she figured things out faster than him, when he was wondering, he saw Lilith using vines to catch fruit from the tree like he did! And it has only been a day! And she was already learning to sing from the birds! Unlike him who had to be shown by Lucifer. She learned to swim faster. She learned to befriend the lions and birds faster. She learned to get Milk from cows and how to ride on horses. Every time he found her she was off doing something that took him longer to do, or worse, things he hadn't even learned to do yet. She was BETTER than him. And he hated it.

So at night, he would leave her, not caring how she felt about it. It was her choice to avoid him when the sun was up! So he'd spend his nights looking for Lucifer or going to the pond to watch Lucifer's ducks. Chuckling as they swam or slept on the grass beside him. They went days and days like this. Lilith wandering in the day, Adam wandering at night. A routine that ment they never had to interact. But Lucifer didn't come for a few days, Mostlikly busy. Or he thought so till one day, he came back to Liliths area and heard giggling from her…and another giggle. When he goes closer he spots…Lucifer. HIS Lucifer, sitting by Lilith on the grass, holding her hands and talking to her. 

“It's ok Lilith. I'm sure if you just try and bond with him, he will come to like you. You are his wife." He explained. “I know Adam. He is kind and sweet and a bit silly, but I derneith it all, he's GOOD. Just like you." And he takes a flower, and placed it in Lilith's hair. 

Adam felt warm again, his chest was warm…no..no that wasn't the right word. His chest was BURNING. Anger filtered through his body and his mind clouded with thoughts of hurting Lilith with rocks and sticks. Of chasing her away from HIS angel. LUCIFER WAS HIS ANGEL! How dare she talk to him?! Touch him?! Get flowers from him?! Those were ADAMS to have! His moments! His nights! Not hers!

 But he didn't come out. He sat and let his Anger grow. Why…why did he like Lilith too? Did he like her better? Was it because she was prettier? Smarter?! 

He felt a sudden pain in his hands and looked down to see his nails had dug in to his palm so much he started to bleed…huh…he hasnt evwe bled before… He held his hand up to his eyes and frowned, then slowly, turned to leave. He needed time to think. 

.

.

.

Soon Lucifer did come to see him. A few days later tho, meaning he spent a whole night with that woman. Adam pretended not to know. Pretended he hadn't seen, and made excuses when Lucifer asked why he was avoiding Lilith. Saying “she was avoiding me so I thought she didn't like me, so I left her be." Or “if she wants to talk to me she could come find me herself." 

Not helpful statements but true ones in Adams opinion. If she wanted him, she'd come get him. She hadn't, so clearly she didn't need him around…he didn't need her either. 

Lucifer let it go. For a bit at least, and just talked with Adam on the hill as usual, talking about a new instrument he had invented called the violin. He summoned it and showed Adam how he played it with a bow made of hair on metal based strings. Playing for his human happily. His human. That's how Adam saw himself. And after Lilith he realized just how DEEP the ownership inside them was. He owned Lucifer, and Lucifer owned him. He'd do anything for Lucifer. He'd put himself through utter pain and suffering for Lucifer's smile. He'd watch the garden burn if it made Lucifer giggle. And some small part of him knew it wasn't healthy, but he wasn't sure he cared…all he wanted was his lucifer to be fully his. Not Liliths…he would have to find a way to keep her away from his angel. And as they talk that's all Adam could imagine. 

Adam had a few ideas.including getting her to go away by telling her a new flower was in specific areas, or by telling her about a new animal she should go see. She always listened, running off to find the animal in question, seeming pleased that, maybe, Adam was starting to warm up to her, and the bad start could be mended. She even asked him to come with her some nights to go see what he had described, but he refused. Or at least…at first. Other ideas came to his head and he smiles as one night, he tells her about a new fish he found by the river that was super shiny. And this time, he offered to show her himself. 

So he led her through the forest, taking her hand, until they head to the river bank, right before nightfall, and Adam and her kneel by the side, looking over the quick moving water that led in to a waterfall. Adam had been told by Lucifer once to be carful by the river, that he could get hurt…well a hirt Lilith shouldn't be able to be around his angel, so this was a good way to keep her away. 

He points to the middle of the river and smiles “see! Right there! The salmon I was telling you about," he said proudly, Lilith looked and frowned, not being in the best spot to see it as the sun sets and shines light right on the water, nearly blinding her. 

“Adam, it's too bright.." she said closing her eyes and rubbing them as they start to water. Then, she felt so thing bump in to her from behind, and gravity pushed her forth, sending her in to the water. Lilith screamed but it was cut off by the sound of water filling her mouth, sending her rolling through the river. Hitting rocks and fish on the way, the rocks were too slick to stand on, and the river was too fast for her to swim against or even try to get to the edges. She got to the top of the water and screamed, begging for help. 

But Adam just stood there, watching her flow away from him. And as she looked at him, she could swear she saw a smile. But she didn't see if for long as she suddenly went over the side of the waterfall, screaming as she is pulled by gravity and the force of the water twords rocks below…or she would be, if a pair of arms didn't wrap around her and hold her close. She looked up to see Lucifer there, eyes widened as other angels appear at hearing the screams on the garden, all of them in shock and horror at the near loss of the first woman. Michael and Sera fly to lucifer, seeing the bruises forming on the woman's arms and hands. The tears and panic in her eyes as she cling to Lucifer. 

“How did this happen!?" Sera said “they were to stay away from the river!" 

Lucifer shooshed the woman. "She is upset. Let's help heal her and calm her down and we can ask. She has been through enough…”

Adam felt the rage again at seeing Lilith in his arms. That's his place! Not hers! How dare he! Didn't he know he was Adams?! Lilith could have another angel but not his! Adam turned, storming off in to the woods, too angry to think straight. He wandered deeper and deeper, going to an area he hadn't seen before. His eyes wided. As he sees how dark it is…how long has he been walking? Where was he? He…he needs to head back…but what if Lucifer is mad at him…

Adam groaned and pinched a tree, his knuckles bleeding after, but he ignores it in favor of  sitting down by the tree in question, holding his hand to his chest. Tears start to form. He didn't understand why this was happening. He was happy with Lucifer. Lucifer was a good angel. He was funny and smart and kind. He treated Adam like he was special. Lilith had no reason to exist. None! Yet here she was! Taking his angel! Singing songs and being smart! Adam can be smart too! Adam was very smart! He just takes longer! That doesn't make him not smart!!!

He held his head. “...I wanna be smart too…” he mumbled in to the air, then, he heard the sound of something dropping to the dirt with a thud. 

He opens his eyes and sees a bruised red apple. A glowing red apple. Huh…” he reached out and took it, and then a voice in his head he had forgotten yelled " DO NOT EAT THE FRUIT OF LIFE OF THE FRUIT OF KNOWLEGE! FOR DOING SO WILL LEAD TO YOUR DOOM!” 

Doom…he didn't know what that meant but…he did know what knowledgement! Knowledge! It makes you smarter! He looked up at the tree he was sitting at and gasped. “The tree of knowledge!" He stood up holding the apple in his hand. It was bruised and old, clearly not meant to be eaten by him. He noticed there were no animals here. No sounds of bugs buzzing or birds chirping, just his breath and the wind. So even the animals knew to stay away…but…

He looked down at the apple. It was so shiny and beautiful compared to regular apples. Almost unreal. He saw his reflection in the apple even. That's how clean and pure it was. He thought for a second. “If I was smarter…if I tried harder…could I learn how to make Lilith go away and keep Lucifer…could knowledge be t

The key to my loving angel? Could it make it so Lucifer wasn't made about the river? Could…could he have Lucifer if he did this? 

He guled, and after a long long moment, he closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and he took a bite. 

(Tell me what ya think? I may do a part two later if I have the inspiration and energy, but yeah. I wrote something! UvU Its unedited and If I do a part two I may put it on Ao3, but for now I'll keep it here! Please tell me if you like it. And again, it's unedited so please don't correct the grammar rn, I only had so much time after work and sadly did not have much time to clean up.)

[meowsgirldrawing]

Pact Marks- Obey Me Thoughts/Headcannons

So in one of my recent posts, I showed where I imagine My MC- or Mackenzie's pacts marks are.

For those who are new or just unfamiliar with this topic somehow, Pact marks are what the fandom of Obey Me! Shall We Date?! has basically agreed all on being on each MC when they/he/she makes a pact with one of the demons. I dunno if the creators confirmed that as I am only in lesson 13-14 in the game itself.

Here are my headcannons/thoughts to just have on here✨

Lucifer

(Spoiler, hes the last one to get a pact mark from but not in the least undermining)

Where I imagine his pact mark would be on MC's chest.

Kinda like the phrase, 'Huffing up chest in pride', it shows his shamless pride in allowing the human to make a pact with him.

Considering how possessive Lucifer tends to be towards MC, in a "This is my human" way, his mark is the biggest, maybe even boldest as its even able to peak over MC's collar bones, making any non-turtle neck like shirt unable to cover it all.

It glows his signiture blue when activated, bright and unable to be unnoticed either.

And in the dark, a lingering lighter shade trails around the stars, giving a nice ring to the MorningStar name

With my MC, I imagine they aren't afraid to show it, most of their outfits being tank tops, low collar shirts, or even just a sports bra on some nights.

Lucifer sometimes catches MC trailing their finger along its edges, only to shirk their hand down as soon as he notices.

Of course...he smirks, raising a curious brow.

MC just ignores his glances and moves on.

Mammon

He was a an easy one, Ngl.

Look, I adore This little Greed demon with all my heart but he does tend to steal, and gamble, and basically do any money grubbing.

All with swift and talentful hands in his own craft.

His pact mark is on the hand, preferably dominant hand of MC.

Its not too big or too small, just fitting across the back of MC's hand.

When activated, it gives of a nice yellow hue, gold lining the mark's edges in a shifting manner.

My MC tried drawing weird symbols on top of it, human symbols that kids draw on their skin everyday y'know, just to see if anything changed.

It didn't. Just erased whatever they did and glowed like normal.

Mammon called her weird then proceeded to try his turn at it.

Now they needed new pens.

Mammon hated the mark at first, finding it stupid given how it even came to be in the first place.

Now he traces it every night with a curled up MC beside him, clutching onto him as if he isnt holding them tight enough.

Leviathan

He is tricky tricky boy, lemme tell ya.

Either his pact mark worked in spots his brothers' worked better in or it just didnt seem like Levi's spot.

So I figured, under bicep.

The guy is shy, right? So I believe his would ultimately end up somewhere where it's covered the majority of the time, that or just hard to see at most angles.

I did think of thigh, but i suppose the thought it ending up there would have this okaku blushing for days on end.

Which bicep also depends on which arm is MC's dominant one.

My MC, like all her other marks, is proud to have them, so they dont get why it was somewhere mostly hidden.

Hence why it gives them further reason to show it off during their shared movie nights, wearing more sleeveless shirts or tops.

Leviathan is her Lord of Shadows just as much as they are his Henry and they are proud to say it. (Enough without embarrassing the Envy demon of course)

Leviathan turned as flustered as a peach at first anytime he saw it fully, but now...

Now he laughs as MC 'proves' their muscles to him after an off comment he made, flexing off that mark of Envy without even realizing. He just snorts and shoves them lightly, a domino effect taking hold as they do it right back.

Beelzebub

Did I even need to think on this guy?

The tongue is wear his mark resides.

Not only for the obvious, Ahem Gluttony, but because the tongue is known to be the strongest muscle in the body.

It tends to blend in with the color of their tongue but mostly when its activated.

Oo, imagine MC eating a cherry flavored treat, the glow would just light the whole thing up. Light bulp idea if MC is ever in the dark and lost.

Ahem, anyway, as mentioned, it glows a fiery red, making MC's mouth looking like light up city when even just a little bit opened.

My MC had at one point thought her mouth was bleeding when she saw in it the mirror, had to have Beel explain they were indeed fine, if anything, looked cool.

Both her and Beel test out how bright it can get depeding on cherry flavored treats when gorging in food one night.

Beel cant help but blush at the sight of his unactivated mark as MC sucks their tongue out at him, having just won a victorious round. A game Levi lended them for a bit.

He hms, pats their head lightly, and mutters 'cute'. MC is left confused, their tongue still poking out in a blep.

Asmodeus

So...HAHA- So many people thought my MC's mark from Asmo was on their bottom.

While I would not be surprised, given this man, I headcannon their mark being a tramp stamp.

Right above their bottom.

Its not big, barely taking all over their lower back. But enough to give off a big enough glow when activated.

When activated, the pact will glow a saturated pink, a tease of purple easing into the 'ink.'

Ngl, I got this idea after reading another headcannon list of Obey Me Pact Marks and thought it was too good to not keep.

Its somewhat easy to hide, depending on the type of clothing MC wears, but it quickly becomes hard to cover ehen activated, the pink being too bright.

Asmo calls them his little firefly at some point

As for my MC, she gets flustered, never thinking a pact mark would be that low. But after catching a wink from Asmo, they turn gears and smirk instead, thankful for their wild and long hair hiding the pink in their ears as they clap back quick with some remark.

Asmo just chuckles at whatever she said.

Teasing hands, always playful but never pushing, linger down at the edge of MC's shirt only for it to turn into a tickle over his mark. MC squeaks out, laughter pulling over as they skirt away, clutching their lower back.

Asmo takes their playing shoves with a smug grin, gleaming with absolute delight as he catches one at last, landing a sweet kiss at their knuckles.

Satan

Similar to Lucifer

Satan would hate me I know it

But yes, dreadfully similar to Lucifer, Satan's mark is big and bold, appearing right under where Lucifer's(At the time he never knew that of course).

It lays across the lower ribs, that tip of it? Its lined up to go straight in between both, mark and center.

It is easy to hide, but if MC is one to wear short crop tops, or anyhting that shows close to the lower ribs as mentioned, it wouldnt be hard to miss.

Yet, the mark is impossible to miss when activated, unless you stacked like piles and piles on MC's torso, yeah..that green glow would be seen a mile away.

Its a bright, fiery green, almost oozing into their clothes like Wrath itself would.

Why is it on the ribs? Well, you know that feeling you get when you are angry. That fire in the pit of your chest? The only reason its on the ribs instead is because of how calculating Satan is.

"Imagine how an aggressor would feel if they suddenly saw its glow? They would've turned to rigor themselves without my help"

Are you sure you aint like Lucifer-

My MC played a game of, 'What Can Hide The Mark??' With their closet one day, just curiosity at best.

Yeah, they thought better of it when Satan came a-knocking very confused and very weirded out by the dark light green light game on his side.

Theres a weird, fizzy feeling Satan gets anytime he saw the mark in a more direct manner. Their shirt riding up as they slanted on the couch, at the beach, anywhere were he got less of a tease of it and more of a frontal view.

It wasnt made out of hate for his brother, it wasnt even a half-assed one either, it actually meant something, to both him and MC.

Hmm....Satan's eyes fliker back down, escaping MC's sudden gaze, a little heat on his cheeks going ignored in favor for catching up with this novel's protagonist.

Belphegor

So......I may or may not have accidentally put Belphie's mark on Mc's neck.....

Chapter 16 anyone?

BUT- BUT Then it gave me an idea!

So while we arent exactly sure the marks would be chosen by the brother's preference, or MC's preference, I think its just up to what the fans think-

What if it was kinda an accident itself?

Like obviously, at the time of the pact between the youngest brother and Mc was made, the events of Mc/not Mc's death was still fresh to everyone. Hence the whole, making a pact to protect Mc from Belphie.

And since it was still in everyones minds for a while, the mark accidentally formed in the one place everyone, including MC had a hard time looking at without getting chills.

It could be many possibilities from this, but it also can give MC enough motivation to work it out with Belphie, wanting to make the mark not one to look at in digust but instead at least a gentle fondness like the others. Obviously the last part might take a long while to come, but they would at least be able to ease the pain of it.

Anyhow- the mark is pretty dang small compared to the others. Small and barely noticable depending on how MC's hair style is.

When activated, it glows a nice lilac hue, the edges dipped in a very light, almost white color. It can almost be mistaken for a night light, like those ones for children, if it wasn't on MC's body.

If covered with a turtle neck for instance, its dimmed but not completely, still vying for attention.

I do believe MC would have at least some sort of trauma towards it, like cant have people touching around their neck for awhile. Even if Lucifer were to cup their chin, their nerves start a-ringing.

I like to imagine my MC doesn't necessarily get over it, but is able to move past it. Shes one to not let things affect them, but obviously with seeing yourself and feeling youself die is extremely hard to do for a human, so its more or less them just wanting to stop feeling so weak at the idea. So she asks Lucifer or Satan (the two most likely to understand it) in private to help her by gently edging their hands around her neck area sometimes so she can at the very least, emotionally move past it.

Exposure therapy( But this is for my MC, I definitely believe people have a right to decide how they/their characters wpuod respond to the whole thing as everyone seems to either forgive Belphie, take a long time to do so, or just want their character to avoid him)

It takes him a loose second to realize, but when he does, Belphie is quick to snatch away his hand from MC's upper torso. Hes hesitant to even toss it back around their waist. But MC, despite their sleepy and craving for warmth state, takes note of his sudden distance and tightens their grip around his shoulders, effectively dragging him snug against their body.

They murmer reassurances before he can even breathe a single word, and hes burrying his face in their shoulder, the one beside his own mark. Tears sting his closed gaze and their wading soft fingers their his hair. A kiss to the side of his head is all he needs and he wrapps his arms back around, agreeing like aways.

Gentle forgiven but never forgotten...

[homicidal-slvt]

"Happy New Year!!!"

-

MDNI

-

Kurt Wagner x GN!Reader

-

Warnings: Pure Fluff, Possibly OOC

-

The party was fun to an extent- you enjoyed being around the others but... It got to be too much as usual, the loud music and varying conversations was overwhelming, making it feel like your lungs were caving in and your ears were going to explode.

There was one mutant who realized your discomfort almost immediately, his yellow eyes catching sight of you off in the corner of the room.

In a disorienting 'poof' you had been grasped gently by two blue three-fingered hands and teleported outside.

The sounds coming from inside were in the background now, the crisp fresh air filling your lungs and the less intense atmosphere helping you wind down into a feeling of relief, Kurt politely moving out of your personal space now.

"Feel better?"

"Yeah... Just- not really good at loud environments, y'know?"

A few heartbeats pass in the silence, not much conversation needed. It's New Year's Eve... A time to be celebrated. Part of you expected Kurt to head back inside to the others but instead he stayed out here with you, he seems content to just watch the stars.

"You... Don't have to stay out here with me."

"I want to."

A shiver passes through your body from the cold winter breeze, there's a slight shuffling and he wordlessly drapes his jacket over your shoulders, you didn't know quite how to react to the gesture- to the way he looks at you with such fondness. It's always so easy with Kurt, his feelings seem clear as day whenever your eyes meet his.

His jacket is so warm and his scent lingers on the plush fabric, you tug it close to yourself to break off the wind that chills you to the bone.

"Thank you..."

"No need to thank me. Isn't it tradition to kiss someone at midnight?"

The question caught you off guard until you realized that everyone was counting down now, able to vaguely hear their voices in the house from outside.

His eyes never leave you as you simply give a small nod, his hand resting against your cheek while his tail sways blissfully.

"May I?"

You don't need any convincing- there's no one you'd rather kiss than the gentle blue mutant, one with a heart of absolute gold. It was no secret you two had been pining after one another, yet neither of you ever truly made a move.

"Yes."

His lips meet yours just as the words 'One!!!! Happy New Year!!!!' ring out in the background, warm and tender just as you expected it to be, his tail loosely draping itself around your waist which earns a giggle from you.

The kiss is broken and his tail continues to brush up against you lightly, the brightest smile possible on his face- sharp teeth in clear view.

"That was the perfect way to start a new year... I like this tradition."

"I think I like it too."

-

{I need to write more for Kurt he's so <3}

-

{More Content}

[jerirose]

Happy Hyunjin Day!! 🍀

ALT ver. under the cut (tw for minor blood) ❤

Twitter | Instagram [Image Description] A digital realism painting of Hyunjin from Stray Kids. Hyunjin is sitting in front of brush with leaves of golden yellows and earthy greens, both hands are in the painting, one held up to his face, holding a four (4) leaf clover, in which he is holding the stem inbetween his lips; the other hand is relaxed, drooped in front of him, his elbow resting on his knee just out of view. Both hands are covered in plasters, of different colours, his fingers decorated with delicate tattoos of lines, dots and stems with leaves. Hyunjin wears a denim jacket that his acid washed with blues and green and yellow undertones, with a plain white tee shirt underneath, just the collar on show; above two gold thin chains hang from his neck. Hyujin's black hair and slicked back, with blueish-green highlights, a few strands fall onto his face around his cheekbones. His cheeks are peppered with glowing star freckles and blushed with a light rose red tint. Two antlers are coming out of his forehead and his black deer ears peak out from his hair, decorated with several gold rings. He has a gold centre lip ring and gold eyebrow piercing on his left side. In the lower picture under the cut, Hyunjin's knuckles are blush with red and there's a slight bit of blood, running out from one of the bandages.

[afewproblems]

WIP Wednesday

I'm actually posting on WIP Wednesday, the stars have finally aligned in my favour!

Thank you to @outpastthebrakers for your tag today and @steves-strapcollection for your multiple tags before - its finally lined up today!!

Here is Part Two of my follow up to this Post (Steddie Breakup) hopefully with a Steddie makeup/fix-it future!

(Also! Important to note, season four - specifically the stuff with Vecna- Never happened in this AU)

***

Two Years later - 1987, Chicago, IL

Steve picks up another box from the back of the beemer. This one has, 'Steve's Obnoxious Hair Care,' neatly printed on the side in bold black sharpie --Steve snorts at the sight and vows to never let Robin help him pack ever again. 

He walks up the three flights and through the propped open front door to the two bedroom apartment.

It's small, just barely enough for two people, but in downtown Chicago, it's a steal at the price. 

And it's theirs. 

"Hey Birdie," Steve calls out from the kitchen, he sets the box down on the counter, turning his head to the left slightly to listen for her shuffling. The dull ringing in his right ear makes it more difficult, present ever since he left his parents house for good.

It had gotten even worse since their Russian encounter, but if he's weighing the pros and the cons of that night, he's glad he got Robin out of the deal.

Steve steps into the living room just off the kitchen, "Robin?"

Bright sunlight streams through the curtainless windows bathing Robin in a warm yellow glow. 

She stands in the center, facing Steve, with a pensive expression, her eyes scanning the space around her. 

"Hush Dingus," she mutters, holding up her pointer finger to her lips, "I'm visualizing". 

"Ah, of course," he concedes with a fond smile as Robin walks towards him slowly counting her steps. She lines her feet up as she moves, touching the toe of her right foot to the heel of her left. She wobbles slightly as she makes it to where Steve is standing, he reaches out to steady her with a laugh.

"I told you the living room was more than ten feet!"

"Robin, do you think that a 'foot' is literally your foot?" 

Robin sucks her teeth and rolls her eyes, before plucking the measuring tape from where it was clipped to her back pocket, "you have no concept of joy, you refuse to let me live".

"Yeah, yeah, so hard done by," he snorts as she sticks her tongue out at him and leans down to pick up one of the empty boxes.

She sighs and looks around the space again with a contented expression before looking at Steve, "well, Dingus, I think we did good".

Steve nods and tries to smile back but the expression doesn't quite meet his eyes, Robin tilts her head, turning the box over in her hands at the corners.

"What's wrong?" She says softly, anxiously, her blue eyes dart over his face, "is it a migraine? Do you need your meds?"

Steve shakes his head, wincing before he can stop himself, he knows Robin's brain would come up with the worst case scenario first. And, to be fair to her, she had seen the worst case scenarios and after effects of the Russian interrogation, she'd held his hand after spilling his guts from the nausea and halos in his vision, she'd insisted he buy blackout blinds for his room because, 'you never know when you'll need them Dingus, you won't always get one of these at night'.

Steve shakes his head, "no, it's not a migraine, relax Robs," he huffs as she levels him with a disbelieving stare.

"I just," Steve chews his lip for a moment as he drops his gaze to the floor. Robin steps closer, tilting her head to the side as he struggles to find the words.

"I love that you came with me, that we get to be here, but," Steve sighs and runs a hand through his hair. It's longer than it had been two years ago, the gold and copper from his time in the warm summer sun slowly fading back to brown.

"Eddie always talked about leaving Hawkins someday, and I always thought it would be with me".

"This was our plan," he says softly, lifting his eyes to meet Robin's own, her brows pinched in a small frown.

"And I managed to screw that up like everything else," he trails off softly.

***

"I just don't understand why you have to go to this thing, you aren't even interested in his stupid job?" Eddie growls as he tosses the pencil up at his bedroom ceiling, it stays for just a moment before falling back into his waiting hands. Pock marks litter the tile from previous throws and Steve is sure Wayne's told him to knock it off more times than he can count.

"It's complicated," Steve says lowly, he pictures his dad's thunderous face, the same square jaw and straight nose that Steve has, they could be identical but for their ages and the cold grey eyes his father has. 

Steve took after his mother in that area, inheriting her large hazel eyes and long lashes. 

"No it's not," Eddie says stubbornly, he throws the pencil with more force this time and it hangs in the ceiling between them, "you could tell him to stuff his job up his ass".

"Eddie--"

"No, no, you know we had a show tonight, and you're choosing to go to your dad's fundraiser instead?"  

Steve sighs and bites the inside of his cheek, tamping down the urge to argue with his boyfriend.

But, they've never really had this talk before, Steve's never told anyone about his father and his homelife. 

Right now he wishes he had.

"It's not like I have much of a choice," he huffs as Eddie rolls his eyes and scoffs, "and not all of us have someone like Wayne to encourage us to do whatever we want".

"That's such bullshit and you know it," Eddie hisses ignoring the slight flinch from Steve, "you always do this". 

What?

"You never want to come to our shows, you never want to sit in on Hellfire--"

"That's not true," Steve growls, crossing his arms over his stomach, he hunches in on himself slightly but Eddie shakes his head.

"Yes it is! When was the last time you came to a show?"

Steve wracks his brain, trying to remember the name of the bar they had played at, it wasn’t the Hideaway, it had been a bit of a drive to get there. It was a dive bar that had sounded like it was straight out of Robin Hood, The Red Lion?

"See!" Eddie takes his silence as victory and throws his hands up in the air, "what did I tell you?"

"Jesus, it was a bar show just like all of them Eddie, it's not like you guys were playing on MTV or something," Steve snaps, the last threads of his patience wearing thinner and thinner. 

"Oh fuck off, MTV is part of the problem, do you not listen when I talk?"

"I always listen to you!" Steve cries out, his voice climbs in volume and his hands shake as adrenaline spikes, "sometimes you just talk and talk and talk and you say nothing important but I always listen to you!"

"Woooow, fuck you," Eddie scoffs as he turns on his heel and opens his bedroom door, Steve follows him, fuming but wary.

"Since everything I say is bullshit, apparently, and you don't want to come to our shows or spend time with me then maybe you should just go!"

Steve halts in his tracks.

Eddie stands by the open front door to the trailer, his cheeks are red and his mouth is a flat line carved in the middle of his face.

Steve feels his heart rate tick up as he stands there frozen.

They've had disagreements before, small petty arguments but this feels big. Much bigger than any fight they've ever had. 

"Eddie-"

"Nope, unless you tell me you're coming tonight, we're done".

Oh.

And just like that, it hurts just as much as when Nancy had told him she didn't love him the previous year. It's too much, he needs to leave.

"Yeah, you know what Eddie, I don't need this," Steve says so softly that Eddie leans forward to hear before reeling back as though struck, "I don't," he shakes his head and walks past Eddle towards the open door. 

Eddie's hands twitch as though he wants to reach out to Steve, to pull him back into the trailer, but they remain at his sides.

"You're right," Eddie yells after him as Steve walks down the gravel drive to his car, "you don't need us, we don't need you, go crawling back to daddy just like always".

Steve stops walking and looks back at Eddie. The metal-head's wide brown eyes are shiny with angry tears. 

Steve feels his own angry tears pooling along his lash line.

He gets in the car and drives away, ignoring the tightness in his chest as he heads home.

***

"Okay, first of all," Robin says sharply as she drops the box at their feet and pokes him in the chest with a rigid pointer finger, "you're damn right you're happy I came with you, I am a catch!" 

Steve rolls his eyes as Robin clears her throat imperiously until he raises his hands in surrender.

"Second, he found out about your dads shit, saw you beaten to hell and back, and didn't even want to have a conversation? Fuck that noise".

"Birdy, you weren't there, and you don't even know Eddie--"

"I know you though," she continues, staring him down, "and I know if the roles were reversed, you would have at least heard him out".

Steve holds back a wince, attempting to keep his expression as neutral as possible. He knows she isn’t right, he knows he made a mistake that night walking away, they should have talked, they should have had it out. 

Steve should have told Eddie the truth. 

Then again, Eddie dropped him like it was nothing so maybe he was better off in the long run.

Strangely enough this thought doesn’t make him feel better.

"Robin," Steve sighs wearily, crossing to the wall of the living room before leaning his back against it to slide down to the floor. 

"Tell me I'm wrong," she says softly, walking towards his spot on the floor, she settles beside him and nudges his shoulder with her own.

"Tell me I'm wrong and I'll drop it," she says again, firmly this time.

Steve breathes out a sigh and brings his knees to his chest, looking towards the window. 

The view isn't much, just the street and other buildings, but the Chicago skyline seems to stretch for miles ahead of them.

"You’re not wrong," he says eventually, ignoring the crow of triumph Robin makes, "but you're not right either".

She scoffs and leans her head against his shoulder, the soft waves of her hair tickle the skin on his bare arm but the weight and warmth of her is comforting.

"Besides, it was years ago," Steve mutters, "I'm sure he's forgotten all about me by now".

tagging: @strangersteddierthings @flowercrowngods @steddierthings @steddie-there @henderdads and anyone else that would like to participate! (Please tag me with your wonderful creations! Also I apologize if you've already been tagged - feel free to ignore this!)

[bettyfrommars]

E3, !, ♥️

I’m so excited, I love your writing!! I’ve literally never done an ask before, hope I’m doing it right.

hi friend! I wanted to make sure I did this one in honor of it being your first!

So for some reason, your heart showed up as white on my desktop, so I gave you the wrong “thing” lmao

Your Person is Dark Siren Eddie

your Place is a Motel

your Thing is a Guitar

pick your poison

18+ONLY, being on the run, fear of the unknown, star-crossed lovers, getting help from Murray and Hopper.

word count: 1k

The neon of the motel sign blinked "vacancy" in green while the M and the O fluttered a faded red, buzzing in the dark. Surrounded by Oregon wilderness, the place was tucked away in the mountains near an abandoned ski lodge. There were stains on the mattress, a television from the 60's with rabbit ear antenna, and nicotine baked yellow into the once white walls.

You'd been on the run for a month at that point. A government research team was tipped off to Eddie's existence, and he refused to go back to his home in the sea without you.

"You can't stay here," you'd blinked away tears that first night, struggling to form words around your sobs. He held your face with webbed fingers, watching your mouth. "If they catch you, they'll hurt you, Eddie. I can't let that happen."

The nictitating lens of his eyelid blinked over brown gold irises as he examined you. He smoothed a thumb across your cheek, neck gills shuddering as if hit by a breeze.

"Won't go," he murmured. "Stay with you."

The following kiss was urgent, it made more tears roll down your cheeks, messy and hot, tasting salty on your tongue. He made soft noises as the kiss deepened, aching to be inside you again.

The Evergreen Motel was one of many places you'd slept in the past few weeks, moving in shadows, trying to stay under the radar from those who hunted him. You'd even huddled in an old barn once, and under a bridge. You had money, that wasn't the problem, but you didn't want to risk Eddie being identified.

The people trying to track him down to put him in a lab and make him a government experiment, found out about the man he'd killed on the beach that first day, and they used the incident to facilitate their agenda. They lied and said that he'd attacked several people unprovoked, and that he was a danger to society.

"He's a freak of nature!" An older woman who'd claimed to be a witness shared her story with the media. "I saw him crawl up out of the sea, and I swear to god his eyes were glowing. I knew he wanted to kill me!"

If Eddie couldn't have contact with sea water after a few days, he got terribly sick, and so sneaking into the ocean or soaking in salt bath had become a necessity on your travels. Unfortunately, on that one particular early morning, he'd been spotted by a woman walking her dog.

Back in the room, Eddie turned the knob on the TV so that the news broadcast went away, and the screen snapped to black. He could tell it was upsetting you.

The shark tooth earring he'd worn since you first met was dangling from your ear now, since he'd given it to you as a gift. You fell against his chest and let him hold you, listening to him hum the words to a song from his world.

Both of you jumped at the abrupt ringing sound, jerking around in tandem to stare at the blinking light on the beige phone on the nightstand. A second ring was shrill and unrelenting, worrying at your heart like the click of a gun trigger.

You took a breath, collecting yourself before yanking up the receiver.

At the other end, Murray spoke before you had time to greet him.

"I told you not to answer the phone," he scolded. Flushed with relief to know it was him, you flashed a reassuring smile at Eddie.

"But how do I know if it's---"

"We went over this. If it's me calling, I'll let it ring three times, hang up, and then let it ring once more, and then you call me back. How hard is that?"

Hopper and Murray had been risking their own lives to keep you both safe and out of the public eye while on the run. You were afraid to think what would've happened if they hadn't chosen to get involved.

"Did anyone see you check in?" He was rustling papers in the background as he spoke.

"Just the older man at the front desk. But he didn't see Eddie, I don't think."

"You don't think?"

"Eddie was outside with the hood of his sweatshirt up," you sat down on the edge of the bed, wanting to make sure he had all of the information. "There was only one other car in the parking lot. A white Ford pickup. Nevada plates."

"Is the front door locked and bolted? Okay now I need you to look under the bed," Murray continued.

Knowing not to ask questions, you did as he said, kneeling on the stained carpet to lift up the floral dust ruffle. There was popcorn kernels and a sock and a used condom wrapper and...

"Why is there a guitar case under here, Murray?"

"Just pull it out, I don't have time for this."

The case was matte black and scuffed from use. You put it on the bed, and then Eddie came over to stand beside you, cocking his head curiously. After flipping open the tabs to look inside, you found a tan, acoustic guitar with pearl inlay on the fret board. There were also two stacks of cash and some directions in an envelope.

"Those are directions to the hideout. It's a cabin in the woods, stocked with enough food and supplies for a couple weeks. The last few miles will be on foot. You'll stay there until Jim comes to get you, do you understand?"

You nodded silently at first, but then finally spoke the word Yes out loud, swallowing thickly.

"Cut your credit cards up, you can't use them anymore. It's cash only from here on out."

You listened, taking Eddie's hand.

"There's a phone number in there for a woman near the Canadian border who will make your passports. Her name is Rachel, I told her to expect you."

"What about you Murray?" Your voice trembled. "What if they find out that you---"

"Don't worry about me," he said quickly. "You kids just stay safe, and for fuck's sake don't answer the phone again unless you know it's me. Got it?"

You nodded, unable to stop a tear from pooling at your lash line. "Okay, I promise. Thank you, I don't know what we'd do without y---"

But he was gone.

[zoesblogsposts]

o 625 words to know in your target language o

There is a really interesting blog called "Fluent Forever" that aids foreign language learners in tricks, tips and techniques to guide them to achieving fluency "quickly" and efficiently. One of the tricks is to learn these 625 vocab words in your target language, that way you have a basis to start delving into grammar with ease as you can understand a lot of vocab right off the bat. Plus this list of words are common across the world and will aid you in whatever language you are learning. Here is the list in thematic order

• Animal: dog, cat, fish, bird, cow, pig, mouse, horse, wing, animal

• Transportation: train, plane, car, truck, bicycle, bus, boat, ship, tire, gasoline, engine, (train) ticket, transportation

• Location: city, house, apartment, street/road, airport, train station, bridge hotel, restaurant, farm, court, school, office, room, town, university, club, bar, park, camp, store/shop, theater, library, hospital, church, market, country (USA,

France, etc.), building, ground, space (outer space), bank, location

• Clothing: hat, dress, suit, skirt, shirt, T-shirt, pants, shoes, pocket, coat, stain, clothing

• Color: red, green, blue (light/dark), yellow, brown, pink, orange, black, white, gray, color

• People: son, daughter, mother, father, parent (= mother/father), baby, man, woman, brother, sister, family, grandfather, grandmother, husband, wife, king, queen, president, neighbor, boy, girl, child (= boy/girl), adult (= man/woman), human (# animal), friend (Add a friend's name), victim, player, fan, crowd, person

• Job: Teacher, student, lawyer, doctor, patient, waiter, secretary, priest, police, army, soldier, artist, author, manager, reporter, actor, job

• Society: religion, heaven, hell, death, medicine, money, dollar, bill, marriage, wedding, team, race (ethnicity), sex (the act), sex (gender), murder, prison, technology, energy, war, peace, attack, election, magazine, newspaper, poison, gun, sport, race (sport), exercise, ball, game, price, contract, drug, sign, science, God

• Art. band, song, instrument (musical), music, movie, art

• Beverages: coffee, tea, wine, beer, juice, water, milk, beverage

• Food: egg, cheese, bread, soup, cake, chicken, pork, beef, apple, banana orange, lemon, corn, rice, oil, seed, knife, spoon, fork, plate, cup, breakfast, lunch, dinner, sugar, salt, bottle, food

• Home: table, chair, bed, dream, window, door, bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, pencil, pen, photograph, soap, book, page, key, paint, letter, note, wall, paper, floor, ceiling, roof, pool, lock, telephone, garden, yard, needle, bag, box, gift, card, ring, tool

• Electronics: clock, lamp, fan, cell phone, network, computer, program (computer), laptop, screen, camera, television, radio

• Body: head, neck, face, beard, hair, eye, mouth, lip, nose, tooth, ear, tear (drop), tongue, back, toe, finger, foot, hand, leg, arm, shoulder, heart, blood, brain, knee, sweat, disease, bone, voice, skin, body

• Nature: sea, ocean, river, mountain, rain, snow, tree, sun, moon, world, Earth, forest, sky, plant, wind, soil/earth, flower, valley, root, lake, star, grass, leaf, air, sand, beach, wave, fire, ice, island, hill, heat, nature

• Materials: glass, metal, plastic, wood, stone, diamond, clay, dust, gold, copper, silver, material

• Math/Measurements: meter, centimeter, kilogram, inch, foot, pound, half, circle, square, temperature, date, weight, edge, corner

• Misc Nouns: map, dot, consonant, vowel, light, sound, yes, no, piece, pain, injury, hole, image, pattern, noun, verb, adjective

• Directions: top, bottom, side, front, back, outside, inside, up, down, left, right, straight, north, south, east, west, direction

• Seasons: Summer, Spring, Winter, Fall, season

• Numbers: 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20 21, 22, 30, 31, 32, 40, 41, 42, 50, 51, 52, 60, 61, 62, 70, 71, 72, 80, 81, 82, 90, 91, 92, 100, 101, 102, 110, 111, 1000, 1001, 10000, 100000, million, billion, 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, number

• Months: January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November, December

• Days of the week: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday

• Time: year, month, week, day, hour, minute, second, morning, afternoon, evening, night, time

• Verbs: work, play, walk, run, drive, fly, swim, go, stop, follow, think, speak/say, eat, drink, kill, die, smile, laugh, cry, buy, pay, sell, shoot(a gun), learn, jump, smell, hear (a sound), listen (music), taste, touch, see (a bird), watch (TV), kiss, burn, melt, dig, explode, sit, stand, love, pass by, cut, fight, lie down, dance, sleep, wake up, sing, count, marry, pray, win, lose, mix/stir, bend, wash, cook, open, close, write, call, turn, build, teach, grow, draw, feed, catch, throw, clean, find, fall, push, pull, carry, break, wear, hang, shake, sign, beat, lift

• Adjectives: long, short (long), tall, short (vs tall), wide, narrow, big/large, small/little, slow, fast, hot, cold, warm, cool, new, old (new), young, old (young), weak, dead, alive, heavy, light (heavy), dark, light (dark), nuclear, famous

[radiowallet]

Meant to Be - Part 2

The Engagement

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand, Eventual Oberyn Martell x Fem!OC (nameless, third person) Summary: Preparations are made for a wedding, and both bride and groom are plagued by nerves. WC: 5.8 K Warnings: 18+ MDNI Canon-typical violence, grief, death, political intrigue, arragned marriage, drinking, mentions of food, allusions to vaginal sex, allusions to masturbation. Oberyn being a sexy little shit. Oberyn Martell comes with his own warning.

A/N: As always, a few things to keep in mind: This is an alternate universe that takes place after the main events of the show. Bran is still king of Westeros. Sansa is still queen of the north. Oberyn lives. Doran never had any children. Our Fem!OC is from Winterfell, but she is not a Stark and is a blank a canvas physically.

Masterlist II Series Masterlist

Part 1 >>> Part 3

Engaged with your heart

Intended for mine

Come to me and I will meet you

In between and all around

If Winterfell was named well, then Sunspear was preordained by the stars above. From her first steps out of the carriage she could feel the heat piercing through her heart, bright yellow streaks singing through the sky and cutting across her cheeks. Still, the chill of the north clings to her bones, a reminder of the home and family left miles and miles behind. She can still feel the puff of Sansa’s breath on her neck from where the two held tightly to one another, a prolonged goodbye that followed her across the territory, her dearest friend’s voice ringing in her ears.

“I should travel with you.”

“You’re needed more here.” 

Cold hands cupped her cheeks, ice blue eyes finding her own. 

“You can still change your mind.”

But she had refused to go back on her word, even as a deep curl of anxiety settled upon her shoulders, a bitter lining along the fur of her winter cloak. That same cloak is clutched in her arms now, a poor substitute for the friend she left behind, the yellow sun beating down upon her as she steps forward to meet her future. 

“My lady,” Prince Doran greets and she smiles despite herself, his smile small but warm. He strikes a formidable figure, even bound in his wheelchair, and when she bows, the respect she gives is heartfelt. She’s glad she had the foresight to wipe the last of the charcoal from her hands before arriving when the prince takes one gently in his own and places a friendly kiss along the ridge of her knuckles. 

Prince Oberyn stands tall beside his brother, the vibrant hues of his orange and gold robes contrasting with his cloudy demeanor. He gives a nod and then a bow, eyes connecting for the first time beneath the fiery tendrils of the Dornish sun. He does not move to take her hand and she does not offer, and yet…

She cannot look away. 

Something swirls low in her belly – nerves, perhaps – as she looks upon the man who she will call husband. 

He is more handsome than any books or rumors could ever truly do justice; a sharp jaw framed with dark facial hair, a hooked nose between cinched in brows, the deep brown of his eyes tracking her as she steps close to stand before him, a peak of tan skin, the column of his thick neck dusted with freckles. She feels like she can track them as easily as she does the stars, her fingers twitching at her side, suddenly desperate with the need to paint the constellations across his body. 

It’s an urge that comes and goes before she lets herself understand the meaning behind it, instead meeting her betrothed’s gaze head on as she curtsies.

“It is wonderful to finally meet you, Prince Oberyn,” she says, repeating the words she had practiced in her head again and again throughout her travels south, proud that they came out steady despite the hammer of her heart. 

Still he does not speak, but at the sound of her voice, his lips part, and she tracks the clench of his jaw as it loosens around the tip of his tongue. He tilts his head again, his eyes shifting, the color like sweet honey as he traces her features from head to toe. She tries not to shrink beneath his stare but it feels a true impossibility, sweat beading at the back of her neck, the slick of it sliding down to pool along her stiff collar. The sun is too high, her dress too tight.

Oberyn’s gaze too warm. 

But then he’s frowning again, looking out and away into the blue sky, fists balled tightly at his side. 

The rest of the pleasantries are tabled for later, the two pulled apart just as swiftly as they were brought together. A pair of women dressed in loose folds of gauze and silk lead her to her chambers with the offer to settle herself before dinner is served, and she leaps upon it, desperate for a cool splash of water on her overheated cheeks and a moment alone to catch her faltering breath. 

Her quarters are larger than she could have imagined, a sight her mind can barely comprehend especially when it feels like the biggest pieces of her heart are still waiting for her between the stone walls of Winterfell. But here in this sweeping space, every corner glowing with a light she did not know exists, she feels as if she could stretch her arms out wide and fill this space completely. 

The sitting room seems to spill endlessly outward, open doorways that lead to a terrace glittering beneath the late afternoon sun, the waves of the Dornish sea rocking a pleasant rhythm down below. It’s familiar, comforting, and already she’s picturing falling asleep to the soothing sound in her ear. Waking up to the creeping rays of a sunrise, the weight of an arm around her bare waist.

She frowns. Shakes her head. The memory is gone. 

As she steps in further, she spies a bed dipped in luscious shades of burgundy, and just beyond that, a porcelain tub. Her body aches to fall into both, the hardship of travel making itself known in the tightness that’s settled between her bones and the fatigue that plagues her mind. One of the women calls her attention away, a secret smiling pull at her painted lips.

“The door just past your bedroom leads to Prince Oberyn’s–”

“Liddy! What are you suggesting?” The other woman gasps, but her smile is just as sly.

“What? It’s not as if the Prince is so concerned with propriety. He’d probably welcome all thre–”

“I think I’m just going to lay down, thank you!” She shouts above their laughter, ignoring the pang of jealousy that threatens to rise up her throat as she watches them leave with their arms woven tightly, heads pressed together as they continue to swap teasing secrets. 

At the mention of his name, reality makes its presence known again, and it’s all she can do not to thrash at her own choices. The room suddenly feels smaller, enough to push her out into the open space of the balcony, sea salt air pricking at her skin. 

Oberyn had been less than pleased in her presence, and it was clear that their upcoming nuptials was not a day he was looking forward to. She couldn’t say she disagreed; it was not as if she had been climbing the trees up north in search of a husband to tie herself to. No — she was here out of duty to her home and love for her queen — but that did not mean she intended to approach the matter with a sour taste in her mouth. 

The Prince seemed to disagree. 

She glances back towards the bed, the archway of a door now visible just behind it. She feels no desire to go to it now, and bitterly, she wonders if she ever will. 

And yet she cannot look away. 

———

Dinner had been tense.

To say the very least.

A sullen Oberyn sat at the far end of the table, arms crossed, his food left untouched. It had been his mood for most of the afternoon, going about his business with a frown stitched permanently into his lips. 

He had barely spoken, his thoughts seemingly twisted in the darkest corners of his mind. Ellaria watched as he stomped from one corner of his quarters to the other, his eyes stealing to the doorway that led to where his future wife was resting, but never once did he move towards it. She had wanted to speak, perhaps suggest, maybe ask for an explanation of some kind…but with a bite to her own tongue, she fought the urge.

The northern girl was seated to his left now, a matching frown curving her features downward. Her movements were stilted as she picked at the plate in front of her, barely more than a bite making it past her lips. She still wore the same dress she arrived in, the heavy brocaded fabric wrapped around her like a fortress. Ellaria wondered briefly how much of Winterfell she still carried inside her, to be able to walk about Sunspear dressed in such a way.

Neither of them spoke a single word throughout the entirety of the meal, lips sealed shut and gazes pointed very much away from the other, leaving Doran and Ellaria to fill the silence. 

Every word felt stilted, awkward, like knives drawn across her skin. It wasn’t long before both she and Doran gave up the pretense of conversation all together, tired eyes meeting across the table in exasperation. She could hear the older man’s steady voice even as he kept his thoughts very much to himself.

Patience, my dear. We must have patience.

Ellaria did not possess the fortitude that Prince Doran seemed to pride himself on. Patience, she has found, never suited her when the ones she loved most were on the line. 

———

“You will go to her.”

Oberyn glances over his shoulder, his refusal burning at the tip of his tongue. He says nothing, instead ignoring Ellaria’s command with a frown and a shrug, turning his eyes back to the sky above. He had needed fresh air after dinner, craved it, like a drug he wished would flood his veins. He had come back to his quarters in a rush, barely gifting the others gathered in the great hall with a parting goodbye. Once in the safety of his rooms, he stripped himself of his robes and headed straight for the balcony, Ellaria trailing each and every step he took. 

“Oberyn.”

Again, he does not answer, fingers curling down and around the banister, knuckles bleeding white from the strain of his grip. He considers the shape of them, the pull of his muscles and the crack of his bones beneath the stretch of golden skin, wondering why he could not use them to piece together the messy shape his life had taken upon itself. 

These hands had studied ancient text, had held babes fresh from his lovers’ wombs, had avenged the death of his sister and her children. They had accomplished all he had set out to do, and yet now they choose to fail him. 

Behind him stands the love of his life, and one room over, the woman he is intended to wed. 

A woman he did not know. A stranger. A mystery.

But that did not stop the urge to reach out to her, to cup her cheek and touch his lips to hers; to take her hand gently and lead her to his bed. He grips his hands tighter to the polished wood, the compulsion following him even now, the want so strong it felt more of memory than daydream. Oberyn licks his lips and swallows, the sound like sand between his ears, before finally turning to face Ellaria, his decision final.

“Not tonight.”

———

And so it goes. Three nights more of the same; Oberyn’s petulant avoidance and silent fuming matched only by his betrothed’s stubborn frown and persistent presence. 

He had grown restless with nerves over the past few days, taken to pacing like a caged animal, torn between wanting to scream and desperate to fuck. He’s lost count of the times he’s sought the solace of his hand, hard cock gripped tight, thinking of anything but her. Anything but visions of her face and clever tongue that seemed destined to tease along the edges of his fantasies. 

He would normally call upon every brothel within the region as a sure distraction, but it’s only Ellaria he seeks out, when his grip grows tired and his knuckles ache. He pressed himself to her fully each time he filled her, tired of the facade, wishing inward and outward for her to be his soul’s match.

And still she haunts him. Haunts the place he once considered his safe haven; now overrun with the very essence of this woman he did not ask for but cannot seem to refuse. 

“As worse a pebble in my shoe and twice over the inconvenience,” his only reply when Doran had asked after his opinion of her. 

In the mornings he watches as she walks the courtyard, arms twined around her chest as if to shield herself from the frigid temperatures she left behind; a truly ridiculous notion considering the heavy dresses she continues to wear despite the warmth shining from up above. By her second day in Sunspear, Ellaria has taken to joining her, the girls trailing at their skirts as the two women walk beneath the shade of the lemon trees. Oberyn can see their lips moving from where he hides up above, though he isn’t sure why he does so. 

They do not spare him a first or second glance.

His mind conjures up the worst of what they could possibly have to discuss, and yet the sight of them arm in arm leaves a pit of something swirling low in his belly. He blames his overwrought nerves as he stomps away from the balcony, impetuous anger and unfurling desire sticking to his heels. 

During the day, she seems to disappear, though he hears the servants speak of her intricacies with kind smiles and earnest laughter. Charcoal nicked from the kitchen, small scraps of parchment along with, and requests for wine tasting of cherries instead of plums. He does not seek her out but it’s as if he can feel her on the other side of his bedroom wall, her furious hands scribbling away, her lips stained a cherry red. 

They are seated beside each other for every meal, her woodsy scent overwhelming and intriguing him, and it is all he can do not to drown himself in cup after cup of Dornish wine. He simply turns away and grits his teeth, leaving the table more hungry than he had been before the meal had ever started.

Come the fourth night, Ellaria has had enough. 

“The wedding is one week away.”

“We shall see,” Oberyn murmurs from his bed, eyes half-lidded as he watches his lover undress, stroking his cock, the pull of his hand slow, deliberate. The last of her clothing falls away and he feels his length twitch in his palm. 

“You will go to her.”

“Come to bed,” he coos, not bothering with a rebuttal, instead spreading his legs that much wider.

Ellaria does not move from where she stands at the foot of his bed, body bare and so very out of reach. 

“Tonight.”

Oberyn sits up, eyes narrowed, and teeth barred, a venomous refusal seeping through his veins like poison. But in a flash he thinks of her — bright red wine and bits of parchment, stained fingers and painted lips — and he falters. 

“Why do you not hate her?”

Ellaria’s smile twitches, but never falters. She crosses her arms as she moves to join him, her body curling easily into his own.

“Why should hate be the assumption?”

Oberyn thinks it seems most obvious but it does not stop him from saying the truth aloud. 

“I am marrying another woman, when it’s you that I…” he chokes off, shakes his head, then starts again. “I love you.” 

He hates this feeling. Loathes it. His confidence shaken. His heart inexplicably torn. Restless fingers reach for her and she complies, long arms resting along the broad shape of his shoulders. 

“I am happy, my Prince. Loved by a good man with his whole body and his fiery heart. He has given me four beautiful daughters and I am honored to stand beside him.”

“But you deserve more,” he hisses, the urge to jump to anger rising up his throat yet again.

She leans in to steal a kiss, her breath warm where it mingles with his own. When she pulls away, her smile is still as it was. 

“You forget sometimes, my paramour, that not all of us wish to sneak away from the life we’ve been given. Some of us know how very different things could be if the scales were to tip in another direction.” 

He nods, unsure if she is right but too tired to fight her on the matter. 

“Go,” she murmurs, lips kissing at the hinge of his jaw. “I will still be here.”

The promise is enough to push him out into the hallway and without a reason why his feet carry him forward. It isn’t until he’s stepping into the grand hall, his betrothed standing with her back to him, that he realizes he had no way of knowing that this is where she would be. 

———

“Trouble sleeping? Or have you been running with the wolves for too long?”

She does not jump at his greeting but her shoulders rise, something like nerves crawling up the the base of her spine at his intrusion upon her private moment. She sneaks a glance back, catching Oberyn’s expression in her sight line. He seems to take her silent reaction in stride, stepping deeper into the room, eyes pinned to her form. 

After a moment’s consideration, she cuts out a reply, her words bitter but her tone soft. 

“He speaks. And here I was only a day away from asking the Lord of Sunspear if his brother was mute.”

“Sharp teeth. Fitting.”

She frowns, turning to face him fully. “I am no wolf, Prince Oberyn.” 

His eyes are dark, casting a piercing stare from where he stares her down. His figure is striking, his shoulders rigid. His head held high. 

“What would you prefer I call you then? A lady, yes but not nearly a Stark and not yet a Martell.”

“I think my name would do just fine,” she offers before turning back around, her eyes tracing the shape of his brother’s throne. 

He says it now, almost as if he’s savoring the feel of it on his tongue, and she ignores the pounding of her heart as it sings for him, and still she can’t help but wonder how it would sound moaned between the silk of his sheets. 

Her frown deepens. 

“What do you want, my lord?”

She hopes he does not miss the hint of sarcasm she touches to his moniker. 

“Less of your presence, to start.”

It is like ice down her back, Oberyn’s stormy glare and tight posture matching the sting of his words. She does her best to wipe the look of pain off her face but she’s one beat too late. The prince does at least have the grace to look half-regretful for his honesty. She steps around him, suddenly exhausted from the unintended confrontation. She gives a small bow, tipping in close enough to smell the plums on his breath, and then it’s gone, stolen like a dream she can’t seem to remember. 

“I will see you tomorrow, my Prince. I hope you sleep well.” 

He calls her name just before she crosses the threshold, a request following in the swell of his baritone.

“Meet me here again. Tomorrow night.”

She doesn't reply, her only answer the soft step of her feet as she walks away.

———

The shape of the water eludes her. She watches the waves rise and fall closely, crashing up and down onto the sandy shore just below the jut of her balcony, wondering how it is they move the way they do. The parchment in her lap sits blank, her finger curled around a piece of charcoal, itching to bring the image to life but unsure where to begin. 

The sea seems so much more alive than she had ever thought it to be. She had tried to ignore it at first, the desire to match its fury on paper, instead keeping her eyes on the lemon trees lining the courtyard. They were familiar even in their newness, a shape she could easily replicate if she wanted. She had been walking amongst them every morning, alone at first and then not. 

Ellaria had proved good company, the other woman seeking her out on her second morning amongst the groves. She politely introduced herself and assured her she did not mean to pry upon her solitude, admitting outright that she was simply curious. The direct honesty was comforting in its own right, similar to the blunt cut of a northern wind. Before Ellaria could take her leave, she offered her arm in request.

“Will you walk with me?”

“I will.”

It was not meant to be a fast friendship. Those things took time. But she could feel a kinship forming that was a balm to the loneliness she had been ignoring with a steadfast stubbornness. 

Ellaria spoke with confidence, not in a way she lorded over anyone, but instead speaking as a woman who has seen a great deal of what the world had to offer. She did not force the conversation of Oberyn upon either of them but instead allowed it to come them naturally, before finally admitting she was the one who had sent him to her the night prior. 

“I know the situation is less than ideal, but I thought maybe…” Her words drifted into nothing, eyes watching Loreza pluck white petals from a low hanging branch, her small fingers gentle. Delicate. 

“Oberyn is as ferocious as the sea, and all the more deadly for it. Some say to be patient with him, to allow his tide to rise naturally.” Their steps slowed, Ellaria’s gaze matching her own, watching her daughter with unfettered love and adoration. “I never could understand waiting when I had legs of my own, content to meet him halfway.”

The other woman’s words carry more weight now than they did this morning. The sound of the sea is persistent in her ears, her legs curled beneath her, her head empty save for the sneered contempt of her future husband. Ferocious. Unpredictable. Loud. In any other circumstance, she is certain she would find him grating; enough of an annoyance to turn her back and never spare him another thought. But she intends to stand firm, the choice she’s made settling the argument before it’s even begun.

Oberyn’s invitation lingers at the back of her mind, and she wonders if he intends to wait for her. Or perhaps he took her silence as a decided refusal. Before she can stop herself she’s unfolding her frame and walking the familiar path back to the great hall. 

He is waiting for her, standing just inside the entryway, his arms crossed behind his back, his posture regal as he takes in the high ceilings and sweeping space. All of him seems to glow, the muted shades of yellow stitched into his robes catching in the candlelight. He seems at home half-hidden amongst the shadows, and she allows herself a moment’s breath, catching herself before she gets lost in the sight of him. She crosses behind him and up towards the center of the room, not able to find the right words to greet him, choosing instead to let her silence speak for her. 

For some time they simply share the space, no words to give in exchange for each other’s presence. Instead they pass the time as they had been since her arrival in Dorne – together, but not. 

It isn’t until the candles have burned down low, the hour far later than the previous night that Oberyn finally speaks.

“You do not like the dresses provided to you?”

She glances down at her dressing gown, thick fabric in shades of grey cinched tightly at the waist. The bulk of it was so very out of place on the sunniest side of the map, practically weighing her down, trapping her where she stood and yet she had clung to it. Desperately so. Her final piece of armor. That explanation is too intimate to give away so soon, and so she simply parrots his words from last night back to him.

“I am not yet a Martell.”

The briefest sting that crossed his features almost felt good in the moment, but alone in her bed she could not shake the guilt that stuck to her insides, sleep only finding her as the sunrise began to sweep slowly across the shore. 

———

“We could call it off?”

It’s their fifth night together in the great hall, but only the third time he’s chosen to speak. They’re both sitting; she curled along the steps that lead to his brother’s throne and Oberyn perched along the high council’s table, one leg propped up, his bare foot flat on the polished wood. She had averted her eyes a little too late, heat racing up her neck and sitting heavy on her cheeks when she realized the prince was bare beneath his robe. 

“What?” she asks, shifting her eyes carefully to his face before pointing them away again. 

“The wedding. Call it off. You could leave in the middle of the night. I would provide you with whatever you need.”

She is quiet for a moment, lips caught between her teeth, picking at her fingernails, soot staining the skin beneath and little done to wash the dirt away. She had considered it. Of course she had, in the lonely hours of the morning, aching for snow and leaves and cold stone beneath her feet, still trying to adjust to the silk and sand of Dorne. And yet…

Something kept her rooted in place, something that felt stronger than honor to a place or love for a queen. But as she sat in silence, struggling for words, Oberyn kept speaking.  

“No one would expect any more than what you have already given. It is not as if you are truly of noble blood.” 

She stands at that, the abruptness of her movements enough to jar him off his perch, both feet falling to the floor below. 

“Do you have any honor? Any at all, Oberyn Martell?”

Her face is twisted, her fists balled tight, and she moves quickly, refusing to let him see the tears that threaten to spill. With fast feet she moves out of his reach and back towards her quarters, one final reprimand slipping from her lips.

“I think you and I have very different ideas on what it means to be noble, Prince Oberyn.”

When she is finally alone, only the flicker of candle light to keep her company on the long walk back to her quarters, does she allow the tears to fall.

———

The smell of citrus always seems to burn brightest in the morning, the rise of the sun matching the yellow tang of lemon on his tongue. Most would think Oberyn to detest the early morning hour, his dalliances keeping him up until well into the night. It is a fair assumption but not always the most accurate.

There is a peace this early in the day; the air carries the slightest chill, the sky not yet filled with a fiery heat, tepid blues melting away to a shimmering orange across the shore. He reveals in it, when the mood strikes, finding solace in a serenity that is not always commonplace in his life. 

The courtyard is quiet, save for the slap of bare feet, Dorea and Loreza racing across the stone path, disappearing up into the lemon groves, and returning to where he and his brother wait, the bright yellow fruit clutched between their tiny fingers. 

Doran takes the offering with a smile, crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out as far as he can, the pair of them erupting into giggles that ring out to meet the sunrise. 

“Your papa and I used to do this very thing every harvest. Sucking the juice from the rind until our lips burned.”

The girls hang on his every word, asking to hear more and in the blink of an eye Oberyn is lost in the memory, same as Doran. Two boys racing down the curved steps, the rush of sea crashing in the background, their knees knocking and elbows jabbing, in search of an early summer treat. If he allowed himself, he swore he would hear Ellia’s voice chasing after them in a plea to slow down, her skirts rustling as she did her best to keep up. 

How simple things seemed. 

He’s back in the present before he can properly cling to it, his daughters still laughing as their uncle tears through the thick skin of the fruit for them. Oberyn tries and fails not to notice how his brother’s hands shake from the effort, and a pain he had been dutifully ignoring threatens to rise up. Doran, having caught his eye, is quick to divert the conversation. 

“I hear talk of a quarrel between you and your betrothed?”

Oberyn chuckles, head shaking from side to side, letting his palm cup the curve of his cheek, the first rays of sunshine starting to warm his skin. Certainly he is not caught off guard by the question, but his frustrations threaten to swallow him whole anyway. It seems unlikely he will find peace in this morning. 

“Who in your staff have you assigned to spy on us, my dear brother?”

“You give me far too much credit, Oberyn. This palace may be large but it is still a small world we live in. Word travels of its own accord. I have no need to rush it along. I am a patient man.” 

Doran hands each girl a large slice of lemon as he speaks, and they squeal as the sour taste hits their tongues. Oberyn watches them as they take off, now in search of blossoms for their hair, and he marvels at the simplicity of their hearts. He hopes they can hold tight to it, if only a little bit longer than he was ever allowed. 

“Go on, then. Tell me how I should do the honorable thing and offer her my apologies before tomorrow comes.” 

He should not be so surprised when his brother only laughs, passing him his own slice of lemon with a hearty jab of his elbow, so very reminiscent of all those summers lost in the long ago. 

“Oh, my brother! You are about to be married. You have your whole life to apologize. And with your track record it will be more often than not. I think perhaps you can simply count yourself forgiven if she meets you at the end of the altar.” 

“And if I am alone?”

“Well then,” Doran offers, shaky hands bringing a slice of lemon to his own lips, “perhaps she is not the fool you have made her out to be.” 

———

The layers of gauze and silk draped across her skin feel heavy, a sneaky trick considering how light the fabric felt in her hands earlier this morning. She had chosen the dress from the many left for her in her room, unable to resist the golden hues on today of all days, fingers tracing the vibrant stitching of the sun, crystals that seemed to glitter of their own accord framing the length of the gown. 

Each step she takes feels weighed down, her gait slipping on the polished floor, the beaded sandals tied to her feet foreign and uncomfortable. She shakes out her fingertips, desperate to tug at the necklace fastened around her neck, the ruby red jewels choking back her breath and stealing her voice, but Ellaria’s hand in her own stops her. 

Just beyond the double doors, sealed shut and hiding her from view, is the sound of music, the murmur of a crowd, a call of her name to signal her entry. It overwhelms and saturates, only the crash of the waves and Oberyn’s tempered anger filling the space between her ears. She feels too hot, too cold, and so very suddenly she wishes Sansa was here to hold her other hand. She curses inward, hating herself for refusing her friend’s offer to make this journey with her. How foolish of her to think this would be so easy a task accomplished. 

She can hear Ellaria call her name, once, then twice, and slowly she turns to look at her, trying to steady her heartbeat in the depths of her honeyed gaze. She licks her lips and blinks back the saltwater sting of tears, wishing her words would present themselves clearly.

“I was not until…I had not truly…he does not…” she glances back towards the doors then to the open windows, unable to look into Ellaria��s eyes when she finally admits the truth aloud. 

“I am frightened.” 

“I don’t think there would be anyone who would dare discount that feeling.” 

She nods again and tightens her grip around the older woman’s hand. “Will you…will you walk with me?” 

“I will.” 

They walk together slowly, and if not for the pomp, for the circumstance, it could just as easily be another of their shared moments between the lemon trees. But with each step further down the aisle the crashing sound inside her head booms louder. Waves slamming up against the rocks, drowning out the sense and sensibility of the choice she’s made, and waiting for her at the end of it all is Prince Oberyn.

He is dressed in the palest shades of yellow, save for the chain around his neck, the jewel at the center the deepest shade of scarlett to match her own. He stands tall, hands folded behind his back, his eyes watching as the two women move towards him. The look on his face is indiscernible, his lips parting around a silent question as he looks first to Ellaria, then to her.

She takes a breath in, holding it in her lungs until they burn, smoke and fire threatening to swallow her whole. Her head spins faster with each step she takes, her knees buckle, her steps falter. Beside her, Ellaria is balanced, the grip she has around her arm secure, her presence soothing. It is only when she reaches the altar and the other woman moves a hair away, do the tears she had been fighting all morning finally fall. 

She hears her name again, spoken gently, cutting through the screaming sound of the sea inside her heart. But it is not Ellaria’s soothing voice that pulls her to the present. Instead it is Oberyn calling out to her, and when she looks into his eyes, she finds an anchor waiting for her.

“Take my hand.”

She looks down at his offered hand, his palm open, thick fingers splayed out wide, an invitation and apology waiting in silent patience. She breathes in again, letting it leave her lips softly, slowly, the last of her nerves leaving her to stand tall before the man she’s chosen. 

For worse. 

For better. 

Oberyn’s lips twitch up, the smallest of encouragement, and after what feels like an eternity too long she reaches out for him, sliding her hand gently into his own. 

And the world goes blissfully silent. 

———

Dedications:

Forever and for always grateful for @jazzelsaur and @astroboots for keeping me on track with this one. Oberyn and Game of Thrones in general is so far outside of my comfort zone, and their support of this fic that embraces so many things at once has meant so much to me. I'm literally writing this story a sentence at a time, in between wrapping presents and making cookies and the mad dash end-of-year rush at work. So having the two of them to bounce ideas off of has been nothing short of my saving grace. I love you hoes. Thank you!

Also big thanks to @grogusmum for chatting Oberyn with me in the DM's. I am officially gone for that menace of a man and Hazel has been so wonderful in talking this story with me.

[spectorcomplex]

golden ii ↦ aemond targaryen x martell!reader

He was agitated, he knew it and he felt it. But for what actual, specific, exact, reason? He didn’t know what. How treacherous his brother’s statement is? Or the fact someone else, someone as vile as his brother, is marveling at your beauty? But before Aemond could open his mouth to tell his brother off, his mother’s enthusiastic voice rings through the dining hall.

pairing: aemond targaryen x fem!martell!reader (she/her pronouns)

word count: 1.1k

warnings: aegon and criston if ure team black

part one /// my masterlist

Yellow still makes Aemond wince. All this orange glow thanks to the multitude of candles in the dining room was already making his head hurt and the bright, bold silks of the Prince of Dorne was making matters much worse.

Aemond scoffs at your absence in the room despite dinner having not started yet. It should be custom that if there are multiple guests then they should arrive together to greet the royal family. The skin under his leather collar twitches.

The night has barely begun and Aemond’s temper is already nearing its peak. With his bastard nephews’ incessant chattering and his brother already starting to drown in his cups all the young prince wanted was to defy his mother just for one night to spare himself from a migraine.

He begins to tap his fingers on the table out of habit and it only stills at the sight of you. He hates how he freezes at the sight of your back. You were donning a different dress compared to the simpler one you wore earlier in the gardens. This one had more of your arms showing and Aemond looks away. He’s still seething over how he positively reacted to your wit when he wanted nothing to do with you.

Her wit? It was one comment.

His brother Aegon’s loud laughter penetrated through the angry thoughts brewing in Aemond’s mind. Can he please learn to keep it down?

“She’s a fun one isn’t she?” Aemond feels his brother’s drunken breath by his ear.

Aegon takes the younger prince’s silence to continue, “What she said to Jacaerys? Basically called him Strong to his face.”

For a moment, fear seizes Aemond and he thinks partly the reason for Aegon’s cackling is that he saw Aemond staring at the girl.

“You heard that?” Aemond asks and Aegon nods. “Of course you were in the gardens, you creeping rake.”

“Hah!” Aegon snorts, grin never faltering. “I take that as a compliment, dear brother.”

The younger brother only shakes his head in a way that’s always meant for Aegon and when he looks back up, his single eye widens that you were now seated in front of him.

He hates your dress. Hates how finely made it is for he has to give where credit is due— Dorne. After years of history studies, what kind of Targaryen would he be if he marveled at a Dornish creation?

Aemond also hates how a fleeting voice in his head whispered that he liked the color. Not yellow but golden. A soft gold similar to Vhagar’s breaths of fire. How complimentary it is that you have a sun hairpin, for the legends say dragons drink the fire of the sun.

And most of all he hates how it renders him like a boy with no control as the dress draws attention to your figure. Particularly around the chest.

Then, seeing his Queen mother walking in with her necklace with the large seven pointed star felt like he was doused in cold water. All women are an image of the Mother. Even a Dornish one.

You both have the same faith, Aemond notices when it was time for prayer you and your twin placed your hands together and closed your eyes. But ever present was that faint smirk or hint of a smile he could only assume is a product of the Martell bloodline.

Of course, his brother wouldn’t let a moment of religious silence linger on for too long once dinner was announced to start.

“Cole,” Aegon beckons over the knight. “Are all Dornish women this pretty?”

Aemond huffs. When will he ever feel shame?

Criston only chuckles and Aemond hates how the knight hummed in amused agreement.

“Then we’ve been wrong to see them as rivals, don’t you think?”

This is what makes Aemond turn in his seat. He purposely sat where Aegon is to his left so he can spare himself the distress his brother causes and somehow the bastard manages to do so even when he is on Aemond’s blind spot.

He was agitated, he knew it and he felt it. But for what actual, specific, exact, reason? He didn’t know what. How treacherous his brother’s statement is? Or the fact someone else, someone as vile as his brother, is marveling at your beauty? But before Aemond could open his mouth to tell his brother off, his mother’s enthusiastic voice rings through the dining hall.

“Oh, Ser Criston! Do join us,” The Queen gestures to the empty seat separating you and Helaena, “The princess and prince of Dorne specifically requested it.”

In the corner of his eye, Aemond saw Rhaenyra and Daemon’s eyebrows furrow and the annoyance Aemond felt at seeing Cole fucking blush was dispelled at the sight of his half sister and uncle’s displeasure.

Criston only hesitated for a split second but headed towards the seat, bowing to Helaena and then to you. Aemond decides he hates your smile.

“Ser Criston,” The cadence of your voice was unlike what he heard at the gardens but still sweet. This unease of being unable to figure out your true nature makes Aemond fidget in his seat.

Your twin starts engaging in conversation with Aegon, laughing together about their hedonistic pleasures, and Aemond feels satisfaction at finally having an enemy’s true nature be read so easily by him. Oberyn Martell was loud and talkative; he can be a means to an end.

The scheming brewing in Aemond’s mind gets disturbed at the flirting? lilt in your voice.

“I have heard of your family,” You say to Criston, “They must be very proud of you, being part of such a prestigious order and all.”

“Oh, thank you, Princess, they are,” Criston smiles and Aemond grits his teeth, “Though I must admit I am surprised to know the monarchs of Sunspear knows a house as low as mine.”

You smile again. Diplomatic or genuine? Aemond thinks before shaking his head. You have been front and center in his mind ever since this forsaken dinner and he needs to distract himself. But lucky for him, everyone on this table is a relative. The family that gives Aemond the urge to murder people.

“You’ve been in King’s Landing way too long then,” You say, mirth sparkling in your eyes, “You forget that all are equal at Dorne.”

It’s a jab at his family, Aemond knows this. The way the royal family of the Seven Kingdoms sees the common folk. And the comment flies right under everyone’s noses as they’re probably too entranced by your soft voice. He is too, but Aemond is too prideful to admit it.

He wants you to break under his scrutinizing gaze. Unbowed, unbent, unbroken.

How could you though? You do not even pay a single ounce of attention to the Prince the entire dinner. You were too engaged in reconnecting with a fellow Dornish person, keepjng your eyes on Criston Cole the entire time.

Aemond hates another thing. How much he wants you to tear your eyes off the knight and to direct your gaze to him.

thank you for the love on the first part of golden <33 with school starting i think i’d be posting updates mostly on weekends if that’s alright!! and with the tagging i’ll do it on a separate post/reblog , i’m touched you guys want to be updated with this lil fic of mine 🥹

++ lots of inner dialogue from aemond in this chapter and again it’s so fun writing his point of view, so cynical and sarcastic and he’s repressing from being a simp so bad it’s funny

as always, feedback/comments and reblogs are always appreciated i love yall and i promise they WILL interact and they WILL eventually (redacted)

[riptide-if]

Hilo Kalua Mahoe [they/them, 22] has always been content to stay on the sidelines. As long as you've known Hilo (which is like, practically your whole life) they've never been much of a talker. Often as children you often had to do the talking for them. As a teen they shifted from silence to snark, unsympathetic and snide towards anyone they feel deserves it, though you remained one of the few who they remained gentle and friendly with. One person that got that former treatment was Lee— the entire time you two were dating. You could never quite understand why.

Hilo stands at 5'10 with a slim, willowy build. They have deep olive skin. Their face is oval shaped with a septum piercing; the ring always being gold. Their eyes are dark green. They have very long, wavy, black hair. Their hair falls just past their hips; sometimes in a braid or bun, but usually down with small braids littered throughout. Their usual clothing style is flowy and calm; earthy tones, long skirts, tank tops, ruffled tops, bell sleeve tops, sandals, flowy dresses, cardigans. They're never not seen wearing at least one piece of jewelry. They wear gold earrings in multiple places in their ears; sans industrial. In their ear lobes is a pair of orange bead earrings with a gold moon charm on the left ear and a gold star charm on the right ear. On their wrists are three braided friendship bracelets; one with orange and yellow string from Aria, one with orange and navy blue string from Arlo, and the final one being from MC. A gold infinity ring is on one of their fingers. Gold necklaces are layered on their neck. They have long almond shaped acrylics; colors and designs varying. A new moon tattoo is on their upper arm.

[atticclubsheep]

Of Fairy Lights and Color Theory

Wherein you wax poetic over color nonsense

All that glitters is not gold.

You say that phrase like it's your job, and you say it in such a memorable tone that Mammon hears it play in his head every time he goes out to shop. The true meaning behind that phrase is that 'everything that seems valuable on the surface might not be so', but when you say that phrase, you say it in such a way that implies you might not be golden, but you're glittering nonetheless.

You bring up gold a lot around Mammon, actually. Sometimes he wonders if you're trying to drive him crazy.

Anyways, on top of you not really using the phrase correctly, you also told Mammon that you'd simply heard the quote off an episode of Spongebob and that's why you say it around him--you think it's funny, and it doesn't help that every time you see that 'pretty gold ring' in his 'gorgeous blue eyes', you feel the phrase burning on your lips. As weird as he finds your explanation, there's something oddly romantic about it as well, and it always makes him blush when you bring it up.

Today was one of those days where the topic of gold was randomly brought up by you, though strangely enough, it had nothing to do with wealth or greed when you spoke about it. You were standing on the tips of your toes in Mammon's room, stringing up yellow-hued fairy lights on the walls around his bed, bathing the little subsection of his room in a faint gold light. Your D.D.D. was playing some song from the human realm on repeat, chanting about yellow and shining stars and loving you so (you'd always pause your chatter to sing that particular line, just under your breath, and it gave Mammon butterflies each time).

"So what do you think?" you ask as you step off the little stool you'd gotten from who-knows-where. You graze some fingers over the dangling yellow lights, before hooking your finger around the wires and pulling it just a little bit away from the wall, allowing each tiny light to cast its own gold halo on the slate-silver wall. "The color? It's like the color of this, don't you think?"

The 'this' in question was your hand, where Mammon's pact mark was practically glowing. Ever since you'd started learning magic with Solomon you'd learned how to do that--how to call attention to each of your pact marks, how to make them light up in the very same way they had when you received them. It was like you were highlighting your bond with the demon in question, and Mammon didn't know if it was magic or flattery that gave him a sugary feeling in his chest every time you did.

"H-Heh... so is that why you picked the color? I mean, it would make sense. As your first man it's obvious my pact mark would be your favorite."

"Hm, no, if I were doing this because of the pact mark I'd be putting these lights in my room."

Mammon tried not to deflate in disappointment. Of course, you didn't let the disappointment linger, because what you said next was sweet enough to make his breath catch in his throat.

"This is me leaving a little mark of my own in your room. I chose the color because it's my favorite--it reminds me of your eyes, plus I know you like gold-y things, and I think the meaning behind this color is pretty true about you too," you say, swinging the dangling wire if lights in your hands before letting it fall back against the wall. "It's gold like sunrises, my favorite way to start the day, valuable like the precious metal, and bright and yellow like the happiest things in the world. That's kind of sweet, don't you think?"

Finally you make eye contact with him, and your grin is casual and lopsided--totally contradictory to the positively poetic nonsense you'd been chattering about, and it took all of Mammon's strength to not start stuttering on the spot.

"Valuable?" He doesn't know why that was the word that left his lips, but you nod anyways.

"Mhm. Well, you're worth more than gold of course, but it's kind of an affectionate symbolism," you say absentmindedly, taking one last look at your handiwork. "Heh... now every time you see these lights you'll be like 'L-M-A-O, that dorky little human thinks I'm bright and valuable!' Color theory is my love language, did you know? So yeah, I'm done now. Thanks for letting me play interior designer for all of fifteen minutes."

Don't say that stuff so casually, Mammon thinks, though all he can verbalize is a timid "No problem." He has no idea how you say that sort of stuff so easily, much less why you even think that stuff in the first place--after all, if you want the same verbal affection from him, you'd have to corner and pry it out of him. He gets flustered over it--for you, it's just in your nature to be sweet. Is that some sort of human thing?

You stretch, raising your hands above your head. He thinks he hears a pop, and you hum in satisfaction. "Man, being such a fantastic color-theorist has my brain acting like TV static now. I need something exciting, hm..." you tap your lip thoughtfully, then turn to him with a mischievous grin. "What do you wanna do, Mams? Your turn to pick something."

Say something flirty, say something flirty- "Heh. Are ya sure you can handle a demon's definition of 'exciting', human?" Drat.

"I trust you to pick something survivable," you reply in almost the same joking tone. "Though if you pick something that ruins my shirt, I can't say you'll survive what happens next. Momo got me this shirt, you know. It's got fantastic color theory, see, it's just desaturated enough to serve as a neutral tone while still maintaining a distinct purple-hue identity, not to mention the value is perfect enough to pair with a white or black pair of pants while still having a pleasant amount of contrast. I chose white just for today, just because-"

"Let's go buy new clothes then," Mammon interrupts, a grumpy tone to his voice. You tilt your head at him.

"Huh? Are you saying you don't like the color?"

"No no, you look good in any color," Mammon replies, before realizing the softness to his comment and sharpening it with, "For a human." You laugh.

"So is it the fabric? The fit? I thought the outfit was cute."

"Tch. That's not the point--I can buy you things, wouldn't you rather wear something bought by me?"

"I mean... I didn't think it mattered. I thought it was kind of fun to wear something purple-y while stringing up yellow lights, they are complementary colors after all. Besides--Asmo might have bought me this shirt, but you're the one I'm spending time with. Are you upset?"

You didn't sound cross with him or anything--you've known for a while that Mammon could be, well, greedy. You merely sounded curious, not quite understanding what the big deal was. Even though jealousy still rang bitterly in his ears, Mammon didn't quite understand either.

"I'll buy you something purple then."

"You're so sweet. And silly. I have plenty of purple clothes--if you really want to go shopping, let's get something that matches, the two of us. I'm thinking yellow-" you gesture to the colors on the wall. "-or gold, or maybe blue, since it would match your eyes so well. Actually, let me spoil you a little, I'll buy us something-"

"No!"

You cut yourself off quickly, regarding Mammon with wide eyes. He picks up on your shock and backtracks.

"I-I mean, uh, I can't have ya buyin' me everything, ya know? Ya got me those lights, so it's my turn. I'll get ya somethin'. What's the point of hangin' out with the avatar of greed if ya ain't gettin' a little somethin' out of it, right?"

The expression on your face was nothing short of adoration. It took all of Mammon's willpower not to look away and hide his face--you just made him so soft. "What's the point? The point is, you're Mammon--the most lovable being in all three realms, as far as I'm concerned. I don't need you to buy me things to know that you're my one and only, although..." Your smile widens. "I know it's a big deal for you to offer something like that, so of course I'm not saying no. I'm just letting you know you don't have to buy my affection, you know? The only gold that really matters to me--metaphorically--is the gold in your eyes. Do you still want to go shopping?"

...drat. He really was in love with you.

"Yeah, well..." Mammon starts, hoping desperately that his face wasn't as red as he feared. "I'm buyin' your affection anyways. W-Wait, that came off wrong--I mean, listen up! You're my human, my only human, the o-only one I'll ever have eyes for, so... so let me spoil ya! As long as I'm around, you're never gonna want anything else, okay? I'll make sure you have it all. A-And you better be grateful, because I don't make promises like that to just anybody!"

Finally--he could finally see some semblance of shyness flutter across your expression, meaning whatever he had said had finally succeeded in wooing you--at least a little bit. Well, at least enough that he wasn't the only one blushing up a metaphorical storm right now. Still, no matter how flustered you got, you still wore that serene smile.

"That means a lot to me, Mammon," you said, voice softened by flusteredness. "To be honest, I think I have all I could ever want with you being by my side, but that's no reason for us to not go out shopping, so..." you held out your hand, waiting for Mammon to take it. He did, though not without almost tripping over himself to get closer to you. "...let's go. I want to show off the demon I gave my heart to, after all."

...you were really something, y'know that? Mammon follows you out the door, enjoying the contact between the both of you for every second until you reach to the shopping district he loved so much.

"So, shopping is a 'demon's definition of exciting', huh?"

"S-Shut up."

[cha0s-boyy]

[ID: 10 cartoony digital drawings of mostly animal characters. 1. a fullbody of an anthro hog. they are fat, are standing with one hand on their hip, and have a mohawk with sideburns. their fur is tones of dark gray, and their hair is a purple and pink gradient. they have a green nose ring and are smiling smugly. 2. a humanoid demon character from the legs up. he is thin, with light brown skin, and long black hair with side bangs and raccoontails. both his bangs and raccoontails have blue and yellow stripes. he has a spiked purple collar. black wings with rainbow flight feathers, a cyan shirt with yellow stars and a rainbow smiling flower on it, kandi jewelry, black cargo shorts, a pink checkered belt, red and green gloves, and a pink demon tail. He has an open mouth smile and is doing the rock hand symbol. 3. a pink and violet anthro canine from the waist up. he has spiky pink scene hair and is wearing a black and gold clandestine industries hoodie. he has large gold claws instead of fingers or paws, and is doing the rock hand symbol. his eyes, nose, and inner ears are all gold. his eyes are mismatched levels of openness, and he has a toothy grin. 4. an anthro fennec fox from the hips up. his fur is pale peach colors, and he has humanlike hair with a center part. their hair is mostly pinky-peach with offwhite on one side of their bangs. he has pale blue eyes, inner ears, and paw pads, and his eyes have long sharp eyelashes. she is wearing a darker pink collar with blue hearts on it and a blue gem as the charm. they have a devious expression, and are holding a knife, with one finger on the other hand tracing along the point of the blade. 5. a fullbody of a feral poodle. her paws and head are white, with black circles around her eyes, and the rest of her body is black with teal, yellow, orange, and red-pink stripes on her tail, legs, ears, and hair. her hair is done like a fluffy mohawk. she is smiling slyly. 6. a feral aeromorph character with a round body that flows straight into their head without a neck. they are turquoise green, with a darker underside, and have thin flexible wings. on their face is a large black nose and four windows on their forehead, as well as a small smile and a closed eye. they have yellow stripes on their tail and writing on their tail fin and wings. they have short stumpy legs. 7. another feral aeromorph, framed so that only the upper front portion of his body is visible. he has a long neck, and his body appears soft and squishy. he is pastel blue on top, white underneath and on his wings, and has a yellow stripe along his side and darker blue legs. he has a black nose and window markings on his forehead and sides. he is smiling with his eyes closed, and the piece is lit as if it is dawn or dusk. 8. a bust drawing of an anthro frog. she is thick and muscly, with a prominent bust. her skin is black with red and purple markings, and her eyes are also red. she has a determined expression. 9. a furry character from the waist up. they have a triangular face and large ears, sharply clawed hands, black fur, and a red telephone booth door on the front of their torso. they have large red eyes without defined pupils or irises. 10. a lineless drawing of a red cat with large, round black eyes and a large round black nose. their head is notably wide and flat. /end ID]