#anyway who is it that has the 'you were the one who gained the favor of god yet is the one who stands against him' about dad

[toestalucia]

i need to watch risings story before the main story update drops so i can make nonsense theories (but they wont be nonsense TO ME)

[guinevereslancelot]

slowly gaining the favor of the one child who hates everyone. i am the toddler whisperer 😌

[ak319]

Yan Socialite brother x reader

(Warnings: Strictly platonic , not incest)

Ezra Alvarez , your younger brother, has always been your number one supporter. From a young age, he was taught that tradition dictated the older sibling would inherit the business and the farms—essentially, everything. This meant all the power would eventually be in your hands. But Ezra wasn’t a moneygrubber seeking favor, he genuinely admired your intelligence, strength, and the way you cared for the family, especially him. From the moment he gained consciousness, he aimed to be your best friend and sole confidant. He longed to be the person you turned to for counsel, and slowly but surely, things were unfolding just as he wanted.

Let's start from the beginning. Ezra and you were quite different in many ways, largely due to the contrasting upbringings you had. For example, while you cherished solitude and indulged in expensive hobbies like horseback riding, archery, and swordsmanship within the privacy of your estate, not to mention almost always busy learning and handling the business with your father. On the other hand, Ezra thrived in social settings. As a fashion designer, it was his job to attend lavish parties and stay connected with the latest trends. However, his socializing had a deeper purpose, to monitor the people in high circles and gauge their intentions toward his family, especially you.

Ezra was always vigilant, keeping tabs on potential rivals and meticulously recording this information. He made sure you were aware of everything you needed to know, and thanks to his discreet tactics, you were advancing. The way he giggled looking up at you when you patted his head in praise was endearing, if he were a puppy, his tail would surely have been wagging.

Ezra would do anything for his older sister because you're the best sister in the world! Despite being used to receiving expensive trinkets, he always gets teary-eyed when you gift him something special. Given your usually stoic and aloof demeanor, he can't help but cry tears of joy when you show him affection and smile at him. He ceaselessly rambles on about his latest projects and clothing line while you sit there, reading a book and nodding along, often clueless about what he’s saying. Yet, he still cherishes these moments because it’s only HIS sister who takes time out of her busy schedule for HIM. How could he not be grateful? That would be a crime. No other sister would ever do this for their brother! Anyway, back to designing some jockey apparels for you. You really need new ones.

As much as he dislikes your boisterous hobbies, he uses them as an excuse to spend time with you. He eagerly asks you to teach him, no matter how dirty his nails or clothes get, or how much he might risk getting sunburned. Every bit of it is worth it when someone like you is his mentor.

Your parents reprimended you for spoiling your baby brother but you always shrugged it off saying "How can I not spoil my only baby brother?." That's right sister, I am and will be always your only brother. He always makes sure to pass a victorious smirk to his parents who could only sigh in defeat at both of you.

Whenever it rains, he remembers how you love the rain while he hates it because it's all muddy but on the other hand memories of him as a kid getting scared of the thunder and you holding him in your bed in your protective embrace always warms his heart. Maybe this is where the habit of cuddling you has developed. Even now when something in his life goes wrong or he is having a tantrum , only your the one who can calm him or otherwise he is crying screaming and complaining for days and yes this is a true incident , the whole estate was close to becoming deaf if you hadn't come back from your academy bringing some new jewels and his favourite pastries for him.

Speaking of the academy, Ezra had to swallow the urge to throw another tantrum or cling to your feet when the time came for you to leave for further studies. He knew you had to do this for your own sake and the future of your family business. So, instead, he became like a second mother to you, sending letters to make sure you weren’t skipping classes—even though he knew you weren’t that kind of a person. He frequently asked about your meals and sports activities, but the part he hated most was even thinking about you having a potential lover. God, he couldn’t help but crumple up the third letter when he wrote about it, but he had to know. The thought of being secondary in your life, in everything, terrified him. What if you brought home a gold digger?! That’s how he saw anyone who came close to you. They didn’t care about your personality or charm, they were after that KA-CHING! And him being one of your top prized assets, he wasn’t about to let that happen.

His heart however calmed down when you replied with a simple 'No' about the question. Yay! Whenever you came back from academy , he was even more excited than your parents, who always found his enthusiasm adorable. How he ran back and forth scolding the servants for not cleaning your room properly , not having your favourite dish up to notch like DO YOUR FUCKING JOBS PROPERLY! He wouldn't stop yapping when you sat for tea after dinner but no matter how much you were exhausted from your journey , you still listened to him.

As cunning, witty, and sophisticated he was, Ezra made mistakes too, and in his mind, the worst mistake was failing at a task you assigned him. He would cower under your anger, fully aware that he had messed up. He was still learning the ins and outs of the tedious household budget—something he would have to manage for you one day—but it was boring, okay? Numbers just weren’t his thing. Even if you scolded him, he always waited for your apology, which you offered in your own way—like taking him out to his favorite café or silently sharing a cup of tea in his room. Moments later, he’d be hugging you, petulantly whining about you getting angry at him. He hated how you chuckled at his childish attitude, but deep down, he loved it too.

Life was going well until, one day he received a letter that you were unable to attend father's funeral due to work back in the academy. He knew it was a lie , you WOULD NEVER abandon your family like this , even your mother was skeptical. But since there was no sign of you coming back, he handled his grieving mother and the arrangements himself as much as he was dying inside due to your absence. Where were you? They needed you. You were their head now. He was worried sick.

After the guests left , it was only his uncles and aunts who sat in the living room while he came down after putting his mother to sleep.

"Ezra, dear boy. You must be tired, but there is something we need to discuss with you." The words made his blood boil, and he fought the urge to slap the indifferent looks off his father’s brothers and sisters. He knew exactly why they were still here—they were nothing but vile, disgusting pieces of filth, circling like vultures after the family’s money. He had always seen the malicious intent in their eyes when they interacted with you, and it broke his heart how you treated them as family while they plotted to push you out of the way. But he kept up the façade of a nice, obedient nephew, knowing that it would be handy for a moment like this. Where were they when he was struggling to handle everything? They only arrived at the last minute for their sibling's funeral. His poor father had died surrounded by snakes. But he swore he would never let the same happen to you. He would never betray you, his blood, like these filthy excuses for humans.

He wanted to throw up as they offered their insincere condolences, but he remained firm. They inquired about your absence, talking shit about your cold behavior for not being there, and this was his cue to play his cards right. Slipping into his favorite role as the bimbo younger brother, he wept, agreeing with their criticisms, and even cursed you, despite how much it made his heart ache. Eventually, they began to open up, believing in the hate and jealousy he pretended to harbor for you. While they didn’t reveal your whereabouts, they made it clear they deemed you as an unworthy heiress. He fake-laughed through his tears, gaining their trust the best that he could. They even had the audacity to suggest dividing the property among themselves, without even considering his mother as the rightful owner of anything. Oh, they were going to be obliterated.

He then promised to hand them the papers during a party he was going to arrange that too in a ferry. Acting on the information you once gave him, he contacted some gunmen for emergencies, making the necessary arrangements. Oh what a sight it was to see the ferry filled with the corpses of his treacherous relatives. One of the assassin came and informed that they had you abducted and thrown into a mental asylum on your way back to the estate for the funeral. His mouth hung agape at the revelation, his whole body seething with fury, and without wasting a moment, he set out to bring you back. But not before ordering the ferry to be blown up in the middle of the sea. He cackled maniacally from the dock as he watched the explosion, then leaped onto the back of one of the hitmen like a kid, gleeful at the destruction of those who had wronged you.

Once you were back and grieved a bit which only lasted for a few moments before you had to take care of covering up the bloodshed your baby brother did. But at the end you did it and currently Ezra was beside you on the arm of the chair while you worked on your late father's study table , now yours. "You are not mad at me, are you?" He asked softly, voice almost breaking at the end.

"You did what had to be done. I would have done the same to anyone who came after my family like this," you said, hearing him sniffle beside you. You gently caressed his arm, your gaze still fixed on the parchment. "Don’t cry, you know how much I hate seeing you cry, Ezzy." You felt him lay his head on your shoulder, his soft brunette locks brushing against your ear.

"Thank you… I couldn’t fucking stand them anymore, doing such… such a horrendous thing to you."

He suddenly burst into giggles, his feet dangling. "But it was fun! You know, before his death, Uncle Auden wore that hideous yellow sack coat. I saw it through the binoculars—God, he looked like a penguin getting on the ferr-!"

"Ezra." Your warning tone almost made him flinch. "What did I tell you about speaking ill of the dead?"

"I think they deserve a pass." His pout was defiant yet playful, and you couldn’t help but smile. His laughter was light, a contrast to the heaviness of this week.

He couldn't be more blissful than this. You looked as if you were made to sit in that chair, and he felt immensely proud to have cleared the path for you. He always would. As his heart pondered the future, a frown creased his brow. The thought of a day when you might stray, bringing a partner into the estate, unsettled him. Though that day seemed far off, he was already prepared to make their life hell. After all, the chances of you siding with a partner over him were slim. He has got his older sister wrapped around his manicured pinky.

➺Ezra x reader x hubby

[urhoneycombwitch]

I know what they call you.

Eddie Munson x shy!Reader You’re a little lost in your head. Eddie wants to find you.

foreword: The healing properties of good head <333 Anyways I labeled this R “shy” but she’s more… introverted? Reserved? this one goes out to the weird and off-putting girlies who have a lot to say but are kinda quiet instead. Timeline may be a bit wibbly but designed it to be early 4th-season era, with R (early 20s) having played an undetermined part in the various Upside Down battles from seasons previous. Loosely based on this anon every1 say thank you anon!

cw: alcohol/weed used as a social crutch, R is hassled by a guy at a party (but her boys back her up), brief vomit mention, implied bad home life for R, light SH by way of tight grip, PTSD, R has breasts+V, praise kink, oral (R receiving), one (1) spank, multiple orgasms (R), soft dom!eddie, overstim, coming in pants (E)

wc: 11k

___

It’s spring break, 1986, and you’re cursing the name of your so-called “best friend” Robin Buckley.

You didn’t even want to go to this stupid kegger in the first place, arguing with her the whole ride over from Steve’s backseat.

“Don’t you think it’s totally lame that you’re basically being chaperoned by two gap-year losers?” you’d said, leaning forward to rest your elbows on the console, seatbelt pulling taut across your Rolling Stones tee. “You’re a big girl, Robin, you don’t need Steve and me to babysit you anymore.”

Robin began protesting but Steve interrupted, tapping at your forearms without looking away from the road- “Sit back, wouldja, that’s not safe. And for the record, it’d only be lame if we were, like, thirty and still going to high school kickbacks. Gap-year drinking parties are a rite of passage.”

You’d sat back against your seat with a huff, arms crossed, unconvinced until Robin turned those big pleading eyes your way over the back of her seat. “You wanna talk about lame? Lame is me getting anywhere within a 60-foot radius of Vickie. I am totally hopeless around that absolute beauty.”

She’d twisted in her seat and reached for your hand, and you gave it to her grudgingly (the two of you ignoring another of Steve’s gripe about vehicular safety) as she said, “You’re like, the best wingwoman I’ve ever met. Please come to the party and help me avoid the natural disaster that is me running my mouth.”

Robin wasn’t just being generous- you were a killer third wheel. Especially when alcohol was involved: the walls that you naturally upheld around your introverted demeanor by day turned liquid as whiskey by night, often scoring you major cool points with your friends for things you barely remembered doing the day after. 

So you’d relented, and in turn resolved to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible (in the name of Robin’s aid, of course), but turns out your best friend didn’t even need your help in the first place; within 5 minutes of setting foot in the crammed house party Robin won a spot right next to Vickie on the living room couch, starry-eyed gaze saved only for the redhead that bore no room for your intervention.

Three shots ago, the situation would have struck you as funny, but it’s been a lonely time (what with Steve abandoning you, too, in favor of chatting up some college blonde); drifting from packed room to packed room, sneakers sticking to the floorboards, winding through throngs of sweaty dancing students just to keep on top of your alcohol consumption.

Kind of like hunting in the wild, you muse, leaned against a wall with red solo cup in hand. Flirt with Amy Thacker and her low-cut blouse to access the watering hole (Mystery Punch, green both in color and flavor); let Lenny Baker put his paws on your waist to gain entry to the standing liquor cabinet. The stuff of nature docs.

If this dimly-lit Hawkins party is the savanna, then you are the antelope- grazing on snacks, never staying in one spot for too long, minding your own business and staying way the hell away from the lion’s den (the group of jocks in Hawkins Tigers polos).

Unfortunately, you push off the wall in search of a refill at the same time Lenny Baker decides to sidle up to you, nearly knocking the cup from your grasp when he bends his thick head to shout in your ear above the music. 

“Great party, right?” His arms are crossed above his tank of a chest, blocking you from a smooth exit via the kitchen archway.

“If you’re into drunk teens, I guess,” you say back, pointedly, licking a stripe up your wrist from where the punch had sloshed onto your bare arm. 

When you look back up Lenny’s still standing there, watching you with a hungry edge that’s starting to make your well-honed antelope-sense tingle. As you not-so-subtly cast your glance around for Steve, Lenny leans in again, close enough to give you a sour whiff of his breath. “I’m legal, if that’s what’s got your panties in a twist. And what’s wrong with having some fun?”

“I’m not into having fun with douchebags who ‘roid away their remaining brain cells to bully my friends,” you retort, flatly. You doubt this guy knows you’re connected to the Hellfire group (de facto sitter, second only to Steve), but the insult seems to land anyways. 

Lenny scoffs, going for a low blow to offset the sting of his bruised ego- “If you’re trying to play the part of slut, you were doing a way better job earlier.”

What the meathead hasn’t picked up on yet is your absolute lack of care about him- or anyone else at this stupid fucking party, for that matter. Besides Robin and Steve, obviously, but they’re equally indisposed at the moment. You’re feeling bold enough that you could play dirty: throw the dregs of your drink in his face, make a real scene- but the shots from earlier are hitting you sideways and you’re not entirely confident in your ability to multitask. 

So instead, with a wink, you tell him, “At least this slut knows when to quit,” and turn on your heel, abandoning the kitchen escape route for a closer door that leads to the back porch.

You suck in lungfuls of cool night air, trying to clear the fuzz of booze from your vision. When you don’t hear any angry footsteps following in your wake, you sink against the wooden bannister and tip back the last of your drink in one swallow. Maybe Steve doubled back to the car…?

With your empty cup left neatly on the railing, you set off down the couple of steps that separate you from the grass, except the toe of your shoe catches on a hidden groove in the wood, and nothing is within reach to grab onto as you trip and begin to fall.

The stumble should have ended with you facedown in the dirt, but something- someone- solid breaks your downward path, catching the upper half of your body in a sturdy hold even as your legs twist around themselves.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, I gotcha. You okay?”

The voice is instantly familiar, one that you’ve heard ringing out from underneath the drama room door on countless occasions as you’ve waited on your various child wards to wrap up their D&D sessions.

Eddie Munson is holding you in his leather-clad arms, larger than life with that big cloud of hair and doe-eyed gaze matching yours. He helps you stand, properly, dropping his hands once you’re stabilized and taking the warmth of his palms with him. 

“You okay?” he asks again, tilting his head, looking at you with fresh concern from under that mop of bangs. “Looks like you had a lot to drink.”

“Thanks, Dad,” you drawl, bravado flooding back in. “Am I really gonna get a fucking lecture on drinking from my local drug dealer?”

Instead of rising to the bait or bristling at your tone, Eddie grins- delighted, wolfish- before letting out a low whistle. “Who coulda guessed: resident Shy Girl has a mouth on her.”

You twist said mouth into your own smile, one that you hope is coy and charming and not dorkily lopsided (because you stopped being able to feel your face after that last drink), and coo, “You thinkin’ about my mouth, Munson?”

He laughs- a full, vibrant sound that lights up the night. There’s a flutter in your ribcage, knocking up a frenzy at the noise, like it wants to get out and at him, but you tamp it down and play it cool.

“You’ve only seen me in the cold, unforgiving light of day,” you continue, as Eddie rifles through his pockets, surfacing with a pack of cigs, eye contact yet to be broken. “My nighttime alter ego is a real riot, all liquored up.”

“Well, I happen to think you’re a riot in the sober light of day, too.” Eddie shrugs a shoulder as he flips the lid of the cigarette box.

You’re unsure if he’s messing with you- he’s gotta be, right? The only meaningful interaction you two have had in the past handful of years has been through the courtesy of the children in your respective care- a few surface-level conversations during carpool pickup, some flirting on his end that you’ve always been too skittish to return. 

Well, until now, you guess. Maybe this is a good thing, him seeing you like this- it’ll either scare him away, or you’ll finally make good on the quiet crush you’ve been harboring.

You’re about to speak again when the porch door opens with a bang; you and Eddie swivel at the same time to see Lenny clomping noisily towards the steps, voice booming out over the thrum of bass back inside- “This freak bothering you?”

You look between the metalhead and the jock, eyes wide and mocking as you call back, “No, but you’re starting to!”

“Jesus, talk about poking the bear,” you hear Eddie mutter behind you, but your focus is taken up by the fact that Lenny is tromping down the steps and reaching out to grab your upper arm, his cold and clammy palm taking up a sizeable amount of space.

You can feel that rage, simmering and easily accessed, start to crawl over your skin. You stand your ground in the face of someone much larger than you, sneakers planted firmly, chin tilted in defiance- I’ve killed monsters in alternate dimensions, asswipe. You might’ve scared me back in high school but now I dare you to fuck with me. 

Before Eddie can jump to your defense, you’re already going in for the bite, voice dripping with derisiveness. “So glad your right hand found its way off your dick for a change, Len. How about you do me one better and take it far, far away from here?”

Lenny’s face is almost purple with anger as his grip tightens, and you feel Eddie moving in at your back- to do what exactly, hard to say, ‘cuz Lenny’s got about 60 pounds on the lanky DM- but just as fast as the tension has ramped up, it gets diffused with the arrival of one Steve Harrington from around the corner of the house.

He cuts a smooth path through the grass to your other side, Robin’s sweater slung over one arm, twirling his car keys in neat loops around his finger, boasting a casual demeanor that doesn’t match up with the steely look he’s giving Lenny. “You heard the girl, Baker. Time to am-scray.”

Whether it’s the rumors of Steve’s nail bat or the manic look in your eyes or the fact that he’s outnumbered, Lenny’s got plenty of reason now to drop your arm. 

Which he does, spitting one last “bitch” at you before hulking off into the night.

The anger in you recedes like a wave. You breathe out a dry laugh, then turn back to the boys, clasping your hands over your heart with faux-dopeyness. “My heroes. How will I ever repay you?”

“Shutting up, for a change, would be a great start,” Steve grouses over the sound of Eddie’s cackles.

“Holy shit. Can’t believe your girl’s feistiness almost landed me in the hospital.” Eddie shakes his head, plucking a cigarette out and sticking it between his plush lips.

“She’s not my girl,” Steve says, even as you wind your arms around his chest from behind, tucking your chin over his shoulder. “She is, unfortunately, my problem.”

“I love when you two talk about me like I’m not here.” You simper at Eddie from your draped position.

He’s watching you with a fondness that feels overly familiar, through the haze of smoke streaming from his nostrils as you pat the chest beneath your hands- “Don’t worry about ol’ Stevie boy. He’s turned into quite the good guard dog after the whole Russian mall takeover last year.”

“Aaaaand that’s enough talking from you,” Steve says firmly, twisting out of your arms and putting his own around your waist. “Say goodbye to your new buddy, we’ve got a Robin to collect.”

As Steve steers you towards the direction of his car you wave at Eddie, a motion that he returns, his rings glinting in the porch light.

“Christ, you really are somethin’ else with some drinks in you,'' Steve fusses, helping you into the backseat, hand shooting up to block the door frame before your head can collide with the metal. “Did you seriously have to bring up the Russians?”

“He probably thought it was a joke, Steve,” you say, exasperated and fighting the twisted middle seatbelt with uncoordinated hands. “You know… those things that you tell people when you wanna get in their pants?”

The crack was aimed at Steve’s recent string of strike-outs in the dating department, but he throws it back at you. “You’re trying to get in Eddie Munson’s pants?”

“No,” you sputter, indignant and feeling suddenly too hot. 

Steve knocks your still-struggling hands from the belt, clicking you in himself, before pointing an accusatory finger in your face. “Stay here while I get Robin, and no throwing up in the Beemer.”

He shuts the door, Robin’s sweatshirt hanging from one shoulder while he stalks back into the house. 

You let your head fall back against the seat and close your eyes, bright cherry embers of cigarettes between lush-lipped curves dancing behind the dark of your lids. 

___

You manage to avoid throwing up in the BMW, saving the worst of it for the downstairs toilet of the Harrington house after Steve drags you and Robin indoors. Once your body is purged of the spirits, you collapse into your usual side of the guest bed, sweaty and exhausted, murmuring an apology to Robin who squeaks at the rocking movement of the mattress. In a few minutes, you’re lulled to sleep by the gentle snores of your best friend.

The morning sun is a very rude awakening, Robin apparently having forgotten to close the blinds before leaving with Steve for their shifts at Family Video. There’s a full glass of water on the bedside table and a few loose Tylenol tablets, the word “DRINK” sprawled on a sticky note in Steve’s handwriting.

You wince, down the meds along with half the water, and start the search for your sneakers.

When you’d signed up to protect a bunch of teens at the end of the world awhile back, it had seemed like a one-time gig. But now, here you were a few years later, loading yourself into your curb-parked junker to willingly cart around the same kids.

While wearing yesterday’s clothes. Even with the sprays of cologne that you’d stolen from Steve’s dresser, you’re pretty sure you’ll be fooling no one.

Evidenced by your first stop in east Hawkins for Dustin Henderson, who clambers into the front seat with a scathing appraisal. “Rough night?”

“You could say that,” you reply, shifting the gear to drive and grimacing at the subsequent squeal of metal that pierces into your left temple. “Learn from my mistakes as a washed-up twenty-something and cool it on the teen drinking, all right?”

“Washed up though you may be,” Dustin intones sagely, digging through his backpack and producing two brown-paper bundles, “you are now one Claudia Henderson Breakfast Sandwich Deluxe richer.”

You take the proffered sandwich gratefully, steering with one hand to peel back the oil-stained paper from the still-warm bread. “God. Is your mom looking to adopt?”

“She’s kind of got the perfect child already, but I’ll keep my ear to the ground for ya,” Dustin says around a mouthful of cheese and egg.

The solid breakfast helps your stomach ease back into a place of normality, but with your next stop adding two more kids to the mix, the rowdy bickering that follows puts that Tylenol to work.

“You’re an idiot,” Max is saying to Lucas over the sound of his indignation in the back seat. “You seriously think Indiana Jones would win against Supergirl? She can shapeshift, and she has heat vision.”

“All I’m saying is, it’s really hard to see a whip coming.” Lucas is stretching the limits of his seatbelt in his earnestness to get his girlfriend on his side.

It doesn’t work- Max rolls her eyes and taps at your shoulder. “Help me out here. His logic is totally shit, right?”

Making a turn onto the main road, you nod your assent without looking back. “I think you should listen to your very smart girlfriend, Lucas.”

Max makes a triumphant “hah”, and Dustin adds fuel to the argument’s fire when he drags in some other comic book character that you’ve never heard of. 

You hazard a glance in your rear-view mirror at Max, who’s too busy dishing out an enthusiastic rebuttal to notice. Her auburn braids swing with the movement of the car, and you wonder if they were done by her mother before work or if Max had to rely on her own hair expertise again. 

You’ve got a real soft spot for Max, always have. While you both have plenty of cause to bond over shitty home lives, it’s also Max’s brash and defiant attitude that drew you to her. She’s got the bravery you can only hope for, something that you are sure to tell her frequently, even though the compliment is hard for her to take.

You score a parking spot that’s right in front of the arcade, calling after the kids already scrambling out of your car that you want to leave at noon, sharp. They all give some form of distracted acknowledgement before disappearing into the building, so you figure the earliest you'll be getting out of here is noon-thirty. 

Not like you have much to do today, anyways, besides bother Steve and Robin at work- since the arcade is conveniently located right next to Family Video, it’s a perfect excuse to wait out the kids’ spring break activities in the company of your nearest and dearest.

You’re cutting a swift track up the sidewalk when you nearly collide with Eddie Munson, for the second time in less than 24 hours.

“Hey!” He beams at you, a wide, easy thing that fits on his face so well, like it was made to be there, boyish dimples digging in. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah,” you agree, trying to smile back but probably landing somewhere in the grimace region as memories of last night float to the forefront of your mind. Small talk. You can do it. Say something. “Um. Were you getting a movie?”

“Nah.” Eddie shakes his head, hooks a thumb at the Family Video doors behind himself. “Keith’s one of my regulars. That guy might actually smoke more weed than me.”

You hum mildly to show you’re still paying attention but really you’re looking at Eddie’s hair, dark curls that shift with each of his movements. His hair isn’t black, like you’ve been led to believe this whole time- with the morning light shining through, highlighting the halo frizz around the edges, it’s actually a deep, chocolatey brown.

Similar to his eyes. Which are trained on you. Because you haven’t talked in a weird amount of time and are now just openly ogling his hair. 

Before you can open your mouth to apologize Eddie asks, “You wanna smoke?”

You nod, perhaps a tad too enthusiastically, and then stretch on your tiptoes to peer around Eddie’s frame at the Family Video sign. “Yeah, but we gotta be fast unless you want the Wonder Twins joining us.”

His grin slips into a smirk, and he winks before taking your hand in his. “A quickie, then.”

That fluttering thing in your ribs is back. The metal of Eddie’s rings are cool against your palm as he leads you around the side of the building, dropping your hand once you both are leaned up against the red brick.

Trying not to outright stare again, you watch from the fringes of your vision as Eddie lights up and breathes a cloud of smoke into the air. His nails are painted black- they weren’t last night. An image of him- hunched over a kitchen table, tongue sticking out of those pillowy lips in concentration, a nail polish brush held in his long fingers- flits across your mind.

Eddie holds the cigarette out, filter-side towards you, and you shake your head lightly. “No thanks. I don’t actually smoke, I just wanted to talk to you.”

Eddie glows. Before he gets the wrong idea you start explaining, arms crossing tight over your chest in unconscious defense- “I wanted to talk about last night. And say I’m sorry. I’m not usually so…”

“Badass? Charming? Hot?” Eddie fills in when you trail off, taking in another deep drag of smoke. 

Christ. You feel heat rushing from head to toe as you ward off his flattery, nails nipping into your upper arms. “I was gonna say… talkative? I guess? I’m normally not one to pick fights, but Lenny was being a dick and I don’t like the way he treats the kids, or you, for that matter, and I was drunk and mouthy but that’s not an excuse to drag you into it and I’m sorry-”

“Hey, hey.” Eddie’s tone is soothing, low, cutting smoothly into your feverish confession. He reaches out and strokes the back of his knuckle across your hand, tiny half-moons from your nails leaving their impression as you soften your grasp on yourself.

He doesn’t seem to mind that you can’t look anywhere but at your sneakers planted in the gravel as he says, “You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. I’m a big boy, I can handle myself when it comes to dickwads like Lenny Baker. And I would say that rescuing fair maidens is part of my job description, but…”

Eddie stubs the half-smoked cigarette out against the brick, flicks it to the ground, and waits until you look up at him again before saying “You don’t seem like you’re in need of any saving.”

That flutter, again, as you hold his eye contact for as long as you can stand it. 

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “There she is.”

Mortified, you resist the urge to scream into your hands as you push off from the brick, instead squeezing them into fists at your sides. “Oh-kay. Well. I better head inside or Robin will send out the search party for me.”

Eddie lets you walk past him, but just before you turn the corner he says, “I’m across from the Mayfields in Forest Hills if you ever want some company. Or some good weed.”

Footfalls from his thick-heeled boots recede into the distance, and you take a minute to calm your breathing before pushing your way through the doors of Family Video.

Steve’s stocking a shelf of New Releases at the front of the store, vest-clad torso faced away as the bell above the door signals your entrance. On autopilot he monologues, “Welcome to Family Video, let us know how we can be of service.”

“Aw, I miss the days when you were forced to say Ahoy, mateys!” You tease, Steve turning to give you an irritated frown as you prop your hip against the register counter.

Robin clacks away on the computer, hitting the Enter key a little harder than necessary as she says, “You’re about one mall fire and a bajillion NDA’s too late to ever hear that shit again.”

Keith must be lurking around in the back office, ‘cuz the three of you only refer to last year’s cataclysmic series of events as a “mall fire” when you’re talking in code. 

Or if you’re trying to be funny. But based on the dark circles under Robin’s eyes and the harried way Steve’s shoving a hand through his hair as he drifts towards the counter, you surmise that the three of you are very much on the same page this morning with regards to humor and hijinks.

“I didn’t know it was possible to be this hungover,” Robin groans, sinking her hand into a torn-open Skittles bag and popping a handful into her mouth. “Sugar is supposed to help, right?”

You snort, fiddling with a stack of paper brochures as Steve leans against the counter. 

“Had any more run-ins with the town riffraff?” He asks, feigning casual, honey-colored eyes roaming around the shop.

“I’m visiting you, aren’t I?” You shoot back, unreasonably defensive. 

“Another point for the pretty lady, and Harrington strikes a zero,” Robin totals in her best sports broadcasting voice. “What the hell are you talking about, Steve?”

“Drinky McGee over here was spilling her guts last night to none other than Edward Munson,” Steve replies, looking satisfied when Robin’s eyes bug dramatically.

“Eddie?” Robin hops off the stool, sliding her hands from the other side of the counter to stop your own from ripping the brochures to shreds. “And what, pray tell, were you spilling about with Eddie Muson?”

“Nothing.” You pull your hands from Robin’s, rolling your eyes as if the stakes are low, when in fact the stakes are as tall as the Empire State Building. You can practically hear the wind whistling from this height. “I wasn’t… we barely talked. He was backing me up when some jock started messing with me. That’s all.”

Robin whirls on Steve with animosity- “You left her alone long enough for some meathead to get involved? Jesus, Steve, the hell is wrong with you?”

“Like you shacking up with Vickie after two Tears for Fears tracks is any more responsible!” Steve snaps.

Having spent enough time with both your friends to know their propensity towards petty arguments, you slap a hand against the counter to derail. “Hey! Both of you knock it off. It’s fine, I’m fine, we survived yet another night out on the town unscathed. Let’s just… drop it.”

Steve looks properly chastised, but Robin gets a glint in her eye that confirms she’s not thrown off the scent so easily. 

“You know what they call him, right?” she asks you, lowering her raspy voice even further.

“Eddie The Freak Munson,” Steve supplies, but shrinks noticeably when Robin gives him a withering look. “...not that, then?”

“Of course you, Steve The Hair Harrington, would only know him by that name.” Robin shakes her head, disapproving, before turning back to you with a wicked grin. “Word on the street holds Eddie The Munch Munson in very high regard.”

Steve scoffs at this, but you blink, uncomprehending.  “Munch, like… he eats a lot of food?”

You feel very suddenly and violently ganged up on when Steve and Robin give you mirrored quizzical looks.

“No, babe,” Robin says, slowly. “Munch as in he eats pussy.”

“Jesus christ.” Heat courses through you as you scan the empty store, even as Steve chuckles and says, “You really are a prude.”

A skittle sails airborne into the side of his temple and he flinches, Robin coming to your aid. “That’s no way to talk to a lady, Steven.”

“I’m so not a prude.” You’re quick to jump to your own defense. “I just… didn’t know what that meant.”

You’d had a boyfriend for 6 months your sophomore year of high school, Ben- nice enough guy, but you’d mostly dated as an excuse to get all your firsts out of the way. Some laid-back hookups have occurred since then- it’s not like you’ve been chaste all these years, for fuck’s sake.

But you certainly wouldn’t give any of those boys a prize-winning nickname for their ability to eat you out. 

“It’s all baseless gossip, right?” Steve grabs a nearby wheeled cart and pushes it to the New Releases, resuming his shelf stocking. “I mean, what the hell else are small-townies good for other than trading lies like baseball cards.”

“I dunno,” Robin says, thoughtfully, sucking at her front teeth. “If the token lesbian is hearing about it, then he’s gotta be some sort of sex god.”

Steve’s making a snarky comeback, but you can’t hear him over the whistling in your ears.

You stare blankly out at the parking lot, one hand absently crunching at a brochure, trying really hard to think of anything but those plush lips and all the places you want them. 

____

Ever since the events of last year ripped a hole in your found family’s world, you make it a weekly habit to visit Max.

You’re always armed with some excuse- made too much pasta, please take it off my hands and put this tupperware in your fridge; I was on my way to the thrift store and thought I’d stop by, wanna come with and help me pick out some new jeans?- so that it’s harder for Max to deny your company. Slowly, over the last handful of months, by way of secondhand book offerings and slices of leftover pizza, Max has let her guard down enough to let you in. 

Even on days like today, when her demeanor suggests active disdain (calling you “mom” with a caustic bite when you ask after her last meal, rolling her eyes when she finds you doing the leftover sink dishes), you don’t take it personal. Her coldness towards little acts of kindness is due to the shitty way other people have failed her. And plus, you’ve put in enough effort to be able to see the warm side of Max Mayfield.

Like now, for instance- she’s giving you a bone-crushing hug on your way out, freshly-braided hair pressed tight to your sternum as you hug her back and sway in the doorway. The hug is quick and fierce, over in seconds as she slips back into practiced indifference

“Stay out of trouble this week and I’ll buy you a pony,” you joke as she pulls away, and the smile that she cracks makes it all worth it. 

“Make it a racehorse and you’ve got yourself a deal,” she says, giving you a small wave before closing her front door.

You walk down the dirt path to your parked car, keys in hand. Tonight’s schedule is that of a responsible, sensible young adult- the classified ads on your desk at home need trawling through, and a laundry pile the size of Hoosier Hill waits expectantly on your floor.

But there’s this crawling under your skin, a feeling that tends to flare up every so often, a craving for some sort of release gnawing at the edges. Usually the cure is sad music and masturbation, or some of Steve’s parents’ wine and a cheesy romcom. 

Or weed. That tends to work, too.

You’re shoving your keys into the pocket of your denim jacket and walking across the way to Eddie’s trailer before you lose your nerve, scuffing your sneakers against his porch while you knock.

He looks surprised to see you, dark brows raised, leaning into the palm he’s got on the doorframe- “Oh shit. Hi.”

“Hi,” you reply, tracking one foot up the back of your calf, feeling timid under his gaze. “Do you… can I buy some weed?”

When he nods, you duck under his arm and drop to one knee on the carpeted floor to untie your laces.

“Shit, sweetheart, don’t go to all that trouble.” He lets the door close, enveloping you both in the moody lighting of his trailer. There’s a radio playing the local rock station dimly from one of the bedrooms, and as you toe off your shoes you notice a gleaming black guitar leaned upright against the couch.

“Do you play?” You drift over on sock feet to gently brush across the strings, a faint and discordant noise rising and fading underneath your fingertips.

“Yeah.” Eddie’s voice comes from just over your shoulder as he watches your gentle fingers on his prized possession. “I’m in a band, actually. You should come see us play sometime.”

“That’s cool,” you say earnestly. “I remember when you got in trouble for that talent show performance- your band was totally swindled out of first place, if you ask me.”

When he doesn’t respond right away, you hazard a look at him over your shoulder and find him staring at you again, something you’re still not used to, giggling out a little “What?” as his eyes stay on your face.

“You’re pretty, that’s all.” The Dio logo on the front of his tee ripples when he shrugs a shoulder. As if he knew it would embarrass you, he leaves no room for your disagreement, turning away into the kitchen, stretching tall for the metal lunchbox on the top of his fridge.

His shirt lifts with the stretch, a flash of stomach lined with a trail of dark hair that makes you swallow back the gathering saliva in your mouth. 

“So, weed,” he’s saying as he pops the lid on the box, shaking out a small bag of fuzzy-looking green clumps. “I can set you up with a couple of days’ worth, if you want.”

“That sounds good,” you reply, mustering courage to drift to Eddie’s side, pretending to assess the baggie he’s holding, committing to memory the way his long fingers deftly pluck apart bud from stem. “That way I can come back and buy more.”

His fingers pause, halfway to the metal grinder nestled in the lunchbox as he says, “You know, you don’t need to use weed as an excuse to come see me. I think we’ve already established I like lookin’ at ya, so you’d be doing me a favor if you came by more. Just to hang out.”

This offer sits between you as he grinds the weed down, then tips a stripe of it neatly across some rolling paper. His dexterous fingers pinch and tuck until a joint takes shape, a small strip of the paper poking out.

He holds it to your lips, brown eyes shimmering with warmth as he waits. 

A Stevie Nicks song starts up on the radio, muffled by the trailer walls but crooning through all the same. This close to Eddie for the first time, you can smell him- balmy and spicy, like bergamot and Irish Spring. 

You lean into the joint, licking across the paper in one unbroken motion. Your tongue catches on Eddie’s thumb when you pull away, and there’s a salt-warm taste that settles in your mouth.

“Good girl,” he says, in that low-toned voice, and you have to fight to keep your thighs from pressing together in your jeans.

“Wanna smoke here?” Eddie smooths the spit-damp end of the joint down, giving the end a twist. “Good way to test out the merchandise. First one’s free.”

You shake your head as he extends the joint- “I’m definitely paying you, Eddie. And no, I can’t smoke here.” With you being the unspoken addition to that sentence. 

“Aw, shucks, sweetheart,” he drawls, devilish grin creeping back in, “You don’t trust me?”

“It’s not you I don’t trust,” you admit, before you can stop yourself.

His brows shoot up again, then waggle, obscenely. “Afraid I’m gonna be too tempting to resist once you’re in the clutches of the Green Dragon?”

Something like that, you think, wryly, but that fluttering is back and you really want to shut it up, so against your sensible, better judgment, you take the joint from Eddie’s hand.

“Got a light?”

You haven’t smoked in over a month, and with your tolerance so low two hits is all it takes to get you sprawled out on the living room floor, arms akimbo like you’re making a carpet snow angel.

Eddie’s a bit more restless in his high, plucking melodious and listless tunes from the couch with his guitar, one foot propped on the coffee table near your head.

Feeling loose-limbed and confident, you stare unabashed up at Eddie. He’d put his hair into a low bun, earlier, and there are a few dark tendrils swinging free around his neck with the rocking movements of his body to the music. 

He hits a snag, string buzzing out a dissonant noise. “Can’t focus with you lookin’ at me.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, except you’re not at all. “Now you know how I feel all the time.”

He sticks his tongue out at you, your girlish tittering in answer; you pat the carpet beside your hip. “Come lay with me.”

His body responds easily to your request; Eddie props the guitar back up against the couch and stretches out next to you with a sigh, a wave of that smokey sweet smell coming with him.

Under your weed-filtered view, the popcorn ceiling above you is moving, whorling and undulating in the muted light. You’re feeling gutsy and sure of yourself as you ask aloud, “Do you really think I’m pretty?”

Your head turns so you can meet Eddie’s eyes, which are dancing across your face- cheek to lips to nose back up to eyes- and he doesn’t make a joke, this time, his words coming with weighty seriousness.

“Yeah, I do. I think you’re beautiful. Always have.”

“Always?” Your echo is a soft and seeking thing.

“Yeah, always,” he confirms, simply, as if it’s a fact of life. “Woulda made a move sooner, but you always seemed so…”

“Unapproachable? Aloof? Bitchy?” You fill the gap in his speech with adjectives that have been used to characterize you in the past- usually by boys in the heat of an argument over inconsequential things that have been lost to time, only the labels sticking around. 

Eddie gives you a reproachful look. “No. I was gonna say, you seemed like you were always in your own world.”

This throws you for a loop. Neck on a swivel, you look back up at the ceiling as Eddie continues.

“I wanted to get to know you more, but I’ll be the first to admit I was intimidated by you. I mean, you’re way out of my league-” Eddie ignores the sardonic snort you give to this- “-and I just assumed asking you out would've ended with an epic crash and burn.”

The ceiling stops swaying, and you swivel back to hold Eddie’s eyes again, the weed making honesty easy. “I always kinda thought you were beautiful, too.”

Awash with the bravery that only comes from being in an altered state, you keep the momentum that’s aided by Eddie’s soft smile and push up on your elbows. 

“I know what they call you.”

Eddie blinks up at you, then slowly, slowly, pushes himself up onto his elbows too. “Yeah?”

It’s a taunt, a dare, an I bet you won’t.

Shows how much he knows. When you’re drunk or stoned, he’d be hard pressed to find a bet you can’t win.

You say it, unwavering. “Eddie The Munch Munson.”

His lips fall open, leaning in towards you as if drawn by a magnet, and you think he’s gonna kiss you until he falls back against the carpet, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Shit. Fuck. We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” You’re a little taken aback, ‘cuz while it’s not an outright rejection, Eddie’s upping the drama, hands pressed into the sockets of his eyes, groaning as he tips into your side.

With his forehead pressed into the curve of your shoulder, he says softly, “I think we’re both a little too stoned to be thinking clearly. And I really, really want you to think clearly when it comes to this.”

“Comes to what?” You’re egging him on now, trailing your fingers up his bicep, coy and angelic. 

He rolls away from you, making a pained noise with his face smushed into the carpet before pushing himself off the ground. “You know what, princess. New topic, for the love of god. You hungry?”

You are, actually, and when he extends his hand to help you up, you take it.

Eddie whips up a box of mac and cheese while you sit on a counter nearby, conversation engaging and fluid as he cooks.

Between interjections of ‘scuse me, angel, gotta get into this cabinet and can you take over stirring for a sec? you answer all his questions. You tell him your favorite bands, the states you’d visited on a road trip when you were six, even giving him the whole “my mom’s a nice enough person but we don’t get along” spiel that you don’t usually get to until a third date.

If that’s even what this is. He’s scooping steaming noodles into two bowls, passing you one, leaning up against the counter closest to the one you’re sat on. Your knee rubs against his ribcage as you eat.

In between chews, he lets you ask about himself- his favorite bands, the states he’s never been but wants to travel to someday, the highlights of his golden years with his mom that he misses every day.

There’s a quiet lull, after your bowls are scraped clean and set aside. He helps you off the counter and tells you to pick out a movie; you load The Black Cauldron into the VCR and settle into the couch cushion.

Eddie puts an arm around you, lets you play with his hands for the bulk of the film, running your nails methodically across his palms. 

By the last act of the movie, you can feel your high beginning to fade, taking your courage with it; when the credits roll, you’re ready to call it quits and sleep off the hangover in your own bed.

“You sure you’re okay to drive?” Eddie asks, following after you as you tug your sneakers back on in the hall.

“Yeah, Eddie, I’ll be good. Thanks for the weed,” you say, pulling your jacket tight around your frame. “And for the- for everything.”

The smile appears again; the one that cuts deep dimples into his cheeks as he watches you step onto his porch.

When he says your name, you turn, keys in hand- “Yeah?”

Leaning into the doorframe like he had earlier, he cants his head, streetlight a warm glow across his cheeks. “You wanna know where I got my nickname, you come back in a few days. Sleep on it tonight.” And then he closes the door.

___

So, technically, he told you to come back in a few days, and showing up less than 24 hours later has to hint at being some sort of desperate. 

Which, fuck it, you kinda are, at this point. Frankly it’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long what with the whole being plagued with visions of Eddie Munson’s hands and lips and hair and that stupid fucking nickname every waking and dreaming hour you’ve spent apart. 

While you can appreciate the honorable nature of Eddie asking you to make a clear-headed decision, you’re wishing for a hundred things to take the edge off as you change out of the PJ’s you’ve been moping in all day.

Black tights stretch over your calves as you think of the whiskey you mom keeps hidden in the downstairs cabinet; denim miniskirt smoothed over your hips as you long for a deep hit of weed; hands shakily plucking your black tanktop into place as the urge to be anything but sober gets swallowed down. 

You make the ten minute drive to Forest Hills in silence (relative to the weird engine noises your hunk of metal car decides to make), wracking your brain for silver-tongued excuses but instead drawing blank after blank.

By the time you’re rolling to a stop in front of Eddie’s trailer, you still have no idea what you’re gonna say to him- only that something needs to be said. Max is at the Sinclair’s for the night, one less person to worry about witnessing you slamming your car door shut and walking right up to Eddie on his front steps.

He’s wearing a pair of overalls, grease-stained, shirtless underneath- the tail end of a larger ink piece peeking out against his ribs. There’s a lone bike tire on the ground, held steady by the spokes his boot rests on as he wrenches the middle hub, biceps rippling and flexing with each movement. 

Certainly a sight that would have stopped you in your tracks, on any other day. But you’re determined to have it out with the returning wingbeat behind your navel, planting your Converse in the gravel just before the first step that Eddie’s sat on.

He doesn’t seem surprised to see you this time, instead giving you a lazy smile on a half-tilt, wiping the tire oil from his hands onto the front of his overalls.

“What brings a fair maiden such as yourself to this ugly neck of the woods?” Eddie leans the tire up against the steps and rises to greet you.

You’re gonna lose what little nerve you have left if he touches you so you act quick, speaking as you cross your arms- “I need to tell you a few things.”

That stops him up short, just a few feet away as he inclines his head, hair loose around his bare shoulders. “I’m nothin’ but ears.”

A wet, rattling breath catches in your chest. You give a cursory scan around to confirm that the rest of the trailer park citizens are indoors, soft lights from rows of windows luminous against the darkening twilight sky.

“I have a… a thing,” you start, unsure of where to begin, really wishing you’d come up with a polished script on the ride over instead of being forced to flounder through for the right dialogue. “It started last year. With the mall fire?” 

When Eddie nods his understanding, you continue, in short starts and bursts, like you’re fighting with the words before they come out.

“Something… happened. To Robin, and Steve, and to- to me. It was really bad, for awhile, and then it got better, but I’m still…” your hands squeeze tight into the flesh of your upper arms, nails stinging. “I’m fucked up from it. And the only way I can talk about it is if I’m fucked up, too. S’why I can only hold a conversation when I’m drunk or flirt while I’m high, like there’s this bad thing inside of me that I can’t look at when I’m sober-”

There’s a frantic edge that’s slipped in to your voice and Eddie steps towards you, as if to soothe, but you’re not ready to give in yet so you take a step back, choking out the last few words- “I just- I wish I could tell you everything, but I can’t, not yet, and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

From somewhere in the forest behind, a bright chorus of crickets swells as you fix your focus on the ground, as Eddie’s boots crunch forward on the gravel, toe-to-toe with your sneakers.

He moves carefully, as if worried that you’ll spook- lightly brushing his fingers across yours, drawing your awareness to the fact that your nails are dangerously close to drawing blood, a sigh as you release.

“Thank you for telling me.” Unlike your own voice, his is low and sure as his thumbs brush against the red half-moons in your arms. “You’re really brave, you know that?”

He doesn’t leave room for you to dispute this, instead tracing the underside of your jaw with his knuckle, forcing you to hold his gaze, those deep brown eyes soft with empathy as he says, “I don’t have any expectations of you, ‘kay? I’ll be all ears when you need me to be, but you don’t have to spill all your secrets every time you come around. You wanna just watch shitty cartoons and keep my couch warm, that’s fine by me. Nothin’ else needs to happen.”

And it’s his acknowledgement of your admission, his softhearted way of letting you know that nothing needs to happen, that makes you brave.

Brave enough to tilt your chin into the lift of his finger as you say, “I didn’t just come here to apologize.”

You watch his Adam’s apple bob against the taut vein in his neck as he swallows, hard. 

“Yeah?”

When you nod, Eddie blows out a breath and turns on his heel, motioning you to follow him up the stairs. 

Your eagerness is obvious as you scramble up the steps after him, heart starting to thrum in tandem with the flutters as he shuts his front door behind the both of you.

“Take your shoes off,” is all he says, in a low, strained voice, before turning into the kitchen.

Obedient, you drop to one knee and jerk apart your sneaker laces with trembling hands. 

Now on nyloned feet, you step onto the linoleum tile of Eddie’s kitchen. He’s faced away from you at the sink, taut lines of his shoulders rising and falling as he washes his hands.

“You’re sober?” He asks, still at the sink, drying his hands on a patterned teatowel. 

When you realize he can’t see your nod, you speak- “Yes. Yeah. As a judge.”

A soft exhale through his nose, amused, as he finally turns to face you. Eddie’s eyes do that hypnotizing dance- skipping from your chin to your eyes to your lips back up again- and you let him, feeling exposed to the point of nakedness with the intensity of his focus.

“I want to hear you say it.”

The sentence winds through the air, joins the wings in your stomach, sits low in your belly as you shift your weight from side to side, a gentle rock to ease your flayed-alive nerves. 

You say it. “I want your mouth.”

Eddie takes a step closer, nearly toe-to-toe with you again. Over the familiar layer of bergamot and fresh hand soap he smells like the outdoors, and faintly of mechanic oil, hearty and wild.

“Where?” It’s a single word, but with so much weight- suggestive, a taunt, an offer.

You breathe him in, eyes fluttering closed, ‘cuz brave as you’ve been it’s still hard to say some things while looking at him. “Want your mouth… on me.”

He crowds into your space, one hand gliding smoothly to set against your waist, the other fitted against your neck, tapping a thumb to your lips.

You part them, passive and wanting, but he doesn’t press his finger to the pad of your tongue like you’d hoped. Instead, he lets his thumb stroke to the corner of your mouth to make room for his own. 

“Where?” he asks again, this time into your mouth. You can feel the tip of his nose graze yours, pinpricks of his hair tickling your cheeks. 

“Please,” is all you manage this time, awash with heat when you feel his smile form. 

“S’okay, sweetheart. I’ll work you up to it.” It’s a touch condescending, skirting that fine line between tease and mean, the same tone of voice that has your thighs pressing together.

And then, he gives you what you asked for. His plush lips- the ones that you’ve been fantasizing about for what feels like eons- are pressing against yours.

It’s a kiss that starts chaste, tender, but soon devolves into a heady, fevered thing when you push your tongue past the seam of his lips. He melts into you, using the hand he has on your face to keep you steady as he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, grazing his teeth into the plush of it before going back to twining his tongue with yours. 

There’s an audible wet click as he pulls away, both of your chests heaving in the quiet that follows; Eddie rests his forehead against yours briefly to catch his breath, and then he’s tugging you down the hall and into his room.

It’s pleasantly messy and lived-in, posters and photographs taking up most of the walls, guitar cables snaking and criss-crossing atop his dresser. You take a seat on the bed, hands tightening into the flannel duvet while Eddie begins to undo the buttons of his overall straps.

Wholly fascinated, you watch as he pushes the thick material from his body and kicks it to the side, leaving him in just his guitar pick necklace and a simple pair of black boxers. Now on full display, you drink in the sight of the most skin you’ve ever seen of his- tattoos at his chest and arms dark against the rest of him, pale and gleaming softly in the yellow light of the bedside lamp. 

You’re trying to figure out if the larger piece on his ribs is a dragon or some other mythological creature when he moves in to sit next to you, his kisses erasing all thoughts.

Eddie’s making these throaty little noises as you kiss; his hands track lines from your hips to your sides to your shoulders, your chest unconsciously pressing into his touch. 

When his thumb catches on the outline of your beaded nipple through your shirt, he hisses lightly, drawing back to look at you again- “Is this okay?”

You nod, but he doesn’t seem satisfied with that, tsking as he swipes with his thumb again, watching closely as you react silently to the touch.

“Hard to tell when you’re enjoying yourself if you’re quiet as a churchmouse,” Eddie says, in a tone that’s reminiscent of training a pet. “You gonna let me hear you?”

Your teeth catch on your lower lip as he thumbs across your nipple again, shockwaves coursing into goosebumps as you choke out, “I’m not s-so good at that. Not without- fuck- weed..”

Eddie huffs a laugh, a little derisive but you figure he’s probably got the right, seeing as how you’re this worked up and he’s barely touched you.

“You’re plenty good at this sober, sweetheart. Want me to prove it?”

His hand falls from your breast, extricates one of yours from the covers, and slides it up the meat of his thigh- then to the front of his boxers.

The first noise you make for him is a small gasp, one that matches his own as you cup your palm over the thick jut of his hard cock.

“Told you,” he says, sounding strung-out, his hand still closed around your wrist, “You’re doin’ just fine at working me up.”

You wrap your fingers around the bulge as best you can with the fabric of his boxers separating skin from skin, gaining confidence to explore as his grip on your wrist loosens. The black ink at his ribs expands and shrinks with the bellows of his breath, jolting and stuttering with each stroke of your hand.

Just as he’s drawing in a breath to speak, tightening his hold around your wrist in warning, you still your movements. Delicately, slowly, you slide out of his grasp and take his wrist in your hand, placing his palm on your own thigh.

The whole “reciprocating pleasure with sound” is still a hard one to give in to; maybe you can compensate for your hesitancy by showing instead of telling. You guide his hand up, into your skirt, parting your thighs until his fingers find the wetness soaking through both your panties and tights. 

“Fucking… jesus.” Eddie moves with the fluid surety that you lack, middle finger running up the seam of your clothed pussy, your hips jerking reflexively when he catches against your clit. “This all for me, princess?”

In answer, you lean to bury your face into the crook of Eddie’s neck. He lets you, taking the opportunity to hook your leg over his thigh, spreading you out as much as your fitted denim skirt will allow.

You pant into the column of his throat as he strokes you through the light layers, the fabrics grinding friction into your clit caught under his fingertip. He rests his chin on the crown of your head, cooing praises that have your stomach muscles tensing.

“That’s it, good girl, such a good girl for me.”

Your clit is throbbing now as he rubs you in small, quick circles, and you’re so close to falling over the edge that you have to pull his hand away.

Eddie picks up on your unspoken plea; he tugs the skirt down your hips then tosses it blindly over his shoulder, reaching for the edge of your tights. He slips them down your thighs, your calves, peeling them off you with reverence. When all that’s left is your best pair of satin panties, he maneuvers you up against the headboard and stretches himself flat on his stomach, nose pressing into your core.

That heat has come back, flashing through you with a vengeance as Eddie mouths at your pussy through the satin, sloppily but with purpose enough to have your cunt clenching around nothing.

You stay up on your elbows, watching that mane of dark hair bracketed by your thighs, but when Eddie pulls your underwear down and off your ankle your weight falls back against the mattress.

The flat of his tongue licks a wide stripe from your weeping hole up to spread the wetness around your clit. When he sucks the bundle of nerves into his mouth, your head presses back into the covers, hands grappling above you for something to anchor your grasp.

When Eddie flicks the point of his tongue against that bright spot of nerves your hands find a pillow to grip, and when he moans into your pussy the vibrations have you instinctively pulling the pillow against your face, teeth biting into the fluff, masking the whine that would have been loud in the otherwise quiet room.

You think you might be able to get away with this setup (what with Eddie seemingly focused on making you explode into a million little pieces) but there’s a sharp smack before the outer skin of your thigh is burning, white-hot from the kiss of his rings.

Eddie’s mouth leaves you only for the time it takes for him to rip the pillow from your grasp and scold, “Uh uh, none of that, c’mon,” and then he’s back at your clit, suckling with renewed vengeance.

There are little stars bursting at the edges of your vision, your hands shooting down to grip at Eddie’s hair when he pistons the point of his tongue against you again. Your hips are subtly bucking into his mouth, shaking thighs involuntarily closing around his ears. Normally you’d be concerned about Eddie’s air intake but going off the moans he’s burying in your pussy, you’d hazard a guess that he’s really into it.

As if in confirmation, he pulls off your clit with a wet pop, laving his tongue up the junction where thigh meets pelvis, voice sounding wrecked- “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. Fuck, you got me so hard. Gonna blow a load in my boxers like a teenager, y’taste so good. Gonna let me hear you? Hm? Wanna hear you.”

You’re dizzy with want as you prop yourself on your elbows again, mouth falling open as Eddie sinks two of his fingers up to the ringed knuckle inside your velvet walls.

His other hand comes to rest on the soft curve of your stomach, pinning you in place, before he looks up at you, black pupils nearly eclipsing the chocolate brown. 

“What do you want?” he asks again, patiently, as if he doesn’t have two fingers nestled inside your cunt.

Your efforts to grind into him are stopped with his firm hold on your middle, and he tuts at you again- but instead of a reprimand, he seems to soften a bit.

“C’mon, angel,” Eddie says, with such tenderness that makes tears prick at the corner of your eyes. He presses his lips to the inside of your thigh before encouraging, “Lemme hear you say it, and I’ll make it so good for you. Promise.”

“Want you to make me come. Please.” Your voice is unsteady, but it’s audible enough.

Eddie rewards you by sinking his fingers further, to the hilt, heel of his palm catching against your clit. When you let out a warbling moan, he nods- “That’s it,”- before setting a steady rhythm for fucking his fingers up into you. 

“Fuck, Eddie- fu-uck…” you’re trying, really trying to stay in the moment and not get caught up in the noises you’re making- for him. 

When Eddie reattaches his mouth to your throbbing clit and angles his fingers to hit into that soft, spongy spot with each thrust, you feel waves of pleasure start to wash through you. There’s just time for a choked “Shit, Eddie, you’re gonna make me cum,” before you’re spasming around his fingers.

Somehow, you manage to stay on your elbows, bracing your body through the convulsive shocks, white-hot stars joining the wingbeat rhythm as Eddie takes you apart with his mouth and fingers.

He moans, long and low, fucking you through it and then some- your orgasm has been completely wrung out when you push at his forehead, whimpering at the overstimulation. 

“No, baby, one more, please. Gimme one more,” Eddie lifts his head to plead with you, sweaty bangs glued to his forehead- and then he’s back between your legs.

It’s this moment that makes you retrospective. Sex with boys, in the past, has always been a quick means to an end: a few minutes of foreplay, tamping down your own pleasure for the sake of blowing off some steam. 

But now, pleasure was being given to you in spades by Eddie Munson, and you wanted to give it back to him.

You come on his tongue and fingers, again, stomach tightening beneath his warm palm, and this time you really loose the sounds caught in your chest: a strangled mix of your bliss-soaked whines with his name, Eddie Eddie Eddie. 

You feel the bed frame jolt below you both as Eddie’s hips thrust into the mattress in a frenzied tempo.

“Fuck me.” He pulls away, finally, panting into the side of your knee. He rests his head against your leg, lips tinged pink and shining wet, gazing at you with lust-blown eyes. “You are so fucking hot. Holy shit.”

Bashful as your peak wears off, you pull him forward so you don’t have to look at him when you whisper, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, princess,” he says, slumping against your chest and into your arms. “That’s going straight to my long-term spank bank. Number one. For sure.”

You slap playfully at his shoulder, and he rises on his elbows to kiss you- once on the lips, twice on the cheek- warm palms on the outside of your shoulders. 

“Are you… d’you need any help?” you ask, reaching to tuck his hair behind his ears, feeling the crush of insecurity leech in. “I dunno if you even- I mean, did you…”

From all the physical activity, your breasts are half-spilled out of your bra, and Eddie bends to kiss at the tops of them, affectionately, shaking his head as he goes. “There is no world in which I would’ve lasted, just now. Very noble of you to assume, though.”

He grins at your giggle, then says- “I dunno about you, but I need some new underwear. Wanna borrow a pair of my boxers? Bet you’d look cute.”

________

Later, when you’re both cleaned up, dressed, and full from a pizza delivery, Eddie invites you outside for a smoke.

You sit with him on the porch couch, legs slung over his, a big flannel blanket shared over both your laps while he smokes with the hand that isn’t on your thigh. 

There’s a crunching of wheels on gravel, and Max Mayfield’s bike lamp cuts through the dark.

“Hey, Heavy Metal,” she calls out, undoing her bike helmet and leaning her bike into its kickstand. “Are you done fixing up Lucas’s tires or do I have to keep hauling my ass all the way across town to see him?”

“I’ll have it done tomorrow, Red,” Eddie calls back, giving her a salute.

Halfway to her door, she remarks, “You two are gross, by the way,” 

You cross your arms in the sweatshirt Eddie loaned you, slipping into irksome older sister mode easily. “So how’d it go with your boyfriend, tonight, Maxine?”

She flips you both off, but you catch the smile on her face before the front door bangs shut behind her.

Eddie chuckles, smoothing his palm up your thigh, then takes another drag. “You gotta come night smoke with me more often, angel. The streetlights suit you.”

“Gonna get me hooked on nicotine, too?” Your sock foot pokes him in the ribs and he tuts, snapping it up in his free hand and digging his thumb into the arch of your sole.

“Fuck no, your teeth are too pretty to ruin. Want you to come keep me company while I destroy my lungs.”

Another cloud of smoke lifts dreamily around Eddie’s face. His thumb is working wonders on the tense muscle of your foot as you tip your head to rest on the back of the couch. With the nearby streetlamp, his profile is cast in a warm glow; you do a dance of your own, eyes taking in the strong slope of his nose, tracking down to his lips, back up to the wild curls at his temple.

Eddie feels you staring, turns to fix you with a quit it look that you can’t help but laugh at- “What, so you’re the only one who’s allowed to stare?”

“That’s right,” he confirms, leaning forward to set his cig in an ashtray, bullying his way into your space, rings cold under your chin when he tilts your face towards his- “Gotta pay the piper for that obvious violation, sweetheart. Sorry. I don’t make the rules.”

This time, when the flutter within you kicks up, you have a place for it to go- melting softly into Eddie’s lips. 

___________________

I wrote the last third of this while blasted please don’t judge too harshly lmao.

for more shy!Reader content: masterlist

[frudoo]

just saw the anon for reader helping slasher 141 and now im thinking about actually doing the whole thing. like finding someone, kidnapping them and torturing them. she does it as a gift or surprise. maybe its their anniversary and she wants to give them the best gift ever.

I love this idea, but I just can't see reader ever participating in the torture aspect of her boys' work. She's absolutely not above kidnapping, though.

Warnings: Dark!Fic/DDDNE. Y'all this one is gross (just not in a gory way). Kidnapping/drugging.

 “I have to say, little girl, you look absolutely delicious tonight.”

     You giggle, allowing him to twirl you and trying not to suffocate on the smell of his cheap cologne. The man is loaded and he won’t even spend a pretty penny on some quality fragrance? Although, what else could you expect from a conman like him?

     “Not so bad yourself, Mr. Chief,” you purr, yelping softly when he pinches your asscheek teasingly.

     You want to vomit. Really, you could do it right here, all over his pristinely polished shoes, or on his tailored suit jacket and annoyingly bright tie. The fact that you’ve managed to keep this charade up for the past couple of weeks is astonishing, to say the least, especially given the fact that you’ve been hiding it from the boys. It kills you to see their disappointed faces every time you turn down a night in with them, making up poor excuses about how you’re just going to decorate your classroom, or that your friend has been having a rough time and you’re going to her house to support her.

     The truth is that you’re doing it for their benefit. Herschel Shepherd has been on your boys’ radar for years now, long before they ever met you. It’s just been too risky for them to attempt anything, be it a kidnapping or assassination. He’s too public of a figure as head of police, meaning that he’s protected by a multitude of security personnel, and on top of that, can easily defend himself. Even if they tried to befriend him, suspicions would be raised and it would likely fail.

     That’s where you enter. You’re exactly the chief’s type—a pretty young thing with big, soft tits and a charming smile. The only thing you’re missing is the naivety he’s so desperate to corrupt, but you’ve proven yourself a wonderful actress and he’s none the wiser. For someone who used to be a detective, he really is clueless. Someone should have taught the old man not to flirt with strangers on the internet. You’re just grateful that he took the bait so easy, all too eager to get his dick wet. 

     “Since I’ve treated you to such a nice dinner, how about giving me some dessert?” You hear his knees pop when he bends to whisper into your ear.

     “Anything for you,” you murmur back, “Daddy.”

     For the love of all things holy, you cannot wait to get this bullshit over with. Shepherd wraps his arm around your waist and ushers you into his limo—he really wanted to go all out for his ‘girlfriend,’ apparently. The inside smells like cigar smoke and you have to bite back a frown. It makes you think of John and how desperately you’d prefer to be in his arms instead. In all of their arms. With every disgusting, sloppy kiss the sick fuck peppers across your jawline, you have to remind yourself that it’s all for them.

     For them, for you, for every poor family he’s ever screwed over. It’s all too familiar, the coverups, the paying off coworkers and employees so that they keep their mouths shut. You’ve read about countless cases against heinous criminal acts that were suddenly dismissed when a certain slob threw a large sum of money towards the judges. You can’t even begin to imagine how many women alone have been assaulted because this corrupt piece of shit paid to let their abusers go—and for what? To gain favor? To get reelected? God knows he cheats his way through the system anyway.

     You feel your hand being tugged and realize that you’ve arrived at the parking lot where your car still is, some random garage located in the heart of the downtown area—about an equal walk from any little shop or restaurant in the vicinity. Your ‘date’ furrows his eyebrows and looks at you, confused.

     “A little Toyota Corolla is more inconspicuous than a limousine, don’t you think?” you hum as you pull out your keys.

     “Right,” Shepherd nods, opening the driver’s side door for you. “We are still going to the hotel?”

     “Of course.”

     He buckles into the passenger seat while you start the car, messing with the air conditioning like it’s his right. You avoid rolling your eyes as you begin driving, softly humming along to the radio. There’s a tin of mints in your glovebox that you pull out and offer to him. All according to plan, he takes the bait.

     Almost instantly after popping the tainted mint into his bastard mouth, he starts getting woozy, saying odd things and swaying in his seat. Adrenaline rushes through your veins—this is really happening. You’re kidnapping the chief of police, your husbands’ most desired target, driving him back to your home to be tortured and killed. It’s surreal, and there’s guilt eating away at whatever sense of retribution you’d created in your head. Still, there’s no turning back now.

     No turning back from the rattle of his unconscious body as you drive over the gravel path leading to the barn. No turning back from the strain you put on yourself as you haul his deadweight through the random pieces of hay, nor the act of tying his arms behind the metal pole in the stable where horses should be but has only kept victims. This is a decision you made and will have to live with. For the greater good, you ask yourself, or for the praise you know you’ll receive from your boys? In the end, it’s all one and the same to you. 

     As you stand over the comatose-laden sleazebag, you hardly make out the sound of the barn door slamming open and all four of your lovers trailing in with wide eyes.

     “Bloody hell.”

     “No fuckin’ way.”

     “Steamin’ Jesus, hen.”

     “Darlin’, how in the fuck did you manage this?”

     There’s a beat of silence before you turn around to look at them, your face maddeningly neutral.

     “Happy anniversary, guys.”

[missglaskin]

i feel like Otto would use Daemon and Rhaenyra’s secret wedding, mere days after their partners funerals, as the sole ammunition to have Rhaenyra disinherited and second-born!Reader named the Princess of Dragonstone after Otto reminds Viserys the sole reason Rhaenyra was chosen was to prevent Daemon from having the throne. and Alicent will begin planting the seeds of a doubt in Viserys mind that some may not want a the Reader on a throne because she’s adopted but if she married Aegon, the firstborn son, she wouldn’t be contested. that Aegon was better fitted as a consort anyways.

and the Velaryons have mixed feelings about the whole ordeal because Corlys really wanted his blood on the throne but Rhaenys believes the reader will be a much better ruler.

she’s kind of like the “peoples princess” if that makes sense. from a young age she began serving as the king’s cupbearer, allowing her the opportunity to watch the council work, and even there were times when she spoke up. advocating on behalf of the servants for better living conditions or pushing for repairs on the sewage system underneath the city.

not even Rhaenyra could deny that the reader would make a good queen but there’s some resentment directed to her father, angry he still won’t accept that she loves Daemon and there confusion as she watches Daemon wrap a beautiful necklace around the reader’s neck

I apologize for the long haitus, I wanted to return with something so here it is.

The plot just thickens

Before Daemon and Rhaenyra secret wedding, Alicent was already sowing seeds of doubt in Viserys's mind (the reader doesn't have any bastards, last she checked but even so it doesn’t count).And it would be a great irony if Viserys sent Otto away thinking he wanted Aegon to be king (which might be partially true), when in reality it’s the reader he desired to be in the throne. With Lyonel's death, and Rhaenyra's decision to move to Dragonstone with Laenor despite wanting to stay with her sister. Otto and Alicent are only given a better advantage to continue casting doubt on Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra and Daemon's marriage seals the deal, and soon after, they are summoned by a raven from King's Landing.

While the Velaryons may have mixed feelings, they are all in support of the reader in being the chosen heir. It’s Rhaenys who encourages Corlys’ decision to swear his fealty to her. It doesn’t help that Rhaenys believes Rhaenyra and Daemon are the cause for her son’s death and them marrying right after Laena’s death only adds salt to the wound. Rhaenys genuinely believes the reader will be a much better ruler. 

When the reader is named heir, there is one final step for both Alicent and Otto to ensure her position (or as they like to say). So it comes as little surprise when the reader is revealed to be wed to Aegon. She already has gained a great deal of knowledge regarding politics throughout the years she was compelled to relocate to accommodate the entire family, from Driftmark to King's Landing to Dragonstone. Alicent and Otto took a step further in letting the reader act as the king's cupbearer, and Viserys naturally agreed. Unlike Rhaenyra who felt undermined in the council, the reader isn't cut off when advocating for herself, rather, she's backed by the green council. 

As you mentioned, she has earned the title of the "people's princess” through her charity, her advocacy for improved living conditions for the castle's servants as well insistence on repairing the sewage systems and for better roads. Tales abound in the city about the princess who visits orphanages, escorted, of course, by the finest knights, among them Ser Criston Cole. With all of that, simply wedding the reader to Aegon, already wins him favor at king's landing, besides, it's evident to the court that it's the reader who holds all the power.

It's an internal struggle for Rhaenyra; she feels waves of resentment and anger, sometimes aimed at her father and other times at the reader. But, she can never take the reader's actions personally, not after she offers Rhaenyra dragonstone or when she vows to make her the hand when she ascends the iron throne. So how can she ever be genuinely upset at her beloved sister whom she also thinks would make a wonderful queen?

And for Daemon, whom she observes draping a beautiful necklace—akin to the one he gave her years ago—around her sister's neck. She observes as her ever naive sister turns to face him, beaming as thanks him for the gift.

And for Daemon who she watches wrapping a beautiful necklace around her sister’s neck, similar to the one he gifted her a long time ago. She watches as her sister turns to him, beaming and thanking him for the gift, her sister so naive and innocent. But it won’t be long before Viserys catches wind of it, and if not him, Otto and Alicent will and this is the last thing they ever wish to happen. For they know, no matter how many times they Banish Daemon, he will always find his way to return to your side.

[corvidaequeer]

There's not really a point to this. I'm not saying Arcane is bad or you shouldn't watch it or you shouldn't like Jayce or jayvik... I'm just feeling annoyed at the way they took Jayce's character in the second season for a lot of reasons & I want to rant about it.

Starting with the whole scene of Jayce & Mel talking by comatose Viktor. Jayce says "never again" to making hextech weapons & Mel promises to protect his & Victor's dream. Then, 30 seconds later, Jayce makes Caitlyn more hextech weapons anyway! His wishy-washy promise wasn't surprising, just annoying that he'd make the same mistake AGAIN (Then a third time to defend Piltover from Ambessa's attack).

-

Later, in seeing the whole story, we know that Viktor sent Jayce back to teach himself some life lesson. So why was Jayce's first reaction to kill Salo & blow a hole in Viktor's chest?? Shouldn't he have tried to reach Viktor in a less murdery way first? Try to reason with him & teach him said life lesson? It just doesn't make sense.

-

After Jayce gets back to Piltover, he has this sudden resentment & distrust towards Mel. Where did that come from? Why does Jayce suddenly think Mel is an enemy?

Jayce starts accusing Mel of selecting who she protected. What would she have to gain from that? Even if Mel DID know she had powers, why would Jayce think she would willfully let the council & Viktor die? Why would he think her so cruel?

Then there's the "investments" line. Firstly, it was Alora that called Jayce an investment. Mel just said, "Indeed." Secondly, Who the fuck told him that happened anyway??

Then Jayce claims Mel was "using" them? Yes, she wanted Jayce & Viktor as allies & directed them in her favor, but thats really not "using" them. She saw a good opportunity to make some change & took it like anyone else would. The rest of the council used him for their own benefit far more than Mel did. But more importantly, Mel CARED about Jayce & Viktor. She cared about their dreams & helped them to achieve it! She was the one who supported them from the start. She was trying to get the council NOT to make hextech weapons. She wanted to protect their dream, but she's still somehow "using" Jayce & Viktor to get hextech?! Jayce is the one who keeps making hextech weapons without anyone pressuring him to do so! So what was the narrative point of having Jayce take his regrets out on Mel? What function did it serve?

That whole scene was just-

Mel: Hey, I need some emotional support from this traumatic thing that just happened to me

Jayce: Fuck you, Mel! You should have saved everyone. Also, how dare you have unconditionally supported Viktor & I & our research!!

The anger towards her just comes out of nowhere & has no evidence to back it up & it annoys me. Also, it just feels out of character, even with the more edgy way they portrayed Jayce in act 2 & 3. So, just, why?

-

Then there's "my partner died in this room." Jayce saw Viktor in the future, as himself, not the machine herald. He spoke with him & promised to fix things. So clearly, Viktor's humanity wasn't dead, so why even say that? What was the point?

-

Then there's Jayce's little speech. There are so many things with this.

Jayce, who had up to this point, chose violence, is suddenly all soft again & just NOW trying to reach Victor. Where was that in the last few days?? Would he not have done this first instead of blasting a hole in him?

"You always wanted to cure what you thought were weaknesses" No, bitch, he wanted to help people in poverty & didn't want to fucking die!! What are you even talking about!? Viktor was insecure ONE TIME about being up on stage, so why is Jayce diminishing Viktor's ENTIRE MOTIVATION to him being insecure about being disabled??

Then, in the same line of thinking, there's Jayce saying Viktor's disability & illness (his "imperfections") make him beautiful & he admires Viktor for that??! Cut the inspiration porn trope! Are we not passed that?!

Lastly, Jayce is supposed to show Viktor some life lesson of all that being left is "dreamless solitude" & "there is no prize to perfection" but Jayce doesn't even say any of that?? He just shows Viktor saying it. How is that something only Jayce can do?

Sure, I love the idea of Cosmic Destiny Partners. It's a great idea & a somewhat happy ending for these two. I get it, I do. But the whole path leading up to it & its execution was poor, confusing, & frankly ableist.

-

In general, Jayce just felt inconsistent.

Yeah, in season 1, Jayce has a track record for flip-flopping on his morals & ideals. His character arc is that of someone being easily swayed. He makes a lot of mistakes & then corrects himself by swinging in the complete opposite direction, only to make more mistakes. It's his character flaw.

Then season 2, he becomes more resolute in the promise he mentions. You think, oh, this makes sense. He finally grew a backbone & is standing his ground. Apparently, choosing violence as his footing, but still. He keeps this aggressive demeanor up for the rest of season 2. But then suddenly, right at the last second, he turns around & says the softest & sappiest shit in the whole show?? The fluffy confession of adoration & partnership just comes out of nowhere! If you're taking Jayce in an aggressive direction, then do so. Don't come in swinging with this totally different person.

Overall, it just feels like Jayce is there for shock value & relationship drama instead of being an actual character with solid motivations & and a steady narrative.

[b1asho]

Oougghhhh I'm BACK, FINALLY !!

Anyway, say hello to the Drecu (Dorest and Rox), one of the two species in the genus of sophonts known as the Cerest (the other guys are coming up next, they're taller and considerably more violent than the average bug lizard) Here's the info I couldn't cram into the image:

This group is called Drecu, whereas the other type is called Sundyne (Seru is the name for Sundyne royalty/their idea of the best life form)

Dorest and Rox are both under the Drecu classification, and are more closely related to their common ancestor than the Sundyne.

They have very different appearances, but they are unisex, with each individual having the capabilities of insemination and gestation.

Their dimorphism is based on what tasks they do in the colony, essentially splitting them between “”worker”” and “”soldier”” rather than male and female.

Rox are considerably larger, have thicker shells and scales, mildly venomous quills on their arms and back, and have a large thumb claw on their hands to aid in grappling and slicing.

The venom is released once the quill is detatched, as the separation causes a muscle around the sac at the quills base to spasm and send it out the tip.

It has little to no irritating effect on non-Cerest, but if one of their own is barbed it will cause localized numbness and pain/swelling elsewhere as the venom takes effect. Several quills in rapid succession has been known to be debilitating for Dorest.

They have more sensitive hearing gained through the large discs on their forehead that catch vibrations in the air. Their eyesight is worse, however, with two of their eyes being small and fixed on their forehead, mostly motion-based. Their mandibles are larger, sharper, and they sacrifice space for an ear canal in favor of more room for muscles to make the jaws as powerful as possible. When closed, the mandibles fold around the upper and lower beak to give the illusion of cheeks. Their palps fill in the gap between the bigger mandible and upper jaw, and are used to manipulate food. they also have two ‘teeth’ near the back of their mouth and throat that they vibrate their palps against and snap to speak (combined with another structure in their throat that sort of acts like vocal cords thatvtheybuse to make larger sounds).

The teeth also help them break apart hard foods like bone and other organisms exoskeleton.

Due to their larger body size/space for eggs, tendency to stay within their territory rather than forage elsewhere daily, and ability to defend themselves, Rox are often the ones who gets the eggs transferred to them for brief gestation.

Dorest are smaller, with longer legs and tail. They have stamina and speed, but aren’t really that strong, instead relying on their numbers to get things done. Their mandibles are weaker smaller, and duller but their palps are more developed and dexterous, and cover their mouth opening entirely. They speak in the same way as Rox, but they sound more high pitched.

It is unknown how naturally all of these very extremely different traits evolved since they have a storied history of genetic manipulation and experimentation on their populace (and a storied history if deleting that history from history)

Anyways as you can imagine their sex and gender can get pretty complicated. Due to how their units were originally structured (with social power coming from reproductive rights and number of children) and resulting current social reinforcement/emphasis on role division into the D and R binary , they dont actually recognize a 'neutral' or 'dual' identity despite being physically that way (similarly, trying to switch between or out of your literally assigned bio type and/or role is a big no) this is largely due to their newer Sundyne leaders, who Aren't unisex and want to put their version of the binary on everything.

For them, sex is who tops and who bottoms. They can't self fertilize but both have eggs n sperm, and would naturally both uhh transfer that, but instead their role decides who does what with what,for both population control and to conform to aforementioned mf binary that dont naturally have. Only one incubates at a time, pretty much. Dorest are usually the one who inseminates, giving the eggs over for a time, but they care for offspring once the eggs are laid/ hatch so the Rox is free again to go about their business.

The two have a power dynamic, of course. Dorest are seen as the givers, while are seen as takers, in a more powerful position. Idk I'll have to do a whole separate thing on it later.

They have a specific pronoun for each role in the unit (which can further be split into their individual rank/occupation)

For example, in the absence of a Rox, a Dorest could take up the matriarch/arch pronouns and start acting like one, and vice versa (though this is not taken seriously at All by their peers, and is even illegal in most cases)

Both have antennae that help them send and receive pheremone signals that also play into their communication. These signals typically convey more basic emotions and needs, but can have a very strong effect on the individual (for example, an extreme 'hurt' or 'scared' signal from another Drecu causes similar anxiety and stress to those around them, and may even trigger an attack response towards the source.) Their scales and areas under their shell are also full of chromatophores that they can color in specific areas and patterns to convey some words or emotions. Their eyes can pick up colors that ours can’t, so often these colors changes look very minute to us (or more muted than they actually are). The unique verbal and nonverbal signals they use make their languages hard to speak or even understand, since they can “say” something to you that you can’t see or smell. They have these nonvocal modes of communication because their vocal ability is pretty limited overall. When they do vocally speak, it sounds like a human but with a voice filter (and with lots more clicking and less resonation. They almost sound like robots with their voice coming from a broken speaker)

All Cerest go through several distinct life stages after hatching, beginning as small defenseless grub things. Once they accumulate enough stored fat, they sprout spindly blueprints of their legs and arms and start to move around more independently (these limbs and tail extensions will pretty much become their bones later) They will then continue to store energy until they go through a full metamorphosis .

The prepupa will become more active, running around to align the new limb sprouts it has and to start sucking up the rest of their organs into what was their throax region. At a certain time, they will join other prepupa in a communal chamber and incase themself into a chrysalis made from a layer of skin they grow around themselves.

They'll use their previous exoskeleton/limbs/ etc to form the more complex adult lattices of endo/exo skeleton and skin/muscles/organs that will allow them to grow larger and walk upright. This is also when their brain grows more and settles in, allowing for more complex thought.

When in the chrysalis, adults around them will ‘choose’ whether they will grow into a Dorest or Rox by introducing certain chemicals through the spiracles. This decision can be influenced by a variety of factors, including the politics of the family unit.

Once they emerge, they will grow more like a reptile/crab by shedding and molting parts of their scales and shell (often aided by hot water because they’re so big. Whether their ancestors were water based is unknown, since they have removed or altered their own evolutionary history so much that no one really knows).

Speaking of that, their adult body support system is a bit convoluted (thanks to them evolving from a purely exoskeletal species that nature never intended to get all that big)

Thankfully, it's a lot less heavy than it should because of its composition of lightweight and durable carbons (with some calcium carbonate thrown in there too).

They have plates that range from hard and thick to thin and flexible that make up a segmented outer shell that is present over all their body.

It is what they molt and is primarily used for muscle attachment in their limbs, but it mostly just covers the rest of their body elsewhere.

This is because they also have a disconnected internal tube and chamber system mainly in their head, tail, neck, and torso for more places for their muscles to attach to while maintaining that bipedal stance and organ placement.

They don’t/can’t replenish these through a molting process, and instead they’re maintained from the inside more like our bones.

The rest of their body grows and shrinks around them (though limited by the outer shell on top). Gaining fat or muscle on the arms and limbs has a limit due to the shell, but on the torso they can more easily do so thanks to a third main structural layer they have:

In between the shell and the internal structures, they have a thin skin/scales layer, which can be seen best joining the gaps between the hardest and most prominent parts of their outer shell as it covers the thinner plates underneath (some places on their abdomen, the underside of their tail, the front of their neck, and several places on their face. )

This is derived from the chrysalis layer that they grew, and when they emerge it softens and wraps them.

As it dries, it dies everywhere except the edges/gaps of the outer shell, where it stays somewhat vascularized as it attaches to the edges while the outer shell is still hardening .

This layer allows for fat storage under it and prevents everything from slipping out when they molt in areas where the outer shell isn’t actually attached to anything/ is not fully encapsulating on its own.

they shed this every so often after a new one grows from underneath to replenish it since the blood flow isn’t great. Molting becomes very infrequent after pupation, usually only happening perhaps 2-3 times (maybe 4 for Rox) in their teenage years until they stop growing. There isn't a particular age for this, since some can experience spurts later on or conversely were intentionally malnourished to stay s certain size, which is common among their under classes.

On that note, molting only happens as an adult due to extreme changes in size (for example, moving up to a reproductive position can cause an increase in size from the hormones, particularly in Rox, which can trigger a molt of the outer shell to make room.)

The population tends to be more Dorest than Rox, though this balance often shifts during wartime as more offspring are converted to Rox.

Their society is divided into distinct layers, but on a basic family unit level there is usually a lead Rox, their harem of Dorest, and then their children, following am almost eusocial strcutre.

Often, there can also be subservient Rox that are non-reproductive and serve a more grunt/foot soldier role.

Units are interconnected, and eventually become a part of larger caste divisions based on their labor skills. This happened over a long period of time, since they're naturally very competitive with each other and mixing units without specific conditions being met can end badly.

These divisions are shown through clothing and ear piercings that display the symbol that corresponds to their status, but they also etch the symbol onto their forehead. This is a permanent alteration to their scale color, and is usually done in black since all Drecu are ultimately under a Sundyne no matter their own rank.

Drecu are omnivorous, though both types tend to lean towards meat due to their higher calorie needs (Rox and gravid Dorest especially, for muscle and egg building.)

They don’t chew their food and just swallow it in chunks.

Their antenna house their sense of taste as well as smell, so they can pretty much choose to not taste anything they eat by covering them or not touching them to their food.

Culturally, they are conditioned to prefer processed food (that is easy to make and distribute among their often large populations) their cuisine more focused more on meeting basic needs than being enjoyable or helping them thrive (like a lot of dog foods XD ) along with pretty much everything else (from education to housing)

Food/nutrition access is stratified by caste, so along with their other clothing and tattoo signifiers you can also tell who’s more important based on if they have glossier scales and brighter colors.

Ill get into this more below in the section on their blood chemistry, but they have a silly little expensive metabolism makes food a very effective tool for leaders to keep under classes subservient, since it’s pretty easy to control people who rely on you to keep them functioning, and their thoughts also tend to slow to a crawl without the necessary energy.

Resource control also gives a distinct physical difference between classes, like I mentioned a second ago with the colors and shell size/quality.

Their tails, for example, are made from the hardened tube remnants of the segments of their abdomen chamber when they were larva and prepupa.

With enough nutrients throughout their teenage molts, it will spread out those 4 main internal segments with the outer shell and more muscle into a longer or thicker tail.

Without, it will be shorter and thinner since the segments themselves are smaller and closer together (in some cases staying the same length as their prepupa size since they need it closer for their more limited muscle and shell to hold onto.)

The smaller tails alongside their paler colors also gives under classes a more child-like and therefore disreputable and subservient look, furthering the divide.

Housing and other basic needs are naturally borderline impossible to access unless you're a part of a functioning unit, and if not, good luck. There are no individuals in the colony, a downside as well as one of heir strengths.

They are somewhat able to regulate their body temperature through shivering, their own metabolic heat, and their hair-like filaments on their head, but are more susceptible to temperature change since they can’t store fat well as adults due to their shell. Their horns are mostly for display and general head protection, and are pretty hollow.

Dorest hands have two main digits that operate in a pincer motion, and while the other 4 are separate they are smaller and in an opposable thumb-like position , aiding with holding things and other manipulation (kind of like if your whole hand was just your index and middle finger and 4 thumbs).

Their claws are nonretractable and closer to nails. As for their feet, they’re just hooves made from the fused toes.

Rox also have the two pincer digits, but their other fingers have fused into a larger “thumb” tipped with a thick claw that they use for fighting. Their other claws are much smaller and also nonretractable. Their foot has 2 hoofed digits and one with a dull claw for kicking (like if a cassowary was also a deer. And red.)

Their blood uses two iron-based carriers: chlorocruorin in transport cells and hemerythrin that floats free in the bloodstream, which respectively gives their blood a green and/or purple color.

As their ancestors got bigger and evolved an active respiratory and circulatory system as opposed do just having spiracles/air sacs, they also started using a secondary blood chemistry to support their original, single one.

The hemerythrin works across a general range of temperatures and oxygen concentrations, widening the range of environments they can live in, but despite the cooperative binding with each other it’s very inefficient.

Thus, it takes a lot of effort and resources for them to use it, part of the reason behind their relentless expansion into new territory for new food sources etc (their body functions like metabolism will slow down and speed up accordingly, and they’re able to strip pretty much every bit of energy form the stuff they eat due to a highly effective digestive system, but due to the limited ability to store fats for later and difficulty in breaking down their own muscles for energy without collapsing their whole skeleton, them coping with scarcity essentially means going into a coma.)

Despite this, it comes with the added benefit of giving them better and faster cell regeneration and healing (through the Bohr effect and because of its potency as an immune effector), as well as immunity to carbon monoxide poisoning (due to its low affinity for that molecule, which is helpful since chlorocruorin has a high affinity for it, which helps prevent excess buildup. They also convert any access CO into material for their shells and scales. ) and nitrogen stress/decompression sickness (again, low affinity etc).

The chlorocruorin helps them in the cooler and low oxygen environments where they originated, and in mitigating the resource cost of relying more on hemerythrin while still benefitting from it.

It also needs support from the hemerythrin when anywhere too hot (where there are more resources, and where the heat helps them with sustained activity/not wasting resources on body heat, and gives them freedom to live anywhere in the wide temp range on their original planet ).

So, they are perfectly fine in cold environments and environments where humans would be fainting from too little oxygen, but could run into problems if things get too hot (as opposed to Kixeli, who have problems when things get too cold even though their blood pigment works better at cooler temperatures, because they’re entirely exothermic and evolved more reliance on the ever-present heat on their home planet for making their body functions more efficient)

As far as interactions with other species goes, it's not that great. They believe that the universe's rock tumbler of events smoothed them out into the perfect organisms, and they've chosen to make that everyone elses problem.

(Using their wormhole technology and greater foothold in space/the being-a-sentient-species game in general, they created a system-spanning empire that originally contacted and 'uplifted' the other species I've shared so far) (by uplifted i mean subjugated btw) (however, this was done under the leadership of the only other species with a worse track record, their cousins, the Sundyne.)

I'm doing them next, followed by the last species !! Who knows when that will happen, but it will.

Yippee!!

[generalsmemories]

Ginkgo leaves

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ based on the ask: Since reqs are open, you think you could write jing yuans reaction to his lover being Mara-struck? Thank you! - requested by anonymous

✧ contents: established relationship, angst, hurt/almost no comfort lmfao, implied character death, mentions of other characters, pov mostly written in jing yuan's pov, still usage of 2nd pov (referring the reader as you), mayhaps ooc because jing yuan is an emotional wreck.

✧ a/n: when i tell ya'll i legit struggled to be able to write this entire thing. there's been like 3-4 scrapped drafts because halfway through writing i would just NOT be satisfied with the result. to the anon who requested this, i'm so sorry it took this long - but i hope the upcoming trainwreck makes up for it! a trainwreck im still not actually satisfied with LMFAO. but it's better than the other 5 scrapped works. also not beta-read so fellas if u see a spelling error - no you didn't.

p.s: some mara-struck information i give here are totally fanmade for the purpose of this fic alone, as such don't take whatever i write about mara here as what actually happens canonically to characters (then again most of the playable characters have different symptoms of mara themselves).

"Benefactor, am I correct to believe you're asking me if the general has any specific interests?" Tingyun asks with a snicker, the trailblazer looking away from her prying eyes while mumbling a quiet yes.

"Some of the younger... Can I call them younger? Anyway, some of the younger Xianzhou citizens are very infatuated with the general. Seeing as I've been announced as his honory guest, they do often come and ask me various things to try and gain his favor. So yeah, anything at this point will work - so please!" the trailblazer hurriedly explained, clasping their hands together in a desperate attempt to get anything from the foxian amicassador leaning back with a quirked eyebrow.

"Ahh, love truly makes someone go blind doesn't it," she muses out loud, the trailblazers' eyebrow furrowing together in confusion over the foxian's lady choice of words, "... You're not entirerely wrong with that statement..."

"Do you want to know what his favorite flower is?" Tingyun asks, ignoring the confused question that had been uttered to her, snapping her fan open to hide the cheeky smile that spread across her lips - but anyone could still tell that her eyes were gleaming with mischief as the trailblazer nodded their head.

"He doesn't have one."

"Then why did you even-"

"But he likes ginkgo leaves."

The trailblazers' eyes widened in shock, and rightfully so because the very thing ginkgo leaves are associated with are after all...

"He had a lover once, and as far as I'm aware, his last moment with them while they still had their consciousness intact was surrounded by ginkgo leaves."

Jing Yuan whilst having forgotten almost every single moment with you, does unfortunately remember the exact details of the day that your descent into madness started. Because what he witnessed wasn't a futile struggle you had with yourself to not to destroy everything within your vicinity. Instead, he witnessed the slow process of your bright self becoming an empty shell, only capable of uttering a few words.

It's comical really, even when faced with a curse that struck everyone mad - he found out that it oddly fit your character to not go mad, but instead become the complete opposite of your gentle self. A hollow shell of the person he fell in love with all centuries ago.

Jing Yuan knew he had to end your suffering right then and there when you first started to show signs.

But he couldn't - This wasn't something that had to be immediately dealt with, his hand wasn't forced like it was back when he had to slay his own master down before she took more lives.

No, this was a normal afternoon on what would've been another normal, mundane day in both of your lives. But everything went wrong the moment Jing Yuan heard the breaking of glass, and how there was a lone gingko leaf inside the palm of your hand - a ginkgo leaf that you were staring wide-eyed at with a trembling hand.

You were too far from the veranda to have a ginkgo leaf in your hand.

General Jing Yuan would've ended your suffering the moment you turned around to lock eyes with him, your own face twisted into one of utter fear.

General Jing Yuan would've reported you the to Ten-Lords Commissions as the law had stated. But Jing Yuan couldn't - because Jing Yuan knew that the moment he did, he would never see you again.

So he decided for once he would be selfish. Jing Yuan rarely made choices lately that was based off of his own feelings, but his time with you was cut too harshly, so once again he chooses to be selfish. Even if that meant that it would prolong your suffering just a tiny bit more. "... We can figure something out," was the only thing he could muster up the courage to say with a shaking voice. You didn't say anything, your mouth wobbling a tiny bit and your breathing getting harsher by the second.

But still you indulged him - you always did. So with an equally wobbly smile, you only nodded your head slightly, "... Sure."

That wobbly smile and expression of utter fear was the last genuine expression that truly came from yourself.

The descent to becoming fully mara-struck is usually a fast process, the curse able to completely overtake someone's mind within the same day the symptoms appears - rendering the person completely vulnerable with the only alternative to either hand themselves in to the Ten-Lords or wait for the Ten-Lords to come to them personally.

Your usual easy-going smile was gone, in its stead was eyes that kept going in and out of focus. Almost as if you were desperately trying to keep yourself grounded - a battle you both knew would end with your defeat.

Jing Yuan didn't dare to venture outside of the house. One step out and every Cloud Knight would've been on you within seconds to subdue you. He had first initially resorted to just holding you within his arms for as long as he could, to be able to remember how you felt like after your death.

But with the minimal strength you had left, you had wobbled to the garden, every step taken only making you pant heavily. But even with heavy breaths of air leaving your lips, you had refused to take Jing Yuans hand or offer to even carry you out to the garden. When you had managed to reach the ginkgo tree standing tall at the center of the garden, Jing Yuan was sure you were going to collapse in front of it, taking a quick step to catch you.

But instead you had merely reached your hands up, the falling leaves fluttering gently down onto your palms. And while you were in indescriable pain for the last couple of hours - Jing Yuan could only see a serene expression when you looked up at the ginkgo leaves that were continously falling down.

"... They're beautiful... aren't they... Jing Yuan? It's almost a pity... that these beautiful... leaves are associated with our doom," you said softly. Jing Yuan could feel his breath hitch in his throat when you uttered his name.

You're obviously struggling to convey whatever thoughts you still had to him properly, taking a moment in between words to catch your breath, eyebrows furrowed slightly as you fought against the searing pain that was spreading through every nerve in your body.

There's a sudden gust of wind which causes the pile of leaves in your hands to flutter away from your grasp. Your hand stretches out slightly, almost in an attempt to reach out for them - stumbling a bit in your step. The limp causes Jing Yuan to take a quick step forward with his arms outstretched. Perhaps seeing him in your peripheral vision causes you to stop the futile attempt to catch the escaping leaves, arms going limp against your side as you turn to face him - your once blank expression turning into a somber smile instead.

Jing Yuan thinks that it's unfair how normal you look in front of him - almost as if you haven't been becme mara-struck. Like nothing has happened to you aside from the ginkgo leaves fluttering from your lips whenever you cough. The same cough that causes the general of Luofu to flinch every time - without fail.

And perhaps you can see his inner turmoil, the way he tries to make eye contact with you, but is unable to after a few seconds. The way his hands clench too hard into fist to the point droplets of blood fall down to the grass and stains it a deep red while he bites his own lips to not say a word - lest he says something that he will regret.

And you truly wish that you could tell him everything is okay like you usually do.

But for the first time since the day he lost his friends, you can't.

"... I'm sorry," you finally say, the apology making him whip his head up to you again. Mouth opening to say something to comfort you, to tell you that it's not your fault. But the words are unable to leave his mouth when he sees your arms slightly outstretched towards him with a small smile.

And he can't hold it in anymore.

It only takes him a few wide steps to reach you from his position before he cradles you within his arms. The grip is tight, unbearably tight to the point it hurts, but you don't complain. You're limp in his hold, and if this was any day he wouldn't comment, but the fact that you're not moving a single muscle terrifies Jing Yuan to the core. "... Please," he finally manages to whisper, the rustling of ginkgo leaves around you almost drowning out his quiet plea.

"Please don't make me do this again."

He doesn't ask if the tensing of your body is caused by the pain that's rapidly increasing or if it's caused by his silent confession. He can however feel the gentle hand that rests against the lower part of his back and your head resting against the side of his own. The reassurance you try to give him does nothing to help because he's aware that it probably brought you unmeasurable pain to try to move those limbs - instead the general buries his face closer to your neck and squeezes you tighter.

"... You won't." you whisper quietly.

It takes a moment for Jing Yuan to process the meaning behind those two words.

But it's a moment too late, because before he can get his phone out to usher a command, a few resounding knocks can be heard throughout the quiet mansion.

"General Jing Yuan. This is Xueyi of the Ten-Lords commission. I've gotten information that there's currently a mara-struck within these premises."

Jing Yuan feels his blood run cold, he pulls himself away from you to stare at you properly in disbelief.

You're still staring at him with the same somber expression, however he can tell there's a small pitiful smile grazing your lips, "I'm sorry," you whisper once again.

"I asked her... personally," you start, finally letting yourself rest now that the end is near, slumping down onto Jing Yuan's chest, your ear settling itself against his heart to hear his rapid heartbeats.

Jing Yuan loathes the fact that it's at this moment, with the Ten-Lords commission outside of your door and with him completely broken do you actually look at peace - like your battle against time has finally come to its conclusion.

And naturally, the one who lost is you.

"Half a day... with you. Then she would come and bring me there. You won't have to... do this again."

You're not able to see Jing Yuan's face - and Jing Yuan wouldn't want you to see how he looked like right now. The arms around you is trembling, his mind is racing - trying to come up with anything to give him a bit more time with you.

But for once, the general that had a plan for every situation had nothing in mind.

He's lost. And the prize of the loss this time is losing you forever.

"General, I apologize for the rudeness of what I'm about to do, but this is for both of your safety," Jing Yuan hear Xueyi mutter from outside of the door, before he hears the rattling of the door frame start to slide open.

"Wait- no," it's a quiet request that gets ignored as Xueyi strides in alone, the lack of company making Jing Yuan's eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"... Their last request along with the request for my late arrival here was for the Cloud Knights to not see you like this. Naturally I won't tell anyone of what I've seen today."

Jing Yuan doesn't care about that, he could care less about his image right now, pulling you closer to him while his eyes are downcast - he makes no move to hand you over to the judge.

The puppet judge before him does not say anything - nor does she make a move. What she does however is wait, wait for the general before her that has been utterly crushed and broken by the person in his arms start to accept the harsh truth once again.

If he doesn't handle the mara-struck himself, someone else would - but the end result only serves to punish him in the end, the one left behind.

Xueyi hears a silent breath be let out by the general, her once closed eyes opening up to see the general pull slightly away from you, one hand reaching up to cradle your cheek. Your eyes have long since closed, and you're most likely not even conscious to hear what he's about to say.

"My dear... I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you. But I'm afraid you'll have to wait a bit longer before we can meet again," he whispers, bumping his forehead against your own gently, "I hope you won't fault me for that."

A long ginkgo leaf flutters right between the two of you, eventually settling down on your chest.

Jing Yuan sucks in one last deep breath, "I'm sorry I kept you here for so long - I'm sorry you had to be in pain for so long because of me," he leans in to slot his lips one last time over your own, whispering something that Xueyi can't hear before he rises up, your body limp in his arms.

"Thank you for your service Miss Xueyi, please see them off appropiately." Jing Yuan says, voice sounding eerily calm - almost like his usual self.

When he turns around to finally face her, the puppet's lifeless eyes seem to grow a bit in surprise. Before her is the general of Luofu, his usual easy-going smile present on his lips.

Like he wasn't carrying his mara-struck lover in his arms.

"As much as I would want to accompany you to see them off, I'm afraid I have some urgent matters to attend to," he informs, handing your body over to Xueyi - she doesn't comment on how his hands are still slightly trembling or how he immediately turned a bit to the side to ignore staring at her head-on.

Even though Xueyi doesn't want to ask, she still asks either way, "What are your plans from here on, general?"

Jing Yuan only gives her a close eyed smile, turning his gaze towards the large ginkgo tree with his hands behind his back. He gnaws a tiny bit at his lips, finally breathing out.

A couple of seconds passes by before he opens his mouth.

"I think I'll meditate a bit under this tree before heading back to the Seat. I can't leave Luofu without me for too long after all."

5 SCRAPPED WORKS AND I'M STILL NOT ACTUALLY THAT SATISFIED BUT IF I KEEP THIS PIECE LONGER IN THE WORKS THE MORE I'LL BUTCHER IT SO HAHA - THIS IS THE BEST WE CAN DO AFTER 3 MONTHS OF CONSTANT BACK AND FORTH FELLAS. I HOPE IT SQUEEZED YOUR HEART A TINY BIT NONETHELESS.

[depravityfever]

Dum Spiro, Spero

yandere chrollo x reader

warnings: yandere content, kidnapping, implied dub-con, chrollo really sucks

word count: 1.6k

You feel dirty.

No matter how hard you scrub at your skin, how much soap is lathered onto your hands and dragged down your body, it still feels soiled.

The cause of your despair is situated in front of you, a pleased expression on his face while he hums a melody of a certain composer he seems particularly infatuated with lately.

He busies himself by combing his slender fingers through your hair and massaging your scalp meanwhile. If you close your eyes, you can pretend you’re sharing an intimate moment with a lover rather than the one who took you away from everything familiar.

You’re no actor, how much longer can you stand playing the role of a character who you vowed to never become?

This is what you've been working towards for weeks. You can't let this chance slip away.

“Chrollo,” Your voice is quiet, an embarrassingly stark contrast to minutes prior. “I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

The hands that were previously untangling the knots in your hair spring to a halt. His gray eyes try to meet yours, but you don’t allow them to. You keep your wavering gaze focused on the bathroom tiles next to you. If you were to look into Chrollo’s scrutinizing eyes, he would immediately be able to read your intentions. Any confidence you had managed to scrape together would immediately be crushed, its remains tossed away into the wind.

Chrollo has always emphasized how much he loves your unfiltered thoughts and imagination. You hope he keeps this mindset even now.

“I really, really want to see my family. So... Could you please take me to see them?"

He says nothing. This time, you do meet his gaze, hoping that you’ll be able to gleam his thoughts by staring into the pits. The eyes are the window to the soul, they say.

Chrollo’s eyes are blank, though. There’s no amusement, no sign of mockery, not even anger. His thoughts are impossible to read, no matter how much you study his facial expression.

Desperate to make your point clear, you ramble to fill the silence, to have him understand just how much this means to you.

“I won’t tell them anything, I swear! And I won’t try to drop hints either, you’re smart, so you’d be able to notice them, anyway,” praising him will surely make him become more agreeable, right? “You can lead the conversations, a-and basically say everything in my place so I won’t say anything stupid. You can choose how long and where and when, I just really want them to know I’m okay,” somewhat. “and I want to know that they’re okay too. Please…”

After a silence that’s far too long for comfort, he finally speaks up. Both his voice and countenance refuse to betray what he’s feeling or thinking in the moment. “Your family is in fine health.”

Is that really all he got from your spiel?

“I’m glad, but I really want to see them in person. Please just let me–”

Your tongue freezes, even if you desperately want to keep talking. He gives you a look you’re all too familiar with. The one that tells you to stop pushing your luck, that he’s made up his mind.

If you drop the subject now, he’ll pretend it was never brought up, and you can both bathe in each other's presence. But you refuse to go down like this. He can have you experience luxuries you couldn’t have dreamt of before him, but the pros don’t extend much further than that. The freedom to go out without having to gain Chrollo’s favor first or socializing with whomever you want were taken from you, stolen by a wanted thief.

Against your better judgment, you pursue the topic.

“But!” “[First].” A final warning. You don’t heed it. There’s something to gain, but nothing to lose. “But I’ve been good, haven't I?” You try not to linger on the implication of the word, feeling more like some kind of glorified pet rather than human. “I even let you…” The words are stuck in your throat, making it feel as if you’re choking on your own indignity. There’s no need for you to clarify, anyway, the implication far too obvious to miss.

You feel disgusted at yourself, even if you don’t have the guts to voice that which is obvious. You let him touch you in ways you swore you would never grant him the pleasure of. It was the last part of you he didn’t have in his grasp, and yet you handed it to him on a silver platter, clinging onto hope that maybe if you gave him this one thing he’d acquise to one of your more serious requests.

He sighs, drawn out and heavy. His hand slowly trails up your body, surely noticing but not commenting on how you bristle at the contact, and lingers on the area of your chest a bit too long for comfort. It takes a commendable amount of self control to not slap his hand away, but you manage to force yourself to keep your arms limp by your side.

When his hand reaches your face, he holds your cheek and strokes his thumb over it. The gesture is probably meant to be comforting, but there’s no comfort to be gained from it. No, comfort is a foreign concept when Chrollo is involved.

This set-up feels almost romantic. Maybe it could be, if only he could keep his mouth shut for once. A shame his words effortlessly destroy any semblance of romance the atmosphere had been able to take on.

“You enjoyed it, no?” You blank at his words. It was a reality you were set on ignoring, but Chrollo always seems to be able to tell which topics you want to avoid. It’s unfortunate those happen to be his favorite to discuss.

“Are you intent on ignoring this reality forever? To make yourself feel better about yourself, you convince yourself this was something only I wanted, that you had no choice but to accept whatever I did.” By your stiff posture and pleading eyes, he can easily tell you want him to stop. But he doesn’t relent. “Yet, it was you who initiated. You willingly entered my bed and leaned into my touch.”

Maybe if you had kept your mouth shut, this truth wouldn’t have been shoved in your face, and you could keep pretending you were as unwilling as you thought to be, just so you could justify your actions to yourself.

“Even during it all, I could see the determination in your eyes. You truly are a sight to behold. I could see the inner turmoil, the justification of why you let me claim you. I was content letting you lie to yourself all you desire, but, ah, you seem to have forced the words out of me.”

He gives you a smile of faux guilt. Had you not been feeling so utterly defeated, you might’ve reached out to slap it off his face.

The water is lukewarm, you bitterly note in your head. Even with every remaining part of your dignity being completely destroyed by Chrollo’s words, you refuse to humor him with a response, or any acknowledgement in general. Busying yourself with counting the amount of bathroom tiles seems to keep your mind off the situation at hand for a few seconds, but your tormentor won’t allow you to not give your full attention.

You’re pulled flush against his bare chest. He ignores the yelp you let out in response, placing his face into your neck. Your entire body feels heavy and useless. You want to claw him off, to prove him wrong with both words and actions, but you can’t muster up the energy. Is there even a point, when Chrollo always manages to have everything end in his favor?

He begins to press light kisses against your neck, the skin still sore due to his prior actions. His arms hold your waist in a warm embrace, yet a shiver runs down your spine at the contact.

“You’ve never been the type to give in easily. It’s a trait of yours I truly admire, along with many others.”

In the past, a heartfelt compliment like that would’ve had you beaming at the words and scrambling to give him a compliment back. But in the present, it just has the feeling of despair inside of you growing. He doesn’t voice it, but he doesn’t need to. The words left unsaid are clear.

He made you give in.

When you began hinting towards sex to him, you told yourself that this was for your own gain. That for once, you would be the victor. Chrollo would benefit, yes, but you would too. You could finally have something you truly wanted.

You told yourself this when his kisses got more heated, more passionate, the calm and gentlemanly demeanor he’s always wearing slipping away. You told yourself this when clothes were shed, when he lined himself up with you, when you felt your resolve slipping during the heat of it, when he finally pulled out and it was over.

Throwing away the last shreds of your pride was painful, but you endured. You refused to acknowledge any pleasure he was bringing you, keeping your mind focused on your goal so you could finally win once, as miniscule as your victory may be.

But in the end, Chrollo was the only one who gained anything.

Just like it’s always been.

[ixiot-ghostrebel]

Read that one with Creator!Reader, who favors Nahida. To be honest! I love her. She is the only one who has tried to help Aether find his sister. And I love Aether, and whoever is kind to him automatically gains my favor.

I haven't finished Fontaine story, so I'm not sure about them.

Nahida Lovers Are gonna be having the Party of a lifetime here 👍 I am going to shove a little bit of Aether into this, but it can also be read as Lumine if other ppl want to :)

Nahida's ALWAYS Off the Hook :D

(Warning: Might be OOC!)

You liked Nahida (platonically, don't get other ideas). She was the only archon that was able to find any information on Aether's sister, and was the only one who made many efforts to find any information regarding Lumine.

It was nice and refreshing for once, to see the Famed Traveler finally getting some help in return of their deeds for the nation. You were so stoked, you started cheering and screaming like this was the best victory you've ever witnessed (it might've actually been).

Nahida, after hearing this, felt even more happy than before. I mean, you were kinda just praising her on the spot for something she thought was just...right to do.

Yet you're making a huge deal out of it. Were the other nations...not that helpful? I mean, the way the Traveler just turned down help and all that was proof, but you praising her for something as simple as this for a "thank you"...Nahida is kinda glad she'll be the first to do it.

It also seems you're starting to favor Nahida alongside the Traveler, which she isn't sure how she feels entirely, but she is for sure happy!

The moment you leave, Nahida's smile is a whole lot bigger, and she's basically grinning from ear to ear. It feels like she truly has spread her wings once the cage was opened. She can only hope her flight can make the Almighty Creator continue to smile and cheer.

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: I really have no clue if this is meeting expectations or not, but I do hope y'all like it! Usually these one characters aren't really something I usually come around in my mailbox, so this was definitely practice for the future lol!

I might open up my mailbox again, but only for a day or two (maybe, no promises for the re-open). I still have a lot of other requests lying in my mailbox, but it's good to have experience out here :D

Anyways, I hope this helps with the Nahida Lovers :) Remember, Nahida is platonic when your reading my blog!

Also, if you're the people waiting for The Lost Divine God of Celestia, I might have to disappoint you in saying that I think I might discontinue the series all together. I have been trying to write the fourth part of the series, but I just come out with nothing in the end. It's kinda depressing seeing the draft in my draft box sobbing. I'm so sorry, but I'll see how I feel about it before I make an official announcement on the matter.

✦ Check out The Ghost Rebel’s Blog Description & Info Page to See if Their Mailbox is Open! ✦

[unoislazy]

I am feral for Mizu and you’ve been feeding me well with your Mizu fics so thank you so much for your service!! 💕💕💕💕💗💗💗💗💗 i really enjoy your writing and the way you portray Mizu. With that said i wanna run a scenario by you and im just wondering how do you think it’d play out (if you like the idea enough to do a mini fic or headcanons that’d be awesome but if not then that’s okay and i understand 💕) hear me out, what if Mikio had a sister and she lived with him and Mizu during the time they were married, say her and Mizu bonded while they all live together but then their friendship blossoms into romantic love 🥺 how do you think that’d play out?

I Am No Coward

(Part 1)

Mizu x Fem! Reader

A/N: all of you guys are so nice and I love all of you. Thank you for the suggestion! This will be around a 4 part series that I hope to continue working on in the near future so BUCKLE UP

Also!

I am planning on making a Mizu x Black reader soon but I’m struggling on deciding a scenario for it. If anyone has any suggestions they won’t be to try out for it, I’ll take them with open arms!

Summary: You’re Mikio’s sister and todays the day you meet his new bride to be.

————————————————————

Days were quiet with you and your older brother Mikio. After you had been put under his care and he had been outcasted by the lord, you both lived on his land more on the countryside, away from those who would cast their unwanted opinions on to you.

You usually took care of the more mundane tasks, cooking, cleaning; Things Mikio never truly liked to do. He wasn’t against helping but he was usually too busy with the horses to ever truly give you a hand. You knew your brother was obsessed with trying to win back the favor of the Shogun and as much as you knew it wasn’t going to happen, you let him believe anyways.

Time went on as usual until one day Mikio had returned home with some news.

“I’ve been offered a wife.” He said plainly as he took off his cape. You stopped cutting the vegetables and turned to him with a smile.

“That’s great… right?” You smiled hopefully. Given that he was now deemed an outcast and he was an older man it was unlikely that he would find any matches at this point, so you were just pleased that someone had been offered.

“She has the eyes of an onryo.” Was all he said in response before walking over to you. He kneeled down, watching what you were doing with a watchful yet critical eye. He adjusted your hand, suggesting that you had been cutting wrong in the first place.

“And that’s a problem?” You asked, your smile dropping for a moment as you rolled your eyes at his wordless suggestion. You knew he truly had no say in what opportunities were offered to him, you both did. If he had anything to gain, he should take it. He sighed for a moment, looking down before answering,

“No, She’ll be here in three days.”

Your smile returned, pleased to know that at least your brother would experience something other than the constant stress of trying to win back his honor.

You didn’t care what his wife would look like, she could have blue eyes, green hair, and purple skin for all you cared. All you cared about was your brother being happy, and you hoped she would be the key to that.

Mikio used to be a much more upbeat man. He liked to bring light to dreary situations with a joke or some laughter, but he always knew when to keep it serious. However, after he had been outcasted it seemed like all the fun parts of him disappeared. He became so hellbent on training the horses to be the best they could be that he forgot to have fun or indulge himself in anything. You used to enjoy spending time with him and you were elated when you realized you would be put under his care, but that joy soon subsided when you realized just the effect a bruised ego can have on a man. He became closed off, irritable, and would barely even give you the time of day. He cared about nothing more than his honor and as much as you tried not to, you began to resent him for it.

But you kept your thoughts to yourself and went on with your life, hoping someone would come along and change him.

The three days had passed and it was time for his new bride to arrive.

And Mikio was nowhere in sight.

You sighed, disappointed in him, believing he was avoiding yet another responsibility that seemed to ‘get in the way’ of his horses. Even if you had suggested anything, he wouldn’t listen to you, he knew what was best for him.

At least that’s what he claimed.

You sat quietly outside your house, waiting patiently for the woman to arrive so you could greet her. If anything you were ecstatic to meet the mystery woman and you hoped you’d manage to get along with her.

It hadn’t taken long for you to see them approaching. The two women walked towards your direction, both holding two bags, presumably full of their belongings. However, the younger woman seemed to also be holding what looked like a sheathed sword.

You smiled, now standing and walking down the steps, excited to meet the woman. You watched as the two women made their way towards you, one older and one younger. The older woman had turned to face the house that you stood before and spotted you, giving you a wide smile before turning back to the younger woman who seemed reluctant to continue following.

You couldn’t blame her.

Marriage wasn’t something a woman had control over in your world, you just got lucky that you got placed under your brother's care; because of him you were also considered ‘disgraced’ so not many men would truly want you.

She finally made her way, after many unpleasant words from her mother, and stood at her full height with a very plain expression.

She was beautiful.

You examined her features for as long as you could deem polite, your eyes floated from her hair, to her dress, taking in her height, and then lastly taking notice of her eyes.

However, when it came to her eyes, you didn’t see the eyes of an onryo. You saw eyes that reflected a color you saw only in the sky above, you had never seen such eyes before, but you needn’t stare and make the woman uncomfortable, she just got here after all.

You walked towards the two women, an excited smile on your face as you greeted them.

“Hello! You must be the woman Mikio’s going to marry. What’s your name?” You asked happily, the woman stared at you for a moment, clearly in some inner battle with herself on what to do now that she’s in this position. You waited patiently, understanding that being forced to marry someone is not always the happiest thing to do so you did not want to push her.

Her mother, however, cleared her throat and sent a glare at the woman, you assumed from this she was the one who had set up this offer.

The woman sighed, looking back towards you and answering,

“Mizu, my name is Mizu.” She waited for a moment before looking at you, expecting you to say something before speaking up again and asking, “and you are?”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I’m Mikio’s sister.” You introduced yourself, you did give them your name but you figured it would be more helpful for them to know why you were there in the first place. With this new information Mizu seemed to relax just the slightest bit. Maybe she thought you were a concubine.

Gross.

“So, Where is the man?” Mizu’s mother asked, seemingly wanting to get the show on the road as she turned to you expectantly. You averted your gaze, a bit embarrassed as you answered,

“I’m actually not sure.”

With that answer both of the women stared at you like you were crazy.

“You may or may not be happy to know that Mikio often isn’t home. He’s usually out training his horses.” You explained, trying to subdue the urge to roll your eyes.

“I’m sure he’ll be here any minute.”

As if on cue, you could hear the thumping of hooves accompanied by the sound of a horse's whinny. You all turned to the source of the noise which just so happened to be the aforementioned man. You sighed a small sigh of relief, thankful that he didn’t make himself look too bad.

You snuck a small glance at Mizu, wanting to gauge her reaction to your brother and you noticed that her fists were balled up tightly and her face was scrunched. Just like you had expected, the marriage wasn’t her idea. You hoped to the gods your brother wouldn’t ruin this opportunity, if not for his sake than for yours, you were tired of only having his company and truly wanted someone else to be around.

Mikio yields his horse, stopping just in front of Mizu. The first words he uttered were,

“You’re not as hideous as I expected.”

If you could’ve gotten up on that horse and smacked the life out of that man, you would’ve. It didn’t have to be love at first sight but out of all the things to say when he first meets his soon to be wife, and that's what he says? In that moment you were disappointed to have introduced him as your brother.

“You’re a lot older than I expected.” Mizu responded, earning a quiet snicker from you. Between you and your brother there was a decent age difference. If anything you were closer to Mizu’s age which was quite weird in your eyes but… it’s a sign of the times you guessed. Mikio shot you a silent glare telling you to shut up, which you did and you acted as if you had done nothing wrong.

“Let’s get this over with.” He said plainly, guiding his horse back to the field. You rolled your eyes, turning back to Mizu who just watched him go with a very obvious glare on her face.

“I’m sorry about him but if it's any consolation, you won’t have to deal with him alone.” You mentioned, trying to be at least a little encouraging. Mizu looked at you, her glare subsiding as she gave you a very small smile. With that, Mizu’s mother quickly began to rush her inside, wanting to get her ready to be wed before the sun went down. You offered your assistance in getting her ready, the entire time taking it as an opportunity to get to know Mizu.

“I noticed you brought a sword, do you know how to fight?” You asked curiously as you carefully brushed the white makeup across Mizu’s pale face. You couldn’t help but admire the woman's beauty, sure she might not have had the face of a princess, but to you that didn't mean anything. Her eyes of course were the main feature but you had also taken notice of the curl that stuck out from her hair that was pulled up.

“I fought a bit in the past… I don’t know how much I’ll keep up with it though.” She answered with a sigh but she regained her composure once she had looked over to her mother who glared at her.

“I don't know, Mikio might enjoy someone to fight with,” You began, gaining her interest a bit as she looked back up towards you. “And if he doesn't, then I would love to learn if you’d be willing to teach me.”

She gave another small smile, acknowledging your attempt to lighten her mood.

Once she had finished getting ready, her makeup was done, she was dressed in all white, you and her mother took a step back to assess how she looked.

“You look perfect!” You exclaimed to which her mother slightly nodded.

“You look fine, now where is your brother?” She asked impatiently. You turned to her, about to answer but Mikio had already walked in before you could say anything. He had taken off his cape that he wore everywhere and walked past you without saying a word. You sneered at him, he couldn't even try to make an effort? He was more of a grump than you ever remembered him being.

The private ceremony went on with the help of Mizu’s mother. You had no role in the ceremony so you simply sat back and watched. You looked on and for a strange reason you almost wanted to stop them… you felt as if one of them was making a mistake and all though it wasn’t entirely clear who, you could take a wild guess and probably be right. Regardless, you sat back. Your opinion in this matter doesn't matter anyways even if you did have the courage to go out and say it.

Immediately after they had finished, Mikio stood up, handed his dish over to Mizu, and went on his way. You could see the subtle yet dejected look that came across Mizu’s face and you felt a pang in your heart. Sure he might not know the woman very well but the least he could do is act as if he’s even the slightest bit interested. You quickly walked over to Mizu and took the dishes from her hands.

“I’ll take those, don’t worry about them.” You smiled at her, again trying to offer some sort of comfort or reassurance but this time it led to no avail. Her mother had decided it would be best to get her ‘ready for tonight’ so they both walked out and into a different room, as they walked out though the expression Mizu held had shifted to one of confusion or fear.

You sat quietly as you cleaned out the dishes that had been sitting around from hours prior. The resentment you felt for your brother only doubled down by seeing his actions first hand. Was he the most disrespectful man to ever walk the earth? No, but you still expected better from him, and when he arrived home you weren’t going to let him forget it.

A few hours had passed and the sun had set long before your brother had finally deemed it an appropriate enough time to come home. The moment he did you stood up from where you were sitting and walked over to him,

“Whatever you’re about to say, I don’t want to hear it.” He said, already knowing you were going to complain. You looked at him up and down with a look of disgust, as if he had a choice in the matter.

“Well you're going to hear about it.” You argued.

“Can’t this wait?”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to complain about.”

“I don’t need to know what it is to know that it can wait for another time.”

“Oh sure, just so at that ‘other time’ you can shoo me away and say you have to take care of your horses, or you have work to do, or you're too busy.” You began to rant, much to Mikio’s dismay. This of course was not the first time you had gone off on him, and usually you were quite good at holding your tongue around him, usually his ego was too fragile to handle it, but you were not going to watch this woman sign her life with him just for him to look straight through her.

“You have been nothing but a slob and a grump all day and, I don’t know if you noticed, but you have a wife now. A wife that you called ‘not that hideous’ within two seconds of meeting her, are you serious?”

Mikio didn’t make a move to acknowledge any of your statements but you knew he was listening. You knew, even if it wasn’t exactly obvious, that he knew his actions were wrong, but Mikio was not the kind of man to admit to his failures and you knew that. You knew this argument would go nowhere but you at least hoped if he made a change, he would pretend he got himself to that conclusion.

“It’s not exactly like I’m marrying a princess.” He finally responded, his tone laced with sarcasm causing you to scoff.

“Any woman who has to be subjected to marrying you, deserves nothing less than to be treated like one, and if you wont, someone else will.” You spat, storming out of the room to leave the man with his thoughts, or lack thereof.

[dilfartist]

Yandere Librarian Gale Dekarios

TW: Blackmail, stalking, dark themes, yandere themes, mentions of objectification, Gale is kind of a creep, Gale has a small shrine of you, heavy topics, possessiveness.

Reader description; Female/GN

Not proofread/proofread

After a while, life as a professor had begun to bore Gale. Magic is a passion of his and will never not be, but Gale yearned for more. As much as Gale enjoyed the little flashbacks of his childhood from how many accidental fires and ruined rooms at the university occurred; they were beginning to become too much. Gale found solace in silence. Back then, when Gale locked himself in his tower with every second of his life near the end, he enjoyed the stillness of his room, book in hand. So when the local library in Waterdeep required a new librarian on the weekends, Gale immediately decided to fill the role.

Gale had worked there for at least three months to test the waters and see how he felt about the job and his schedule. In that short period, he felt confident and decided to keep his job as a librarian.

Gale memorized each customer's face. Riley, the drow with white hair and pink tips at the ends, enjoyed books on nature, and her cat recently had kittens. Aoth, a human fighter part of the flaming fist, only checked out books on the history of Baldur's Gate training since he was still being trained and wanted to do his job right. Then there was Emily, the dwarf who only had time to visit the library on Tuesdays and didn’t stick around to chat with Gale. Then there was you. You were new around here, not only in the library but Waterdeep in general. Gale had seen you searching the shelves a few times but never had the pleasure of speaking with you. You didn't check out anything anyway. You merely looked through the books and then took your leave.

On one particular day, you decide to check out a book. You sauntered over to the main desk where Gale organized the recently returned books. Gale noticed you and smiled. You greeted each other then Gale took the novel you wanted to check out.

“Ah, I’ve read this a couple of times myself. Never gets old.”

You nod in agreement with a smile. Something about you seemed off. You looked on edge, your eyes avoiding Gales and you being awkward. You left after Gale stamped the first page of your book, informing you that it would need to be returned in two weeks.

You started taking home books more often after the encounter, becoming less awkward with the wizard with each interaction. Until one visit, you gained the courage to ask, “You’re Gale Dekarios, aren’t you?” Gale smiles and nods, “I suppose you’ve heard the tale of how I saved Baulder’s gate or my, uh, former condition.” You nod, “I’ve heard many stories of your amazing abilities or just stories of you in general.” Saying Gale was flattered was a bit of an understatement. From there on you and Gale started to chat. The conversation lasted so long that you had to step to the side for irritated customers to check their books out.

You became a favorite customer of Gale’s, possibly the number one. You came by the library more often, always starting a conversation with Gale that would last a bit too long. Not that Gale minded. Gale enjoyed your presence. Most customers would indulge in small talk for a little while and then awkwardly step away after too long, but you stayed and made great conversation.

Gale found himself feeling the same feeling he had with Mystra, the sick puppy love that caused him to be at her every command. The same love that nearly caused him to blow himself to pieces to have her favor again. However, there was something different. While, yes, Gale’s thoughts when with Mystra were mostly of her, his thoughts were consumed by you. Gale thought of it a bit strange but passed it off as possibly meeting his missing part.

Gale’s obsession deepened when you began when you became distant. Your visits to the library have begun to decline in the usual amount. Gale grew worried but told himself you were simply busy with life. When you finally visited the library to drop off a novel you’d been reading, Gale asked about your whereabouts. You grinned and told Gale of the new guy you’ve been going out with recently. Gale could swear his heart dropped down to the pit of his stomach. His smile faltered, and his skin drained of all color, leaving him pale. Gale played it off somehow, and you left vowing to visit your favorite friend more often. Gale felt so hurt. Even angry. Of course not at you, he felt angered by the man courting you. Besides you probably were being polite- that’s just how you are! If Gale gained the confidence to finally court you, you’d say yes out of politeness, and after a while, he’d show you why you ought to choose him as your eternal lover.

Though Gale isn’t proud of this, he has stalked you and your...lover- or could you even call the man that?! The man is too touchy for Gale's liking. He hates to suggest anything improper but the man’s eyes don’t linger on your face much, more on your body. Gale isn’t like that. He adores every part of you, body and soul.

Gale has impulses sometimes. He wants desperately to sneak off with a thing of yours. Of course, he is horrified by these thoughts. No gentleman acts this way to a lady. Despite the urge to walk over and grab the hair tie that dropped from your wrist and pocket it for himself, maybe even use it on himself to tie his hair. That hasn't stopped him from sneaking away with a quill that fell from your bag that he uses constantly.

When you and your...”lover” decide to date, Gale is more than upset. Gale puts a plan into action to separate you too. Sends a few letters to you in your lover's handwriting calling you names. However, it isn’t random insults but rather insults he’s heard from your lover himself said behind your back. When you confront him about the letters, your lover is only baffled you know what he had said, so he thinks twice before responding, which only makes him look worse.

If that isn’t enough, Gale has other ways. Gale sends notes to his subordinates with blackmail on him and some dirty lies. The ruined reputation causes your lover stress. The stress develops into a short fuse that later causes many fights between the two of you. In the end, you couldn't handle all of the negativity and decided to break off the relationship.

You return to the library with your head hanging low. You attempt to greet Gale without your sorrows peeking through. However, Gale was very observant. He gently asks what’s worrying you. Gale is so comforting with his presence, words, and all. You explain your situation to him, to which he listens attentively.

“Don’t worry, (Name). There are many men out there waiting to be there for you. Keep looking, sometimes true love is in plain sight.”

[redrandomposts]

another au idea floating in my head

AU where ivan time travels back to pre-meteor shower after his death. he now definitely knows that till would never pick him over mizi so with all the knowledge he gained from the past life, he manages to pull a miracle and get all four of them out of anakt garden safely. mizi was definitely hard to convince so ivan had to, um, kindly shatter her innocent worldview and now both sua and till hate him for making mizi sad lmao but that's fine, they're getting out of there. what's two more people ending up hating him, honestly ?

and by some other miracle, the children were found by human rebels. they're taken in, clothed, fed, and are now essentially free from the aliens.

ivan sees this as his job being done and starts to slowly drift away from the other three. now that theyre free and not being prepped like lambs for slaughter, he doesn't have anything to offer them anymore. what other use could they have for him, really ? so he just floats around the human base, distracting himself by making himself as useful as possible to the other humans

(the other humans are just incredibly worried about this blank-eyed kid who looks like he wants to be hugged so fucking bad but also like he would crumble into dust the moment someone touched him, but ivan's a stubborn bastard who wont listen to anybody so they give him easy tasks in order to keep an eye on him)

the adults take notice of the now strained dynamics between ivan, sua, and till and how mizi is caught in the middle and try to help the kids sort through their feelings.

idk maybe sua wont give a fuck since all she cares abt is mizi but mizi would definitely want to repair the broken bridges bc these are her friends :( and ivan has definitely risked a lot to bring them to safety, hasnt he ? it's unfair how sua and till were being mean to him all because he made mizi cry.

but then there's till. would he try to make amends for mizi's sake ? or would he look even further away from ivan out of guilt ? who knows.

(and imagine the other three start to get memories of their past life through flashbacks and dreams later on lmao)

— 🌦️

me: ooh! a concept! what would u like me to do with this?

🌦️: ideas!!

me: here's your half-a-fanfiction that will make you shed tears!

i have no idea how it happened, by the way. it just did.

===

the escape is rocky at best—ivan was just barely able to get till up in time last time. the only thing keeping this from falling apart is probably of his past experience and fantasies that never came to fruition.

before till or sua, he'd get mizi first, except she has the most security around her; her owner treated her as a precious princess, after all. he's forced to get till then sua (who posed quite a problem, too), and have them both witness his struggle in getting mizi to come along. sua would be a massive help in persuasion, maybe even till, but ivan had uet to disable the chips in those two that set off alarms whenever a certain place was breached. it'd be more efficient if all three of them were gathered while he turned those off.

it's no surprise the animosity that comes from both of them as he rips off the bandage that had been blinding mizi, losing her oh-so-precious smile in favor of tears. sua whisper yelled at him, beating him down for daring to make mizi cry and why were they doing this anyway? till joined in, too, and ivan was barely able to divert the guard's attention.

they do manage to leave successfully, though. it's nothing short of a miracle—sua and till's glares digging into his back, mizi's muffled sobs barely getting by security... it takes a few hours longer than the last life, too.

that's a shame. ivan would have liked to see the meteor shower again.

running across the fields, it's ivan who sees them first. he has to he diligent; he's the leader, the one in front, he's the oldest, and the other two are focused on mizi and her tears.

human rebels. ivan knew they existed, but he's never seen them in his past life. they are driving in motorcycles down the dusty road. he calls out to them, eyes wide and hopefully projecting an innocence he's lost before he went to anakt garden.

would this have been an opportunity he and till would have had in that life?

===

before, ivan would have assumed that till and sua would ease up on their fervent hate of him. tears weren't especially special, considering the life they had led—that ivan had led. while no one had cried for him, he knew that they cried for others, and an awful lot at that too.

a month later, as sua purposefully took the last sweet treat on the tray, glaring at him, all he could think was hypocrite. sua had made mizi cry the hardest, and would have had he not pulled them out so soon.

and when till screamed and beat him down whenever ivan tried to get near him or dares to talk to him, sparing no mercy as he expended his entire vocabulary on ivan, ivan... wished he could say he didn't care too much.

ivan looks at the adults and wonders how they thought of the messy situation. witnessing how the two children bullied the one they assumed was the leader, in defense of someone who didn't really need nor want it. watching how they guarded one from another, effectively isolating him. noticing how they took the happiness the rebels had tried so hard to make and provide from him.

ivan doesn't know, nor does he want to know, but everytime he sees a sweet pastry on his bed—well, it's impossible not to make a conjecture.

the adults have tried to meddle. in fact, mizi—their sun, their light of their life, their god—had tried to meddle. it's fruitless, though; till nor sua will let ivan get a word in, even if the adults are there, and they're thoroughly convinced ivan had managed to manipulate mizi into intervening.

ivan stopped in front of a cracked open door when he heard shouting. he and the others had split rooms, leaving him alone in the smaller one. "guys, ivan isn't that bad! he got all of us out, that day, he must've been stressed too!"

"he couldn't have done it nicer?" sua grumbled.

"he doesn't know how to be nice," till countered, equally upset. "ivan's no good news, mizi. it's better if you stay away. he might—he might steal your things and beat you up."

"glad we can agree on one thing."

"that's ridiculous! you're ridiculous! it's just a bit of tears, it doesn't mean a lot, guys!"

"you never cried before," sua pointed out, eyes narrowed. "stop defending him, mizi. ivan doesn't deserve it."

===

ivan stands alone in the field, looking at the night sky and trying to conjure the lyrics he had written so long ago. it's been a few years since the escape, and on the anniversary each year he'd go to see if there's a meteor shower and sing the songs that marked death.

at the age of ten, they'd manage to escape anakt garden; all four of them. at fifteen, ivan finds that he's forgotten both songs he'd sung on stage for aliens to listen and for till to hear. it's not that big a problem, except he can't recall what sua would look like on the day of her death, either, nor what dress mizi wore when she disappeared, nor how till looked when he sang that song for mizi.

maybe it'd be easier to imagine if they let him near then in this life. instead, in the five years he's been here, it's mostly ivan doing odd jobs alone around the base when he can. he lessens the work on till and sua and mizi by taking it upon himself to do it first. the rest of them don't say anything about it anymore.

not too far away, in his own room, till shoots out of bed, forehead dripping sweat. his eyes are wide, brain working overtime, yet he can only catch fleeting parts of his nightmare—a missing poster.

===

ivan is twenty, ten years since their escape, and nearly every memory from his first life erased. he desperately grasps onto a meteor shower, one that he missed in this life, but he's not an artist who can immortalize the scene. he wishes he could, he does, and as he stands outside, his last memory leaves him.

ivan's long stopped trying to grasp at the melody of black sorrow or the lyrics of cure, so he's silent as he looks up.

ivan doesn't go back to the base. he can't stand another round of shots in the heart, not when he lost his final memory. he doesn't know where he will go, but it's not here.

on earth, he'd officially be an adult. today, he feels as though he's a little child who lost his parents forever.

=====

OH MY GOD I MIGHT CRY WHAT THE HELL

what devil possessed me

FUCK IM CRYING

sua starts the whole "ivan doesn't deserve it" and till follows her lead. crowd mentality, ig, till has some doubts but mizi holds a higher place in his heart.

the adults don't get too close, because ivan doesn't let them, but they do remind him that he has a place in the base. candies, pastries, clothes, and toys are left in his room by them when they notice he's particularly feeling down. it's concerning how much this occurs.

ivan starts to lose his memories because he largest wish—give till freedom—has been completed. meanwhile, a deeper and more silent wish to be loved causes the other three to regain their memories. unfortunately, ivan runs away before that one comes true.

ivan says he feels like a child when he loses that last memory — that's because he never grew up after going back in time. his maturity came from the memories, and without them he is a lost child.

on the last night, till's last memory he gained is actually r6, when ivan dies for him. he gets up immediately to find him, except he's nowhere to be found.

perhaps in a sequel till goes to find ivan and they make up—or, perhaps in a sequel ivan is found dead or captured.

scrapped scene:

"ivan, you're the reason they managed to escape, right?"

"yes..."

"what would you change? if you had to escape again?"

"i'd want to see the meteor shower. we missed it because it took too long to get out of the garden."

"i see. how'd you know about the meteor shower?"

"...hyuna told me."

[toomanyideasandfandoms]

Okay okay okay so I have a VERY hot take...

I don't think the Sovereigns would like the creator. Cuz like it's more likely that the creator is the one that made humans, not the dragons before it. Because why would you create the dragons, and then later on just throw away the idea and push the dragons away when you could have created another planet to put the humans on instead, right?

Neuvi is the exception because he was reborn off on a human body and is technically created by the creator. HOWEVER, imagine that it's the dragon's authority that helps Neuvi realize the creator is the real deal. Like sure, the subtle power that they notice from the creator is there, but like with the authority itself (and being in tune with it as much as he would be when he obtains it), it would be MUCH more obvious.

That brings up the question as to why the archons aren't able to tell, and that's because of their own mind blocking it. How most people work is that whenever they think something is true, it takes a LOT to be able to like change their mind on something if they were wrong. So imagine that they hear of the impostor going around, but whenever they meet them, they feel that power and that pull. But because they've conditioned themselves to think of them as the impostor and not the actual creator, they stay stubborn and just push off that doubt in their minds.

Y'know who wouldn't be like that? FOCALORS (and Nahida cuz Irminsul). Think about it, she barely hears about any sort of like rumors or any badmouthin the cause she's been inside the Oritrice, and because she is made out of water (Oceanid stuff), they're more in tune with the authority. So without that block, they can tell right away during the trial on the "impostor" that they are in fact the real creator, which is why it will ALWAYS say they are innocent, no matter what.

Anyways, kinda went off on a tangent there sorry-

🍌anon

See this is where I ended up deep diving in the wiki by accident at one point that caused me to have this big brain moment.

So we know the Primordial One exists right? This is a canon god that created humans after essentially taking over Teyvat with the Heavenly Principles. That's canon.

So if the Primordial One is already canonically the one who created our characters (essentially)...what the fuck did our creator create?

My answer, Teyvat itself of course. But also the dragon Sovereigns themselves.

But I can already hear you asking, then how did we get to the modern canon of gods? Simple, Teyvat itself is an entity that can control and influence the elements, albeit very little. And with that influence the Heavenly Principles can't fully erase the authority of the creator, instead they rewrite history to favor them.

Saying the Dragons grew tired of being under the creator and chose to rebel, causing the creator to summon the Primordial One (which causes the creator to gain the title of Primordial Mother) to gain aid from. Then we essentially have our original canon mythos that's in the game itself. Essentially it's the same as with any history, written by the victors instead of what the full truth is.

And for why the archons can't recognize the creator is simply because the Heavenly Principles just won't allow them to. Because they've stolen (or attempted to for eons) the authority from the creator.

And here's my own hot take when it comes to the role of the Heavenly Principles, they aren't the creator's friend. They're more like a parasite that's trying to take over what the creator had originally made. Though the reasons I haven't fully thought up honestly. Could be jealousy, a twisted version of obsession, honestly it's up in the air for now.

But I like your hot take! Honestly most aus I've seen where the Heavenly Principles are on the creator's side would fit this very well. Actually it would be interesting if someone did an au where the isekaied protagonist is the reincarnation of the Primordial One and has to deal with the fact that they are trapped in Fontaine because the rage the Hydro Sovereign has would keep them there for all eternity just so he could enact justice on their past life's actions.

[suniix]

09 | miyamura x reader

synopsis | a secret is revealed and your promise has been kept

word count | 1.5k

note | last chapter!! sorry it took so long! also long author’s note at the end of this lolol hope you guys enjoy!

previous | mlist

The days seem brighter now.

Since you’ve accepted what has passed you feel as though a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. There��s no longer a nagging feeling at the back of your mind berating you for having fun with your friends. You started hanging out more, even going as far as to befriend some of your classmates.

Miyamura noticed the change too.

Just as he had managed to gain the courage to tell you he’s who you’ve been looking for, you’re nowhere to be seen.

“Stop pouting, you’re ruining my mood.”

Miyamura only sighed in response to Hori’s comment. “It’s no use, I think I should take this as a sign..”

“No way!” Hori quickly grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “You’re not wasting all this progress! After school you’re going to head over to their house and tell them! No excuses!”

“Can’t I just tell them on the walk home? It’d be easier to part ways if something goes wrong..”

“While that is a very good idea I heard Yuki wanted them to go shopping with her.”

Yea, you’re officially booked for the whole week.

Which led to him showing up at your house right after the sun had set. You had to be home by now.

Miyamura knocks, anxiously waiting to see you.

The doorknob turns and he almost stops breathing. This is it, he’s going to tell you—

“Miyamura?”

Only, it’s not you.

“Oh! Hello Miss..” The script he prepared in his head flies out the window, this is not something he expected. “Um, is (Y/n) here?”

“No they aren’t, they left a few minutes ago but never told me where they were going. I was just about to head out to look for them, it’s not good to be out so late.”

Miyamura knew this was perfect. It seemed like the odds were finally in his favor.

“I’ll go look!” He regrets responding so quickly once your grandma gives him a weird stare. “I had something I needed to talk to them about anyway.”

Your grandma sighed and Miyamura knew she had caved. “Alright, but be careful. I don’t understand why kids your age go out so late at night..” She mumbled before going back inside. Now that just leaves one question.

Where could you be?

The sound of footsteps jolts you from your thoughts.

You whip your head around, startled, only to find Miyamura doubled over, gasping for air.

“Whoa you okay? What happened!” You ask, panic rising at the thought of something happening to your grandma.

He shakes his head, still struggling to catch his breath. Relief washes over you as your heartbeat starts to settle.

“I just.. wanted to see you.” He breathed out. His words were soft and unsteady, like he was nervous.

The chilly air suddenly turned icy against your cheeks. You felt your cheeks and ears begin to burn and you found yourself thankful he wasn’t looking at you.

“O-Oh.. well..” You were unsure how to respond.

Instead, you reached out and patted the patch of grass next to you, inviting him to take a seat. He did so silently, keeping a decent amount of space between the two of you.

“So..” You decided to break the silence. “You said you wanted to see me?”

He nodded. “I went to your house, but your grandma said you weren’t home and she didn’t know where you went, so I went looking for you.”

“Oh no,” you rubbed your temple. “I thought I told her I was going to the park..”

Miyamura rubbed your back in an attempt to soothe your stress. “Don’t worry, I told her I’d find you.”

“And you did, somehow.. how’d you even find me?” You don’t recall telling him about coming here often, then again you don’t recall much of anything. You began to unconsciously pick at the grass.

“Your first day here you kept looking back at this place. I’ve been here before, it’s a nice spot for when you want to relax. To be honest I was really hoping you’d be here otherwise I wouldn’t know where else to look.”

You giggled, watching as a line of ducks passed by. That was almost a year ago and he still remembered, you wish you had a good memory like him.

“My turn to ask a question.”

There was a hint of mischief in his voice, causing you to eye him wearily. “Sure, go ahead.”

He chuckled at your cautious tone, bringing his knees to his chest. “Why’d you come out here?”

“To think.”

“About what?”

“That’s two questions.” You giggled. “I was just thinking about how much I’ve changed since I first got here.” You plucked bits of grass out of the ground.

Miyamura stayed silent.

“I mean you saw it yourself. When I first got here I was a bit.. reserved. Growing up I was always moving around so I wasn’t used to being in one place, I wasn’t… used to keeping friends.” You don’t know why you’re still talking. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s late at night and your thoughts need to be let out, or maybe it’s the fact that Miyamura radiates comfort and safety.

“There’s this boy I met and somehow we just clicked. He was the only real friend I had made, but then I moved away.”

He already knew this. Hori told him about this. He lived through this with you.

“When I met you guys, I guess I just felt guilty? It was like I was forgetting about him and moving on, but I can never forget about him.”

You lean back and lay on the grass, staring up at the sky. The grass is a bit damp, you realize. When you stand you’ll probably have a giant wet patch on the back of your sweater. “Sometimes I still wonder how he’s doing. I have so much I wanna talk to him about.”

Miyamura mimics your actions, leaning back against the damp grass. He’s gotten closer to you now.

“If you did meet him again, what would you say?”

Before you would’ve struggled to answer that question, but now the answer was clear.

“I’d tell him thank you for being my first friend and that no matter what, I’d always choose him to be my partner.”

“You know, I remember that day clearly.”

His words caught you off guard. You wanted to question what he meant by that, but the look on his face told you he had something bottled up that he needed to let out. It was his turn to speak.

“The teacher wanted us to group up with another student. Everyone had a partner except me.”

Miyamura was anxious. His heart was pounding and his stomach was twisting. It seemed all of his organs were protesting what he was about to say, but he knew he had to tell you.

He stood up and looked down at you. The gentle glow from the lamppost illuminated his face. From this angle his piercing scars were barely visible. He held out his hand to you.

You slowly reached out and placed your hand in his. He pulled you up but didn’t let go of your hand. It was warm, he was warm, the kind of warmth anyone would crave on a cold day. The chill on your back didn’t bother you as much as you thought it would.

“That's what you did.”

“What do you mean?”

“On that day when I had nobody, you held out your hand to a little boy and asked to be partners.” He intertwined his fingers with yours.

“How do you—”

Your question answered itself.

The block that had been holding back your memories seemingly disappeared and everything came rushing back, his face no longer vague in your memories of him. It made sense, the weird connection, the constant Deja vu moments— it’s always been him. He’s always been with you.

“Miyamura?.. You’re..”

He chuckled. “Surprise—”

You leaned forward and quickly pulled him into a hug, squeezing tightly. “I can’t believe it, it’s really you!”

“It’s really me.” Miyamura smiled and leaned into the hug, wrapping his arms around your frame.

The nerves from earlier were gone now, replaced with total joy. He can’t believe he was so nervous to tell you earlier, your reaction was the best thing he could’ve hoped for—

A loud gasp followed by small smacks to his arm broke the joyful moment.

“Ow! What was that for!”

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier! For the longest time, I thought!—” You felt your face heat up in embarrassment. “You let me believe Yanagi was you!!”

You quickly whip your head around in a panic. “I can’t ever face him again, not after this!!”

Miyamura could only chuckle at your worries. “Let's talk about this somewhere else, it’s getting late.”

You crossed your arms, not wanting to give in so easily to him after what you went through.

“… You owe me a pastry.”

“I’ll make you all the pastries you want.” He smiled, taking your hand in his and leading the way to his bakery shop.

note | guys ima be so fr i felt like i rushed this whole series because i didn’t wanna write for this fandom anymore, but i also didn’t wanna abandon it because some people actually enjoyed it so HERES THE FINAL CHAPTER!! thank you all for sticking around this long 🫶 this chapter isn’t the best because i pushed myself to write this right after finals and im super burnt out. i don’t plant on writing an epilogue but i am planning on rewriting this story!! don’t know when it’s gonna happen, doubt it’ll happen soon, but it will get done eventually!! (on a slightly more serious note the ao3 curse is real, so much happened to me after i started writing this that i don’t even want to write another series 😭) once a chapter is edited it will have an official title and not just the title number! again, thank you to those who stuck around, i recognize the frequent likers and commenters, your words inspired me to keep writing 🫶💕

thank you for reading till the end! reblogs are greatly appreciated :D

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