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havecourage-darling · 3 years ago

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Firsts: The First Time

AO3 link || Part 6 of 12 (each chapter is a standalone)

<< Firsts: Jealous & Gigs || Masterlist || The First Argument >>

I'll Remember You

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female Henderson!Reader

wc: 10.6K

warnings: Given the nature of it being the first time, the second bit has some explicit smut.

A/N: I overthought this one too much lmao hope you guys like it! I couldn't reread it another time so as always, ignore any mistakes! (also, I was thiiis close to just calling it first sexy times lmao)

“What are we seeing this time?” Steve asked, his leg bouncing up and down.

You checked the time and winced at the ache in your back. For the past week you had practically lived at the library, studying flash card after flash card, writing until your hand had cramped up and your muscles felt like they were atrophying.

A warm hand absently rubbed at the right muscle and you arched into his touch like a cat. Eddie smiled, still arguing about the importance of Black Sabbath in the music industry with Robin and Gareth, his fingers tapping against your spine in acknowledgement.

“Alien,” you said, “I think we’ve still got time. Food should be out soon.”

The diner you had all chosen was down the street from the theater. It was still one of the first outings but, you had been trying to bridge the gap between your friends and Eddie’s friends. You got along great with the guys. Eddie preferred Robin and Nancy’s company to Steve’s but, more common ground was being found with every hour you spent together. Steve had even laughed at a few sarcastic quips Eddie had made. You knew they’d be good friends if they both just stopped circling each other suspiciously.

“Who picked Alien?” Steve grumbled.

You didn’t remember but your guess was on Robin.

“What? Scared of a little aliens Harrington?” You asked, raising one of your brows. Your father used to say that one of your professional skills was the ability to goad Steve into a fight.

Steve smirked and you knew you had him. “Who saved who that night in the junkyard Henderson?”

“Considering that was the night you stole my bat and never gave it back, technically I saved myself.” You did miss that bat. Steve had claimed he lost it but you knew it was hidden away somewhere.

“You dropped it! I didn’t steal it.”

“Sure,” you huffed.

“Do I even want to ask?” Eddie said, his hand settling on your waist as he pulled you closer to him. You slid easily in the booth, your hip hitting his.

“You really don’t,” Robin answered for you.

Eddie looked down at you, his hair wild as always, and eyes soft. He was wearing the necklace you’d gotten him for Christmas – he hadn’t taken it off since he’d opened it. You smiled at him, your hand coming up to curl a lock of his hair around your finger and tugged on it lightly. His eyes flashed and you startled when you heard Steve groan.

“Do you two need to be so disgustingly into each other? It’s like watching my sister on a date,” Steve said, his face scrunched up.

“I watched you swap spit with Wheeler for a year, shut it,” you snapped back, not looking in his direction. Eddie’s smile grew at your comeback. You only whirled around to glare at him when you felt his foot connect with your ankle.

Steve frowned, expression indignant, and both of you started to squabble.

“I don’t know how I ever thought you two might’ve dated,” Robin said, sighing. She dropped her chin onto her palm and watched you both like you were a tennis match.

“Me too!” Eddie added, bumping Robin’s fist.

You and Steve shot them similar disgusted looks.

“I didn’t,” Gareth said, shrugging when you all turned to look at him. “Henderson’s too cool for Harrington.”

“Hey! What!”

Grinning, you leaned across the table and kissed his cheek. “You’re a rockstar Gareth.” Eddie squeezed your hip as Gareth smiled, flustered.

“Stop trying to get all my friends to fall for you,” Eddie said, teasing you.

Before you could answer, Steve shouted: “I’ve literally known Henderson since before Dustin was born.”

“So?” You asked, gasping at him indignantly.

Steve shot you a look. “So! We’ve known each other for too long.”

“What does that have anything to do with it? Am I not good enough for you?” You argued, biting back laughter at his expression. “I’d like to remind you that one of us graduated second in their year.”

“Don’t start that with me,” Steve said, pointing at you, descending into a familiar argument. “You always have to make it weird!”

After a particularly snappy comeback, you grabbed your chest, pretending to be offended and mortally wounded. Eddie’s huffs of laughter warmed your neck as he tucked his face in your hair.

“Finally, oh my God thank you,” Robin said, beaming at the waitress as she dropped off your order.

A chorus of thank yous! were the only sound before you all descended into eager silence. You quickly picked apart your food, placing your crispy fries onto Eddie’s plate – he liked the crunch – and making room on your own as he gave you some of his onion rings. You thanked him as he handed you his cleared side plate for your ketchup – you hated when your food touched – and you handed him the mustard.

You were mid-chew when you caught Steve’s curious look.

“What?” You said around a mouthful of food. “Do I have something on my face?”

Eddie turned to look and shook his head, his fingers wiping away some crumbs from your cheek.

“No, what I can’t look at you?” Steve asked, chewing thoughtfully. Experience taught you that he was up to something but you were too hungry to poke at it.

“Whatever weirdo.” You rolled your eyes and went back to your burger.

Within minutes, everyone’s plates were cleaned off and you were all climbing back into your cars. “Crap,” you muttered, pulling your seatbelt on.

“What?” Eddie asked, pulling out of the parking lot and following Steve’s car up the road, towards the theater.

“I forgot to go to the bathroom before we left,” you groaned, leg jiggling.

“Chugging everyone’s milkshakes will do that to you,” Gareth said helpfully from the back.

You sighed, trying to think of the desert. “So,” Eddie started, “this would not be the best moment to tickle you?”

“I’ll rip your head off with my teeth,” you threatened sweetly, shooting him a wide smile.

He smiled, his eyes lighting up, and you knew the threat hadn’t registered. He didn’t need to say it, but you knew he was thinking something not appropriate to be said in company.

“Always violence with you,” he said instead, shaking his head. You shot him a look that said you knew the direction of his thoughts. Eddie grinned, eyes flickering down your body. Just as you were going to tease back, Eddie parked close to the entrance and you nearly tore your door off. “Can you get my usual Eddie?” You shouted, darting past a waiting Robin and Steve.

“Where are you going?” Steve called out, hands on hips like the mother he was.

“Bathroom! Don’t want to miss the beginning of the movie!” You shouted back, not slowing.

Carl, the usher who was always on shift in the evenings waved at you as you passed him. You usually tried to avoid him since he had a tendency to get too touchy and you never knew how to address it.

Quickly, you walked back out, drying the last bit of water on your jeans. Not focused on where you were half-speed walking, you stumbled into someone.

“I’m so sorry – oh, Carl! Did I hurt you?” You asked, Carl’s hands coming up to your own to help you keep your balance. His palms were too warm and soft.

“No, it was my fault,” he said, his eyes searching your face for any sign of pain. You smiled, pulling yourself out of his reach and smiling politely. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said, eyes glancing over his shoulder and catching Eddie’s eyes. He was standing outside the theater with Robin, drink and popcorn in hand.

A touch to your elbow startled you and you took a step back instinctively. Carl was smiling down at you, oblivious. “What movie are you seeing? I haven’t seen you here in a while.”

“Alien,” you said, a little short, and taking a step towards your friends. “I think it’s actually starting soon – sorry again!”

Not waiting for an answer, you darted over to Eddie. He rose one of his brows and glanced behind you. His arm came around you as you reached him. “Are the guys inside?” You asked. Robin nodded – her grin barely hidden.

Looking up at Eddie, you watched his eyes flash before turning down to meet yours. “Ready?”

Nodding, you went to take a step towards the theater but Eddie didn’t move. Before you could ask what was wrong, he ducked his head and kissed you. You kissed him back, surprised but always welcome, and nipped at his bottom lip. He pulled back, pupils dilating a little, and grinned.

“What have we said about using your teeth?”

“That it turns you on?” You asked, savoring the way his voice deepened when he was trying to be serious.

“Which means…”

“Uncomfortable situations in public,” you finished, laughing. You reached up and nipped at his ear in retaliation, thanking him for your popcorn. “Did you add the-”

“Chocolate while it was still piping hot?” Eddie said, kissing your temple softly this time. You offered him a piece as you all walked to the doors. His teeth grazed your fingers and you shot him a look.

“Want some?” You asked Robin, trying to ignore the match you felt ignite in your chest.

She, predictably, wrinkled her nose. “Steve got us regular popcorn,” she teased, “I don’t know how you can stomach that combo! I always forget that abomination.”

“A Henderson classic,” you said, chewing on your buttery, chocolatey goodness as you tried to spot Steve and Jeff in the dark.

“How did you get roped into it?” Robin asked Eddie, herding you both to the left.

You eyed the seats, looking for The Hair, licking the trail of melted chocolate off your fingers and glanced at Eddie. His eyes were focused on your tongue, his expression heated and you froze mid-lick. “I was easily convinced,” he said faintly. You grinned.

“God, you two need a room,” she groaned, walking towards the middle seats.

“You know, we could sit alone over there in that corner,” Eddie’s breath fanned over your ear. Your stomach flipped and your toes curled at the promise in his tone.

“This is supposed to be group bonding,” you said, elbowing him.

“We’ve already bonded,” he teased – you really hadn’t yet – “my friends like your friends, yours like mine, look at us – one big happy family. Can’t mommy and daddy have fun on their own?”

Skin on fire, you avoided his heated look and elbowed him harder. “Keep it in your pants Munson,” you whispered, lowering your voice further at the glare of a nearby girl. “Sorry!”

Eddie laughed, tugging you towards your friends.

“Tease.”

You had stayed awake far too late that night for the early shift that you all had in the morning. You barely managed to drive your way to Family Video, your eyes squinted against the sun, and stumbling out your car with your hand clutching your coffee.

“Late night?” Robin waggled her brows. “Eddie seemed excited to finally say goodnight yesterday.”

Steve, standing behind the counter with his arms crossed, snickered and you rolled your eyes.

“He took me home,” you said, tossing your head back, ignoring their twinkling eyes.

There was something about Family Video during the opening shifts that you didn’t entirely hate. The sun hit the dusty windows just right, illuminating the small – normally dark shop – and for a second, you didn’t feel like it was a forgotten dungeon somewhere. You adjusted your green vest, your name tag glinting off the sunbeam coming in.

Robin shelved another tape before leaning her elbow against it. “And did he drop off Gareth before you?”

“I don’t see what that has anything to do with this,” you said, avoiding the question. Eddie had all but made Gareth barrel roll out the van before parking in your dark driveway and dragging you onto the bean bags in the back.

“It has to do with the fact that probably everyone in a ten-mile radius could tell he was ready to climb you like a tree,” Robin said.

Steve nodded, pointing at Robin. “It would be nice if you two could tone it down a little,” he complained, “it’s rude to rub salt into the wound. Some of us are unhappy being single.”

“Didn’t you just go out with that cheerleader?” Robin asked.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah, but I’m not even sure if she likes me that much.”

“Who cares, it’s still someone willing to sleep with you,” Robin threw her hands up.

Something in your expression must’ve tipped Steve off because he rounded his torso to you.

“I mean, you’re getting laid, right?” Steve asked, narrowing his eyes at you.

Avoiding his searching stare, you continued to shelve the returns.

“Oh my God Steve,” Robin hissed. At your pointed silence, she whirled around to you, brows rising. “Really?”

“Why not?” Steve asked, stepping towards you.

“Hold on, there has to be some boundaries,” Robin said, misinterpreting your silence for discomfort.

You sighed, shooting her a grateful look. Steve was your best friend, for better or worse, you knew he was only being his regular nosy self. He might tease you, for years, but he’d never let anyone else do so. “He said he wanted to take things slow,” you admitted.

Robin gasped. “Eddie Munson? The guy who basically undresses you with his eyes the second you walk into a room?”

Flustered, you walked into the next aisle, and cleared your throat. “We wanted to get to know each other better,” you said, defensiveness creeping into your voice.

“When did he say that?” Steve asked, popping out at the end of the aisle.

“Like right before we started officially dating,” you said, sighing, knowing that Steve was like a bloodhound, incapable of letting things go.

“Which was…” He said, waving a hand in the air.

“Three or four months ago?”

“What?” Robin shouted from the counter.

Steve’s eyes widened. “And you’ve both just been stewing in this infuriating sexual tension? Jesus.”

You went to defend yourself but Robin beat you to it. “Dingus is right dude, it even itches at me,” Robin said.

You shrugged helplessly. “I don’t want to pressure him! We met in a weird way – I basically threw myself at him while drunk during the Halloween dance.”

“You?” Steve asked, eyes widening. “You offered him…”

“Sex?” You said, questioningly.

“Nice,” Robin said grinning.

You rolled your eyes. “I was drunk. He didn’t – take me up on it if you both remember. I think at first, I wasn’t ready because I didn’t want him to think I just threw myself at anyone like that – not that there’s anything wrong with that,” you said, eyeing Steve who scowled at you. “I wanted him to know that it was specific to him. Then I think he wanted to prove he wasn’t just with me only for sex.”

“This sounds way more complicated than it needs to be,” Steve said, rubbing his temple.

“It’s not like we were friends before we got together! We both needed to find out if we even liked each other past the…the…”

“Shallow intense desire to jump each other’s bones?” Robin offered.

“Yes, that!” You sighed. “Besides, we don’t go to the same school – he’s focused on his band, I have work, there’s more effort that needs to go into it when you both don’t live or study near each other.”

A large part of the last few months had been spent driving back and forth between campus, your home, Eddie’s trailer, Hawkins High, and the Hideout. You were both never casually in the same place, you had to orchestrate it all. Which, didn’t sound as troublesome as it was.

“That’s true,” Robin said, chewing absently on a candy bar.

Steve groaned. “Which I get, but that was almost four months ago now. You both move in tandem at this point. It’s weirdly domestic. Didn’t he just get you a limited-edition record for Christmas? He said he drove to like some record store three hours away. You don’t do that for someone you’re not serious about.”

“It’s cute!” Robin said, defensive. “The way you both hand each other off what you want during dinner or the way he got your weird popcorn order right, even I get that confused sometimes.”

“It’s adorable,” Steve said, sarcastic dripping off the words. “What would be nice is we all didn’t have to feel like we’re crawling out our skins from the sexual tension.”

“Well that seems like more of you problem,” Robin retorted.

They both quickly started squabbling, both getting huffier with each remark.

“Wait, wait!” Robin waved a hand in the air. “We haven’t even asked – do you want to? Are you ready?”

“To have sex?” You asked, lowering your voice and glancing around the store.

“Well, yeah,” Robin said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I’ve done stuff, you know, but I’m not ready yet. At all. And it’s cool if you’re not.”

“Exactly,” Steve said, turning to you. “If you’re not ready that’s different! Besides, Munson is way better than that other douchebag.”

Robin’s eyebrows disappeared into her bangs. “Smiths?”

Steve rolled his eyes so hard you had to bite back a laugh. Your ex-boyfriend and you had dated for a year – you’d met at camp. He’d dumped you for another girl in his school fairly quickly after you’d had sex. Steve and Dustin had threatened to beat him up the summer he came to visit. You knew he wasn’t winning any best boyfriend awards but he was mostly harmless. Neither of you had been doing well with the distance.

“Ew,” Robin said, wrinkling her nose, after Steve had retold a dramatic and, no doubt, exaggerated story, “what a dick!”

“We’ve all gotten over it,” you said, “aside from Steve and Dustin.”

“He was a poser,” Steve grumbled, “Dustin would back me up.”

“He’d back you up on almost anything,” you rolled your eyes.

“I can’t help but point out that you haven’t answered the question,” Robin said, eyes twinkling when you glared at her.

You focused back on the videos you were shelving. “I’m ready whenever he is,” you said, avoiding their eyes. After a heavy silence, Steve sighed.

“Henderson,” he said, coming around to you.

“What!” You snapped, tired of this topic. You made the mistake of glancing at him and he straightened.

“Oh my god, you’re like two seconds from jumping him, aren’t you?”

You want to die. No, you wanted to strangle Steve and take him down with you.

“I cannot explain this enough,” Steve continued, like you weren’t planning his murder, “it’s always important to wait until everyone is enthusiastic and happy and ready.”

Robin nodded, backing Steve up. “Consent is non-negotiable, obviously but in this case – wait,” she turned to Steve, “maybe we should let them figure it out.”

“I can’t!” Steve said, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “They might take years and I can’t handle another movie night or lake visit with all their goddamn pheromones around each other!”

You glared at him. “You’re the one going on ten dates a week!”

“Because I’m trying to find what you have! I don’t want just meaningless sex; I want someone who’s cool and likes me and…and knows me!”

You and Robin gape at him. “You’ve grown so much,” Robin said, pretending to wipe a tear.

“Good for you Harrington,” you said, squeezing his arm. “She’s out there for you – definitely not Chelsea though.”

“Oh God no,” Robin agreed, “she’s horrible.”

“Like you’re one to know,” Steve said, glaring at Robin.

“Tammy has a great voice!” She argued and you sighed.

“Back to you,” Steve said, waving a hand through the air, “listen, I know that you’re both kind of stumbling in the dark here and I’m telling you this because you’re my friend.”

“What?”

“Munson would throw you against the wall in two seconds if you let him,” Steve said, exhaling heavily like he’d gotten something off his chest.

“What? Has he told you about…that?” You shifted, a little uncomfortable for the first time.

Steve and Robin laughed loudly, bending over and clutching their stomachs like you’d just told the funniest joke in the world. You frowned, crossing your arms.

“Sorry, it’s just, that’s such a dumb question,” Robin said through her chuckles.

“I hate you both.”

Steve waved a hand before finally calming down. “We just know. It’s like…electricity!” He snaps.

“…. electricity?” You asked flatly.

Steve smiled, as if remembering something. “Yeah, sexual electricity,” he said. Robin bobbed her head and wiggled her fingers around.

“Usually only the two people who want to jump each other’s bones can feel it but you make my skin crawl with it – not in a bad way don’t stare at me like that – it’s more like I want to shove you both in a room so you can just get it over with.”

You blinked at Steve, quirking a brow. He sighed and shook his head. “No one listens to me.”

Robin smiled, hopping down from the counter. “Listen,” she said, wrapping an arm around you, “we’re not trying to be pushy. We’re your friends and we want you to be happy. If that means getting laid…then, we’re just trying to tell you that he’s definitely waiting on you, not the other way around.”

Was it true? You tried to think back on the last few weeks but it was hard to tell where the boundaries were. They’ve always been a bit blurred between the two of you when it came to physical affection.

“Wouldn’t I have noticed?” You asked, exasperated. “Wait, if you guys noticed wouldn’t he have noticed?”

“Guys are stupid,” Robin said, snorting. Steve bobbed his head, pointing at Robin.

“I don’t usually agree but yeah,” Steve said. “Munson is pretty much wrapped around your fingers so I doubt he’ll be the one to make the first move.”

“But…I – well,” you shot them an embarrassed look and Robin frowned.

“What?”

You huffed, annoyed with yourself. The three of you always talked about everything – in fact, you all could probably use some boundaries.

“I don’t have a lot of experience,” you mumbled, “I’m not sure…how to make the first move? Jeremy kind of just did everything for both of us.”

Robin smiled sympathetically. “Beats me, I know less than you do.” You both turned to look at Steve, who blinked at you in return.

“Shit, we’re doomed,” Robin mumbled under her breath.

“I heard that,” Steve said. “Well, I guess…uh, first – do you know if he…has any experience?”

You both looked deeply flustered, looking anywhere but each other.

“For God’s sake, Dingus told us a detailed recount of his hook up last weekend and you both turn into blushing nuns now? This is a crucial code red!” Robin crossed her arms.

“Yes,” you said, walking towards the counter to grab more tapes to organize. “He’s dated and hooked up with a girl but I’m his first relationship. My only experience was with Jeremy so…we’re screwed basically.”

“Of course not!” Steve said, standing up suddenly. “You’re a Henderson. Hendersons don’t give up.”

You rolled your eyes but appreciated the sentiment. “So, what do I do? How do I bring it up?”

“I vote for just asking,” Robin said.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay,” he huffed, “you have to drop some hints first. See how he reacts. You can’t just ask.”

“Hints?”

“I’m not sure if they want us to play something different,” Eddie said, twirling in your chair. You both were in your room after Eddie had picked you up from your last class. He’d been recounting the story of his earlier conversation with the manager at the Hideout.

You’d both stumbled into the back of his van, per usual, and had started making out. You had tried to keep Steve’s hints in mind. You’d moaned just a little louder, been more eager, let your hands trail a little lower, but in the end, he’d moved you towards your house just as it felt like something was happening.

“Maybe if we rearrange out setlist?”

Did he know? You wondered. Had you been to obvious and now he was just too embarrassed to tell you he wasn’t ready? Were you too obvious? Did he not like that? Maybe you hadn’t gone far enough. Would you have picked up any of the hints if your places were reversed?

“Princess?”

“What?” You straightened, coming out your spiraling thoughts. “Sorry.”

The corner of Eddie’s mouth twitched, a smile building, and he joined you on your bed. “I asked what you thought of our setlist?”

Steve and Robin’s voices bounced around in your head. Eddie’s wild hair and smiling eyes pushed you over the edge. “Do you want to have sex with me?” You blurted, mortified.

Eddie blinked, surprised. The silence in your room echoed, every second making you strongly contemplate fleeing the country.

“Not like, right now, but…it’s…um, Steve told me that he thinks you’re waiting for me to give the green light but I told him that you’re the one who brought up taking it slow! I don’t ever want you to feel pressured – if the answer is no, I mean, obviously I don’t care. I don’t – I wouldn’t ever –” You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

“Steve said we had sexual electricity? I don’t know what that means but I thought…I’d ask, in case you feel it? Oh my God, why is this so painful?” You muttered the last part more for your sake than his.

Eddie finally seemed to reboot and he lurched forward for your hands, overshooting and smacking into your arms. You both winced and he straightened. “Sorry, you just caught me off guard,” he said, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles. “You’ve never pressured me into anything, have I…I mean, do I-”

“No!” You rushed to assure him. “No, of course not. I mean, I’m pretty sure I can take you if you did but, you know, no.”

Eddie’s laugh settled your nerves and you smiled at him. You couldn’t help the nervous jiggle of your leg, the bed moving with your anxiety.

“Uh, I-” Eddie scratched the back of his neck, a nervous habit you recognized. Oh crap, he wasn’t ready and now you seemed like a total asshole who didn’t know how to recognize the signs and you were going to enjoy murdering Steve – “I sort of thought you weren’t ready.”

“What?” You squeaked, sitting up.

Had…Steve been right?

“I didn’t want to ask and look like a dick. I know I was the one who asked to take it slow but I didn’t want you to think that because of the…thing we have, that I expected anything. I really did want to get to know you first,” he said, uncharacteristically nervous.

“Oh,” you said, realizing you’d done the exact same thing. “I, uh, me too.”

Eddie grinned, shaking his head. “So, in other words, we’re sort of idiots?”

“Speak for yourself,” you huffed, “I’m the one who actually brought it up.”

“Because I’d look like an asshole if I did!” Eddie protested, acting mortally wounded. “It’s not gentlemanlike.”

“I’m sorry,” you snorted, “I don’t see any gentlemen here.”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed and you fought your laughter. You jumped off the bed, shrieking, as he ran after you, hands reaching for your body. Skirting around the table, you managed to get to the living room before he’d caught you.

Out of breath, your chests rose with exertion as he beamed at being the victor. You tried to buck him off you but he held your wrists to the carpet next to your shoulders.

“Your hurt my feelings,” he joked, eyes filled with laughter.

“Poor baby,” you said, trying to find enough traction to flip your positions. “Didn’t know your ego was so fragile.”

Eddie laughed and shook his head. “You know how to kick a man when he’s down, Henderson.” You used your heel to shove your legs up but were immediately thwarted by his legs trapping your knees between his. “I know all your tricks, enchantress. You’re not escaping me this time.”

You grinned, defeated. Eddie beamed, his lips coming down to yours. Eagerly, you pulled on your wrists – easily breaking his hold on them. You brought a hand up to his collar, holding him nearby and the other urged him to drop some of his weight onto you. After you both came up for air, you shook your head.

“I won’t be defeated so easily next time,” you joked, bumping your nose with his.

“I know you well enough to never underestimate you, Henderson,” he said, kissing your forehead with a sincerity that made your heart ache. How had you missed his presence for so long? How had he been a virtual stranger only a few months ago?

As if reading your thoughts, he sat back, and shot you a look.

“I can feel it by the way, I’ve felt it since that first day in the sweltering gym. It’s like, when I’m playing the guitar,” he said, eyes unfocused, like he was lost in a memory. “When I’m in a bar, the amp right next to us, and I hit the right notes at the right time. Or when I manage to kill it with a campaign, everything goes right for once and it’s…explosive. It’s a current over my skin, like I’m a live wire. I could power the entire city with it.”

You tilted your head, playing with one of his rings, watching him nod to himself.

“That’s how you make me feel, just by walking into the room,” he said, smiling slowly. “I just look at you and feel like I’m lighting up from the inside. I don’t know why but I don’t really care. I’m just happy its there.”

Sexual electricity, you sighed, really not wanting to give Steve any credit.

“I know what you mean,” you said, sitting up to kiss his jaw. “It’s like those sparklers on the fourth of July. That’s what you feel like.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asked, relief flashing across his face, expression looking oddly vulnerable.

You often forgot that Eddie had cultivated this image of himself – someone who didn’t care what anyone said, let people make judgements, and walked around with two middle fingers up to the world. The scary outsider. But…he’d also let you see beyond that. He was so much more and you knew it wasn’t easy for him to let you in, despite the fact that he’d never admit it. Honestly, there wasn’t a scary bone in his body.

So, maybe Steve had been right and you needed to take the lead here.

“Eddie Munson,” you said, tilting your chin up.

“Princess Peach,” he said, mimicking your tone.

You bit back your smile but you knew by the laughter in his expression that he’d seen it.

“If you want to have sex with me, I’d like to have sex with you,” you said, proud of the fact that your voice didn’t shake.

Eddie grinned, his entire face lighting up. “That sounded super romantic,” he said, clutching his hands to his chest, “do you romance all your boyfriends like this?”

You tried not to wince. Most couples naturally fell into the next step, it seemed like you and Eddie were doomed to stumble through all the firsts.

“Don’t get me wrong, I like it when you take charge,” Eddie said, licking his bottom lip, “it leaves no room for misconceptions.”

“You haven’t really answered me,” you said, ignoring his satisfied expression.

“I very much want to have sex,” he said, huffing like the answer was obvious, “with you, of course.”

You rolled your eyes. “I assumed so.”

“Good intuition,” he said, grinning shamelessly.

You dragged your gaze down his body as he leaned against the wall. His arms were crossed and the leather stretched to accommodate.

“Please don’t look at me like that,” Eddie groaned, shifting suspiciously.

“I’m not looking at you in any way,” you argued, knowing full well that you were.

Eddie’s look reflected the same knowledge. You tried to hide your grin and leaned back onto your hands. “How about this, we don’t do anything today,” you started, “I’m too wired and there would be too much pressure. Plus, my brother should be back in like thirty minutes.”

He nodded. “Any other time this week when the mood strikes-”

“-yes! When it happens, it happens,” you said, relieved.

Eddie nodded, offering up one of his fists. You rolled your eyes at his wide grin, oh what the hell, and bumped it with yours.

Ideally, after your entirely mature – and painfully mortifying – conversation, you’d assumed that you’d be set for the next time you saw each other.

Unfortunately, life had other plans. You were meant to drive over to Eddie’s the following day but a sudden last-minute assignment from one of your classes threw you off course. Then, when that was over, Eddie needed to go to one last practice before a gig two towns over. You both agreed to set a date night for that Friday – as a failsafe.

The day before, you found yourself driving home early from your shift after class and you grinned to yourself. For once, life seemed to want to give you a break. You’d probably be able to catch dinner or a movie with Eddie before you were expected home. You had family over for the holiday and you knew your mom wouldn’t let two days in a row slide but you could try.

Barely offering up a general greeting, you darted into your room and called Eddie. After two rings, he answered.

“Munson Residence, this is the butler Jeeves speaking.”

“You’re such a dork,” you said, laughing.

“Your highness!” Eddie said, voice brightening. “I didn’t know I’d have royalty calling me tonight.”

“I call you almost every night, Munson.”

“I beg to differ,” he said, huffing, “I call you sometimes.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me young lady!”

“I still don’t know how you do that,” you said. You were almost sure he guessed half the time and was just lucky enough to be right.

“I just know you well enough or it’s a secret and I’ll never tell, you decide.”

“Or you could come over and we could grab a bite and I’ll make you tell me?”

“I’ll be there in fifteen – oh, fuck.”

“What?”

Eddie’s sigh echoed in your ear. “I can’t. Jeff just called me to say he was on his way – something’s wrong with his guitar. I think a few of his strings snapped and you know how he is with it.”

“Uh, how you all treat your guitars like children, you mean?” You snorted.

“Excuse me, I would never be so careless with my baby,” he scoffed.

“Yeah okay,” you smiled, “alright, I just wanted to see if I could steal you for a night.”

“I’m sorry princess but our gig is this weekend and he needs my help,” he said, his voice getting softer. “We still have our date tomorrow.”

“I know,” you sighed, “I was just looking forward to seeing you. I haven’t seen you since Monday.” You heard loud knocking through the phone.

“Hold on,” Eddie said, disappearing for a moment. “I can drive by when I’m done here, even if it’s late,” he said after a minute, Jeff’s panicked rambling audible in the background.

You smiled, imaging Jeff’s flailing hands. “No, it’s okay, I don’t want you to drive all the way out here just for a few minutes,” you said.

“I do know how to climb into your window,” Eddie reminded you.

“My aunt and cousin are staying over this week, remember?”

Eddie groaned. “Is the universe conspiring against us? Is it because I called Jason Carver an empty-headed jock? I take it back!”

You laughed, picturing his expression.

“I miss that,” he said, voice sounding defeated. “I miss you.”

“It’s only been a few days,” you said, reminding both of you.

“I want to see you every day, even if it’s for five minutes.”

You smiled widely, your ever-present butterflies fluttering around. “I know, me too,” you sighed, “we really did become that couple, didn’t we?”

“Hey, you said it,” Eddie laughed when you huffed. Jeff’s voice escalated and Eddie grunted. “Alright, I’m coming!”

“Go help him before he has a panic attack,” you said, “I’ll see you tomorrow then? Pick me up from work?”

“See you tomorrow your highness,” he said, waiting for you to hang up first.

You set the phone down and chewed on your lip. You knew you were being ridiculous but you wanted to just see him, even if it was just for an hour while he fixed Jeff’s broken strings. Glancing at your watch, you smiled when you realized it wasn’t too late. You kept your footsteps light as you walked down to Dustin’s room and knocked on his door.

“Hey,” you said, leaning against the doorway. “I’m going to try and head out for a bit to Eddie’s-”

“Mom let you leave?” Dustin sat up, interested. You’d both been told under no circumstances were you to disappear like you usually did while your aunt and cousins were visiting from out of state.

“Not yet,” you said, “I’m going to tell her I’m going to Nancy’s for school. Help cover for me?”

You and Dustin had gotten into the habit of always telling each other where you were going – even if you lied to others about it. It only took a few close brushes with death for both of you to realize that someone should know where you really were at all times.

“Yeah,” Dustin said, sighing and dropping back onto his bed. “I’ll cover for you.”

“I owe you one!” You said, kissing the top of his head.

“Yeah, yeah, tell Eddie I said hi,” he grumbled, going back to his book.

A few minutes later, you were in your car driving down to the trailer park. You bopped your head along to the radio, excited. Parking next to Jeff’s car, you hopped up the steps and knocked on the door.

It swung open a few minutes later, Jeff’s stressed expression popping out. He smiled when he saw you. “Hey, Eddie said you couldn’t come over.”

“Who is it?” His voice called from the living room.

“It’s Henderson,” Jeff shouted back.

“Dustin?” Eddie’s voice carried over, his head popping out from over Jeff’s shoulder.

“I’m glad the first person you think of when you hear my last name is my brother’s,” you said dryly.

Eddie’s grin split his face, softening him immediately. “Between the two of you he’s more likely to have snuck out, especially considering that we talked maybe 45 minutes ago.”

“I didn’t sneak out,” you said, stepping into the trailer.

“And where does your mom think you are?” Eddie asked, raising his brow.

“Nancy’s,” you said sheepishly.

Eddie laughed and the sound washed over you, comforting you. Reaching out, you pulled him closer and kissed him. “Hi,” you said, bumping your nose with his.

“Hi princess,” he said, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Hey, this is cute and all but I’m mid-meltdown here!” Jeff complained.

You hid your laugh into Eddie’s shoulder and stepped back. “I know, I’m sorry – go ahead, I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

“I don’t,” Eddie grumbled, pinching your hip before making his way back to the dining table.

You tried to distract Jeff – who had never had any of strings break and as the lead singer, was usually very careful with his guitar – and watched as Eddie quickly fixed it. After a few minutes, it was done and Eddie helped Jeff tune it.

“Dude, thanks,” Jeff sighed, packing it back into its case.

Finally allowing yourself in his proximity, you dropped into the sofa next to him. Eddie smiled, placing his hand on your thigh and squeezing it once. “How did it happen?” You asked Jeff, taking Eddie’s hand in yours.

Jeff launched into a long-winded story, pausing for some cold pizza and a beer midway.

“Well shit,” you said, having dropped your head onto Eddie’s lap. “That really is bad luck.”

He nodded, chucking out the garbage and gathering his stuff. “I should head out, thanks man, seriously.”

Eddie slapped Jeff’s outstretched hand and kept your entangled ones on your stomach. “No problem - let me know if anything sounds off.”

Jeff waved at you and walked out. Shortly after, you heard the engine turn and the sound of gravel under tires.

“So, how was your day?” Eddie asked. “What classes do you have on Thursdays again?”

You recounted your day, smiling when Eddie asked a few questions.

“What about you?” You asked. “Get any more detentions?”

“I was on my best behavior, thank you very much,” Eddie said, pinching your hip. “I only smoked outside this time.”

You jumped, smacking his leg and poking his stomach. He started to tell you about his newest English assignment when you realized something.

“Eddie,” you said, sitting up from his lap. “We’re alone.”

He blinked at you and glanced around his living room. “I’d hope so, Wayne’s on a double shift until the morning.”

“We’re alone,” you repeated, wiggling your brows.

Understanding bloomed across his face and a small smile grew. “I thought we agreed on date night? Can you stay the night?”

“Dustin’s covering for me. If you want to wait, I don’t mind,” you said sincerely, “but, we said we didn’t want to feel pressured – what’s more spur of the moment than this?”

“I haven’t cleaned my room,” he frowned, expression tightening with nerves. You smoothed a finger across his forehead.

“I don’t know how to tell you that I’ve slept over with your house before looking exactly like it does now,” you said, laughing when he rolled his eyes.

“Do you…want to?” He asked, eyes darting down your body.

“Do you?”

Eddie shot you a flat look. “I thought we went over this. I always want to. I know it’s neither of our first times but, I don’t want you to feel like it’s just some regular day.”

You felt a surge of affection for him. Bringing your hand up to cup his face, you leaned your forehead against his. “I cannot tell you how much I love our regular days,” you said quietly, like speaking too loudly could break the spell. “Regular days are the best because they remind me that we’ll have more of them. That I’ll keep having days where it’s just you and me. Something that’s just ours.”

Eddie’s eyes darted between yours, as if searching for something. After a moment, he nodded – almost to himself – and surged forward. His lips crashed into yours and his arms tightened around you.

“Come on then,” he said against your lips, pecking you one last time. He stood, hand taking yours and leading you to his room.

Trying to be efficient, and avoid any of your sudden nerves, you peeled your shirt off. Unfortunately, it caused your hair to get tangled on your necklace and you stumbled. Pain jolted down your scalp as it felt like it was trying to yank out the strands.

“How did you even manage to do that?” Eddie asked, untangling the few threads out from the chain.

“I don’t know!” You said, laughing as you placed the necklace on his dresser.

Not a beat later, Eddie tipped over his jeans as he was trying to kick them off and a pile of discarded shoes next to the bed almost took you down with him. Eventually, you both crawled to his bed, exhaling. There was a beat of silence before you both started laughing. You rolled to your side and watched him sit up and peel his shirt off. You shed your jeans off and added them to the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

Shifting onto your knees, you paused at your undergarments, your bra strap slipping off a shoulder.

Eddie sank back down onto the bed, in his underwear. “What’s wrong?” He asked, hand reaching for your wrist and rubbing comforting circles into your skin.

“I might not be good at this,” you whispered, “the guy before you, he wasn’t – we never…. I never really got there often. Not like I do with you.”

Eddie smiled softly. “Don’t set the bar too high.”

You laughed and hid your face into his neck.

“Hey, it’s not like I have a whole portfolio of experiences,” he said, nudging you until you looked up at him. “You’re the first time it means something. Besides, you’ve never had a problem getting me there, remember?”

Feeling lighter, you nodded and reached up to kiss his jaw.

“We can stop whenever you want,” he said, trailing light kisses down your neck.

“It’s silly,” you said, tightening your hold on him, “it’s not like we haven’t-”

“-it’s not silly,” he said, uncharacteristically serious, he leaned back and looked you in the eyes. “We make the rules and no one else, okay?”

You looked at him, your heart doing summersaults, and nodded. “Okay Munson.”

“Okay Henderson,” he said, smiling slowly.

“Fuck,” you said suddenly remember the new box hidden under your bed, “I don’t have the condoms.”

Eddie smiled, his ridiculous, wide grin, and hopped off the bed. You watched him dig around one of his drawers. He held up a handful and tossed all but one onto the night table. You raised your brows and his grin widened.

“What? I told you, just because I wanted to go slow doesn’t mean I didn’t practically dream about it every waking moment,” he said, climbing back over you. “The first time you laid down in my bed I think my brain short circuited.”

“And I’m the pervert?” You teased, tickling his ribs. He squirmed and let out a surprised laugh before shooting you a glare.

“If it wasn’t for my perversion, we’d need to go buy some,” he said, trailing his fingertips over your hips and this time you laughed. Squirming to try and get away from him, Eddie crawled over you, caging you in. “So, I believe the right words are thank you, handsome and charming boyfriend of mine.”

You smiled, lifting your head so you could lick a strip up his neck and almost laughed as his muscles strained. “Thank you, handsome boyfriend of mine,” you whispered, “for being a pervert so that we could be prepared in this moment.”

Eddie grinned. “You are welcome.”

You both laughed again, almost knocking your heads together – which spurred your laughter on more – and by the time you’d finally stopped laughing, you were lying side by side clutching your stomachs. You reached out and intertwined your hand with his. You had always thought that your first time with Eddie would be heated, full of scrambling hands, and a rush of adrenaline. Instead, the way he laughed was comforting and familiar. His fumbling hands were much more endearing and the slow heat simmering in your blood was driving you crazy - in the best way.

“Can I?” Eddie asked, nervous hands hovering over your fallen bra strap.

You nodded, warmth spreading in your chest as he peeled back one of the cups. He pressed lazy kisses across your chest leaving electricity behind in their wake. One of your hands made its way into his hair, scraping your nails lightly against his scalp and savoring the way he shuddered. The other was digging into his shoulder as he bit down onto your skin. You jolted, your hips messily hitting his and you both hissed.

“I’m getting to you too,” he joked, attention going lower.

The familiar sensation of his fingers pushing aside your underwear and slowly sinking into you had you on edge immediately. You felt your entire body come alive at his touch, anticipation building in your belly. His mouth dropped to your chest, lips sucking on your skin, leaving a trail of small bruises.

You felt like you were perpetually on edge – waiting for this moment and you were finally here. Eddie smirked when he felt the wetness in between your thighs.

“Shut up,” you said, no heat behind your words. Eddie twisted his fingers in a way that had you squirming and biting down on your lip.

“What was that?” He asked, laughing when you shot him a half-hearted glare.

You scratched at his back as his fingers picked up speed, unable to think much past the heat pooling in you.

“Take it off,” you said, hands pawing at his underwear. You wanted to feel him, all of him.

You felt almost weightless, trying to catch your breath as Eddie stood and peeled his underwear off. You pulled your bra off easily but your legs felt too wobbly to attempt standing. Eddie grinned, noticing the tremor in your thighs and kneeled at the edge of the bed. He kissed you softly, trailing up your leg, your stomach clenching with each inch he gained.

“Eddie,” you moaned as his hair tickled your inner thighs, his breath hot on your skin. “Please.”

“As you command, princess,” he said quietly, pressing a final kiss to your hip before dragging your underwear slowly down your legs. You thought you’d feel bare and vulnerable the first time you were fully naked in front of him. But, the soft yellow light from the lamp on his dresser cast a warm glow to his skin and you could only focus on how much you wanted this.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” You said, eyes taking in his pale skin and the fading bruises you’d left last week. You outstretched your hand, reaching for him.

Eddie’s eyes softened impossibly, the brown deepening as he tossed your underwear into his drawer. At your questioning look he smiled. “I need a souvenir; you’re not getting those back.”

“You’re shameless.”

He snorted. “You called me beautiful and wore light blue underwear, you knew what you were doing.”

“I bought a nicer pair,” you said, sighing when you finally felt his skin against your own, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Your legs fell open and he settled between them, his own sigh falling from his lips. “They’re black lace, they have little bows on each hip,” you told him, smiling when you felt pressure more insistently where you were pressed together. “They reminded me of you when I saw them. Robin wouldn’t stop laughing when she went with me to buy them.”

“And where is this lovely set?” He asked, hands searching the bed for the condom.

“Ready to be worn for our date tomorrow,” you said, reaching to mouth at his neck. He grunted when you wrapped a hand around him. “You’ll see them, don’t worry.”

Moving your hand up slowly, letting your grip tighten as you went, you felt him buck his hips.

“You’re killing me here,” he said, breath warm against your ear.

“What do you think you’ve been doing to me since the night at the dance?”

Reanimated, Eddie’s hand clumsily hit your side as it searched for the foil. “Where is the fucking condom?” Eddie growled, finally breaking away to glance around you. Shifting your hips, you heard him groan deeply. “Sweetheart, please don’t do that or we’re going to have a different problem on our hands.”

You laughed and shook your head. “I think I feel it beneath my hip,” you said, detangling your hand from his hair and reaching for the packet. You brandished it with a flourish, grinning at him.

“My hero,” he grinned, ripping it open and sliding it on.

“You would think that the sarcasm doesn’t do it for me,” you said, gasping when you felt him hitch your thighs up to his waist, “but it really, really does.”

“Lucky me,” he said, kissing the crook of your neck in just the right spot and you went all but limp. You suspected if you had the ability to purr, you would. “If you want to stop-”

“If you stop on my behalf, I’ll strangle you,” you said, nudging him with your heel. “Come on Munson, make an honest woman out of me.”

“I don’t think that means what you think it does,” Eddie laughed, sounding strangled. “It really isn’t fair how much you turn me on,” he said, pressing against your entrance. You back arched, startled by the pressure.

“I’m fine,” you said, breathless, “I was distracted.”

“Sorry, is this not entertaining enough for you?” He asked. You laughed, surprised at his teasing, and you both groaned as he sunk further into you.

You gasped, heart in your throat. Eddie let his head drop to your neck, his breath coming out in short pants. You both waited, adjusting, and you nudged him again. Once he was fully buried in you, you inhaled sharply. It hadn’t felt like this with Jeremy, not even close. Eddie’s skin was so warm against yours, like a roaring fire in the middle of winter.

“Eddie,” you plead as a small wave of pressure built in your stomach, “please, move.”

He leaned back, his eyes darting frantically across your face. “Are you sure?”

“I promise, I’m fine,” you said, voice hitching as he pulled out. You felt a dull ache at the stretch but it wasn’t anywhere near as bad as your first time had been. In fact, as he pushed back in - just as slowly – you felt his head brush against a part of you that made you see stars for a moment. Well, that was new. “Eddie, faster, faster,” you demanded, wanting to chase that feeling.

He smiled beyond his concentration. “Needy,” he snipped, teeth coming down to your collarbone.

“Please,” you begged and that seemed to snap his restraint. He began in earnest, his brows furrowed, and lips sloppy as you both panted. You dropped your legs out wider and gasped when he found the right angle. “There, there!”

Eddie swallowed your scream as he slammed into you over and over, the pressure within you climbing higher with every movement. Instinctively, you tightened your legs around his waist and the added pressure had you both stumbling. Smiling, you tightened your grip on him further and watched his hips fall out of rhythm.

“I-I,” he stuttered and exhaled harshly, squeezing his eyes shut. You watched him struggle to come up with the words and instinctively reached out to grab his hand. Squeezing three times, you waited for his eyes to open. When they did, there was a seriousness to them that you didn’t expect. You saw something new, something he seemed a little scared of. Your hand came up to cup his cheek and he leaned into your touch.

“Hey,” you said softly, “I know.” And you did. This was what you both wanted but it was new and overwhelming. You were connected now, in a way that couldn’t be undone.

His eyes cleared, searching your face for any hesitance. You knew he wouldn’t find any. “Stay with me, okay?” You whispered, mouth going back to his neck when he nodded. Your other hand trailed up his side, nails scratching lightly. He slowly picked up again, his energy becoming a little frantic.

“Princess,” he grunted when you started meeting his thrusts.

“I’m here,” you said, the room spinning around you. You shut your eyes and his hand around your thigh tightened. He latched onto your skin and you were far too gone to protest another visible bite. He pressed himself closer, like he wanted to burrow into your body – but he already had. He’d made his way past your defenses, past your walls, and reached into your rib cage to steal your heart for himself.

You loved him.

The realization had your eyes snapping open, searching for him. He leaned back, away from your chest and found your gaze. Your heart thumped pathetically.

“I want to burn this into my memory forever,” he whispered, ducking down for a kiss. “The only time I managed to stun you into silence.”

This idiot, you thought, laughter bubbling up. “Don’t give yourself too much credit,” you said, wrapping one leg higher onto his hip and thrusting down a little harder. Both of you groaned at the new depth, stumbling together. “What was that you said about being stunned?”

Eddie laughed; his eyes mischievous. “Well played, milady.” He took advantage of the new angle and drove himself deeper into you. Your back arched at the sensation, your blood turning into fire. His stupid little satisfied smile made your heart want to leap out your chest.

Yeah, you loved him.

The idea and subsequent acceptance shifted something inside you. There was a new urgency, like you wanted to claw your way to the surface for a breath of air. Eddie groaned, his hand tightening around yours, while his other hand found the spot between you. He pressed down, his fingers unrelenting and you squirmed at the shot of pleasure that crawled up your body. His fingers danced between you and slowly drove you to the edge.

“Come on,” he said at the hitch of your hips, “I’ve got you.”

It was enough to make something inside you snap. You shut your eyes, overwhelmed by the power of it, and his hand squeeze yours – grounding you to your body as your soul felt like it was trying it’s best to leave it. Just when you thought it was over, a smaller cluster of waves pulled at you again.

“Eddie,” you whispered, not sure what was happening.

“I’m here,” he echoed you, his fingers against you relentless, “I’m here with you.”

You arched higher, and higher, until you thought you’d snap your spine in half. One perfectly angled thrust had the waves breaking. You screamed, letting the new sensation take over you.

Eddie picked up the pace for another few minutes and just as you started to feel over-sensitive, he followed you into oblivion. You felt wrung out, alive, and happy.

“Am I crushing you?” He asked, limp like a ragdoll.

“Yes, you weigh a ton,” you said, delighting in the feeling of him on you but liking his indignant glare more. You wrapped yourself around him and he huffed, his arms coming around you too.

He moved off you after a few seconds, taking a moment to get his equilibrium and padding out to the bathroom. Taking the chance, you stretched your limbs, a delicious soreness settling in. Flipping over to your stomach, you bunched the blankets around you for warmth and winced a little at a jolt of pain you felt. As you shifted cautiously, you felt it ebb away. You heard the garbage rustle and Eddie climbed back into bed with you.

“You look comfortable,” he said, lying onto his side next to you.

“It’s a comfortable bed,” you answered, snuggling into his pillow, wanting to wrap yourself up in his scent. “Plus, a few orgasms will do that to you.”

Eddie laughed and leaned his weight onto his arm, his palm holding his head up. He trailed calloused fingertips down your bare back with a softness that made your heart ache. You turned your head to watch him, his eyes on your skin. Eddie’s hair was wilder than usual, his skin flushed, and the bruises on his throat a reflection of your overeager enthusiasm.

“Not to inflate your ego,” you said, your voice quiet in the comfortable silence of his room, “and not that I have that much to compare it to, but that was a pretty high standard you set for yourself. I’ve never…not twice. Almost rarely once.”

Eddie smiled, his teasing eyes coming up to meet yours. You stilled. The world tilted, as if righting itself from years of having been off its axis. His brows furrowed, cutting his playful expression.

“What?” He asked, his drifting hand coming up quickly to your cheek. “Did I hurt you?”

He loved you too.

You knew it as surely as you knew your name. You breathed, a new sort of pressure building in your chest. The best kind. The kind that made you want to wrap yourself around him and never let go. The kind that made you so happy you could feel it down to your toes. The type that came with loving someone who loved you back. The butterflies in your stomach soared, their wings too big for their cage – wanting to be let out.

“No, just waiting for your ego to make its appearance,” you said, brushing it off.

Eddie grinned, worry leaving his expression. “I was going to say, not that my ego isn’t being inflated, but I think that had less to with me and more to do with us.”

“What?” You asked, popping your head up.

He laughed, his arm coming around your waist to pull you into his arms. You wrapped yourself around him, your body half atop of his, and laid your chin onto his chest. “It’s never been like that for me,” he said, eyes on you. “That wasn’t me or you, that was us.”

A slow smile grew on your face and Eddie’s matching one was twice as big. “That’s a nice superpower we have then,” you said eventually.

“We should take every moment we can to examine it,” he said seriously, hand drifting south. “In fact, we should double check – nay, triple check -- today, just to be sure. Just give me a few minutes, I think my soul hasn’t come back to my body yet.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m on top this time,” you said, sitting up and feeling him twitch already beneath you. “You can be behind after that.” The growing immediate interest had you shifting, smiling when he groaned.

“By all means,” he said, clearing his throat and eyes darting down to your bare chest. “Who am I to tell her highness what to do?”

You grinned, glancing appreciatively at his back as he leaned over to grab another wrapper off his nightstand. Triumphantly coming back with another condom, he quirked a brow at you.

“What?” You asked.

“Were you just checking out the goods?” He asked, expression delighted.

Head thrown back, you laughed. “And if I was?” You asked eventually through your amusement.

“Nothing,” he said, “feel free to objectify me whenever you want sweetheart. I’m yours.”

I’m yours. Had he always looked at you like that? Like he was holding his heart in his hands, begging you not to crush it, and not even aware he was doing it?

“You’re mine huh?” You said teasingly. “Then I guess that makes me yours.”

There was a beat of silence, an unfamiliar look flashing across his face, and a small smile twitched at his lips.

“I guess it does,” he said, his voice going soft and a little awed. You couldn’t help your own smile as you leaned down to kiss him. “Easily the best thing that’s ever been mine,” he said quietly, as if he said it too loudly, you’d take it back.

“He didn’t mean that sweetheart,” you called out to his guitar, hanging behind you.

Eddie’s laughter filled the room with a brightness that rivaled the sun. The butterflies grew and you curled a protective hand over his outstretched heart. You’d never let anything happen to it again. You loved him but, you knew he needed to be the one to take that first step.

He wasn’t ready yet, but that didn’t matter.

You’d wait as long as you needed to.

A/N: small reminder I'm not the best at writing smut lol but I tried y'all! clearly these keep getting longer and longer... lmao

#eddie munson x reader

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yesimwriting · 4 years ago

Text

Falling Angels

A/n this literally poureddd from me, might be bad bc recently i’ve hated everything i’ve written (my drafts are full lol)

Series Summary: Y/n is a rising star in the most famous circus in Ketterdam because of her ability to see the future. Unfortunately for her, Kaz Brekker knows more of her backstory than he should, and he’s willing to use that to his advantage. The one thing he’s not betting on? That he doesn’t know her entire story

Chapter summary: Y/n gets a visitor before getting tricked into the most dangerous show of her life.

Pairing: SOC x reader, Kaz Brekker x psychic! sunshine-y! reader

Warning: mentions of sexual harassment, slight cursing, near death experience

Enjoy it, because it doesn’t last. That’s what the older girls whisper, mock casualness attempting to disguise bitter undertones as I walk past them. They say this, sharp nails ready to be covered in blood as red as their lipstick, because the pile of gifts from my ‘admirers’ keep coming. Circus hands keep approaching the long vanity in the dressing room tent, tapping me on the shoulder politely to shove cards and bouquets of flowers in my lap. They don’t understand that the praise isn’t because the patrons of our performances find me more beautiful--they’re desperate for my favor. They’re desperate to know their future.

Looking at myself in the mirror, the pageantry of it all has not yet grown old to me. My hair is still in the process of being styled, my stage makeup is half done, and I am not yet coated in that golden shimmer Senia always dusts across my cheeks and shoulders. But I am more enhanced than I normally am, eyes made bright by thick coats of mascara, cupid's bow made prominent by ruby lipstick. The lip look is more daring than I’ve been before, but there can’t be much harm in change. Not when half the women here keep looking at me like I’m the saint of virginity.

It’s not my fault that the Ringmaster thought an angelic aesthetic would work best for the fortune teller who walks around before the show, reading palms so that people can have their pockets picked. It’s not my fault people want an angel to take the stage and call people down from the audience to get a detailed reading around the crowded circus tent. I don’t pick the costumes, and while I acknowledge that mine shows the least amount of skin, the Ringmaster found a way to dress me as suggestively as possible without ruining the illusion of innocence.

At least the flowing tulle wings that are stitched into the back of my costume are beautiful. It’s easier when I enjoy the good.

“Y/n!” The familiar call of Senia. I turn my head, beaming. “You’re a vision, and all of those jealous girls--you can tell them to take their wrinkling faces and--”

“Seria.” For someone so much like a mother, she often needs to be reminded that not everything needs an aggressive rebuttal. “Think about it from their perspectives--their entire existence is dependent on how sellable they are, how attractive they are to men who only want to use them. If that makes them mad at me because they feel like my youth and novelty is taking from them, then that’s okay.” She raises a fine eyebrow. “I can take a few mean words.”

Seria purses her lips. “Okay, but I’m just as old and tired and you don’t see me trying to poison you.”

I roll my eyes.

“Look, it's our very own saint.” I roll my eyes, Via’s shrill voice piercing through me like an annoying papercut. “And in such a scandalous lip color--has the Ringmaster finally taken you to the ivory tent?”

Ivory tent. It’s been mentioned to me before and always in jest. “Where he takes me is none of your business, if not being the favorite hurts you so badly ju--”

She laughs, the sound is pure vile. “Being the favorite is the worst thing you could be in a place like this. You’re shiny and new and soon you’ll be as used as the rest of us--Seria’s use is waning, what happened to her today is proof of that. Soon you’ll have no one to protect you.”

When she looks at me I see more pain than hatred. “I think we’d get along better if I had it in me to hate you.”

She raises an eyebrow before shaking a cigarette from a small box into her palm. “You’ll get there, princess.”

The nickname leaves me burning. There’s nothing more consuming than fire. “You better pray to the real Saints I don’t.”

via laughs, lifting the cigarette to her lips and lighting it with her abilities. She walks away, turning my threat into that of a child’s.

“She’s right on two accounts.” Seria hums, “The Ringmaster will kill you if you wear that lipstick and Ketterdam turns people like you into people like me. We could save up, pay off your indenture--get you out.”

Seria doesn’t need to make sacrifices like that. Not for me. Besides, there’s no leaving Ketterdam for me. Not anymore. “Being like you wouldn’t be a bad thing.” I scratch my arm, see through material wrinkling as a result. “And I can’t--I can’t just leave. I’m a psychic, no Grisha can see the future. I need the facelessness of Ketterdam.” Her lips thin in protest. “And don’t think I didn’t hear what she said about you--what happened to your foot, and what’s in the ivory tent? People keep saying it, whispering it like there’s--”

“That tent is nothing that will ever concern you. I’ve given you my guidance, and the one thing I ask is that you never ask or go to the ivory tent.”

I swallow once, the intensity in her eyes leaving me raw. “What if he tells me to?”

“He won’t.” Seria breathes. “He doesn’t like that for you.”

This isn’t an argument I can have now, not with two minutes until the show starts. “And your foot?”

She shrugs, holding up a bandaged ankle. “You get older, your ligaments like the tightrope walk less and less. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not tightrope walking like that--”

“Yes, I am. The Ringmaster doesn’t know and he can’t--if I start giving him performance trouble--you don’t know what happens to the girls who can’t pay off their indenture by performing.”

I swallow once. “You’ll be careful?”

“Always,” she grins, “Besides--one day you’ll know enough about tightrope walking to help me on days like this.”

The last time I trained on the mini-tightrope had proven me to be a disappointment. Still, I smile at her softly. I open my mouth to respond, but a quick tap to my shoulder silences me.

“Miss,” a circus hand I recognize begins.

I smile politely. “Please leave any gifts on my vanity--”

“It’s not a gift,” he mumbles, voice taut, “You have visitors.”

Something solid pushes itself into my chest, wedging itself between my lungs. Have they found me? “I-I don’t take visitors. Not before shows, if someone wants a private reading they’re to go to my tent at the front--”

“We’re not here for readings or any of the other lies you sell.”

...Surprising. I let my gaze move from the face of the circus hand and towards the individuals behind him. A man, tall and dressed in business attire--hat and all. His face is all sharp angles and his eyes are emotionless. His leather-gloved hands grip the head of an intricate cane. Next to him is another tall man, dressed a little more casually, with dark curls. Lastly, there’s a girl, with oil-black hair pulled into a sleek ponytail.

“Then what are you here for?”

Seria, never one to leave me unattended around strange men, takes a step in front of me. “I know who you are, Dirtyhands, and I know there’s no business you could find with her.”

What? Dirtyhands? Can people in Ketterdam ever just be normal?

“I wouldn’t speak so certainly.” I don’t like the way his eyes narrow at Seria or the way his grip on the cane tightens.

Thoughtlessly, I stick a hand between them, forcing Seria back slightly. “I apologize, she’s protective--always assuming the worst in people. Though considering she called you ‘Dirtyhands’, maybe that’s what you want.”

Ugh. All I do is ramble when I most definitely shouldn’t. “Want what?”

Eyebrows drawing together, I force myself to hold his gaze. “For people to assume the worst.”

The response seems to confuse him. That’s okay--I’ll take anything over aggressive. “The only people I want to assume the worst are those I want to be right.”

Okay. Dramatic was a fair assumption.

“Seria.” Oh no. I know that voice. I know that voice too well. “They tell me you're injured.”

Seria stiffens, as does every performer when he addresses them. “Not too injured to perform, sir.”

The Ringmaster sneers. “I can’t risk you falling and embarrassing me. Perhaps tonight you’ll make your money by spending the entire show in the ivory tent.”

The way she hardens wrenches my gut. I press my hands to avoid reaching out for her. “I can do the tightrope.” The Ringmaster’s gaze shifts towards me. “I can do it--and I can do it well and I’ll give the profit to Seria.”

He tilts his chin, regarding me in a way a woman should never be regarded. He’s a predator and I’m a lamb that’s lost its way. Still, I hold his gaze. I don’t flinch, even when he moves to brush his knuckles along my cheek. His touch is acid. Pure, burning acid. “The wings I placed on your back are decorative.”

“I don’t need them.” Total bullshit.

“Hm,” he breathes, letting the smell of alcohol fill the space between us, “I’ll allow it.” The Ringmaster drops his hand to his side. “Wipe that lipstick off your face before someone mistakes you for one of these common whores.”

How I don’t throw up at the sight of him is a miracle in itself. By some small mercy, he turns and walks away before I have to respond.

“You’re an idiot--you know you’re not ready for the tightrope.”

“There’s a net,” I try to keep my voice light, dismissive. She remains tense. “Seria, I had to.”

“No, you could have--”

“It’s not fair that you’re always a shield for me. When the opportunity to shield you for once comes, I’ll take it.” Turning before she can protest, I try to walk forward. The stranger places his cane where I intend to walk, intentionally warning me that he decides when our conversation is over. Unfortunately, I used up all my patience with the Ringmaster. “130 kruge.” He raises an eyebrow. “That’s the estimated amount I’ll make tonight, unless I’m late and excluded from the show. Either make up the deficit you’ll be costing me or let me go.”

His eyebrows draw together, shifting his expression from neutrally calloused to something much darker. “Kaz.” This comes from the girl. She takes a step forward. “Look one step ahead.”

“Excuse me?”

“Everyone thinks you’re not supposed to look down, but looking up is just as impractical.” She pauses, expression strangely mesmerized, “Look one step ahead--not at your feet.”

My genuine smile shocks me. “Thank you.”

“I should be thanking you, Sankta y/n.” Her head bows, hands held together as if in prayer.

Oh. She’s one of the religious that believes me an actual Saint. “I appreciate the sentiment, but if I was a Saint I’d be able to help people.” No matter what I do, no matter how much blood I offer, I can never help people. “And as you’ve seen--I can’t.”

The crowd’s roaring is a different world to me. On the platform, feet away from the other wooden structure acting as solid ground, everything is different. I am now in a world where the only thing to believe in is a taut rope. The net is beneath me. I’ve seen it--I’ve checked it.

“And for our grand finale!” The Ringmaster calls, voice billowing over an excited crowd. “Our very own angel defies death!”

An odd way to phrase the tightrope walk. It’s never called ‘defying death’. I had been surprised when I was told that tonight the tightrope walk would be the grand finale--I assumed it was because it featured me. I’m always the finale now. I try to move my foot off the platform but it’s planted firmly. No. I need to see Seria--I need to see who I’m doing this for. I force my gaze to the ground, panic rising in my chest.

Instead of Seria, I see Via--her smirk apparent even from here. Spite’s a decent motivator. My foot descends off the platform, touching the tightrope cautiously. And then I move my other foot. All of me is now on this damn rope. I hadn’t been unforgivably horrible during practice, but I hadn’t been graceful either.

Don’t look down, don’t look up--only look one step ahead. One step ahead--one step at a time. Balance. I take another step. The room is so silent there’s no doubt in my mind the sound of my bones cracking would be heard from the back row. But there’s the net. There’s always the net. I take a second step. And then a third--eyes focused on only one step ahead.

And then the phantom of flame comes to claim me. Fire. The world around me is burning. Damning the consequences, I let my gaze fall to the world beneath me. The net--the Ringmaster had an Inferni light the net on fire. Via--that explains the look.

I can’t fall--the guilt would kill Seria.

Panic twists my stomach as I continue forward. One step ahead. One step ahead--the flames lick upwards, promising pain and grief all over again. One step ahead. One step--that’s all there is to it. The warmth of the fire calls to me. Burning. Burning--and one more step. This isn’t forever. This isn’t permanent--either way this will soon be over.

There’s no miracle for me. No good grace, no wings that would let me save myself. There is only balance.

One step ahead. And then another step. And then I see the other wooden platform. Thank the Saints. I grip the ladder of the platform as quickly as possible. The cheers mean nothing to me as I scurry down the ladder.

I feel a sharp breeze, a Grisha putting out the flames. Anger pools in my chest as I move towards the exit of the tent.

“Y/n.” No. Not him again. That man--Kaz, Dirtyhands, whoever he is--needs to go away. “Y/n.” I turn sharply, anger pulsing through me. My expression must be feral, because he stalls. “They didn’t tell you that they were going to burn the net.”

The fact that he can tell--that he can see my panic and how close I came to death twists my anger into something more fragile. “No.” My posture straightens. “I need to go now, I do--I do readings after shows.”

“Y/n.” He repeats, firmer.

My nails dig into my palms. “I’m going--”

“I know what you are.”

Tensing, my breathing stalls. “What?”

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kazz brekker imagine #kaz brekker x you #six of crows #six of crows x reader #six of crows x you #soc imagine #six of crows imagine #my works #series #shadow and bone #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone imagine #grishaverse #grishaverse x reader #sab netflix #grishaverse imagine

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petri808 · 3 years ago

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For my tumblr bestie @random-rave 🔥⭐️ a Nalu birthday gift of smut 🎁

Before opening her birthday present from Levy, Lucy read the attached card. She was quite curious about its contents ever since she’d been warned to open the gift at home and not at the guild where she’d received it.

‘Follow the instructions on the potion for a kinky fun surprise. I’ll tell you later how I found it. Have fun you two!’

Kinky surprise? Lucy’s brow raised. She opened the box next and pulled out a small green bottle filled with an unknown liquid.

‘Draconian elixir for mages only. Drink contents to transform into a faux dragon slayer. Heightens sense of smell, taste, and touch along with physical features. Magic possessed by the user may be intensified. Effects are temporary and will wear off in 12 hours.’

“Why would Levy think this is kinky?” Lucy wondered aloud until a recent conversation jogged her memory. Right... she’d mentioned the biting thing... Lucy laughed and tucked the bottle into her pocket. This will make for a very kinky surprise indeed! Natsu was due to arrive home the next day from a quick mission a couple towns over from Magnolia. So, that gave Lucy some time to prepare a delectable meal they’ll never forget. ‘Happy birthday to me!’

When Natsu arrived at Lucy’s apartment, he found a note on the dining table that simply read: Meet me at your cottage and tell Happy not to follow. Well, he knew what that meant, but why his cottage? He shrugged it off for the time being and informed the Exceed who had plans of his own anyway with Carla.

It was a curious thing to meet at his cottage now that they’d officially become a couple. He’d moved into her apartment while his home remained a storehouse for his collectibles and her growing book collection. Though the second part of Lucy’s message made more sense since the cottage provided a lot more privacy for their rambunctious encounters.

The closer he got, a brighter bounce in his step took hold as his imagination ran wild. Once they’d made the leap to a romantic relationship, it opened a whole new world to them. It’s true Lucy had to explain a few misunderstandings, like the where human babies actually come from thing, but what came surprisingly naturally was the sex. It was as if his dragon instincts were awakened, and primal urges became his teacher. They were both nervous in their first encounter, but once the pheromones had hit, it was all over.

Wait a minute! Natsu paused a few steps outside of his cottage and put his nose to the air. Lucy’s scent had changed somehow, stronger, headier, with a bit of dragon essence woven in. Was there someone else inside?! Another slayer?! His eyes shifted into a serpentine pupil and a growl escaped his lips as he raced to the door and threw it open. “Lucy, what’s go—!” Natsu stopped dead in his tracks.

“Welcome home, Natsu,” the blonde grinned, flashing the longer fangs the potion had given her.

The scent was coming from Lucy?! “Why do you smell like a slayer?!”

“Well,” she sauntered closer, “Levy found a temporary potion that gives me some slayer features for 12 hours and these,” she tapped a fang, “resulted from that.”

“Anything else?”

Lucy shrugged, “my senses are also heightened, but I’m mostly excited for the fangs because now I get to do some marking of my own.”

So, of all the things they’ve tried out, biting was a kink Lucy never realized she’d like receiving or Natsu in giving. When he bit her the very first time and broke through the skin, they were both washed over with a strange sensation akin to the connection she’d felt when she had written in the END book. But when she’d asked Levy if they’d had a similar experience, the answer was no. Lucy surmised she and Natsu’s bond was much deeper than they’d ever realized.

“Awww,” he pouted, though a smirk stilled curled at edge of his lips. “That’s my thing.”

“Pfft, well too bad.” Lucy grinned and ran a finger down his chest, then trailed it back to his neck. “I’m gonna make sure to put one right,” she presses on his nape, “here, so everyone will see it like you’ve done to me. Property of Lucy.”

“Mmm,” his own fang flashed, “that’s kinda turning me on.”

“Oh, yeah? Then why don’t you show me just how much?”

Natsu swept Lucy off her feet and walked to the back of the cottage where a bed was set up, placing her down while pulling at her clothes and coveting her lips. Hands were everywhere, both sets yanking and stripping away fabric to reveal the flesh beneath like a runaway train with no intention of stopping. Her excitement that afternoon was increased, be it the potion itself or the exhilaration it brought. Though his scent was something she’d come to love, it was toxic this time due to her heightened sense of smell. Oh, how the taste of his smoky saliva made her salivate and her fangs almost tingled! She moaned against their molded mouths in bursts, chasing his tongue with her own and mewling when he sucked the hot flesh.

Her passions and mixed scent served to fuel a new wave of lust in Natsu as well. He would have shredded Lucy’s clothes if he didn’t wanna hear the ending of it. His growls and grunts melded with her purring rumbles like two wild animals in ardent throes to rival a fight for dominance. Natsu wasn’t sure if it was the potions effects, but she was sure straining his muscles tonight to stay in control! He pinned her down momentarily. “I won’t let you win!”

Lucy cocked an eyebrow with a hedonistic grin, “challenge accepted.” Oh, she has no plans to physically dominate him tonight, her goals were simpler, to leave the first and last marks of the evening romps. Of course, Natsu didn’t need to know that. She wrapped her legs around his thick thighs and pulled his pelvis flush against hers, relishing in the heated length pressed against her core. “Now get on with it, dragon.”

“Tch,” he smiled back, “impatient, are we?”

“I feel him throbbing, so don’t act like you ain’t feeling it too.”

That was true. Natsu’s inner dragon wanted nothing more than to fill its mate up and re-stake its claim. If it had its way, Lucy would be spread multiple times every night until she fell asleep with him buried all snug inside. Their mating had truly released an inner beast in Natsu that only by willpower he could control... but not tonight with how fucking amazing she smelled. “Don’t blame me if you can’t walk tomorrow.”

She giggled, “I don’t have any other plans.”

“Well too bad.” Natsu moved in faster than Lucy could react and bit down on his mark. Despite gaining extra abilities, she didn’t have the same kind of control he did.

“Damn yo—” the words cut short from a burst of heat flooding her body and an overwhelming wave of lights dancing behind her eyelids. Heaven help her, the bonding effects were so much stronger! She couldn’t even think straight, just abject lust surging through her body. Lucy ground her hips desperately to rub herself against his cock, smearing the growing slick coating the area. “Burns…” she mewled, but in a delicious way. Things weren’t going to plan!

When he let go of the skin and kissed his way down her chest, Lucy took note that Natsu’s eyes were turning serpentine. The last time she’d seen this change was their first time. “Na…tsu…?” she moaned in a slow questioned tone repeatedly.

He stopped and looked up, unsure why Lucy was trying to get his attention. “Yeah?”

Tit for tat, Lucy caught him off guard and latched her mouth onto the junction of his neck and shoulder causing Natsu to cry out, a moaning growl as her fangs sank deep into the skin. “Fu—ck—” ‘Wow!’ His hips buck uncontrolled as her bite triggered a stronger reaction by his inner dragon. Without waiting for her to pull away, Natsu let his dragon take control and maneuvered his hips, pushing his cock in through her folds to the hilt. His eyes rolled back a second, relishing in her warm embrace. It felt so much better connected like this!

Lucy broke away and head craned back in a deep moan, but Natsu didn’t let up. Seated and grinding, he bit her a second time to ensure a longer euphoria, then coveted her lips, licking at the iron-taste coating them. Was it weird to taste his own blood? Somehow, it only added to the high. No thoughts, just carnal instincts taking control as he fucked her hard two ways. His pelvis pivoting slow, but rough, and his tongue stealing every moan leaching out from Lucy. He usually paid her other body parts some attention, but not this round— not when the only thing that could satiate his dragon was a good fucking.

“This is your fault…” Natsu growled heady and low as his lips teased along her jawline towards Lucy’s neck. He licked at the marks on her skin, already turning an angry red, rocking his hips so hard in an upward angle it lifted her clear from the bed, gaining a small yelp. “This is just round one.” He leaned in nibbling her ear as he spoke. “Don’t be surprised if you end up pregnant after this.”

“Worth… it,” she moaned in response. “But you know what?”

“What?”

Lucy opened her eyes to reveal they’d turned serpentine too. Semi-surprised, Natsu grinned at the change, but was caught off guard again when she suddenly grabbed him, wrapped her legs, and flipped them over in a power roll. His eyes flashed wide in a mix of shock and awe— Hell yeah! Now on top, Lucy locked her heels around his thighs to hold her position and bit down a second time. Natsu responded by grabbing hold of her pelvis. He wasn’t about to lose his stride! If she wanted to bite, let her, because he had something else to finish.

He continued pumping his hips from below, chasing his end. But the position hit upon Lucy’s buttons too, and the more he rocked, the harder it was for her to maintain control over her senses. Something feral inside broke free and she started biting sloppily along his neck and shoulders, wherever she could reach. Being on top was supposed to be a power move for Lucy, but the combination only fueled each other to drive harder and faster towards the inevitable conclusion.

Natsu grunted when he felt the squeeze against his shaft and Lucy’s body enter a spasmodic stiffening. Her moans and hyped-up pheromones made the area surrounding them thick, stifling like breathing in drug-laced air. That was it for him. He quickly rolled them back over and pounded fast and rough, timed with each milking pass until only a dry heave remained.

“Where’d Levy find this stuff again?” Natsu panted out as his body dropped onto Lucy’s in exhaustion.

Still trying to catch her breath too, Lucy giggled. “You like it, huh?”

“Fuck, yeah.” Natsu leaned down and kissed her with a gentle pressure. “Happy birthday baby.”

Lucy returned the kiss with a brightened smile. “Best birthday ever.”

“Oh, it ain’t over yet.”

“Rounds?”

Natsu flashed a cocky grin. “Round—s…”

#nalu #nalu smut #nalu fan fic #nalu fan fiction #lucy heartifilla #natsu dragneel #nalu smutfic.#birthday gift #fairytail

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classpect-crew · 3 years ago

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Classpects as Real-Life Magick: Aspect Archetypes

So, here we are again, discussing the absolutely bonkers idea that Homestuck's Classpect system could be used to form a coherent, real-life magickal system. I've talked briefly about the various Forces and Wills that affect the Homestuck universe, and how those directly translate to our modern understanding of magick, but I'd like to touch on Aspects and how one could use them in a system loosely constructed from the mythology of Paradox Space. Each Aspect can be treated as having its own Domain, which includes both concrete and abstract symbols, as well as what the Aspect itself represents in the Universe. The Aspects as they're represented in the form of universal Forces are also represented in the human form, and in following this system one can "tap into" those Forces, whether for personal development or for directing those energies outward. (I definitely draw inspiration from the idea of panpsychism for this.)

I'll begin the discussion of the Aspects by delving into their Archetypes, and will expand more upon their Domains for another post. While the Classes have obvious inspiration from Jung's primary archetypes, the Aspects can also be represented similarly. If you were to personify each Aspect, they would look a bit like the following:

Space: The Creator. Infinitely patient, Space is generally calm and collected, if a bit cold at times. Yet, it's also responsible for the creation of the universe, over which it watches with a protective gaze. If its propagation is threatened, Space is capable of an incredible fury, evoking the unforgiving chaos of a star gone supernova, or the inevitable terror of a black hole.

Time: The Destroyer. Controlling, steady, and ever-present describe Time quite well. Despite its generally destructive nature, it's quite capable of incredible works of creation, most notably in the realm of music. Synchronicities are the calling card of Time; when meaningful events happen simultaneously, take notice. Time contains endless passion and drive, its fires unquenchable.

Mind: The Actor. This Aspect embodies cognitive dissonance and the ability to completely disappear into a role. Mind appears differently to anyone who comes across it, which can make signs of its influence difficult to track down. Epiphany and synthesis are the children of Mind, sought by creatives and intellectuals alike. A deep understanding of abstract reality comes with understanding Mind.

Heart: The Romantic. When dealing in matters of the soul, Heart embraces that identity which remains stable and encourages genuine connection between people. It holds the mirror to nature and exposes virtue and flaw alike. Clear self-awareness and a complicated relationship with that self are hallmarks of Heart, as well as a tendency toward melodrama, with or without an audience.

Hope: The Storyteller. Intense euphoria, unbound by pragmatism, heralds the influence of Hope. It painstakingly crafts a story for its chosen ones, who are encouraged to submit and live fully in that truth. This Aspect lends itself to to the miraculous and fantastical, opening minds to a myriad of possibilities, and those who embody Hope can get utterly lost in its labyrinth of the theoretical.

Rage: The Satirist. Contempt and a vindictive nature are part and parcel of Rage's nature, as an Aspect that inspires doubt and insanity, as well as a refusal to engage with frivolity. It stirs melancholy in dark hearts and is manifest through gallows humor and rejection of fantasy. It is the hammer to which everything else appears as a nail, though its steadfast determination is invaluable.

Breath: The Trickster. Those under Breath's influence share its nature of playfulness and constant motion. At times, this manifests as immaturity through a lack of groundedness. Breath is prone to distraction, constantly shifting its own path upon encountering any sort of resistance or responsibility. The Aspect is self-driven and individualistic, disconnected from others of its kind.

Blood: The Wounded Healer. Much as its name suggests, Blood is fully grounded in the struggle and suffering inherent to life. However, it also embodies a profound empathy for others and an unmatched dedication to those bonds, as well as an understanding of what personal sacrifices must be made to accomplish a given goal. It is relentless and deeply dedicated to building vast networks of allies.

Life: The Alchemist. Even in the deepest cracks in the sidewalk of the Furthest Ring, Life finds a way. It flourishes in the bountiful harvest and transmutation of energy, wealth, and influence. Those blessed by its influence are durable and ever-present, making decisions that utterly transform the world around them. This constant cycling of energy is necessary to keep the universe balanced and in motion.

Doom: The Martyr. Limits and restrictions are just as important to the universe as negative space in a piece of artwork. Doom generally festers like a slow-growing mold, but the telltale sign of Doom's influence is a massive, unsustainable release of energy that usually results in burnout. The Aspect also has a deep connection to inorganic systems and constructs, many centered around death.

Light: The Teacher. Knowledge itself lies in the realm of Light, which is made manifest through instruction and understanding of important information. Omniscient beings receive their enviable sight through Light, which ultimately seeks to scour the universe, leaving no stone unturned in its hunger to learn and teach. It promises great fortune to those who assist in its declared purpose.

Void: The Occultist. Endless hunger and inescapable darkness are the left and right hands of Void, which offers gifts of arcane knowledge and long-hidden power in exchange for the fame and fortune many would seek with such gifts. It twists the mind and forces their student to acknowledge their Shadow. Its power is addictive and all-consuming, but well-worth the price...to the insane.

#reblogs help a bunch!#homestuck #homestuck meta #classpect #classpect analysis #classpect magick #paradox space

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guro-giri-letters · 3 years ago

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imagine... the dabi hair dye scenario but one of the league finds/sees him and decides to help? my heart

(SO, I totally meant this to be shorter but I got a little in my feels. Plus the lowkey Dabi and Mr Compress friendship is so underrated, I adore it. Anyway, here it is, a little comfort fic.)

The Boy Can't Cry - By Guro. ♡

/Dabi gets overwhelmed dying his hair to cover up his past and Mr Compress comes to his aid. Any fics like this where it’s just the league interacting together I’m going to lovingly tag ‘League of Family’. Hope you enjoy! ♡/

/Tags l Tw ; Dabi being emotionally unstable, some cursing, Mr Compress being fatherly, friendship, league of family. ♡/

“How can a man head a group of villains…” Sako murmurs aloud to himself, pulling another card from the messy pile upon the small table between his knees. Sighing, he flicks it into one of several other smaller piles he’s made around the main one, tsk-ing to himself quietly. “...but he can’t keep a pack of cards together. Really.”

Pure boredom, and an inability to get himself over to sleep, is what inspired one Mr Compress to take up and look through Shigaraki’s deck. It’s late in the night now, maybe early morning, and he’s sorting each of the cards into their respective groups by lamplight. It’s a comfortable, mindless task, the showman dressed down to his shirtsleeves and balaclava. In the rare quiet he lets his mind wander, and wonders where Shigaraki had gotten the cards from.

Had he stolen them? Or were they given to him? Gifts from his master, maybe. Either way dearly cherished, he decides, running his thumb over the faded face of an ace of hearts. He’s pondering still when the quick tip-tap of feet on metal steps reaches his ears.

“Mr Compress!”

Blinking, he lays down his hand and turns to find Toga halfway down the rickety staircase, hand cupped around her mouth dramatically as she whisper-yells. Her eyes are big and wide in the dim light, uncharacteristically appearing almost… frightened? What? Right away Sako is on edge, cards forgotten. “What is it dear?” He asks, lowering his own voice in response to her whispers. His worry only grows as Toga’s lips seem to tremble, looking over her shoulder before back to her elder.

“It’s Dabi…” She replies quietly, hugging her arms around her nightdress-clad self. “Somethings wrong with Dabi.”

Sako isn’t sure what he’s seeing at first as he nudges in the bathroom door. Toga is at his back, gripping his sleeve and peering around his side as the door falls slowly open. The old tiled room is lit by dim, yellowed light, and he can just make out Dabi’s shape hunched over the tub at the far end. “He keeps talking to himself-” She murmurs, only to jump at the sound of an open growl, Dabi’s form twisting to glare over his shoulder in their direction from the shadows.

“Get out, Toga.” The burnt man snarls, sending the girl flying away without hesitation. Sako watches her go, a little shocked at her fear in the face of her own comrade. Dabi doesn’t even seem to be looking right at the doorway, stark blue eyes wide and lost. Vacant. Thick, inky black lines run down his face and throat, dripping off of his chin. What the hell is he doing?

“What’s going on, man?” Sako demands, crossing the threshold and approaching Dabi where he kneels. “What’s gotten into you? You’re scaring Toga.”

“Fuck you.” Dabi snaps back, fingers digging into his hair. The same black sits in smudges over the back of his neck, staining his pale fingers. In the dark it almost seems like the villain has been infected, taken over by some dark, miasmic mess. Squinting up, Sako reaches and with a gloved hand, twists the hanging bulb around in it’s socket. Suddenly the room is filled with brighter light, everything coming into focus, and he looks down at Dabi.

His eyes widen a fraction.

Dabi’s coat lies discarded on the dingy floor at his side, the villain kneeling, almost unnaturally bent over the shallow bathtub. His body is shaking, chest expanding and falling rapidly as he scrapes at his own scalp. His hands are trembling, veins visibly risen up on their backs. It seems like he’s working the blackness into his hair almost desperately, hushed words falling barely audible from his lips. “-away. Get away.”

“Dabi?” Sako tries again. And this time he gets a reaction; Dabi’s head twisting to glare in a manner almost animalistic. The black has run in streams down his face and into his eyes, scleras bloodshot deep red and burning. He can’t even see right now, Sako realises, without the ability to produce tears to get rid of the chemicals. Being so close for the first time, he takes note of the sparse, white hairs appearing in his league-mates' thin brows. Oh.

“Get out, Compress. Get out-”

“Do you need help?” He ignores Dabi’s demands easily. The young man isn’t himself right now, and his voice is hoarse, even more gravelly than usual. In response to his question Dabi’s hands clench in his hair, tight, tendons bulging as his knuckles turn white. Sako can hear the strands tearing and grabs for Dabi’s quivering hands. “Good God, man. Stop it!”

“Get off of me!” Dabi practically howls, twisting out of the older man’s grip and slipping, slumping shoulder-first against the side of the tub. He seems to deflate all at once, his head hanging low. Sako can only stare at him, his heart pounding with adrenaline and hands still outstretched, Dabi’s breath comes quick and loud, his own hands coming up to cover his face. He’s an utter mess, what Sako has now deduced to be black dye staining his hands, shirt. Everything. A stretch of silence passes between them, and then Dabi makes the last noise his companion expected to hear.

For a moment he thinks Dabi is laughing, finding some kind of twisted amusement in all of this. But then it starts coming louder, his shoulders shaking, chest and throat convulsing uncontrollably. A dry, hacking cough leaves his throat before he presses his palms harder against his face, knees pulling in close to his body. A noise like barely concealed sobbing reaches Sako’s ears.

He’s crying.

Well… no, the boy can’t cry. He knows this; Dabi’s tear ducts have been damaged beyond repair for years now. But his body still betrays him, shuddering through bouts of broken weeping, dredged up from somewhere deep inside of him. It feels almost wrong, Sako thinks, to see him so vulnerable. It’s clear he’s witnessing something deeply personal. A moment of distress so jarring that Dabi holds fast onto his own arms and curls in on himself, almost like he’s trying to comfort himself.

Almost like he’s done this a hundred times before.

The feeling of Sako’s arm wrapping around his shoulders makes Dabi jerk, looking up with bleary eyes as he stoops down to his level. “What are you doing?” He snaps weakly, but there’s no real conviction in it. His nose is running, his voice broken up. Whatever kind of mental breakdown Dabi is currently having, the older man simply can’t bring himself to leave him. Doesn’t want to leave him to fall apart on his own.

“Quiet.” He admonishes, crouching before Dabi and pulling him closer bodily, so that his head comes to rest on Sako’s shoulder. Still breathing raggedly, Dabi stares at a space somewhere on the wall beyond Sako’s shoulder for a while before his eyes close, a worn out sigh leaving his lungs in pieces. No attempt is made to shove him away this time. He gives in.

At one point in his life, another entertainer had told Sako that when a child hugged them, they should never be the first to let go. ‘Because you never know how badly they might need it’, they had said. Keeping his arms around Dabi and remembering that message, he tightens his grip a touch, resigning himself to remaining in a crouch and getting sore knees. Not that Dabi is willing to be held for very long. He pulls away with a sniff, hand on Sako’s shoulder to keep himself steady. “Fuck- my eyes.”

He’s not wrong. His eyelids are irritated and swollen, both his regular skin and the grafts beneath. Sighing, Sako loosens his grip and lets Dabi lean back, against the side of the tub. “Put your head over.” He advises, straightening to his feet and pulling off his ruined gloves.

“Why?” Dabi rasps.

“To wash the chemicals out of your eyes, Dabi.”

Dabi considers this with a glance at the dirty tiles then nods his head once. He looks, to put it in a word, drained, straightening himself up and turning to rest his elbows on the tub's edge. Sako watches him as he finishes rolling up his sleeves, shaking his head slightly.

“Where on earth do you young people find the energy to get so worked up?” He chides, not cruelly, turning the faucet and cupping his hand beneath the sluggish flow of water. With his free hand he brings Dabi’s head over the lip of the tub with a nudge, and brings his cupped hand to the fire-user's face. Dabi hisses but doesn’t recoil as Sako rinses the remnants of dye from his face and eyes, pausing only to say; “I’ll do your hair.” and washing the remainder from his unruly mane. His skin will stain for a while, but it’ll wash away in time. He’ll be alright.

To his credit, Dabi has stopped shuddering and seems to be slowly coming down. Slumped against the lip of the tub he lets out a long, slow breath, sniffing and wiping his nose on his forearm. “I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

“Hold it, I’m almost done.”

With the sting in his eyes finally dulling, Dabi cracks them open halfway to watch the blue-black water flow down the drain. His throat feels suddenly raw, aching. His face hurts.

“Compress.” It hurts to talk. Jesus.

Sako shuts the water off when Dabi’s hair is running mostly clear, a brow arching beneath his balaclava. “Yes?”

“...don’t- Don’t go telling them.” He manages, fingers twitching where he holds the edge of the tub. “I don’t-”

“I understand.” Offering the cleanest looking towel in the room, Sako gives Dabi a faint smile, nodding when he pulls it from his grip. “It’s not for us to know… Are you alright?”

Dabi rises slowly, using the ledge to pull himself up before rubbing at his freshly dyed hair. There’s a moment of hesitation, then; “Yeah… thanks, Compress.”

Sako smiles fully now, spreading his arms and giving a short bow. “I do what I can.”

Dabi snorts, pulls the towel down around his shoulders. “I owe you, I guess.”

“Well… how do you fancy aiding my endeavours to organize Shigaraki’s card collection?”

“No thanks.”

“Understandable.”

83 notes · View notes

katsukikitten · 4 years ago

Text

WARNINGS : N!SFW 18+ AGED UP AU! SOME SCENES MAY CONTAIN GRAPHIC CONTENT, READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YANDERE THEMES GIF MADE BY ME

It started out with a package.

Roses really, neatly tucked away in plastic and a glass vase that nestled into loud styrofoam.

Or at least that's when you started to notice it.

Actually it started with a phone call didn't it?

Just a few days ago the old rotary phone, the one you bought for nostalgia, rang. This in itself was not odd, you picked up the aged yellow receiver and pressed the cool plastic to your ear.

But you did not speak, waiting patiently for the other line to come to life. After a few moments of silence you figure it to be a telemarketer, the automated type that doesn't start its spiel until it hears a tone, a voice. So you hang up.

The random call lost to both time and thought.

But you cannot forget this package that acted as a catalyst, to what you were not sure.

You just knew it was something.

The white box with the flower company's name on the side of the cardboard sat on your concrete steps, just past the waist high fence. You were returning from a run, huffing as you bent over, you figured it was most likely for your neighbor but it had your address. The recipient's name had been worn off from the poor handling of the package, you had figured the contents to be broken. Despite the state of the box the roses were perfectly intact. Crystal vase sparkling even through the opaque wrapping, a note on top that read.

I'll love you always.

Ah so this was not for you. You scoff, this was meant for your neighbor as you first originally thought. It made more sense that way. What with his boyfriend being long distance, it was obvious. He most likely remembered his address wrong and put yours in error. As you're haphazardly closing the box, keeping the note in hand, your neighbor waltz from his door.

"Ah, um Denki-kun" You call, a bright smile beams on his face as he makes his way to meet you at your shared fence.

"Love!" He greets, strong hand giving your bicep a soft squeeze, "Ah flowers? Spill!"

"Well they aren't mine. I...I think they're yours. Here." You shove the box and note into his hands, stupid tears trying to prick your eyes.

Why? You were unsure.

Maybe you were a bit jealous. Thinking back you couldn't remember the last time you had even had a flirtatious comment or cat call sent your way. You lived a normal quiet life with your "abnormality". Quirkless. You worked from home, spoke to a select few and hardly left your house. It contributed to your wait gain thus adding to your small list of places to go.

The grocery store.

And the gym Denki invited you to or around the block for a run.

After a gurgling amount of time you finally achieved your dream body. Now all that was left was to maintain it.

"Wait!" Denki calls, "This isn't my boyfriend's handwriting."

Furrowing your brows, hand on the handle the answer comes to you.

"Probably just one of those fonts meant to look like handwriting."

"No, come look. It was made with a ballpoint pen." Nothing escapes his pro hero trained eye, his finger slides beneath the words, "He seems passionate! Lucky duck look at how deep love is."

He passes the card to you, giving you a wink as he passes the white box. Sure enough there are divots in the card stock, love is the deepest. Deep enough it almost ripped through the thick paper. You swallow thickly racking your brain, your job requires you to have answers to every question. Logical answers. So it's no surprise your mind wanders until it comes up with something. Your eyes shift to the right, you were lucky enough for your little house to be on the corner of the block.

The delicate roses must have been intended for your neighbor diagonal from you. You wait until Denki is halfway down the block before you rush across the quiet street to set the flowers up neatly on the porch. Throwing the box and wrapping into the trash before you speed walk into the safety of your sanctuary.

Your cats prance to the door to greet you and then sprint to the kitchen to be fed. As if you hadn't just fed them before your run a little less than an hour ago.

The rest of your night is uneventful. You curl on the couch, nestled deep within an old cardigan and the comfort of your leggings with a pile of work to be analyzed. To find the devil in the details and solve what seemed unsolvable.

The answers were always there, under your nose. Found easily by your trained eye but how could you not see the obvious answers when you had the luxury of a bird's eye view. The luxury of knowing the whole story from the shakey beginning to the bitter end.

A luxury you would not have for your own story.

The shrill ring cuts through the comfortable silence causing you to jump from your skin, the cats perk their heads up lazily to see what disturbed them before tucking their head back down.

You tell yourself it's a wrong number, a telemarketer but curiosity is beginning to get the better of you.

And curiosity is a deadly, loud thing. Louder than reason. Reason you had learned from the safety of your home, from other people's mistakes. The same very mistakes that sit on your lap with harsh red ink labeling them C L A S S I F I E D.

It rings a fourth time as you stand, the bell calling out for your attention, demanding you speak. You lift the receiver, again there is silence on the other end.

You wait patiently, is this another automated telemarketer? Had you entered your real number by mistake for one of those stupid store discounts?

You must have, still you resist the urge to tap the speaker of the phone to see if it would trigger the recording.

Instead you drop the receiver onto the base, rattling the hidden bell.

And that was that, you return to your work. Pouring over the details to find the pattern, to build a psychological profile to avoid a tragedy in the future.

Ironic how you cannot prevent your own.

It isn't until a few weeks later does the first letter find its way into your mailbox.

It seemed harmless enough you thought it to be an accident, just neatly looped words proclaiming their love. But it was never fully addressed to you and when you tried to pass it off to Denki, again he denied that the letter belonged to him.

Still, those looping letters twist into your memory, coming to the forefront of your mind every now and again. As if the paper that lies on your dining room table reads itself aloud, from beginning to end at the top of every hour.

As if the ink doesn't want you to forget.

"I am not sure when it started, but it did. I had fallen for you despite my efforts not to. A half of a year I've told myself to forget it, to forget you. And yet I cannot bring myself to stop, the more I try the more you come to mind. And the more I find myself near you. It's as if you're a bad drug I can't quit. I've been watching you. Everything you do is done in such cautious beauty. Please answer next time my dear."

Silence for weeks after that, at least as far as the rotary phone and the mailbox were concerned. You would occasionally get a text from an unknown number.

A transposed number, an error on the sender's end. Or so you assured yourself, especially when they would seem a bit too coincidental. When you were out for a jog or out at the gym at a different time than usual a text would come through.

For a second your mouth would go dry, your blood ice cold as you read the black letters atop the white screen. Huffing as your lack of breath came from a psychological response as opposed to your physical running.

Why aren't you home?

See you soon?

But these couldn't be intended for you. How could they? You could list the people you knew outside of your family and work place on one hand.

Denki.

And only because he spoke to you first!

So these texts, these little messages laced with concern could have been for an estranged spouse, a forgetful spouse or some partner who lacked the ability to properly communicate.

You just knew they weren't for you.

Or so your new mantra goes.

Paranoia didn't begin to sink it's sharp teeth into you until you noticed your cats' odd behavior.

In an immeasurable amount of time they went from lazy, happy go lucky animals to hostile even aggressive creatures. As if they were suddenly feral.

Oddly enough they only acted this way during certain times, mainly at night. Their moon eyes saw things you could not, their enhanced hearing heard things you could not, things you labeled, rat or mouse.

Would a mouse or rat cause a cat to hiss at shrouded corners? To claw at the wall with a howl that sounded more like a scream? Would it make them avoid the closet door in your room?

Maybe it was bigger? The floorboards above did groan more often than not lately. Maybe it was a raccoon even.

Yes, that had to be the cause of their behavior.

And yet there was still that one time, that one instance you sometimes dream about waking in a cold sweet.

The thing you cannot explain away, nor label as mouse, rat, not even a raccoon.

A cocktail of a tired mind and a trick of the eye but simply not vermin.

It was overcast, a sickly grey as the day wept deep into the night. The weather, naturally, caused you to melt into the plush material of your couch as you consumed comfort movie after comfort movie. You were given a reprieve from your worry as your cats seemed normal, sleepy just as you were that day. Even Nyx chose to laze on your chest as a temporary throne. Your couch is flush against the arch way that leads into the dining room and kitchen, giving it's back to part of the hallway towards the main bathroom and your bedroom at the back.

This angle always caused you great anxiety but there was no other way your luxury couch could fit in the small living room and so you always sunk low into the cushions.

Suddenly Nyx's ears twitch and her eyes snap open, waking only a cat knows how. On high alert to a sound totally lost to your draft ear. Her eyes widen, pupils dilating to adjust better to the shadowed room. The glow of the TV casts such a glow on the objects around you, flicker in soft and harsh lights. Slowly Nyx cranes her neck to see what exactly disturbed her sleep, just as her eyes lock on whatever is behind you, you see it for just a fraction of a second.

In the reflection of those moon eyes you see it. Distorted only from the curvature of her lens and the grain of the TV but there is no denying its shape.

A crude outline of a man, broad shouldered and faceless in the dark.

You freeze, mirroring your cat. Breath held as you watch the figure in the pitch black pupil. Wishing, hoping and praying that what you see is not really there.

After an eon of a moment, Nyx begins to shrink in on herself before silently slinking from the couch to find shelter beneath it.

You are not brave enough to move, to crane your head just as your cat did before you to confirm if what you saw was real. And in the milliseconds that the TV goes black you avoid the corner the figure should be standing in. Goose flesh breaks out over your skin, making you feel vulnerable and cold. While your feet burn begging you to get up.

To run.

After a lot of mental reassurance and silence you begin to settle down. Easing yourself back into the rational world. Even becoming brave enough to stare into the TV, into the corner where the figure should be reflected in.

Each passing second as you wait for that small moment of blackness sends your heart into an irrational pace. Finally it happens and when you see nothing you sigh with relief.

Mentally giving yourself an "I told you it was nothing." talk.

That is until you hear a sound, a thump and a click from the back bedroom.

Your bedroom.

But the sound seems as if it came from within, as if it were your closet door.

Your heart explodes into frantic erratic beating.

The shrill ring of the old rotary phone rips through the dialogue of the movie but it can be barely heard over the hum of your blood.

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING

BRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIING

Tonight you are frozen in place, whether that be from petrifying fear or sheer stubborn denial you cannot say. You just know one thing. You do not want to deal with the automated telemarketer who never seems to speak.

It rings four more times before it stops.

You chalk it up to coincidence. To nothing.

Late evening turns into late night and sooner rather than later you find yourself in the mouth of the hallway. Staring down your bedroom door as your mind plays on repeat the sound of a door closing from earlier that night.

You cannot let the boogie man keep you from sleep. Slowly you enter, flicking on all the lights.

Everything seems to be in place, the small pile of laundry still lies abandoned by your hamper, your bed neatly made, pillows haphazardly lying about the comforter. Hell even your inherited diamond drop necklace still sits snugly in the jewelry dish on your night stand.

The townhouse makes an odd sound, you jump out of your skin. Clutching your phone so hard the lock and volume buttons imprint into your palms.

No longer can you ignore the elephant in the room as the silence from this particular space screams at deafening volumes until you dare to look. Your eyes flicker to your left and there it is.

Your closet door, seeming to yawn and stretch even in the harsh hue of the overhead light. A closet is always an ominous, odd place and the sounds it may or may not have made cause a great twisting in your stomach. The shine of the knob calls to you with deadly wonder. Begging you to turn the gleaming metal to reveal the darkness behind the bland white door.

It should be inspected shouldn't it? If you ever wanted to sleep soundly you would need to reveal what may lurk in the dark.

Creeping towards the door with baited breath until finally your hand hovers over the knob.

"Open me." It seems to whisper in delighted glee, elated to see your stressed, scared features distort in its polished brass. You retract your fingers as if burned, biting onto your lip as you scrape your large armchair against the wood. Shoving it into place against the closet door.

You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the door until your eyes burn. You turn off the overhead light but keep the soft light of your nightstand lamp on.

You dream fever dreams of flashing lights as a storm passes overhead. Dream of the closet door laughing in the night, of cool fingers pressed into your skin.

Jolting awake you reach for your phone as your senses slowly come to you. Your eyes fly to the armchair in the mid morning light. It rests in the same spot you left it ominously staring at your bed.

Something seems off about it or maybe you just imagine that there is a deep divot in the cushion, as if someone or something sat in the armchair most of the night.

You close your eyes and go over rational explanations. Always bringing back to yourself the same question.

Who in the world would want you?

Bringing you back full circle, that you were getting ahead of yourself. The cart before the horse in a sense and letting your mind race without restraint.

Letting the season of Fall try to creep into your bones and cause an artificial fear.

Still it's not too long after that do the cats avoid your room altogether.

While you choose to do what you've always done, push the problem aside and explain it away.

The phone rings as you're lacing up your running shoes. You pick up the receiver without bringing it to your ear and place it down gently.

It's just a wrong number anyway.

Tonight air bites at your nose, leaves crunching underfoot as wind whips around buildings and trash, carrying with it the promise of a harsh winter to come.

Your feet carry you slowly back to the direction of home as they beat down your normal, safe route.

A right from your little townhome, straight for two blocks before you would find the winding black pavement. It would snake past the backs of homes through some small trees but never a path that was fully hidden.

Always out in the open but giving you the ability to peer into people's lives as you passed. Witnessing dinners, arguments and heated moments of passion. Silently you thanked Kami you were not positioned on this route.

You keep your eyes focused ahead, the music in your ears low to listen for possible passers such as a bike or a better runner than yourself.

You pass a tree that seems thicker than normal, your phone buzzes on your arm band.

An email, it has to be an email.

Yet your mind wanders to those worried texts, lingers on the thoughts of if that tree had always been that wide, if the quickly setting sun had always cast the path in blood red. The maroon leaves flutter overhead, falling to the ground.

More crunching than what you think your feet should produce has you running faster. Forcing yourself not to glance over your shoulder. Your breathing becomes rasped as you borderline sprint home, still the crunching comes closer.

It isn't until someone brushes your shoulder as they pass do you let out a blood curdling scream. Huffing to catch your breath as you take a step back. The jogger, your neighbor from across the street that you occasionally run into, removes his earbud.

"You okay?" He addresses you by your name and suddenly you're embarrassed that you do not know his. He takes your silence as an answer, his brow furrowing.

"I thought you'd be less skittish since your new boyfriend's been coming around." Your mouth goes dry.

"Wh...what?"

"Yea he seems so sweet. He always checks the windows to make sure they are locked at night." He takes in your response and shrugs, "It's getting late. Since I didn't see your boyfriend there yet, I'll jog you home."

The jog home is agonizing,your mind racing far faster than your feet can go.

What did he mean he saw him checking the windows? What boyfriend?

Maybe, maybe he mixed up your house with Denki's again. It's happened once before when he was returning mail. So there was a good chance he was mistaken again.

Still the closer the two of you get to home the worse you feel. A brick sits in your stomach as he jogs in place before your fence. He gives you a knowing smile and a wink as you wave him goodbye.

It isn't until you turn to face your home do you notice it, the white rectangle stark against your black door.

There is an envelope taped to the thick oak, addressed to no one but "My beloved".

You rip it from the wood with ragged breath as you bring it inside. Already you can feel the contents squirming, fidgeting as it waits to be read.

Polaroid photos fall to the hardwood floors, pictures of you running down your favorite path. Blurred images of you walking down the aisles of the grocery store, and even a photo of you taken between the cracks of the fence in your front yard.

There are no more photos after that, at least not this time. Just that fucking letter written in long looping ink You feel the words tighten around your throat as horror wraps its spindly fingers around your guts and yanks them towards the floor.

Your knees threaten to buckle as your eyes rapidly move along the page.

"In these moments you are the most beautiful. Blissfully unaware of prying eyes. In my time I've come to care for you I've noticed I'm not the only one watching. People gaze at you with whispered murmurs, with pitying eyes as they spin tales of your life. Speculating gossip as you prance about the neighborhood. Flaunting in those tight running shorts that hold every godly curve of your thighs and ass. Of the light jacket you leave unzipped so they can get a better view of your bouncing breasts tucked in your black sports bra. I wonder, would they bounce like that when you ride on my cock? Would your hair stick to your forehead like that as I rail you from behind. Would that angelic voice squeak out for more? For me? Ah I'm salivating thinking of it, harder than I've ever been. Please do not wear those out while running. In fact you don't have to run anymore Doll. You just need to let me take care of you God damn it. You little fucking whore. You seductive vixen with your God damned doe eyes. Just...just fucking answer please."

Rage and fear fight for control as you reread the letter for the fourth, fifth time before you finally move. Rage, for once, wins. You slam the door behind you locking the deadbolt before running to the back bedroom. Throwing the heavy chair from the closet door and ripping it open.

Nothing lies within it, just clothes that begin to smell of neglect. Of old running shoes you didn't have the heart to throw away.

Of relief that whoever was sending these letters, these ones that weren't meant for you. Wasn't currently in the house.

The floorboards overhead groan and for a moment you have half a mind to tuck your cats away into their carrier, buy a one way train ticket to bumfuck nowhere and set your house ablaze.

Instead you move the chair back in front of the closet, grabbing things from your back bedroom to start your new life on your couch.

Time passes as the trees become more bare, their spindly fingers reaching out to tap the roof at odd hours of the night.

Tomorrow you promised yourself you would run.

And yet you find yourself dressed, lacing up your shoes before slowly opening the door. Your jacket is zipped all the way up, your hair neatly tied back and just as you step foot out the front door a heavy wind rips through the yard causing Denki's unlatched gate to slam. You jump back startled as your fear clings to you like a second skin. The letter begins to overlap in your head and the polaroid photos you had trashed a few weeks ago burn into your retinas. A faint snap and a whirl comes from close by and suddenly your stomach churns. Bile rushes up your windpipe too quickly, slamming the door shut and running to the bathroom. You barely make it as you dry heave into the porcelain bowl, huffing in the air of fresh toilet water. The smell starts a vicious cycle of nausea until finally your clammy skin begins to cool, pressing yourself to the side of the tub. In your panic your skin becomes sensitive, hyper aware of each stitch in your jacket, your sports bra and your jogging leggings. Your rip at your clothes until you peel them off of you, huffing as you scramble to get into the shower.

It does not matter that the water is not yet hot. Hell it isn't even lukewarm still you find yourself in the stream as it becomes scalding. Scrubbing at your skin with soap over and over and over. Nails pulling away already raw skin until that burning water begins to cool. A floorboard creaks overhead causing your head to snap up. The ceiling holds no secrets and yet no answers until you see it. A small hole, one you aren't sure if it's always been there, gaping from the attic over your shower and bath. It's too dark to tell if there is someone peering down at you from above or not.

Instead of freaking out your head slowly tilts away from the haunting discovery. Turning off the water, opening the curtain and wrapping yourself in a towel. As if it were every day you see something like that, as if it were nothing more than a spider lingering that you'd wish to forget.

It's fine It's always been there

But that would be the last time you would take a shower in that house.

Even though you hardly left your couch, things would still go missing in yourself. Things like the remote or one of your hundreds of phone charger cords. Even documents to cases but you didn't care, couldn't care. Otherwise you would break. Shatter.

Your days consisted of lying on the couch and consuming an ungodly amount of television. Doing so until your eyes burned although you begged them to stay open. Sadly everyone needed sleep and so you did. Giving into exhaustion as your eyes fluttered closed and your body weak, relaxing into the comfort of the couch.

Hours are lost to you so you dream and dream. Of a better time or of yourself in one of your files to dissect. Giving yourself that perfect bird's eye view and wondering how the victim never saw it coming.

In your dream you feel something along your face, smooth fingertips trace down your cheek over and over at a lulling pace.

"So perfect." A whispered serenade melding in with a snap and a whirl. A flash of lightning from a passing storm.

Except there was no storm coming in.

Your eyes snap open as you jerk to a sitting position frantically looking around the room. When your eyes find nothing you allow your beating heart to settle back into your numbed state, more than ready to melt into the couch.

Until your stomach growls forcing you to focus on a new problem.

When was the last time you ate? Your stomach had long forgotten about food, choosing to conserve energy in case you needed to run from whatever the hell it was in your head.

Forgoing dressing you place your hand on the knob, wallet in hand. Two sets of glowing eyes watch you from beneath the couch. Twisting the metal to yank the door open you are greeted with cold fall air. The wind whips hair into your face as your mind quickly wanders. You half imagined a man to be standing in the middle of the street. Mouth stretched too far over gleaming teeth, lips parting enough as the wind brings with it the sound of your name.

Frantically you move your hair from your face, eyes searching up and down the street to find no one, nothing.

As it should be at 10am on a weekday. Suddenly the weight of going outside sits on your shoulders, despite the convenience store being a ten minute walk both ways, the thought of you going alone scared you. Slowly you shut the door, falling to your knees before lying face down on your floor openly sobbing.

A creaking board sends you back to high alert, you remove your jacket and decide to order take out instead.

The knocking at your front door jolts you awake, the TV drones in the background with hazed over words as you quickly come to. Heart slamming into your chest before your stomach growls loudly. Right, food.

Your hand hovers over the knob as if suddenly you cannot move, as if the person on the other side of the door is an imposter lying in wait. Another knock comes at the door, he announces who he works for which eases your phobia a bit. You swallow thickly before finally opening the door, hands sweating as the anticipation of the identity of the stranger on your porch.

He seems to check out, his outfit covered in logos for your takeout restaurant of choice, car labeled as such as well. He holds the receipt towards you. His eyes wander over the face of the house, giving you sudden chills.

The question falls from your numb lips.

"D...do you see anyone in the windows?" The delivery guy visibly jarrs, eyes darting to the windows of your room and the living room. Suddenly his face changes as a knowing smile spreads on his lips.

"This is a prank isn't it? For Halloween right?" He chuckles, but when he sees the pen shaking in your grip his face goes stone cold. Eyes darting to your left, to the bedroom windows. He taps the paper, indicating where you need to sign, you take a moment to do so.

The old rotary phone screams from the living room, making you both jump.

"Guess I better get that." You gesture, grabbing for your food. He nods affirmation before stepping off of your small porch a little too quickly.

You slam the front door, appetite washed away by each shrill of the small bell. Hesitantly you reach for it, you have to know, need to know who could be on the other side.

The receiver is cold against your ear, the other line is quiet, although you can hear something soft in the background.

Talking, it sounds familiar, like an echo or almost as if there is a delay. It almost sounds like the same commercial that's playing on your TV right now.

Gently you set the phone down, the soft click echoes in the space around you. You sit on the couch before lying, covering yourself in your blanket as your takeout sits by the door, forgotten.

It wouldn't be too long before it begins to rot, almost as quickly as you.

The phone rings

And rings

And rings.

Nightly in fact, for the next few weeks as you cry silently trying to ignore the sound. Turning up the TV as loud as it can go, 24/7 until finally the speakers blow and you are left with nothing but that shrill shriek. The demand of the small plastic item that was meant to bring to a comforting memory from the past comes more often. Every four hours, every three hours, every hour until finally when it comes to an end it breathes again.

Screaming into the night tearing away your hearing, your sanity until finally you get up from your spot on the couch. Clothes falling away from your frame as they had grown in the time you sat. The time that you watched.

Each step is agonizing as sobs rack through your body, shaking hands making it hard to reach for the cool receiver.

You press it to your ear and for a final time your mind attempts logic. It is just an automated telemarketer, a glitch or determined program but the thought crumbles as your ears strain to hear the soft breath on the other line.

"Please…please stop." You sob into the receiver when no one speaks. The silence deafening as your mind can no longer keep with the charade.

That everything is okay and has always been okay. That the red flags you studied for a living were never there, washed away by your feigned ignorance.

"Finally got a response out of you." A velvet voice chimes, agitation lacing his syllables, "Gods, I just cannot wait to have you. It was worth it you know? Living in your walls for months."

"Why are you doing this?" Your voice barely a whisper, a soggy huff more than anything.

"I'm glad you asked." You body goes rigid, a haze blankets your mind and smothers the scream tearing up your throat.

"Now walk out the door to me. Don't worry I'll bring your cats back to our home later."

You hang up the phone, body moving on it's own as you walk towards the front door. A door you had chosen to avoid and for good reason. But you should have known the danger lied within these four walls. Although your body feels heavy it moves normally despite you trying to fight it. Or as best you can with your worn down mind.and will. It is not as joyous as a moment for you and it is for the man in the street. His lilac hair is illuminated in the moonlight while his amethyst eyes glow iridescent. His smile is as you imagined, twisted and screwed up in such a way it makes your stomach churn. Lips stretched out almost too far over gleaming white teeth. Your face does not reflect your horror as it stays neutral, only your eyes give you way as tears fall from your cheeks.

The answer was there, under your nose, the devil in the details that you normally saw with your bird's eye view. One you didn't have the luxury of for your own story.

"Come now pet. It's time I finally teach you about what it means to be mine."

EPILOGUE

Everything is hazed over and slow, as if watching an old silent movie through the static and snow of the screen. Trying to read their lips to figure out what they are saying only for the text box to come too late.

"Perfect. Now get on your knees kitten. Open wide." You follow his orders numbly body moving on it's own as he smiles down at you. "God, you're so so perfect."

Long fingers tug at his belt before the shrill of a ring tone cuts through the silence. It is the same sound of your rotary phone at home except with an added element. The foreign sound of your whimpers and pleads for the phone to stop can just barely be heard. He looks down at the cell phone and answers.

"Denki, Baby I know I said I would come tonight. I'm just running late okay?" Amethyst eyes rove over to you and it is then that it hits you. The horror of the realization is like ice water dumped over you as you put two and two together.

The first time you saw him, visiting your neighbor over a year ago. It was such a quick exchange, eye contact and nothing more as his lips were pressed to Denki's.

Your mouth goes dry as it hangs open, slowly it becomes uncomfortable.

He changes his voice to sound like someone else's, someone with a gruff deeper tone.

"Oi quit talking to dunce face so we can finish this shit!" He removed the device from his mouth

"I'll be home after this patrol. Love you bye."

He tosses the phone before gripping your chin to spit into your mouth, his hand rests on the hem of his pants.

"Now...where was I?"

#shinsou hitoshi #shinsou x reader #shinso x reader #yandere bnha #shinso yandere #yandere shinso x reader #bnha x reader #bnha harem collab #bnha halloween #bnha spooky

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elendiliel · 2 years ago

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This AU idea (which started out as vague and angsty, then became a fix-it, because apparently that's how I roll - though there's still an amount of angst, because that seems to be how I roll as well) has not left me alone for the last few days. Hopefully posting it will alter that state of affairs.

---

Basic premise: for reasons best known to himself - perhaps as a backup, perhaps to keep his hand in, perhaps because he's bored - at some point after the events of The Phantom Menace Palpatine decides to select another young Jedi to turn to the Dark Side in the fullness of time, as he intends to turn Skywalker. Not as an apprentice - stars, or maybe black holes, forbid he should violate the Rule of Two - but as a servant. Initiate Helli Abbasa is his eventual choice. She may not be particularly powerful, but she could be, with all that passion in her heart. The Jedi will have their hands full with that one. She's lonely, friendless, isolated, bullied, a latecomer to the Order whose background is likely to clash with certain Jedi beliefs and teachings. A gentle, trusting soul who won't know what he is until it's too late. Yes, she's already showing signs of being a gifted intuitive, but carefully handled, her hereditary distrust of politicians could cancel that out. All in all, she's a promising candidate, or so he thinks.

How wrong can one person be?

Somehow, perhaps through Anakin, Palpatine makes contact with Helli and slowly starts to win her confidence. The task is made more difficult when she finally makes friends among her peers, and even harder when she's accepted as a padawan, but he perseveres. It sometimes helps that her master is a Gungan, but he can't afford to play the Naboo card too often. He's playing a dangerous game already - but what's new?

Then Geonosis happens, and the galaxy is plunged into chaos, just as Palpatine planned. A month later, Helli's master is dead; her best friend follows not long afterwards. Devastated, feeling abandoned by mentors and friends who have no time to spare, she turns to the one person outside the Order she really knows (or thinks she knows). The Supreme Chancellor.

Instead of encouraging her to let go of her harmful feelings and her attachments, Palpatine validates her anger and even hatred, gradually warping her views of the Jedi and their teachings. The change isn't obvious, even to her, at first, but as time goes by and she's given her own, small command and more and more independence, it becomes significant. Her methods can be surprisingly brutal, but they're effective and don't cost lives, so reining her in isn't a top priority. As Palpatine hoped.

Off the battlefield, the Sith's poison causes even more problems. When her second-in-command, Sergeant Torrent, tells her he's in love with her, she doesn't push him away just far enough, as a good Jedi should - quite the reverse. And when, not long afterwards, he asks her to marry him, she says yes.

She's ready for the next stage. Palpatine starts teaching her small, innocent-seeming Force-techniques, claiming he picked them up here and there. Blinded by her thirst for knowledge, she doesn't notice that she's tapping into the Dark Side, though she's careful not to demonstrate her new skills to other Jedi, and seldom uses them in the field. One, however, the ability to conceal a person's Force-presence entirely, becomes apparently necessary - to protect the new person growing inside her. Torrent's and her daughter.

Between that, anti-nausea meds and some adjustments to her clothes, she's able to hide her secret even on her team's return to Coruscant. But another problem is waiting for her in the Jedi Archives when she covertly researches hybrids like her child, hoping to prepare herself for the months and years ahead. No such child has ever survived more than a few hours after birth, even if they aren't miscarried or stillborn. Her species' genetics just aren't compatible with humans'. Helli is determined to find a cure, but she's also terrified that she won't, on top of all her other reasons to fear.

So she isn't surprised when the nightmares begin. They vary in precise details, but usually she's holding her dying husband as best she can, begging him - between labour pains - to hold on, at least long enough to see his daughter. But he can't, however hard he tries, and she's left to give birth alone to a child who never opens her eyes, and sometimes never even breathes.

She is a little surprised - and a shade suspicious - when Palpatine, during one of their regular meetings, starts talking about the power to save people from death, casting meaningful looks at her barely-swollen stomach. It doesn't take long for him to make his offer - safety for Torrent and the baby in exchange for her undying, undivided loyalty. He can sense that she's truly tempted. She's scared of losing either or both of her families - her soldier husband and sick daughter or the Jedi Order that will reject her if her secret is discovered - short of sleep because of the nightmares, and less than enamoured of the Jedi's conduct during the war. He feels sure she'll accept his offer.

The next thing he feels is a binder on his wrist, swiftly followed by the other half of the pair as she cuffs him to one leg of his desk. And - blast the girl - he can't feel much else. One of Helli's mottos is hope for the best, prepare for the worst, and expect something in the middle. So, of course, she carries Force-suppressing binders, in case she runs into Dooku or Ventress. The only weapon he has left is his tongue, so he tries to use it.

"What are you doing?"

"What I should have done a long time ago. And before you mention Tor or the bairn, arresting you, ending the war and throwing myself and her on the Jedi's mercy is saving them. I've read up on the Sith, and I know you can't be trusted. And speaking of Sith..." He hears the secret drawer in his desk slide open, revealing his lightsabres. She leaves them where they are, for forensic and psychometric testing, no doubt, and calls the Jedi Council, requesting help with an unspecified "situation".

The Council, when they arrive (quickly and in force, presumably believing there was a threat to the Chancellor), are rather perplexed by what they find, but Helli soon explains her actions. At length. She confesses everything, even her marriage (though she withholds Torrent's name until she's sure he won't be unfairly treated) and unborn child, and submits herself to their judgement, asking only that her daughter not share in her punishment.

The Council find themselves in a bit of a pickle. On the one hand, Helli clearly broke the rules and would normally be immediately expelled from the Order. On the other, she's a young mother trying to care for her child, and to atone for mistakes made under Sith influence. And - on the shoulder, perhaps - she's one of their best combatants, and inspires a great deal of loyalty in the clones around her. The Chancellor's under lock and key, but the war's nowhere near over yet. By expelling her, they'd be shooting themselves in the foot.

The resulting compromise would make Helli's late master proud. Obviously, the best place for her daughter to be born is the Halls of Healing, where she can be properly cared for. And it's likely that she'll be Force-sensitive, a potential Jedi who should - if her parents consent - be raised in the Temple, but the Jedi have never separated parents and very young children unless it's in the child's best interests, so her mother at least should stay near her. Helli can remain a Jedi for now - but one more infraction, one sign of unwise attachment after the birth, and she's out. And the moment the war's over, she's confined to the Temple until further notice.

That suits both expectant parents. By the time Dooku and Grievous finally surrender, Helli's eight months pregnant and much less mobile than usual. Her daughter is born a month later in the Temple, delivered by her father - and immediately taken for treatment before her condition deteriorates. It's touch and go for a while, and she has to spend a week on a ventilator, but thanks to Kaminoan technology (the least they can do, now that the biochip conspiracy has been uncovered), maybe some Force-healing and quite possibly a strong will inherited from one or both parents, she pulls through. Torrent and Helli are in tears when they finally get to hold her - the first of many, given the number of uncles and aunts she has, both Jedi and clones. (It's some time before Echo meets his firstborn niece, following his rescue from Skako Minor, and even longer before he's comfortable holding her, but he and Deala adore one another on sight.)

As it turns out, Deala is Force-sensitive, and her parents do agree that the Temple is the best place for her. Once she's old enough, she lives with the other younglings, but still sees Helli when she's on-planet, and Torrent (now a therapist and counsellor on Coruscant, mostly working with his brothers; a lot of clone medics have stayed in some subset of their old field, such as Twitch from the 501st, who's become a skilled physical therapy assistant) visits as often as is advisable - often enough that Deala knows her father, but not so often that she becomes attached. It's not easy, but nothing worth doing ever is.

Her parentage isn't a secret; it can't be, as she takes after both parents in more than just looks. She has her mother's eyes and hair, but also her tenacity and loyalty; her father's face and build, as well as his patience and steadfastness. Her complexion is somewhere between the two, as are her ear-tips (Helli's are very clearly pointed, Deala's less so). She's beautiful inside and out, clever, kind and gentle, with beskar in her soul and kyber in her heart, a talented intuitive, telekinetic and telepath with a gift for psychometry, but her health is always fragile, and the gene therapy that saved her life has to be re-administered every few years. It's unwise for her to follow any path that will take her away from the Temple for long periods of time, but that won't stop her reaching her full potential. The Force already knows that at her Gathering - her kyber crystal is yellow, the colour of a guardian or a scholar.

When Master Jocasta Nu, the keeper of the Jedi Archives, chooses Deala as her first padawan in years and she accepts, her parents could not be more proud. She's forging a path for herself, not that of a soldier or a warrior-diplomat, but that of a guardian and seeker of knowledge, whose achievements will long outlive theirs. Not a safe path, but a more than worthwhile one. And if her family have any say in the matter, a path she will always walk in a peaceful galaxy, free of the Sith - for now.

---

Twitch is @gaeasun's OC, but seems to have adopted me. And by the way, I don't know how canonical the assignments of sabre colours to different disciplines is; I found that one in this fic.

#star wars #the clone wars #alternate universe #jedi oc #sheev palpatine #clone trooper oc #jocasta nu #fanfic

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deadpresidents · 4 years ago

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Unfinished: April 12, 1945

As March 1945 drew to a close, Franklin Delano Roosevelt was exhausted. At the beginning of February, Roosevelt had attended the Yalta Conference with Winston Churchill and Joseph Stalin -- a meeting which required the American President to undertake a physically punishing and extraordinarily dangerous trip halfway around the world to the Crimean Peninsula in the middle of a raging world war. At Yalta, Roosevelt’s appearance had shocked the foreign leaders and their aides. In his last face-to-face meeting with Churchill, on February 18, 1945, FDR was seen as a dead man walking. Churchill’s personal doctor, Lord Moran, told a friend that Roosevelt had “only a few months to live”.

Being President of the United States for just one term is taxing enough on a young man or a healthy man. Franklin Delano Roosevelt had been President for twelve years. He had campaigned for the Presidency and been victorious in four national elections. His Administration faced one of the greatest domestic crises in American History -- the Great Depression -- and the greatest crisis and bloodiest conflict in world history -- World War II. FDR had attacked these problems (and other issues that arose during his terms) with energy, creativity, and a relentless pursuit of victory.

A healthy and athletic man who stood nearly 6′2″ and weighed about 200 lbs. as Assistant Secretary of the Navy under Woodrow Wilson, Franklin Roosevelt had been stricken by polio in 1921. The disease robbed him of his ability to walk and, at the time, looked as if it had robbed him of a political future. He rebounded politically but physically he was never the same. Confined to a wheelchair, the muscles in his legs withered like the branches of a tree in winter. Although he could not walk under his own power, FDR taught himself to stand while wearing heavy steel braces around his shins. He needed the assistance of a muscular partner -- sometimes one of his sons, sometimes a military aide -- in order to feign the appearance of walking. Through sheer will, however, Roosevelt learned to take a few steps without anyone’s help -- a handy skill that he would show off at important campaign rallies. But as he began his unprecedented fourth term in the White House in the early months of 1945, FDR no longer had the energy to show off.

Roosevelt was as gravely ill as Lord Moran suggested. The successful 1944 Presidential campaign had severely drained his already tapped-out reservoirs of energy and stamina. His fourth inauguration was low-key, partly because it took place in the midst of war and partly due to the President’s failing health. Instead of the traditional inaugural ceremonies at the U.S. Capitol, Roosevelt took the Oath of Office at the White House and gave his brief fourth Inaugural Address from a balcony at the Executive Mansion. The famously verbose Roosevelt gave the second-shortest Inaugural Address in American History. By the time the crowd realized that he was talking he had already finished. Only George Washington’s four-sentence-long second Inaugural Address in 1793 was shorter than the address given by FDR on January 20, 1945.

FDR now looked entirely different than the man who had told the nation that “the only thing we have to fear is fear itself” in 1933. Dark circles surrounded his eyes, which seemed sunken into his skull. Since his first Inauguration, Roosevelt had lost 40-50 pounds. His hands shook so violently at times that some observers wondered how he was able to eat. He smoked constantly, but rarely finished his cigarettes. Most shocking of all, FDR no longer went to great lengths to conceal his disability. Frail and tired, he found it almost impossible to wear the heavy braces that he long wore on his crippled legs. On March 1, 1945, Roosevelt addressed a joint session of Congress on the results of his Yalta Conference with Churchill and Stalin. In an unprecedented move, the President sat in a chair on the floor of the House of Representatives and apologized to Congress, beginning his speech by saying, “I hope that you will pardon me for this unusual posture of sitting down during the presentation of what I want to say, but I know that you will realize it makes it a lot easier for me not to have to carry about ten pounds of steel around on the bottom of my legs.” It was the first time that President Roosevelt had ever publicly acknowledged his physical disability.

Twelve years of the Presidency, economic depression and war had strained Roosevelt’s health, but the 14,000-mile trip to the Yalta Conference on the Black Sea had pushed FDR to the limit. On March 30, 1945, Roosevelt arrived in Warm Springs, Georgia for a few weeks of relaxation and, hopefully, recuperation. Roosevelt loved Warm Springs. He had started visiting the small town in western Georgia in the 1920s, hoping that the warm waters from the natural mineral springs nearby would help him regain the use of his legs. When he was Governor of New York, FDR purchased a small house that he used when he visited Warm Springs. As President, the home was called the “Little White House” and although FDR only visited it sixteen times during his Presidency, many of those trips were for 2-3 weeks each. When his train pulled into Warm Springs at about 1:30 PM on March 30, 1945, many longtime residents said that things seemed different. Roosevelt looked terrible and while he waved to onlookers, it was with noticeable weakness.

The first few days in Georgia were tough. FDR was obviously ill and seemed to struggle making it through a church service on Easter Sunday. Roosevelt also avoided his beloved Warm Springs pools. Instead, the President rested, caught up on sleep, and visited with guests. The goal was for FDR to regain enough of his health to make a trip to San Francisco for the charter meeting of what would become the United Nations. At the Little White House with Roosevelt were some personal aides, military attaches, and cousins Daisy Suckley and Polly Delano. During his first week at Warm Springs, Roosevelt did very little work, dictating a few letters and reading briefings, stronger and more animated in the mornings and evenings but completely drained in the afternoon. Another goal for Roosevelt was to gain weight -- by the time he left Warm Springs, he hoped to be up to 170 lbs.

Still, there was no noticeable improvement in FDR’s health or spirits. Then, on April 9th, Lucy Mercer Rutherfurd arrived. As President Wilson’s Assistant Secretary of the Navy, Franklin D. Roosevelt had become involved in a passionate love affair with his wife’s social secretary, Lucy Mercer. It was 1918 when Eleanor Roosevelt discovered the affair between Franklin and Lucy and threatened to divorce him unless he promised never to see or speak to Lucy again. FDR agreed to the ultimatum -- an ultimatum that was strengthened by his mother’s threat to cut off his inheritance if he and Eleanor were divorced, as well as the fact that Franklin’s budding political career would be crushed if the affair was revealed. The relationship between FDR and Eleanor was never again passionate or loving after the discovery of the affair, but Eleanor kept her word and remained married to Franklin. Franklin, however, didn’t keep his word to Eleanor.

The Franklin-Lucy affair probably resumed shortly after Roosevelt’s first Inauguration in 1933. By that time, FDR and Eleanor had more of a professional relationship than a personal one. He respected the First Lady’s political viewpoints, supported her activism, used her as a sounding board, and tried to act on many of her suggestions. Personally, however, there was no passion or tenderness or intimacy between the First Couple. It was FDR and Eleanor’s daughter, Anna, who helped rekindle Franklin’s relationship with Lucy. She arranged for Lucy to visit the President in the White House when Eleanor was out of town. And on April 9, 1945, Lucy Mercer Rutherfurd was in Warm Springs, Georgia visiting President Roosevelt due to Anna Roosevelt’s invitation.

FDR was so excited to see Lucy that he didn’t wait for Lucy to make the drive all the way from Aiken, South Carolina to Warm Springs. The President and his cousin Daisy decided to meet Lucy’s car en route. At Manchester, Georgia, 85 miles away from Warm Springs, the highway rendezvous took place. FDR looked happier than he had in months as Lucy got into FDR’s car along with her friend, painter Elizabeth Shoumatoff. Lucy had brought Shoumatoff along to paint a portrait of the President -- a portrait that she hoped would be an improvement on the recent photographs that had made Roosevelt look “ghastly”.

For the next two days, Roosevelt and Lucy enjoyed their time together, going on small drives, eating happy meals, and sitting together while Shoumatoff prepared to paint the President’s portrait, studying photographs and making preliminary drawings. Daisy Suckley had the opportunity to observe the unique relationship between FDR and Lucy Mercer and also had some private conversations with the President’s longtime mistress. In her diary, Daisy recorded her thoughts about the two after she accompanied them on an automobile drive that they took: “Lucy is so sweet with F(ranklin) -- No wonder he loves to have her around -- Toward the end of the drive, it began to be chilly and she put her sweater over his knees -- I can imagine just how she took care of her husband -- She would think of little things which make so much difference to a semi-invalid, or even a person who is just tired, like F(ranklin).”

On April 12th, President Roosevelt woke up and ate a light breakfast. He had a slight chill despite the warm, humid weather that day and wore his cape draped over his shoulders throughout the early afternoon. Roosevelt did a little bit of work, reading the Atlanta newspapers and dictating some correspondence. Elizabeth Shoumatoff had set up her easel in the living room where the President worked behind a card table that served as his makeshift desk. As Shoumatoff painted, FDR continued reading, and at about 1:00 PM, Roosevelt said, “We have got just about fifteen minutes more to work.”

In the quiet of the room, Daisy Suckley thought that the President had dropped his cigarette and was searching for it because his head slumped forward suddenly. Roosevelt could barely lift his head when Daisy asked what was wrong. He placed his left hand gently against the back of his head and, in a barely audible voice, told Daisy, “I have a terrific pain in the back of my head!”

Roosevelt quickly slipped into unconsciousness as the women in the room summoned help. They called for a doctor who was staying in a cottage close to the Little White House and they helped two of FDR’s valets carry the President into the bedroom. Roosevelt’s hands and feet were ice cold, but he was still breathing. Smelling salts were administered but FDR was unresponsive. As the doctor and aides tried to help the President, Lucy Mercer Rutherfurd and Elizabeth Shoumatoff recognized the hopelessness of the situation. They also recognized the potential scandal that was possible if it was learned that the President collapsed in the presence of his longtime mistress.

Shoumatoff packed up all of her paints and the unfinished portrait she had been working on. Lucy Mercer grabbed her belongings and took one last look at her beloved Franklin. He was still alive when they left, but he was breathing laboriously and his eyes no longer recognized Lucy. Lucy and Elizabeth Shoumatoff had been on the highway back to Aiken, South Carolina for an hour when President Franklin Delano Roosevelt died in Warm Springs at 3:35 PM. The official cause of death was a cerebral hemorrhage. FDR was 63 years old.

Eleanor Roosevelt was notified of her husband’s death a few minutes after 4:00 PM. She summoned Vice President Harry Truman to the White House while he was having a drink at the U.S. Capitol with House Speaker Sam Rayburn. Truman wasn’t told why he needed to hastily come to the White House, but he knew it sounded urgent. As Truman left the Capitol, he ran into a young Congressman who questioned the Vice President about his speedy exit -- a young Congressman named Lyndon Johnson.

At the White House at 5:30 PM, Eleanor Roosevelt broke the news to the Vice President simply a directly: “Harry, the President is dead.” Truman was stunned and asked what he could do for the widowed First Lady. Eleanor smiled sadly and asked, “Is there anything we can do for you? For you are the one in trouble now.” At 7:00 PM, Chief Justice Harlan Fiske Stone administered the Oath of Office to Truman as the 33rd President of the United States.

By that time, Eleanor was on her way to Warm Springs to claim her husband’s body. At about midnight, she arrived at the Little White House in Georgia where she asked about her husband’s last hours. It was then that she learned news almost as shocking as the President’s death. Eleanor found out that FDR had been with his former mistress Lucy Mercer Rutherfurd when he was stricken. She spent 45 minutes alone with his body, picked out the clothing for his burial, but never lost her composure despite the shocks that she experienced that day.

A funeral train returned FDR’s body to Washington, D.C. the next day. Roosevelt was embalmed by morticians who found that the President’s arteries were so hardened that they could barely inject the embalming fluid into his body. FDR’s body laid in state in the East Room of the White House almost 80 years to the day that Abraham Lincoln’s body rested in the very same place following his assassination. On the 80th anniversary of Lincoln’s death -- April 15, 1945 -- Franklin Delano Roosevelt was buried in the garden of his beloved estate Hyde Park on the Hudson River in New York. Upon his death, the New York Times wrote of the deceased President:

“Men will thank God on their knees a hundred years from now that Franklin D. Roosevelt was in the White House. It was his hand, more than that of any other single man, that built the great coalition of the United Nations. It was his leadership which inspired free men in every part of the world to fight with greater hope and courage. Gone is the fresh and spontaneous interest which this man took, as naturally as he breathed air, in the troubled and the hardships and the disappointments and the hopes of little men and humble people.”

Elizabeth Shoumatoff’s Unfinished Portrait of President Roosevelt -- which she was working on when he died -- now hangs in the Little White House in Warm Springs, Georgia.

#History #Franklin D. Roosevelt #FDR #President Roosevelt #Warm Springs #FDR Library #Death of Franklin D. Roosevelt #Presidents #Elizabeth Shoumatoff

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pi-cat000 · 3 years ago

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BNHA: Kakashi dimension hops crossover (6)

Summary: Kakashi gets dumbed into the My Hero Academia universe through random plot devise.

Characters: Kakashi Hatake

Fandoms: My Hero Academia and Naruto

WARNINGS: Mentions of violence/injury

START / PREV / NEXT

As predicted, the day following the seal’s application is miserable. His chest is tight with almost anxiety, pins and needles run up and down his arms making his skin itch, and he is increasingly lethargic. All symptoms of a chakra imbalance and to be expected when one’s normal chakra replacement rate was thrown out. The sensations would pass once his body adjusted as they had with his sharingan.

He is eating three square meals a day, doing the bare minimum when it came to exercise routines and avoiding excess chakra use. It had been literal years since he had had this much bed rest. If he were ever going to slap a chakra collecting seal on himself, this was a perfect time. Okay, so maybe he should have steadily increased the chakra drain over the course of a few weeks for a smoother adjustment period. Hindsight and all that.

What mattered was that he would be fine, and he just had to wait it out. Bright side? No one had commented on the seal yet. Oh, he has definitely noticed serval people throwing the odd confused frown at his shoulder, but that was as far as anyone had gone in acknowledging it. His oh so clever strategy of acting like nothing was wrong worked so much better when he wasn’t surrounded by other shinobi and medic-nin.

“Your blood pressure is still too high. Are you sure you haven’t been experiencing any additional fatigue or other symptoms? Is something about the hospital causing additional stress? If there is something wrong, we should work on strategies to fix the problem.”

Well… it worked on everyone who wasn’t Wada. The man was irritatingly persistent in his doctoring. Apparently, the pressure of adjusting to an increased chakra drain wasn’t doing his body any favours.

“Maybe it’s a part of my quirk. High regeneration. High blood pressure.” Kakashi shrugs loosely not bothering to look up from HEROES and HEROINES May Issue. Unlike his previous reading material, people gave him odd looks when they saw him reading these magazines which immediately upped their entertainment value 100-fold.

Wada undoes the compression sleeve he had been using to measure Kakashi’s blood pressure, lecturing as he goes, “From what I can tell your cells produce more energy-rich molecules, ATP, NADH, then is typical, increasing cellular functions. Where your cells are getting the energy to produce these molecules, I have no idea seeing as you eat about the same amount as any baseline human. What I can safely say is that it should not influence your blood pressure. If anything, your blood pressure should be a bit lower than average. Now don’t dodge the question.”

He pauses, waiting for Kakashi to cave and suddenly confess. Kakashi, an old hat at dodging medical questions, continues reading unperturbed.

“I’ve been at this for over 30 years. An attack like the one you suffered is understandably traumatic, not to mention the stress of severe amnesia. I’m sure, whatever is bothering you, I’ve heard it before.”

Kakashi very much doubts that. “I feel fine.”

Wada huffs, unconvinced, “Young men. You all think that admitting you have a problem is a sign of weakness. High blood pressure can damage your heart and lead to problems later in life so finding the cause is important.” Good thing a shinobi life spans tended to max out around 30. The odds of him making it to an age where he’d have to worry about the long-term effects of anything were pretty low. He doesn’t voice this opinion, continuing to read.

Wada continues talking with greater gusto, “No matter, I’ll prescribe you something for stress hopefully that’ll help with your blood pressure. However, this is no replacement for healthy habits both physical and mental. You should consider professional therapy.”

Kakashi snorts. Yeah, that sounds about right.

“Oh, you think that’s funny do you,” Wada makes to grab HEROES and HEROIENS and he lets the doctor pull the magazine free from his hand. It gives him a good view of the man’s irate expression.

“No, of course not.” Kakashi attempts to placate and gets a light smack over the head with said magazine for his troubles.

“There is no shame in pursuing a healthy mind!”

“Weren’t we going to test my quirk today?” He complains to derail the current line of questioning.

“I have half a mind to put it off and have you rest another week,” is threatened before Wada’s stern expression relaxes, “Lucky for you, I’ve booked you into serval tests that can’t be rescheduled.”

Kakashi breaths out dramatically. He thinks Wada might have made a good medic-nin if he had lived in Konoha. Sure, he is a little too trusting, but he was also not above pestering his patients into taking better care of themselves. Sakura would approve.

The doctor, with the assistance of an attending nurse he hadn’t bothered to learn the name of, helps Kakashi out of his bed and into a wheelchair, ignoring his protests about his leg being all but healed.

“You’re to avoid putting weight on it until you start physical therapy,” Wada snaps at his continued complaints, “You’ll need to be careful, extended bed rest and surgery can leave your muscles weakened. Also, leave that magazine behind. You’re doing eye tests when do you think you’ll have time to read!”

Kakashi doesn’t push the matter further, resigning himself to being wheeled down the hospital halls like the invalid he was pretending to be. It is not like Wada knew about his frequent excursions to the roof or the fact that he has been running through strengthening exercises on his own time for several weeks now. Best he keeps that information to himself.

Partway down the hall, he pulls out HEROES and HEROIENS from where he had slipped it into his shirt, enjoying Wada’s exasperated expression. Of course, he stops reading when the doctor threatens to start lecturing again. The man could definitely talk when given the chance.

Wada and the nurse take wheel him to a set of double-door elevators which take them down several floors below the ground level. The hallway they exit of a mirror of every other hospital hallway. Grey and white walls, pale blue lino floor and bright fluorescent overhead lights. The only difference is that this hallway is lined with heavy-looking metal doors. From snooping through patient files, he knows that all quirk tests are carried out in specially designated underground ‘safety rooms.’ That doesn't make him any more thrilled about being several stories underground. It cut down on his escape roots.

“These are some of the more secure recovery wards in the hospital,” Wada explains as their little group stops at a small reception desk where the doctor taps away at a computer screen, “they’re mostly for treating patients with unstable quirks.” Kakashi maintains a neutral expression, accepting the explanation.

Wada wheels him up to a steel door, swiping his ID card which also doubled as a key to many areas of the hospital. The heavy door is automated and slides open. A lot of the doors in the hospital operate this way and always made sneaking around slightly more troublesome.

Inside walls and floor are plain white and there is an odd number of tables and chairs pushed to one side out of the way. Everything stinks of disinfectant. On the far wall is a single solitary painting of a tree in a field, the only splash of colour in an otherwise depressingly sparse room. A poor attempt at living up the space. The opposite wall sports a rectangular, reflective surface which was probably some sort of observation booth. Well, if being underground hadn’t put him on edge, this obvious confinement room definitely did the job. Kakashi eyes the space. Worse comes to worst, he could use the kamui and remove the adjoining hallway wall then climb his way out through the elevator shaft. There are only two other people in the room with him and one woman at the reception desk, all were most likely unenhanced with quirks unsuited to combat, easily removed. He doesn’t let his body language reflect his unease. He is just a little on edge because the new seal is messing with his body’s natural homeostasis. If this is a trap there would have been other signs of deception before now.

“Yes, I know it might seem like a whole lot of fuss just to run through a few flashcards,” Wada comments, oblivious to Kakashi’s poor mood. He waves to his assisting nurse who wheels over and lowers one of the metallic tables so Kakashi doesn’t have to move from his wheelchair. “But it’s a standard safety procedure when an unknown quirk is involved. Trust me, this is a lot easier than travelling to an external testing range.”

Wada stops to give Kakashi a once over, frowning, “How much do you know about your quirk sub-type?”

Kakashi shrugs, “Nothing much.”

“Ah,” The doctor’s frown grows, and he grimaces, “Of course you don’t.” A sigh.

“Typically, ocular quirks will act to enhanced sight in some way or improve base level memorisation and recall ability. It is also common to have a replicating function, allowing the user to produce some sort of copy of things they see. In rarer cases, ocular quirks result in precognitive abilities.” Wada explanation falters, “They can also have a line-of-sight emitter effect, such as laser vision, optical blasts, a few instances of mind control and other mental effects. These can also be incredibly dangerous if the user isn’t in control. There have even been instances where whole buildings have been levelled.”

“I see.” He supposes Wada's irritation at this private 'quirk' testing made a bit more sense. A doctor faced with an unknown and possibly dangerous ability would be annoyed if said patient went about experimenting without taking safety precautions.

“I should have checked whether you knew the dangers instead of just assuming. Apologies. That is my own error.”

He peers at Kakashi, almost guilty now, “and you don’t have a phone either so there would have been no way for you to research quirks yourself.”

“Ah,” Kakashi rubs the back of his head not likening how torn up the other man seems to be seeing as Kakashi had ever been in any real danger. “Don’t worry about it,” he reassures.

His reassurances land flat, the doctor still frowning, “I’ll see if I can get you access to the internet somehow.”

Privately, Kakashi adds 'research' to the list of functions ‘phones’ apparently provided and 'internet' to his growing list of terms to investigate.

Wada sighs again. “Regardless, let’s get these tests done first.” He places a thick folder labelled National Standard for Registration: Kit Type 3 alongside one of those portable keyboard-less computers the doctors tended to carry around. “Hold on, been a while since I’ve done one of these. Need to find the rights files. Ah, here we go. First, these rooms are monitored, and all tests are recorded. The data collected is confidential, accessible only to the patient and physician unless doing so causes the patent harm. Information regarding quirk function and use is shared with the Registry Office. You have a right to stop testing at any point. You got that?”

Kakashi grunts, his already poor mood souring further. He is not sure he wants the hospital - or anyone - keeping records of anything sharingan related.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Wada continues unperturbed, a testament to his serval weeks of trying to doctor Kakashi, “remember to let me know if you’re experiencing any discomfort. Don’t want you busting anymore blood vessels.

Kakashi lets out a tired breath, “Sure.” The sooner they left this room the better.

“We’ll test memory and vision first to compare to your baseline, then we’ll run through the replication and precognitive tests just in case.”

The nurse, who had been on the opposite side of the room waves, “All ready over here.” There is now a large poster with letters of varying sizes hung on the wall. He recognises the chart from his previous eye tests.

“Okay, let’s start with just uncovering it. Make sure you’re looking away from me as a precaution.”

Kakashi resists rolling his non- sharingan eye at the obvious instruction, shifting his attention to the poster on the wall. He flips his padded eyepatch up with his index finger so it partially rests on his forehead. All the letters, no matter the size, immediately snap into sharp focus. Nothing spontaneously combusts under his gaze. When he glances at the painting of the tree, he can now see a lack of brush texture, suggesting that it wasn’t a painting but a print of some sort. With that useless information now forever etched into his memory, he turns back to examine at Wada.

The sharingan picks out all the wrinkles and pores lining the older face. It focuses in on minuscule muscle movements as the man’s expression shifts from professional and accommodating to curious. The doctor’s fingers twitch ever so slightly over his computer. Most likely an unconscious habit. The man’s breath is slightly uneven like his chest can’t smoothly expand, suggesting some sort of lung problem. A past smoking habit perhaps? Nothing threatening is revealed.

“Doctor.” Kakashi prompts when Wada spends a little too long staring back at him. The sharingun did have a weak hypnotic effect, encouraging extended eye contact to help catch targets in genjutsu. Kakashi rarely uncovered his eye in the presence of civilians so he doesn’t know if the effect is more pronounced or if Wada is just curious.

Wada blinks, “Well…I certainly see where the ‘wheel’ description comes from.” He spends a second more staring then turns to start writing notes and tapping away at his computer screen. “I wonder if those spinning tomoe are purely cosmetic or if they have some other function because they are certainly fascinating to look at. There is also faint bioluminescence to the eye which is a common feature of ocular quirks…”

Honestly, the blatant eye contact is weird. Even his closest allies tended to avoid looking at his sharingan out of habit - expect for Naruto who was an outlier in almost everything - for understandable reasons. He thinks the people here would also exercise caution if an ocular abilities included mind control or exploding a person through eye contact. But no, Wada just goes right ahead and stares. A few seconds later and the unnamed nurse is also looking curiously at his eye. … …

Aside from redoing a standard eye exam, Kakashi runs through a marathon of flashcards to test both his memory and then precognitive abilities. The tests are done with lights on then in the dark and Kakashi is given a perfect 20/20 and an enhancement score of ‘15 grades above average’ for both. There are also several pages worth of words and numbers in progressively complex arrangements to test his information retention. Of course, everything is easily remembered with the sharingun active.

“Well, it seems to give general across the board vision enhancement alongside perfect recall and retention,” Wada finally concludes as he records all Kakashi’s results, “Of course, we’ll have to re-test retention in a few days so see if the information degrades over an extended period and we don’t know whether your quirk effects your long distance eyesight, but, for now, this appears to be all. The link between your quirked eye and the regenerative side-effect is still unknown. Odd that we couldn’t trigger any ‘copy’ function considering the quirks name though ‘copy’ could also be a reference to memorisation. If any other features do reveal themselves make sure you alert a medical professional.”

… …

Kakashi despises the process of getting an MRI with a heated passion. He hates having to lie prone in a loud confined space. It is the height of discomfort, making him tense up and clench his jaw. It is only the fact that Kakashi had researched and mentally prepared himself for the experience that stops him from accidentally snapping someone’s neck.

“We’ll have the results back in a few days,” Wada informs once the trying ordeal is over with, “From there we’ll update the Registry so you’re properly in the system. Speaking of which, have you made any progress on remembering a surname? I need something for the forms.”

“Hatake,” he grunts, too irritated to bother evading - he just wants to return to his room and wait out the side effects of his seal in peace- the question like he had every other time the man asked, “I think I prefer Kakashi though.”

It wasn’t like the name meant anything here and, who knows, maybe someone would come looking for him. This way they would have a trail to follow.

#bnha #bnha fanfic #naruto #boku no academia #CrossOver #kakshi hatake #dimension travel AU #fanfiction #my hero academia #more hospital stuff #probably a bunch of medical inaccuracies #quirk biology #quirk stuff #world building

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 3 years ago

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Michael in the Mainstream: The Suicide Squad

Suicide Squad has frequently been touted as one of the worst comic book movies ever, and honestly? I don’t really agree, even if I almost wholeheartedly agree with every criticism of it. The editing is bad, the story is a mess, the Squad’s friendship is nonexistent, characters like Waller act like absolute idiots, Enchantress is a bad character and an absurd villain for these people to face… And yet, the core cast of scoundrels are all pretty likable when you wipe off the crap they’re buried under. These characters all could have shined bright if they were given competent writing and direction; the ideas are there, but the execution is unbelievably flawed due to excessive executive meddling (and probably a bit of pretentiousness on director David Ayer’s part). If only there was a director capable of taking the concept of a bunch of C-list villains getting together and performing dangerous missions and, along the way, becoming a found family…

That director thankfully exists, and his name is James Gunn. Gunn has already shown twice that he is capable of doing “a bunch of assholes become a found family” really well with the two Guardians of the Galaxy films, films that have a lot of style and flair that help make them the best films in the MCU, and considering Suicide Squad was mangled the way it was to try and be more in line with his Guardians films, it only makes sense to pull him in to give Task Force X another shot. Why settle for imitations when you can get the real thing? It’s not like he was doing anything else while Mickey Mouse put him in time out for naughty tweets, after all.

But this isn’t Gunn under the thumb of the Mouse, oh no; this is Gunn allowed to go absolutely wild. This is Gunn given the budget of a modern superhero film and asked to make a Troma picture, with all the blood, gore, and cheesiness that entails, and by god did he pull it off. Right from the get go we are given a taste of just what sort of movie we’re in for as a mangy child-murdering weasel man shows up and Nathan Fillion detaches his arms from his body to gently tap enemy soldiers on the head, and somehow things only get wackier from there.

Gunn seemed to actively go out of his way to fix every single problem of the original film. The characters, for instance, are all fairly similar to those of the first film. Bloodsport is clearly the stand in for Deadshot, but where Deadshot was just your average charming, funny Will Smith role to the point it could get distracting, Idris Elba makes Bloodsport a tired straight man to the wacky antics around him and portrays his growth through the film very well. Peacemaker is the jackass of the team in the vein of Captain Boomerang, but where Boomerang had little use in the narrative despite being the best and funniest non-Harley member of the team, Peacemaker is given his full due, with John Cena making him one of the funniest assholes ever put to film and even giving him a bit of depth and moral complexity. King Shark, AKA Nanaue, is obviously Killer Croc’s replacement, but where Croc was bland and really just stood in the background the whole movie, Nanaue is a sweet, charming, funny oaf with brutal strength who is just absolutely lovable and adorable, all capped off with hilarious vocal delivery from Sylvester Stallone himself. Polka-Dot Man is something of a replacement for El Diablo, though while El Diablo was really bungled by the narrative despite being well-acted and sympathetic, Polka-Dot Man is given ample opportunity to be funny, tragic, and useful all at once, and gives him a bit of an arc (pretty impressive for a character who was added in solely because Gunn googled who the lamest DC villains were). And finally, Ratcatcher is something of the replacement for Katana, being the second woman of the squad and the token good teammate, though where Katana was awkwardly shoehorned in at the last minute, Ratcatcher is clearly the heart of this team and brings the band together. Overall, the new Squad is leagues better than the original, and you will care for this band of criminals by the film’s end.

Returning characters get their due as well, particularly the ones really screwed over by the first film Waller and Flag get it the best of all. In the first film, Waller’s entire scheme was stupid, nonsensical, contradictory, and basically everything she did went against what was told to us about her, namely that she is a master manipulator. It was really a waste of Viola Davis, who had the presence and mannerisms down but who was constantly being failed by a shoddy script. Thankfully, that’s not the case here; Waller is very much the ultimate, manipulative girlboss she should be, from using her own troops as a distraction for another team to threatening Bloodsport with his daughter getting raped and murdered in prison over a minor offense if he doesn’t join her Suicide Squad. She is a stone cold bitch you will love to hate, and is easily one of the best comic book villains in film now (quite the turnaround all things considered). Flag is an actual character in this movie, with great chemistry with the members of the new Squad, particularly Bloodsport and Harley. Much like Bloodsport, he also gets a bit of a rivalry with Peacemaker going, which ends up being entertaining and even leads to a truly sad moment late in the film. Quite impressive for a guy who did nothing but spout awkward exposition in the first film.

Then we have Harley. I’m going to be honest, Harley has never been written better than she was in this film. While Robbie has had the character down from day one, the scripts have consistently failed her. The original film did nothing with her but sexualize her and have her spout crappy one-liners, and while Birds of Prey was a massive step up and had her written as she should be, the overall narrative of that film didn’t quite give her the due she deserved due to her feeling like a passive character pushed around by the flow of the plot. Here, though, Harley fully grasps at what’s given to and takes charge when she can, leading to one of the best action scenes in a film full of them. She ahs great interactions with her teammates and is just consistently funnier than she ever has been before, and it makes me happy to know someone who loves this character as much as Robbie does is finally getting to truly shine as she deserves.

The music and editing are vastly better. Remember how the original film had a new licensed song every minute, and almost all of them made no sense, and the music that played for Deadshot was exclusively rap artists (which was lowkey kinda racist)? Well, Gunn is bringing his ability to weave songs into the narrative with this one, but he also gives plenty of time for the music composed for the film to shine. As for the editing, gone are the obtrusive comic-book style cards that announce stupid throwaway details (and in a few cases, plot points you will very likely miss), replaced by more amusing and less obtrusive gags. The movie is also cut in a way where, you know, it makes sense. Everything flows naturally, and while there are a couple of points where time rewinds so we can see how we got to a certain point, it’s never so confusing that you can’t follow it.

The stakes are vastly overhauled. It made zero sense in the first film that Waller would assemble a team that consists of people whose powers range from “is good with weapons” to “is an Aztec fire god” to “is a big ugly crocodile man” to take on Superman-level threats. This is like if you sent a Boy Scout troop to fight Godzilla, it’s just not gonna end well and there’s an absurd disparity in power levels. Here, the team is being sent on a general black ops mission and have their skills selected by who would be most useful for the mission, and while they do end up taking on something a bit outside their context in the form of a certain cyclopean starfish alien, it’s a bit easier to swallow because of the buildup and because “big angry alien” is a lot more sensible as a threat to black op vigilantes than “ancient interdimensional witch goddess with a zombie army.”

Most importantly, though, is that this film lives up to its title. This is very much a suicide mission, and where the last team made it out relatively unscathed, this film suffers a lot of casualties. Characters die for gags, characters die suddenly, you might think a character is going to be a big, important part of the plot only for them to be dispatched right when it seems they’re getting going. For a film like this, it works perfectly, and some of the deaths are absolutely hilarious. That being said, you can kind of predict who lives and who dies based on star power alone; do you really think Harley’s gonna bite it? Come on.

I don’t really have many issues with the movie, but I will reiterate: this is essentially a Troma film with a massive budget, made by one of their alumni. Troma is a studio that makes gory, gross, and awesome B-grade movies and a similar irreverent mentality is on display here. If you can stomach gore, violence, and absurdity then this is a film you’re probably going to get into, but it’s definitely not the kind of comic book movie for everyone. Thankfully, it is exactly the kind of comic book movie for me. It honestly feels like the sort of movie I’d want to make, where I take a bunch of stupid C-list villains with dumb powers and give them actual development and characterization to the point the audience feels something for them. You’re going to be moved by a girl who controls rats, a stupid shark man, and a depressed dude who shoots polka-dots from his hands, and you’re not going to care.

I really hope they follow this up with another one, especially if they bring James Gunn back. There were a lot of characters he considered for the team, and a lot of them have potential, be that hilarious or dramatic. I mean, the man considered Mr. Freeze, that guy could be one hell of a leading man! Round out the team with some of the considered ideas like Rainbow Creature, Solomon Grundy, Chemo, Livewire, Punch and Jewelee, Man-Bat, Dogwelder, and the almighty Kite Man, and you’ve got one hell of a Suicide Squad! Also, maybe get Gunn to consider Crazy Quilt and Condiment King.

Really, the possibilities are endless, and that’s what the fun of a Suicide Squad movie should be: seeing the dumbest dregs of comic book history thrown into a place where they’re probably going to die horribly. Gunn managed to get that when Ayer couldn’t, and the results are perhaps his magnum opus. This is Gunn at his best and most free, unchained from the restrictions of forcing a film to tie into a bunch of others while also using all the tricks of his signature style to craft a damn fine film that easily holds up on its own outside the context of the DCEU. These are the kind of comic book movies we need, so let’s hope this film gets the respect it deserves so it acts as a wakeup call for studios content to churn out

#Michael in the Mainstream #review #movie review #The Suicide Squad #James Gunn #DC #DCEU #Harley Quinn #King Shark #Bloodsport #polka-dot man #Peacemaker #comic book movie #action movie

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carboniteprincess · 4 years ago

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Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, Canon-typical violence, mentions of blood, character death, murder, you're literally a rebel sniper, it's enemies to lovers boba is not going to be nice to you yet, love at first fist fight, I cannot stress this enough, ENEMIES TO LOVERS, he's kind of arrogant? but he's young give him time

Pairing: Boba Fett x F! Reader | 2.0k words

You're arguably the best sniper in the entire rebel alliance, with hundreds of high ranking Imperial officials on your belt. When you're given the order to kill Boba Fett, you are under the impression that this would be like any other mission. Unfortunately, he seems to have great skill of getting out of situations that aren't in his favor. Now you're on Tatooine, where your comrade Orda has lured him into discussing business in a shady restaurant under the guise of being an Imperial Commander. His luck has to run out at some point, and you intend that to be today.

Crossposted on Ao3!

Being a rebel wasn't as glamorous as you thought. You weren't conducting high-level espionage or anything of the like. Instead, your penchant for sniping was homed in on, making you one of, if not the best in the entire squad. The only flaw you had, was arrogance. Never have you let a target walk away, never have you allowed yourself into a tight spot.

You were always ahead of the enemy, so when your general gave you the order to kill Boba Fett. You assumed it would be an easy in and out job, perhaps he would've posed a threat to other members of your squad. But to you it would be simple, right? Unfortunately not.

This is your third attempt at some kind of ambush, luring him into a perfect position. Mandalorian armor had few weak points, meaning you had to meticulously spend hours figuring out where would land a good, clean blow. His neck. If angled correctly, one tilt of his helmet and it would be over. Right through the jugular, no more bounty hunter. Another imperial dog to add to your list.

If he would just turn his head, a little more to the right. Sweat beads on your forehead, eyes focused down the scope. Being a good assassin was all about your ability to linger, to wait. You're positioned on a balcony, a blind spot to the restaurant below. Your associate kept him talking under the guise of being an Imperial Commander, negotiating pay for the next rebel target. Boba Fett sits across from him, drink untouched. If you could see his face you'd swear he seemed bored. His legs wide open, leaning back nonchalantly.

Fingers clenching on the trigger, you close your left eye. It wasn't like you enjoyed your job, when this war was over you'd swore to never lift a weapon again. The Empire made you, molding you like clay into a perfect killer. A painful truth, a driving force. Your parents. Both were medical professionals, caught smuggling medication to the galaxy's poorest. Promptly executed and then you, an orphan. A street urchin, nothing more.

It wasn't long into your teens that you heard of the resistance, your heart burned with a want of revenge. So you got stronger, learned how to use a blaster, pilot and any skills that would make you useful to their cause. But you weren't a rebel, not really. You didn't care for politics, didn't even bother listening to the speeches about restoring the Republic. It didn't matter to you, but what did matter was taking out as many Imperials as you could before you die in battle or finally become numb to the anger.

Self-preservation was no concern of yours, and that made you dangerous. A loose cannon, hot-tempered, and scarily a woman. You were used to being underestimated by your peers on gender, height, birth planet…. and you were the one who gets the high-profile missions. You were the one who has the highest accuracy, years of practice which left your trigger finger calloused, and every other emotion muted.

Boba Fett had become a real thorn in your side. Threatening your record, career and possibly your sanity. His uncanny talent for escaping situations, even if all cards were against him, was exasperating. You would be lying if you didn't have some modicum of respect for him though, you were somewhat alike. Respect, no matter how great, does not destroy a death warrant.

Someday soon his luck would run out, and it would be you at the other end of the blaster. That day was today. Lips twitching into a smirk, you watch his neck turn. Bingo. You steady your rifle, pulse pounding in your ears. At last, this mission would be over. You'd become a legend, the woman who killed Boba Fett.

Bang. You take the shot, accurate as ever. A hum leaves your lips, watching him fall to the ground. Your calculations were correct, there was a weak point. Every armor has one, even Mandalorian. It was like a drug, the puzzle pieces clicking together with every fragility you discovered.

The restaurant below descends into chaos, even the bartender is panicking. All guests rushing from their tables, abandoning their meals as your associate checks the man's pulse. You stare down your scope, watching the ordeal. He gives a thumbs-up, definitely dead. A buzz in your ear alerts you to a comlink.

"He's dead. But I think you'll want to come down here." Orda replies through static. Your brow creases, what the hell could've gone wrong. Muscles twitching with irritation, you make your way through the currently uninhabited building. You were ordered to avoid collateral damage by all means necessary, a false fire alarm did the job well.

Your feet tap against the stairs as you make quick work of assessing your surroundings— if something is wrong, then it's always better safe than sorry. It seemed to be all clear, so you proceeded out the door and onto the street. This area of Mos Eisley was pretty habitable, aside from the abundance of criminal undertakings. Dust kicks as you march into the restaurant, pushing through various guests who were piling out at lightspeed.

With a gruff, you finally make it to the rooftop, an exclusive VIP spot which proved difficult to doctor identity necessary to enter. You're about to start asking what the hell could've been so important that he dragged you down here, but your eyes meet Orda's now slumped body, face down with all color residing. A frustrated sigh leaves you, he was a good man. Even worse, he was a great rebel. His heart was in it, unlike yours. He shouldn't have been the casualty here. You reach down, pulling out his identichip and stashing it in your pocket. An action that you've taken with far too many of your comrades.

Painfully you pull yourself from Orda's body, standing upright. Lingering would be a deathwish, whoever killed Orda was skilled. An impressive marksman, obviously one of Boba's accomplices who mistakenly thought he was the one that shot him. You could go over what-ifs later, right now you were going to finish the fucking job.

The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in crimson constellations as the wind settled. Inspecting Boba's body was your primary concern, whatever Orda discovered, it cost him his life. You were determined to find out what exactly it was, from a glance it seemed like Boba Fett. With a grimace, you move his drooping head around. Concerningly heavier than expected, beskar is light and durable.

You hook your fingertips under the helmet, pulling it off and coming face to face with…. not your target. Fuck. You'd be deceived, spectacularly. Knuckles white, feeling bile in your throat threatening to explode in a cocktail of frustration and admiration. The crudely made edges of the helmet abrasive against your palm, a reminder of your failure.

Without a second thought, your balled fist comes into contact with the wall, encasing the helmet and sending tendrils of pain, a shock wave through your arm as you verbalize your confliction with a strangled scream. Orda died for nothing, you were a joke. Everything you had built, buried and locked away was floating to the surface.

But you haven't felt this alive in years. Being outsmarted, so cunningly sent a morbid thrill up your spine. You could almost laugh, had you not heard footsteps approaching. Impulsively your hand fell to your blaster, making a mental note to thank your teacher for always carrying more than one.

"Surely you didn't believe it was that easy to kill me." Before he can finish you turn, firing your blaster in his direction. Of course, his armor deflects it with ease. "I must admit, I'm impressed. Not everyone could distinguish beskar through weight alone." A snort leaves him at your feeble attempt to hold ground, looking over your pathetic secondary weapon that could barely injure an Ewok.

"Go thing I'm not everyone then." You stand, keeping your right arm extended, blaster aimed at his inner thigh. It wouldn't kill him, however it would allow ample time for escape. "You killed my friend." He's circling you now. "Who's your Intel? How did you know I'd be here?"

"You are hardly in the position to be making demands, little rebel." Another chuckle, you'd heard of him toying with his advisories before, but this was different. A teacher disciplining a student.

"You're going to kill me anyway, what's the harm." You huff, shrugging. He stops pacing, chewing over your words.

"Killing you would be a waste." That bastard. "Of my time and resources." He adds matter-of-factly.

"Orda wasn't?" You spit, voice cracking in frustration. Figuring out what made others tick was your specialty, but the lack of motivation and reason within Boba's actions is what baffled you.

"That was a favor." He sounds like you should be grateful, almost insulted that you hadn't figured it out yet even with him practically dangling the answer in front of you. Perhaps you weren't as clever as he thought.

"A—favor? How would killing my comrade benefit me!" You reply astounded, cheeks burning red, hand shaking on your blaster.

You think for a second, taking your eyes off him. Why did it take until after the kill for Orda to realize what was wrong with the body… He isn't… wouldn't…could've of… you've been double-crossed. "He wouldn't— I've spent months with him—"

"And every little thing you did, he told me." His admission is calm, you look over Orda's body, no longer do you feel remorse. Just shame. You couldn't even see betrayal under your nose.

You walk closer to him, the barrel of your blaster getting dangerously close. Nothing could stop you from finishing your mission right now, but he's letting you. Knowledge is far more appealing than rewards in the resistance.

With your grip around the handle tight, you slam it down across his helmet, your knee reaching his groin. "You're very easy to fool." A smirk replaces the look of misery on your face, it was a dangerous game to pretend to let your guard down. Your risk paid off, managing to get a shot at his thigh.

Swiftly, you press all your weight on him, knocking him back just enough to make a run for the edge of the balcony. He groans in pain, you're so close to the edge, escape almost in your grasp— when a grappling hook wraps around your ankle.

You struggle against the cold floor, doing anything you can to wriggle free from his grasp.

It's fruitless, as soon as he's in reach you're kicking him, hurtling all kinds of abuse. Your attempts to wrestle him are almost comical and in a frenzy, you grip the only thing that seems viable. His Helmet. You manage to free it, your fingers hooking under and pulling it off his head, sending it on the floor beside you. For a moment you're the one stunned, not him.

Dark curls frame his face, a beautiful border to tanned skin. His nose is prominent but compliments his features. Scars pepper his face, but he's young. Younger than you thought. You watch as his forehead crinkles in anger, hands pinning yours beside your head.

Wasting no time, you bring your head to crack his, sending him back with a kick to the stomach. Your nose pours from impact, dripping onto the floor as you clamber to your feet.

"This isn't over." You hear his voice, unmodified. You rush to the edge, peering over and assessing if you can land in one of the speeders below. He stands, trying to rush over to stop you. "Don't!"

With a wink, you throw yourself over the side. In seconds you're hurtling onto the street, watching a bare-faced Boba Fett grow smaller with each passing second. His eyes are widened in either admiration or shock for your bravery.

He eventually dares to look over and finds that you're gone. Whoever you were, he finally had a worthy opponent. He would find you again. His little rebel.

#boba fett x reader #boba fett #boba fett x female reader #the mandalorian #star wars #fic #mine #this fic is lowkey my baby #and there def will be a chapter 2 I'm just stupid and can't work ao3 #anyway #enjoy💖#I know I know I'm bad at proof reading #I try

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inventors-fair · 3 years ago

Text

Two-Faced Commentary

People went really big this week! There were a lot of cool tropes, novel mechanics, and a surprising number of white cards with hexproof.

@alextfish - Manifold Core

The front side of this card is a very powerful cost reduction effect, especially given that it applies to a set of cards that often don’t have any colored mana in their costs. I suspect that would often function as a combo piece in decks that don’t intend to transform it, to a degree that it overshadows the rest of the card a bit, but the overall flavor is good. The card is also very aggressive when transformed on turn 4, although that you need to four-for-one yourself to get the creature serves as a powerful check.

@bread-into-toast - Guilt-Wracked Artist

A genuinely horrifying card concept. I’m not 100% sure that I follow what the treasure represents in the story (the key?), but it’s still very unnerving.

Mechanically, the card holds together reasonably well, in that if you get the card in the graveyard the “right” way, then it’s easier to pay the disturb cost, and the mutual discard plays reasonably with a graveyard-focused strategy.

@decayingbooks - Graceful Swan

This is a great transformation trope, and a very strategy-heavy flip card. Flip cards that gain value by flipping back and forth are established design space, with Huntmaster of the Fells being the most notable, but this card adds the additional wrinkle that, once you’ve accumulated enough bird tokens, you want it to be night on your own turn to take advantage of the ability to buff your tokens. (Although both activated abilities do have value on your opponent’s turn.)

While it’s doing reasonable flavor work, the ability that makes your bird creature tokens humans may be overkill. There’s nothing wrong with trinket text, and in a set with human tribal elements it could be genuinely relevant, but the card is already fairly complicated.

@deg99 - Seraph of Salvation

The creature revealing its true demonic nature (or falling angel, but my understanding is that this is the former) trope is a good fit for a TDFC. There’s a ton packed into this card - the front side on its own is very flashy, and threatening an instant-speed Mythos of Snapdax once the card is on the field changes the way the game is played significantly. (Wrathing at instant speed is a big deal.) The mechanics of each side don’t feel all that strongly connected, but they make enough sense on their own. I like the aesthetic decision to leave the demon W/B rather than making it mono-black, as its effect is more strongly associated with white.

@dimestoretajic - Zosusk, Cruel Taskmaster

The front half of this card is extremely strong. Even at four mana, a super-Ashnod’s Altar that can go in the command zone is a scary proposition, especially given that it’s also difficult to remove and can cash itself out for a treasure if it would die. The indestructibility is arguably overkill, especially as the card can generate a lot of value even if it is removed right away.

Similarly, I’m not sure if the back half particularly needs hexproof; if you’ve got any kind of board, it generates a lot of value, and I think that on balance it’s better if that’s answerable.

The idea of a card that’s sort of a side-grade when transformed is interesting, as is the tension about whether or not to cash out your creatures if it’s going to transform, and I like that the tension is abated a bit by the fact that both halves make sense in the same deck, even though they operate differently.

@fractured-infinity - Velis, Distorted Reflection

This is a really clever twist on the Evil Twin design space. The back side is very powerful, but the effort required to get there is real and meaningful, and the front side is enough of a slightly bad deal on its own that the transformation ability isn’t just a freebie. Needing to specifically see a creature with the same name die is also fairly clever, as it means that Velis needs help to transform. (You can’t just crash Velis into whatever it’s copying.) The back side does have a pretty high level of inevitability; once you’re at six mana, you can effectively “steal” any creature your opponent plays before they can attack with it, and in Commander can be used to keep other commanders off of the field. This latter feature might make this card safer as a non-legendary creature.

@gollumni - Ral, Untapped Potential

The front half of this card makes a lot of sense as a Ral card. The sparking condition doesn’t tie directly into Ral’s own sparking story in any obvious way (he sparked when he discovered his partner was cheating on him), but it mechanically ties into what the character is about and strongly enables his fairly stiff sparking condition.

If I have a quibble with this card, it’s that you often won’t be able to productively make use of Ral the turn he flips. To do so, you’d need a fourth instant or sorcery that you can cast that turn, this time at full price, and if it’s a very cheap spell then the amount of value you’re getting is pretty modest.

@greensunzenith - Escape from the City

What I think really elevates this card above the basic idea of a Saga that transforms into a creature is that it does something with the lore counters after transforming. Unless I’m missing something, haste on Hazoret is mostly superfluous, as it will nearly always have been on the battlefield from the beginning of your turn when it transforms. (It could still matter if you double proliferate or if it changes controllers, I guess.)

@grornt - Inconspicuous Youth

This card is another fantastic choice for a transformation trope. This one does a magical girl transformation in a non-obvious but flavorful way, where the character transforms specifically in response to a major threat, and then reverts when the threat is gone. That it transforms even when the major threat is your own card feels like an acceptable flavor bend for the sake of making the card playable, and that it reverts as soon as any major threat is gone is a reasonable choice for simplicity. (It could also check for 6 MV creatures at the end of the turn.)

I went back and forth on whether I liked the back half having defender. On one hand, it allows the back half to be far bigger and scarier than if it didn’t have defender; without that, the transformed half needs to shrink or the card needs to cost more. It’s also fine flavor. On the other hand, it really gums up the board, as it’s very difficult to profitably attack into the card. Additionally, it kind of creates an “...oh” moment when reading the back.

Lastly, I think that a white creature just straight up having hexproof is a bit of a bend (although not one wholly without precedent.) The flavor helps justify it (and it’s definitely mechanically relevant), but flavor can justify a lot of things.

Despite these questions, I do really think the design is very clever, and it was one of my favorites from this week.

@helloijustreadyourpost - Marchesa, Tyrant Queen

The mirrored Abyss effects are clever together, and the flavor helps to sell the shift. The nontoken clause on the first side is doing several interesting things in terms of not only making the card a bit stronger as a control tool, but in helping enable the flip. Giving opponents a natural out on the back side helps check the overall power level of the card as well, and I think it’s a positive that any wrath is an answer for the back half in Commander. While the flavor makes sense and it certainly makes the card stronger, I could take or leave the second ability on the back.

@hiygamer - Penultimate Form

I like that this card cleverly ties the “quest” condition to something that the reverse side of the card will naturally need. I also think that the triggered ability on the back is extremely clever, in that helps make the card less tricky. Without the triggered ability on the back, there’s a not-immediately-obvious interaction where casting instant spells in response to each other allows the creature to transform with five loyalty counters on it, which is a major advantage in that the card can use its -4 ability right away and survive. Stealing a creature is extremely powerful protection for a planeswalker and strong in general. However, because a similar ability is present on the back, players don’t need to recognize that stacking instants correctly allows the planeswalker side to start with five+ loyalty counters, as you can get the same effect by just casting them in sequence.

@hypexion - Sigarda, Fallen Grace

The transform condition on this card is quite difficult, even with the amount of Eldrazi token-making available and its ability to fuel itself, but the front half is plenty strong. Large, evasive, efficient hexproof creatures are something that I think they shy away from a bit now (and white rarely gets creatures that just have unconditional hexproof), although the throwbacks to Sigarda’s first card are clear. While the back half of the card is a meaningful upgrade, the front half is strong enough that it stands on its own - many decks may not worry about flipping the card at all.

@i-am-the-one-who-wololoes - Ormendhal Weakened

Ormendhal is a potent abyss effect, and having it wait until your upkeep to trigger for all players is a good safety choice - it gives your opponents a healthy window of time to respond to it. The backside is something of a consolation prize, as in many circumstances it will operate like a basic Plains, but the flavor is interesting. I don’t totally understand the decision to allow the land to tap for colorless instead of just white; outside of an environment where colorless mana costs exist, it won’t make much of a difference, and while there have been Eldrazi on Innistrad (and Ormendahl was affected by Emrakul), the connection seems a little loose to justify what’s otherwise an unusual line of rules text.

@jsands84 - Battered Lamp

This is a really fun design. That you need another creature to “rub” the lamp is a cute piece of text, and allows for other costs on the card to be pulled down to really attractive levels

The degree of inevitability on this card (5-power, evasive, bounces any blockers your opponent has, requires either artifact destruction or instant-speed creature destruction), along with its complexity, might push it to rare, although I like that the numbers work out such that this doesn’t win the game on its own.

I’m not sure whether this is intentional, but you can effectively get “infinite wishes” by having Zephyr Djinn bounce itself when you transform it for the last time. It’s enough of a tempo hit that I don’t think it’s a power level concern, and if you’ve already made (and probably attacked with) a 5-power evasive creature twice, then there’s a good chance that you’d rather attack with the Djinn the third time than to bounce it, but I felt that it was an interaction worth pointing out.

@kellylogs - Klara, Embereth Aspirant

This is a sufficiently clean, elegant transform condition that, even though this is not an existing planeswalker character, tells a clear story. I do feel like the backside of this card could be a bit stronger; if you’ve successfully attacked alone with Klara, blockers may not be something that’s causing you problems, and in an aggressive deck a 3/2 with Exalted may be at least as powerful planeswalker side in many scenarios. (Although being able to get a 2/2 Vigilance creature right away means that you don’t fall back much in terms of board presence.)

The -7 ability in particular could probably also use a bit more juice. While it’s technically a three-turn ult, its impact disappears if Klara does, and the +2 ability required to get to it is pretty weak (especially on the turn when Klara transforms, where it will generally do nothing.)

@misterstingyjack - King Pakesh II

The two sides of this card are loosely mechanically connected (they both like it if your opponents’ creatures die, although both halves can also be fueled in other ways), but the flavor helps tie them together. I think that limiting the front half to one treasure/turn is a good decision both in that it helps keep the cost of the card down and in that the card isn’t so good that you don’t care about the back half. Both halves have unique mechanics that still feel reasonably elegant and flavorful, and I like that the card doesn’t try to do too much. This is also a cool recontextualization of Disturb in general.

@morbidlyqueerious - Niko, Quizzical Javelineer

You mentioned that this card is revised from an earlier contest where the goal was to make a card that included every letter of the alphabet, and while that shows in the card’s name, the overall package isn’t stretching or squishing tooooo much to meet that criterion. Niko offers a larger amount of repeatable scry that exceeds what’s generally printed, although needing to connect with what’s otherwise a gray ogre to get it makes it such that it’s not likely to fire too many times in one game. The flip condition is challenging enough that I think the strongish +2 ability on the reverse side is justified, especially as it will often leave Niko vulnerable. If anything, I think the reverse side could perhaps be a smidge stronger.

I’m not sure whether this is intentional or not, but I do think that it’s interesting that it’s easier to meet the card threshold for the when you’re on the draw, but easier to meet the unblocked attack condition when you’re on the play.

@naban-dean-of-irritation - Will, Stoic Cryomancer

This is a pretty clever way of handling a flip walker that represents power sets found in two different colors, and the card does a solid job of feeling like a tag team. Another cool thing about this card is that it defies the legendary rule as long as you leave both copies on different sides.

If I have a critique of the card, it’s that I do think it’s a bit difficult to reach Will’s ult, however. If you play the card on curve (turn 3), you generally can’t flip it until turn 4. From there, you need to use the +2 three times to get to 10 loyalty, which is only possible if your opponent consistently has at least two creatures. That takes you to turn 7, which means that you can use the Ult on turn 8, making it a five-turn ult (or four turns if you were able to flip Will on turn 1). The ult only does something, however, if you control another planeswalker. While the ult is not a big deal on a planeswalker that’s this flexible, I think it could be a smidge cheaper. (-9 would save you no turns on building to it, but means that you don’t need to have another walker in play to use it.)

I’m also not sure if overtly making typeless permanents is something that’s worth putting on a card, given the potential confusion. The rules can handle it, and there are ways of making it happen in-game already, but similar gameplay can be achieved in more conventional ways.

@nicolbolas96 - Ugin, Last Among Elders

This is another card where the front half is almost worth it on its own, so the relatively steep flip requirement is fine, as it serves as more of a bonus. Life gain and card draw aren’t the things I most strongly associate with Ugin, but the card draw works as a mirror of Nicol Bolas, the Ravager, and the package is sort of like a miniature version of Ugin’s ult.

This is a small thing, but I wish Ugin was a bit bigger than 3/3. I realize that the similar Nicol Bolas, the Ravager, is only a 4/4, but 3/3 feels a bit small for an Elder Dragon.

The planeswalker side is recognizably Ugin, serving as a sort of greatest-hits of his associated cards. The novel ultimate will win the game on the spot in any deck built around it, but as you spent 5+8 mana on Ugin already and upticked it three times, that’s totally fine.

@nine-effing-hells - Mysterious Ruins

It’s not totally obvious which part of the ability the Revelation ability word refers to, but overall the card tells a clear story. A land that transitions into cardflow in the late midgame and a (kinda) finisher in the late game makes a lot of sense, although opponents that are too worried about the reverse side can save a kill spell for it. A land that enters the battlefield untapped doesn’t need to do much else to be good, so the high overall investment required to flip it is a good decision. Decks that want this sort of effect will tend to be controlling decks that can make better use of the mutual draw as well.

@partlycloudy-partlyfuckoff - Tender of the Wilds

The names on this card are clever, and help tell a different story than the superficially similar Mayor of Avabruck.

This is a very strong effect; the back side in particular is both large for a 2-mana werewolf and has a very strong anthem effect. While a good fit for a werewolf deck, this card is strong enough to go almost anywhere (and the front half is slightly better in a non-werewolf deck.)

This is a minor thing, but the more common templating for abilities like the backside has is to roll the stats it provides into the creature itself (printing it as a 4/3) and then to print the ability as “Other non-human creatures you control...” However, I think the templating you’ve chosen is potentially reasonable on this card for the sake of mirroring the front half.

@piccadilly-blue - Gavony Town Hall

This is a very difficult card to evaluate, because its impact on the game can vary a ton depending on how things are ordered.

This needs to go in a token deck to do anything at all, but the day-side drawback of turning off all of your creatures is harsher than the anthem on the back is beneficial, if you’re trying for an aggro strategy. On the flip side, there’s a lot of potential to gum up the board quite a bit with indestructible hexproof tokens if you play the card after your token producers. Token strategies already sometimes gum up the board, and this creates the potential for game stalls. Your opponent can get around this by passing their turn to shift to night, but that’s a fairly major tempo loss, and it sets you up well for the crack back.

I do like that there’s some interesting things that can be done with wraths and with creating token copies of cards with powerful static effects while on the day side.

@pocketvikings - Covetous Vizier

One of two “genie of the lamp” cards this week, I believe that this card is specifically a reference to the Disney movie Aladdin. (I could be wrong about that - I’m not super familiar with genies.) This card is basically Phylactery Lich on an installment plan, although you spend more total mana and some life. Additionally, your opponent has a window of time to respond with creature removal, which is not the case for the Lich. In compensation, the front half of the card can be played profitably even if you control no artifacts. Black does, as of Midnight Hunt, apparently get 2/3 creatures with upside for 1B at higher rarities, but a 2/3 for 1B with a useful effect is already, on its own, a satisfactory creature. The first question I had with this card is why it wasn’t just a lich, but not every card needs to use the most obvious or most-established flavor for an effect - and it’s more memorable that it doesn’t.

@quillpaw - Shellcrown Phoenix

A few different phoenix cards - Everquill Phoenix and Rekindling Phoenix - have used complicated tokens to try to mimic this effect, and a few DFC cards represent hatching eggs, but this card is novel in combining them, and I think it works really well.

The one slight oddness with this card is that it’s possible to miss your chance to transform it back, if you don’t have the mana (or don’t wish to spend the mana) to flip it at the time that the last counter is removed. It’s possible to play around this by attacking with fewer creatures, but I don’t think that the card as a whole is so strong that this limitation is necessary. Additionally, due to the cost of the card and the flip condition, I feel like the game will often be over before the card can flip back, but it still has utility in getting the last bit of damage in in a gummed up board state.

@real-aspen-hours - Gathering Storm

The front half of this card is very strong, offering heavy levels of card selection at a reasonable price on a card type that’s relatively difficult to interact with. I don’t know that it’s over the top (three mana is a lot for just selection), but the card doesn’t hinge completely on

I respect the decision to use a simple transform condition. I feel like the “obvious” angle is to condition it on having a certain number of cards in your graveyard, and that’s potentially safer (the current version will, I think, sometimes be flipped with just one very strong card in your graveyard), but even that requires some building around, so it’s probably not that big of a deal. I do like giving players a decision

@reaperfromtheabyss - Wavewhisper Egret

This is a lot of card for a two-mana uncommon. The front half would be an attractive card even without the ability to transform, and the transform effect will generally scry at least 4. Blue can get 2-power fliers with upside at higher rarities on occasion, but this is certainly a very aggressively-costed version of this creature profile.

I also think the decision to flavor this as a card from Kaladesh, rather than from New Phyrexia or Alara, was an interesting one. It injects a bit of light horror into a setting that doesn’t have much of that.

@shakeszx - A Tempest Foretold

Having the saga exile itself and return transformed is an elegant way to kill two birds with one stone, dealing both with the sacrifice clause on the card and helpfully disposing of the now-irrelevant lore counters.

I’m not 100% sure how to parse the first ability on this card - I’m assuming that it’s meant to pull from your graveyard or cards you own in exile (and maybe the stack), since those are under most circumstances the only zones that will have instant and sorcery cards in them when the ability resolves that aren’t your hand, but as written it sort of reads as though you can grab cards from places like your opponent’s graveyard. The rules do intervene to stop you from putting other players’ cards into your hand, but I feel that the wording on this could be clearer.

I’m also not sure that the back side works the way we want it to. In cases of cards that exile themselves on resolution, I’m not sure that Izzuke will recognize that it’s the same card, and any other card will go to the graveyard upon resolution, where it won’t be recognized as the same card if it’s then exiled again. (The rules could maybe be altered to support this, but it’d create additional complications.) Additionally, I’m not sure that exiling your hand in order to slowly potentially get the instants and sorceries back one at a time really feels worth it; Izzuke is a good deal for four mana, but even with Ward 4, the blowout potential is pretty huge. If your opponent saves any removal for it, you’re very likely to lose.

All that said, the general concept of a saga that builds up a resource that the creature it flips into can expend is a strong one.

@snugz - Queen Bee

Assuming that you hit your land drops and that nothing happens to your drones, this card will flip after two land drops, having created seven 1/1 fliers. The reverse side will then make these fliers 2/2’s, three of which can attack right away (assuming this occurred over two turns). In most formats, this means that your opponent is going to be dead before the long-term value aspects of the card come into play. They are still relevant in Commander and as a rebuilding option if your drone army gets wrathed, and the flavor is good, however.

On the whole, the card may be a little too efficient at building a game-winning board, especially as it is hard to remove if not removed immediately. I think the card could do fewer things and still work as a card, even though all of the individual components make flavor sense.

@starch255 - Cursed Knight

There’s a lot of things I really like about this card. I like that its toughness is low compared to its power, so it will usually either kill something or die in any combat with another creature. I like that the Frog side is still a knight. This feels like a reasonably in-pie way to give white a well-above-the-curve creature, and if your opponent doesn’t have an answer or a body to throw in front of it, this puts out much larger life swings than two-mana uncommons normally ever do. Even if your opponent tosses a 1/1 in front of this, you’re still up a bit.

@whuh-oh - Masked Debutante

This card has a lot of moving pieces, but the overall package makes sense. The actual power level of the card hinges a lot on your opponent having at least three creatures already in play, but there are enough outs to it that it doesn’t feel hopeless in any case. I also like that the creatures have to actually hit you to get the counters, limiting the total amount of value you can steal. I also like that the card doesn’t have any sort of anti-sacrifice mechanism built in; it’s game-winning enough of the time as it is, and doesn’t need to have what answers do exist for it to be shut off.

I’m not 100% sure that the creature-stealing is really a red thing, but tying it to the survival of the creature helps, and in general makes the card much more fair.

@wilsonosgoodmcman - Venser, Close to Death

In inventing a new card subtype, this is the most ambitious card for this week. I also like the flavor of a doomed planeswalker having only minus abilities, and lining up the planeswalker so that it needs to die to using one of its abilities (or take damage on your turn, I guess) is a nice little minigame that isn’t trivial, but also is easy enough that you can usually expect to flip Venser if your opponent doesn’t have a substantially greater board presence than you.

The third ability on Venser should probably target only other permanents, to avoid confusion about what happens if it targets Venser, but that’s pretty minor. (I’m assuming that the intent is that it doesn’t flicker Venser.)

Even though it costs you (usually) a creature and the effort of flipping Venser, I think that the +1 on the reverse side might be a bit much. While all of the abilities are powerful, that one stands out as especially tough to beat.

@wolkemesser - Keepsafe Bear

This card tells a cool story, and I appreciate the work you did in balancing the difficulty to flip the card. At first, I sort of felt like it went a little overboard in terms of preventing you from flipping it (you basically need a wrath or for your opponent to block it or attack into it with a much larger creature), but the front half and back half are both strong enough that I think it’s okay for there to be some fairly specific hoops.

The back half does just enough, I think. There’s an alternate design for this card where the back half loses indestructible and the front half is harder to flip, and that version is probably a bit easier to print, but I think there’s a place for the higher-challenge version presented here as well.

#commentary #if-two faced #mtg #magic the gathering #inventor's fair #custom magic card

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