#gotta have a clove day | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

salchica · 3 months ago

Text

tender love is blind

In which Eddie dies, Steve lives, and the two of them finally get their happily ever after. -- For the Steddie ABO Valentine's Day Exchange!

Published: 02/08/2024 | Words: 5,462 | Rating: Mature | Link: x

Eddie doesn’t believe in the afterlife, not really.

Years ago when the paramedics wheeled his mom’s body away, Eddie had sat at the window in their shitty little apartment building and stared up at the night sky. He didn’t even know what he was looking for-- a sign maybe, like a shooting star. Something to let him know that the heroin was worth it and Josie Munson was in a better place.

There wasn’t anything, of course. Eddie’s Dad had stumbled into the apartment high off his ass, like the solution to his wife’s overdose was to follow in her footsteps. He shoved Eddie into a car and somehow got him to Hawkins in one piece. In hindsight maybe that was the sign, his mama’s way of doing him one last solid from the beyond. Wayne is the best thing that’s ever happened to Eddie, and if the grizzled Beta could be believed Eddie was the best thing to ever happen to him, too. He thanks a god he only sorta believes in that Wayne is safe in Normal Hawkins, that none of this shit will ever touch him. Eddie tries to smile, but then he remembers that he’s dying.

“Please, Eddie--” That’s Steve, fuck. He hadn’t wanted Stevie to see him like this. He tries to talk, but instead of ‘I love you’, iron and copper flood his throat.

Eddie regrets a lot, but right now not mating Steve is the biggest one. Eddie had wanted to wait-- until he’d graduated, until he'd saved enough money, until until until. He regrets not taking his chance at happiness when he could. Steve had wanted Eddie’s bite, had made that abundantly clear every heat and rut they’d spent together over the last year. It had been Eddie that got hung up on wanting to give his Omega the best start at their life together… and now he’ll never get the chance.

“He’s gone, Steve, we gotta go--” That’s Nancy, probably. She seems like the type to compartmentalize.

“Eds, you can’t leave me, please baby get up. It’s your year, remember? You gotta just get up for me, just sit up--” Steve is spiraling. Normally Eddie would distract him, would have already pulled Steve into a hug and probably scented him a little. Make them both smell like clove-honey, cinnamon-vanilla.

“Wakeupwakeupwakeup,” There’s pressure on his chest, but it keeps sliding off because from what Eddie remembers he doesn’t really have much of a chest anymore. He feels a mouth on his, realizes that Stevie is giving him CPR. “Nancy you gotta do something!” That’s Buckley. Killing Vecna must have gone well then, if all three of them are here and alive.

“Shit,” Nancy says. And then she growls, “Steve, let’s go.” All Alpha, a tone Eddie’s only used on Steve to snap him out of a panic attack. Usually Steve is thankful, but this time he makes a sound Eddie’s never heard before; a high, keening wail that breaks what’s left of Eddie’s heart. He hears a scuffle, like Steve is being dragged away. The wail doesn’t stop.

Eddie really hopes there’s an afterlife, if only so he can see Stevie again. He imagines them meeting in Heaven; Steve will be like 98 with crow’s feet and gray hair that’s full but maybe a little shorter and he’s been happy and they can dance and kiss, even though Eddie is frozen at 21. It’s a nice dream. Eddie really wishes he could smile.

Robin holds Steve, after everything.

She’s the only thing keeping him together when his body threatens to shake apart, and now that Steve is almost officially out of secrets he feels numb. The entire Party witnessed him trying to claw his way back into the Upside Down, screaming for Eddie to come back. They’d known he was an Omega-- it was hard to hide, after Starcourt and the Russian drugs-- but they hadn’t know about SteveandEddie.

Eddie had thought it was funny, to keep them a secret. Dustin kept pestering them about meeting each other, and the kid was insufferable on a good day. They’d wanted a big reveal; something to give the kid a heart attack when they finally told everyone they’d been dating for a year. Besides Robin and Uncle Wayne, no one had known, and now everyone’s found out in the worst way possible. In hindsight, Max probably knew the whole time. She’s a smart kid, and if the whole Vecna thing is any proof, really good at keeping secrets.

Over the next few days the Party curls up in the pack nest in the Harrington living room, everyone filtering in and out in shifts so Steve and Robin are never alone. Robin only gets up to make food and use the restroom; she pumps out a constant stream of calm and steady pheromones even though Steve can tell that she’s grieving, too. Steve hasn’t taken off his scent patches since before Vecna. They make his neck and wrists itch, and he knows wearing them this long isn’t healthy but there’s so much he’s not ready to face.

Everyone talks to him, even though he can’t bring himself to respond. Max has a broken leg, but she’s fine. Dustin has a sprained ankle, but he’s fine too, at least physically. Hopper was never dead, just held captive by Russians. Eleven has her powers back. Erica and Lucas are rattled, Mike and Will are being awkward, and Jonathan has a new friend named Argyle. Nancy is busy as always, running around helping with the town’s relief efforts.

They all pepper Robin with questions whenever they think Steve is out of earshot.

“He smells like my aunt after my uncle died,” Mike asks. “He smells like a widow. Were they-- I mean I don’t see a bite mark, but… were they mated?”

“No,” Robin says. “Eddie wanted to wait until graduation.”

“Oh. ‘86 was going to be his year.” Mike makes a punched out noise, like it just dawns on him.

That night, Steve burrows into Robin’s side. Her scent is lavender and lemon, soothing yet sharp. Steve knows he’s not going to like what she has to say when she starts smelling nervous. “Babe, look at me for a second,” She says. She pats his hair until Steve looks up. “Dustin said he saw Wayne putting up posters at the school, looking for Eddie. Looking for the both of you, actually. Someone has to tell him.”

Steve closes his eyes against a wave of despair. It threatens to crush him, to pull him under until he can’t tell up from down. “I can’t, Robbie,” Steve says. He’s never been more at war with himself; his Omega feels far away, only mildly distressed even though Steve has never felt further from peace. “I can’t stand there and tell him I couldn’t bring Eddie home.”

“I know for a fact Uncle Wayne would never blame you,” Robin tries. Steve doesn't answer, just wraps an arm around his stomach. Robin sighs.

“I’ll ask Joyce, or Nancy.” Robin says finally.

He nods. He shuts his eyes. He quietly wishes to float away and never come back.

Steve has only been to two funerals in his life. One when he was eleven; his Grandpa Otis passed away, and the Harringtons had thrown a memorial fit for a small-town king. The coffin was shiny, the food was catered, and the choir was hand-picked from among local unpresented pups. The ceremony was gorgeous, and at the end of it people came out of the woodwork to shake hands with Steve’s parents and tell them how much of a pillar of the community Grandpa Otis was. Little Steve had fixated on the flowers-- even though he was an alpha, Grandpa Otis always loved roses, and had had a huge plot for them in his backyard. He’d said they reminded him of Steve’s grandma, a society Omega that always smelled like roses and rainwater. Otis had taught Steve how to weed and pluck and prune his rose bushes, but at his funeral, there were only hydrangeas and gardenias.

“Where are the roses?” Steve’d asked his mom.

Vivian Harrington rolled her eyes, “Roses are so… common.” She sniffs at the word, her perfect face wrinkling in disgust. “Don’t you want everyone to know how much we loved Grandpa Otis?”

Even then, Little Steve had known to read between the lines, that what his mother was really saying was Don’t you want everyone to see how much money we have? He’d bitten his tongue, but later when his parents were away on another business trip Steve snuck into the cemetery with a handful of roses and spent the night curled up by Grandpa Otis’ headstone.

The second funeral Steve had gone to was for Dustin’s cat, Mews. It was actually more like a candlelight vigil, and Mrs. Henderson had bawled, clutching at a guilty Dustin who’d given a very heartfelt speech. It was all very moving if not a little uncomfortable, but Steve can’t imagine that Mews actually gave a fuck that in lieu of a body they’d buried a can of his favorite food.

Both instances cemented one thing in Steve’s mind; funerals, they’re for the living.

So when Wayne tracks Steve down two weeks after Vecna and asks if Steve will come with him down to the church to plan Eddie’s service, Steve can’t help but think of the way Wayne welcomed him into his home with open arms; the grizzled Beta rarely asked for anything, but gave Eddie and Steve everything in return. Of course Steve says yes.

Wayne’s truck squeals as they pull into the church parking lot. His fingers grip the steering wheel, the white of his knuckles the only thing giving away his nerves. Like Steve, Wayne is wearing a scent patch-- Steve can’t pick out any of Wayne’s emotions, only catching hints of tobacco and orange.

Hawkins only has one church still standing, and it’s unfortunately been run by the Carver family for the last 70 years. Pastor and Mrs. Carver had gone on the morning news and invited all of Hawkins to use their church to say goodbye to their loved ones that died in the “earthquakes”. They were the picture of the perfect alpha omega couple, eyes red-rimmed and mouths spouting bullshit like ‘it’s what Jason would have wanted’. As if their kid hadn't died during a manhunt for an innocent person. Steve knows this whole thing is useless, but he respects Wayne for trying anyway.

He thinks that if Eddie were here he probably would have insisted on the church, actually, if only to scandalize the ‘fine upstanding hypocrites of Hawkins, Indiana’. Steve lets himself imagine it-- instead of hymns, they’d shake the walls with Metallica. The Party would all wear their Hellfire shirts, and Steve would wear the cropped prototype Eddie had made for him, even though it was cut right under Steve’s nipples and entirely inappropriate. Eddie had always loved Steve in that shirt and would always cut it incrementally shorter, and Steve would pretend not to notice. Maybe his ghost would appreciate the show.

Wayne doesn’t move to get out of the car. The silence weighs down on Steve, this heavy thing that isn’t even being offset by the mellow croon of Dolly Parton on the radio. Wayne turns towards Steve, his mustache twitching oddly above his lip.

“Steve--” Wayne starts.

“I’m sorry,” Steve blurts out. “If I hadn’t… after Starcourt, if Eddie hadn’t found me, and then with Vecna it was Eddie’s first time with the Upside Down and if I hadn’t left Eddie and Dustin alone--” Steve hasn’t been able to stop crying in two weeks, and this time isn’t any different. It’s like he gets three seconds of peace before the fact that Eddie is gone slams into his chest and sets him off again.

Steve fists his hands in his sweater, rubbing harshly at the fat tears rolling down his face. His stomach somersaults but he holds back the nausea, not looking Wayne in the eyes.

“Harrington,” Wayne says again. He clears his throat when Steve flinches at the use of his last name-- “Steve, please, can you look at me, son?”

“You don’t have to say anything, Wayne, I know it’s my fault--”

“Steve, I don’t blame you,” Wayne says.

“You should,” Steve scoffs.

It’s true; he’d had a bad feeling about their plan but he’d let everyone go through with it anyway. A not-small part of Steve was convinced that if Eddie had never met him, the Upside Down would have never come into the Munson family's lives. It’s like the Upside Down was a disease; once you’re a part of it, anything and everyone you get close gets infected.

“You should hate me,” Steve says.

“I don’t,” Wayne says. “I can’t.”

Even though Wayne isn’t a man of many words, the Beta has always been kind to Steve. He’s never given Steve a shovel talk, not even when he caught Eddie sneaking Steve out of the Munson trailer more than once in the early hours of the morning. And when they were officially introduced around a dinner of pizza and Coke, he’d welcomed Steve into their family with open arms even though he’d had no reason to trust a Harrington. Even when he seemed confused that Steve seemed to be sticking around.

“You should hate me,” Steve says again.

With a frustrated growl, Wayne lifts his scent patch. The truck is a three-seater, so it doesn’t take long for his scent to flood the carriage with the expected citrus-tobacco-grief. But underneath that… love-protectiveness-affection. Steve’s nose twitches, heart stuttering.

“You made my boy the happiest I’ve ever seen him. The way Dustin Henderson tells it, Eddie went out a hero. Protecting one of those pups you care about so much.”

“Yeah, yes,” Steve is quick to agree. “He was a hero.”

Wayne nods and takes a deep breath.

“Eddie is… Eddie was used to people leaving,” Wayne says. “His mama, his daddy-- that boy was accustomed to giving people his heart and then watching as they stomped all over it. I knew as soon as I saw you two together that you weren’t like that.” He sniffs and clears his throat.

“I knew that boy like the back of my hand, and I don’t know if I would have been able to put him back together, if he had lost you. I know you weren’t mated, but you’re still family.”

Steve realizes, then, that Wayne probably understood. Mike was right-- Steve, when he lets himself take off his scent patches, smells like he’s been widowed. Eddie wasn’t Wayne’s kid, and he wasn’t Steve’s mate, but he still held those places in both of their hearts.

“Thank you,” Steve chokes out.

Wayne gives Steve a pat on the shoulder, rubbing his wrist against Steve’s arms before sticking his scent patch back into place. “You might be family, but I’ll thump you if you ever make me talk that much again,” Wayne laughs wetly. “Now let’s go.”

In the Upside Down, Eddie Munson opens his eyes.

The line for the church moves agonizingly slowly because people keep jostling in front of them once they recognize Wayne. People shove past with barely concealed snarls, and Steve’s glad his scent patches are on; the scent of distress-anger-omega would have probably made the situation worse.

As it was Steve already had to breathe through his mouth so he wouldn’t be able to smell the shock-disgust-confusion radiating off of the people of Hawkins as they wondered at Wayne’s audacity. Even though the government big-wigs had swooped in and cleared Eddie’s name, it wasn’t enough when people had already decided that Eddie had invited evil into Hawkins by simply existing.

“Won’t be long now,” Wayne says.

Two hours pass. Wayne keeps his eyes forward, his scent never wavering beyond his stoic citrus. All the different scents layering over each other give Steve a headache. It bursts into existence from behind his eyes, and Steve isn’t sure if it’s a result of repeated head trauma or… well, something else.

After that everything is blurry.

Steve knows they get to the front of the line, remembers Pastor Carver baring his fangs and yanking the ‘Funeral Request Form’ out of Wayne’s hands. He remembers laughing, humorless; for all that Jason Carver Sr. preached about religion putting him ‘above his base instincts’, he was halfway feral at the very sight of Wayne Munson.

Steve remembers Wayne tilting his head, submitting, and snatches of a conversation--

“I figured you know what it’s like, losing a son,” Wayne had said. “I’d like to bury mine, please. Near his mama, if that’s alright with you.”

He remembers Carver Sr.’s fangs extending, eyes shifting into a bloody, Alpha red—

“My son,” Pastor Carver spat, “was not a murderer.”

“Neither was mine,” Wayne growls.

Steve remembers letting out a whine as a sharp pain shot through his stomach, accompanying the one in his head, Wayne turning, looking at him with concern-- “Steve, are you okay?”

And then, nothing.

Eddie can’t tell if he’s in Hell or the Upside Down.

He also hasn’t decided if he’s dead or not, but that seems like a secondary concern, honestly. He kind of hopes he’s in Hell, because at least then there’s bound to be other Damned souls hanging around if he looks hard enough. But if it’s the Upside Down that means that his friends left him. And if they left him, that means they didn’t think he needed a way out in the first place.

Of course, there’s the possibility Hell only looks like the Upside Down because that’s where Eddie beefed it… he doesn’t know. Everything’s all jumbled together, and to be fair maybe-dying hasn’t left him a lot of time to parse through the maybe-Afterlife logically.

Fact: He’d woken up surrounded by dead demobats. Their bodies were all twisted and broken, like they’d fallen mid-flight instead of landing. Point for the Upside Down.

Fact: Eddie’s room in Wayne’s trailer is still stuck in 1983. It’s almost hard to notice-- Eddie has always been in the habit of adding more things to his room, layering posters on top of each other. Stevie used to joke that if Eddie added any more layers, he’d be boxing himself in. The biggest difference, though, is the absence of Steve’s nest. It makes his Alpha panic, actually; his instincts are screaming for him to find his Omega and make sure Stevie’s safe.

Fact: He’s hungry. He feels like Tantalus, hunger fogging his mind until he can’t even fucking think. His fangs are longer than they’ve ever been, even for an Alpha, and combined everything is pointing to something Eddie doesn’t even want to think about.

So he’s decided that he’s probably haunting a parallel dimension. Maybe. It’s still unclear.

He’s doomed to live out his afterlife in a parallel dimension because he saved a fucking freshman. Not that he regrets it-- Dustin was Eddie’s favorite, and Steve’s favorite even though Steve claimed not to have any-- but Eddie can’t help but relive the moment he died over and over again. He can’t help thinking that instead of cutting the rope and trapping Dustin in the Rightside Up, he could’ve jumped down with him. Instead of standing on top of his trailer and playing Master of Puppets, he could’ve hooked his radio up to his amp and fucking blasted it.

Luckily he has time, an eternity even, to really think about all the ways he’s fucked up.

At some point, Eddie adopts a demobat. It’s rare to find one that’s alive -- all the ones that used him as his last meal were 100% dead, thankfully -- but this one’s a baby. He’s calling it Dustin II, because it’s annoying in a cute way, using its feet to bop along and walk behind Eddie instead of flying. As the only other thing Eddie’s seen alive, he’s kind of attached to the little guy.

“Never let society tell you that drug dealing isn’t good,” Eddie says. Dustin II flaps his ears, and Eddie takes that as a nod. “Nothing can be that bad, especially not when it introduces you to the love of your life,” Eddie says.

“Stevie called me one day, just like super out of it. He said he got roofied by Russians. I thought he was kidding, but now I know he was most definitely not--”

Eddie’s in Melvad’s, trying to find food he won’t throw up. He’s gone through cans of beans, cans of vegetables, bags of chips… nothing sates his hunger, and even though Eddie thinks it might help, he avoids the meat section entirely. It’s probably all spoiled anyway. He ignores the fact that it still sounds delicious.

“He calls me over to get some strong painkillers, and asks me to stay with him in case he freaks out. Of course I do it-- King Steve calling me? I’ve been half in love with the guy ever since he was a fucking freshman, of course went over immediately. I show up with drugs, he actually does freak out. I talk him down, and as the kids say, the rest is history.”

Eddie picks up an apple. It’s more than rotted, it’s practically mummified. He considers it, weighing it in his hand. His stomach revolts-- this won’t do him any good. Eddie shakes his head and throws it away.

Dustin II chitters. “I know, man,” Eddie nods. “Finding out King Steve was actually Stevie, that he’s a good guy who takes care of a gaggle of kids and likes fucking ABBA-- it rocked my fucking world. Falling in love with him probably goes against the natural order, but I dare you to find anyone that wouldn’t love that man.”

Somewhere an aisle over, there’s a crash. Eddie flinches and ducks into a crouch. He was stupid to think that Dustin II was the only thing to survive in the Upside Down-- what if it’s a Demogorgon or a Demo-something else… Eddie’s too hungry, he’s too tired, he can’t do this…

He creeps up the aisle, peeking around the corner. He jumps out with a yell, claws and fangs hyperextended--

--There, in front of Dustin II, is a thick, reddish membrane. Dustin II chitters again. If Eddie didn’t know any better, the thing would look fucking smug. “Holy shit.”

The first thing Steve sees when he wakes up is Robin’s worried face. It immediately shifts to relief, and she goes to punch his arm before she hesitates, her hand spasming before she rubs his shoulder instead. She holds a glass of water up to his lips and he sucks it down, greedily. “What happened?” Steve says.

“You passed out at the church, dingus. Apparently Wayne had to actually catch you before you got another concussion.”

“Oh.”

“Steve… They called the ambulance. The EMTs took off your scent patches.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Robin says. She brushes her wrists over Steve’s neck, his sides, filling his nose with lavender. “Everyone’s waiting downstairs.”

Steve Harrington is officially out of secrets.

The thing is, Steve never planned on saying anything. When the pregnancy test came back positive, Steve had immediately gotten into his car and driven out of Hawkins. Not even twenty minutes later he’d had to pull over and throw up his lunch.

His Omega wasn’t happy-- he could feel his instincts rebelling against his very human, very urgent need to get the fuck out of Hawkins, Indiana. Steve had looked down the highway, eyes roving over the Welcome to Hawkins sign. It mocked him in happy yellow letters, like Hawkins wasn’t a hellmouth that’s already taken everything from him. He’d leaned back against the cool metal of his car, letting the soft rumble of the idling engine sooth his sour stomach. Eddie’s battle jacket was warm around his shoulders, and Steve had stuck his nose in it letting Eddie’s clove-honey scent soothe and calm him down the rest of the way. His hands had passed over his stomach as he got back into the front seat.

He makes a U-Turn and drives back the way he came.

Steve walks downstairs.

As one, all eyes turn to him. Everyone’s there-- all the kids, Hopper, Joyce, Murray. Even Wayne. Steve turns to him, first. He doesn’t care if everyone hears, he needs to make Wayne understand.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. “I wanted to tell you, but I figured you’d eventually want to leave Hawkins and I can’t be the reason you’re stuck here. This whole place, no matter how much they hated Eddie and the way Eddie hated them… He’s just, he’s all over Hawkins, and I can’t leave him when he’s here or in some version of here, and I know you don’t owe me anything because we weren’t bonded, not really, and we’d just talked about it--”

“You’re carrying my grandpup,” Wane interrupts. His eyes are misty.

“Yeah,” Steve says weakly. Wayne crosses the room and pulls Steve into a hug, passing his wrists all over Steve in a way more intimate scenting than they’d had in the parking lot of the church. This time it’s more than a light touch; it’s borderline parental, in a way Steve’s parents never were.

He sees the happiness in Wayne’s eyes, his joy at having a piece of Eddie that isn’t locked behind the gate to a hell dimension. Wayne has said a million times over that he sees Steve as his own kid, but this is the first time Steve actively lets himself feel it. Wayne finally lets Steve go but hovers at his side as he turns and faces the rest of the kids.

“So yeah,” Steve smiles sadly. “I’m having a baby.” The room erupts into cheers.

Eddie Munson laughs as he bursts into the Rightside Up, taking huge gulps of fresh air. “YES! ‘86, baby, what did I say! It’s my fucking year!!!” At his side, Dustin II screeches, feeding off Eddie’s energy.

So.

Fact: Eddie Munson is a vampire.

It’s the only explanation, really-- he survived for weeks in the Upside Down without food, raw meat is the only thing that sounds even remotely edible, and his fangs are so long they probably belong in a record book somewhere. His first instinct is to find Steve, to claim him right then, to make up for all the time he wasted. He lets himself imagines it:

It’s the afterglow of Steve’s heat and they’re sweaty and practically glued together--

Steve looks at him, his face breaking into a smile that makes Eddie’s favorite moles scrunch together, practically touching, and Eddie will lick his lips, he��d be nervous, probably--

It’d be evening, hopefully sunset, so the sun can outline Steve in a halo of yellow light. He’ll look angelic and fucked-out. His blush’ll spread down his chest and over the sharp planes of his stomach, and Eddie will take his hand in his jaw and he’ll nuzzle at Steve’s throat, popping out his fangs--

Sticky blood runs down his fingers, and he’s trying to prop Steve up and Steve’s eyes go from trusting to horrified and it’s too late and he can’t move and nothing he’s pressing his fingers to Steve’s neck but the blood won’t stop but instead of being horrified… His knot expands, pushing at Steve’s belly from the inside and he’s killing him and he wants to stop and he can’t, and he wants to save Steve but he can’t, and then. And Steve is lifeless, a broken, bloody thing, contorted and dead in their nest.

Eddie shakes himself out of it. That can’t happen, that won’t happen. His laughs peter off into sobs…

He doesn’t think he can ever see Steve again.

Steve’s Omega wakes him up that night.

He shimmies out of Robin’s hold, steps over the pups and out of the backdoor of his house before he’s even fully shaken off the haze of sleep. He walks into the first behind his house, following the scent of clove and honey. Steve thinks it’s his mind playing tricks on him. It’s Eddie’s scent but something more piggybacking on it, something that smells like blood, an undercurrent of iron.

He feels stupid, but-- “Eddie?” The trees in front of him rustle.

Steve whips around, tiny fangs bared and hand hovering protectively over his stomach.“Stop,” The shadow growls. Steve can feel a whine in the back of his throat. His Alpha is ordering him away, doesn’t Eddie want him anymore? Logic is gone, there’s just sadness.

“Eddie, is that you?” Steve’s shaking, he’s unraveling, he’s coming apart why can’t his Alpha see that. “Eds, talk to me please.”

“Don’t come any closer,” He says, but his voice cracks on the command. Steve has fallen asleep to that voice too many times to not recognize it. For the first time since Vecna his Omega and his heart are on the same page. Steve feels despair, but more than that he’s angry.

The shadow moves further into the forest. Historically it’s the Alpha that chases an Omega, but Steve’s nose isn’t lying to him, his heart isn’t lying to him. He holds his hand over his stomach, the barely-there swell comforting him. He’s about to do something so fucking stupid--

Steve runs.

The shadow is impossibly fast, almost teleporting through the trees, but Steve is determined. He ignores that he’s barefoot, even though the ache in his feet is already catching up to him. Maybe-Eddie might be fast, but Steve grew up in these woods, mapping them every summer since he was old enough to walk. Steve sniffs-- smells iron and blood, clove and honey-- there.

He launches himself at the shadow, and they tumble to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Steve’s legs wrap around Eddie’s waist, pinning him to the ground in between his knees. It’s Eddie, but… the first thing Steve notices is that Eddie’s fingers are different, long and skinny and pitch black at the tips. Steve thinks it’s a trick of the light until they move to cover Eddie’s face.

“Alpha, how are you here?” Steve says.

“Surprise,” Eddie says. He moves his hands, finally, and Steve tries to catalog every change in his face. He’s skinnier, gaunt almost, the circles under his eyes making them look impossibly wide and dark. Steve brings his hands up to Eddie’s face, cradling it. They’re both crying. Salty tears drip down Steve’s nose and onto Eddie. “Why did you run from me?”

“Stevie, you saw me die,” Eddie says. “You saw me die, and then I came back wrong.” Eddie’s shaking. Steve holds him tighter. “Nothing about you could ever be wrong, Eds,” Steve says.

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure I’m a vampire now.”

That gives Steve’s pause. But… it’s Eddie, impossibly kind, impossibly wonderful Eddie. The guy who takes spiders out in his palms even when it would be easier to kill them. Again, Steve and his Omega are on the same page.

“Okay, so you’re a vampire. There is a literal child with superpowers in my nest as we speak,” Steve says. “I know you, Eddie. You’d never hurt me, and you’d die before hurting our baby.”

A beat. Steve is just so happy now, and it bubbles out of him as he laughs at Eddie’s dumbstruck expression. “Wait, huh,” Eddie says. “Come again?”

“You, Eddie Munson, would never hurt me or our baby,” Steve giggles. “I was thinking Winnie, if it’s a girl, and maybe Otis for a boy. What do you think?”

“We’re having a baby?” Steve is right; even through all the changes, Eddie is Eddie. His hands flutter over Steve’s stomach, eyes searching Steve’s in the dim moonlight. Steve nods, grabbing Eddie’s hands and placing them over his belly. There’s nothing to feel, not yet, but Eddie’s eyes are wide with wonder anyway.

“You’re gonna be a daddy,” Steve says. Between one blink and the next, Eddie growls and pulls Steve down on top of him. They come together in a crash of teeth and tongues. Steve whines, a small thing in his chest that gets louder as Eddie’s attention shifts to Steve’s neck and chest, sucking and biting everywhere but where Steve wants him.

Later, Eleven will go through Eddie’s mind and confirm what Steve already knew, that Eddie is still himself even if he needs a little blood once and a while.

Later, they’ll welcome their baby girl, a sweet little thing with Eddie’s curls and Steve’s moles. They’ll give Wayne his ‘worlds best grandpa’ mug and he’ll get tears all over all of them.

But right now, under the moonlight, they have all the time in the world.

THE END.

Notes: Dividers by @strangergraphics

#eddie x steve #stranger things #omegaverse #steddie #exchange fic #major character death #but not really at all #vampire Eddie munson #non graphic mpreg #mpreg #secret relationship #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #Steve Harrington x Eddie munson

91 notes · View notes

karlachismylife · 2 months ago

Text

Come On Baby, Light My Fire

CW: gn!civilian!reader, alcohol mentioned, toothrotting fluff for the pretty boy Kyle.

(Title from "Light My Fire" by The Doors)

You can't remember last time you had this much fun on Guy Fawkes Night. Some years you didn't have anyone to go with, other times you found yourself too busy with your studies, job or family matters. Something always prevented you from going out for the whole night and enjoying everything the celebration offered.

But not today. Today you are already a part of the loud crowd, packed densely between the food stalls, music and chatter flooding your ears along with hissing and crackling of small firecrackers lit here and there - probably violating some codes and regulations, but you're not worried: a strong hand tugs you away from any possible harm before you even register a potential threat.

The same hand that dragged you out of your apartment tonight and brought you to Alexandra Palace, shushing your protests with a finger against your lips.

Kyle's hand.

Holding yours tightly inside that stupid lovers' mitten you gifted him last Christmas - mostly as a joke, just to poke fun at his tendency to be sugary sweet and corny with his romance sometimes; but you chose the wrong man to joke with. The mitten has been a must on cold weather dates ever since, and the 5th of November is definitely not a hot day - so much not a hot one, that the air above the crowd is filled with steamy breaths along with sparklers' distinct smell and the tanginess of mulled wine poured at every stall.

Kyle has his paper cup, steaming with clove, cinnamon and red wine, in his free hand, as he leads you confidently to a less crowded space - you just have to hurry along, laughing and watching out for your half-eaten toffee apple he insisted on buying for you. There were three chocolate-dipped strawberries too, but you ate them almost immediately, like two rom-com sweethearts, kissing over the sticky, juice-covered stick.

You're both unbearably and disgustingly in love.

A flock of teenagers swarms you, half of them in the V for Vendetta stylized Guy Fawkes masks, and the one in the hat tries to shove a sparkler in your hand, but when you helplessly demonstrate you're fully occupied, sweet kid giggles and stands on their tiptoes to put the little festive stick (not lit, thankfully - you wouldn't put it past kids to do all kinds of stupid things) into Kyle's front jacket pocket.

"Thank you!" You shout over another firecracker blowing up as the teens run off - and only then you realize that you should've probably given them a penny for the guy.

"Let's move, love, fireworks are going off soon, gotta find a good place to watch." Kyle leans to speak directly into your ear and kisses your temple, nuzzling your beanie to push it lower so you won't freeze.

You two stumble out of the main crowd over to a spacious lawn with people standing respectfully sparse, and you finally get a chance to finish your apple, already cold, but still sweet and juicy. Kyle volunteers to lick the stick clean of the caramel and exchanges it for a mulled wine-soaked orange slice that you nibble on gladly. After you both finish your treats, he finally ditches the stupid mitten, leaving it to keep your hand warm, and leaves you for a moment to throw the trash away.

Even while Kyle's wandering somewhere around in search of a trash can, you still feel giddy and stand there with a silly smile stretching your lips, as you watch a big bonfire blaze far, far ahead, where there are too many people to even come close already. It's alright, though, you're not that cold and you can enjoy bonfires later, in your neighbourhood, with less people around. The toffee apple still melts somewhere inside you, as if the heat of the fire reaches you on the damp lawn, and covers all your internal organs in sugary syrup.

It's a good night, a great date and the best way to experience a Guy Fawkes', you're sure.

"Missed me, I hope?" A warm voice and two strong arms envelop you from behind and you laugh, caught in Kyle's hug. He smirks and tries to go in for a sweet smooch, but you have your own idea - and squirm, avoiding his tempting full lips as best as you can. He stops, like a good boy, but looks at you with eyebrows raised high. "Well, that's new. Did I miss a sign that said kisses are off limits or something?"

"No, I want to kiss you," you reassure him, patting his hand - warm even without the mitten, even though he swears each time he'll freeze his fingers off if you don't wear the ting (and you wouldn't want to lose these fingers, would you, angel?). "Just-"

"Well, what are you waiting for, then?"

You'd have to explain, but a loud explosion interrupts you, firework rockets tearing through the dark, gloomy sky and blooming with bright, colourful flowers among the clouds. Both you and Kyle stand there, enchanted with the pretty picture, until you finally admit what you were waiting for.

"For this."

You pull him by the back of his head, cap already moved out of the way, and kiss him. And it feels just as sparkly and beautiful as fireworks.

#juju's love is illegal celebration #cod #call of duty #gaz cod #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #cod fluff #fluff #oneshot

25 notes · View notes

shattered-reflections-au · 24 days ago

Text

Fluffvember 5. Apple picking / "oh my gosh you do not know how to cook"

--- --- ---

"We're going to have to deal with that tree soon." Blue mentioned, his words blowing the steam from his tea. He gestured to their backyard, the apple tree overwhelmed by it's own fruit. "the squirrels are starting to get drunk off the fallen ones, those have got to go too," Vio mentioned. Red perked up. "apple pie time?" he asked, excited. "we'll have to see how many are actually still good. Provided there isn't another worm-pocalypse, then yeah." Blue said, remembering the dozen worms that invaded the barrels of apples from last year when they neglected picking. Green left the room temporarily, coming back with a few lacrosse sticks and a hockey stick. "ready." --- Green was a menace to his brother, having been practicing his passes in both sports with the rotten apples, hurtling them at the back of his brother. Red opted to be on the ground rather than try his luck with gravity flying apple carnage on a ladder being a bag holder for Shadow and Vio as the picked from high in the tree where Red couldn't get to. Blue had decided to retaliate against his brother, managing to smush some of the apple chunks into Greens golden hair. Explicatives flew from both of them in the heat of battle, the other three just barely managing not to be caught in the crossfire.

Two hours, two buckets, and three shopping bags full of apples later, Green and Blue were being threatened with a garden hose while Vio and Red dragged the fruit inside. Red dashed excitedly to the basement, pulling oodles of frozen pie dough out of the deep freeze. Red came backup to Vio loading apples into... the bathtub? "we've gotta wash them somehow." Vio argued, "grab a towel." he said, kneeling beside the tub and reaching into the warm apple water, beginning to scrub at them with their produce brush.

The two made quick work of the apple cleaning, Shadow coming in halfway through to grab some towels for the soalked twins.

---

Three whole hours of prepping apples. Peeling, coring, chopping, and dicing. Not to mention measuring the obscene amounts of sugar, cinnamon, cloves, ginger, nutmeg, and lemon juice. Apple filling was moved into the food-safe buckets, that Red had stolen from his work. Lids were put on tightly and moved to the coolest part of the basement, wherein Red turned his attention to the pie dough. Red prepared all the crusts, relishing in the wonder of working at a bakery for his access to 40 disposable pie tins. He stacked them one on top of the other in the fridge.

---

The next day, at 4am, he started. 15 minutes to preheat. 4 pies in the oven at a time, rotated once throughout the 80 minute cooking period. 40 pies in total. Red lived off of coffee and sugar, again and again, the kitchen and dining room a revolving door of pies in and out of the oven. 14 hours total. Between pies baking, red canned the rest of the filling. boiling jars, partially cooking the mix, killing any pathogens in his way.

---

Green came downstairs just as Blue and Shadow left to deliver the last batch of pies to an old age home down the street. The kitchen was in shambles, jars of pie filling covered the island, smears of said filling on the counter, the stove, the cupboards... ...and Red asleep against the dishwasher. Green smiled. Poor Red had finally crashed, his body finally petering out after having ran on almost nothing all day. "no time to eat, gotta get these in the oven." a stressed Red had argued.

Through his sleep, Red's stomach growled, his expression turning sour.

Green sighed, crouching down to pick Red up off the ground. Sure, Red was heavy, but nothing compared to Green's tolerance of having 5 kindergarteners dog pile on him all at once for a piggy-back. Green carried Red to the couch, leaning him up against some pillows and tucking a throw blanket over him. Green marched back to the kitchen, cleaning up a bit before donning Red's abandoned apron. He fished out a box from the pantry, grabbed one of the last remaining pots from the cupboard and got started on some mac and cheese. Now, Green will admit he got carried away, always competing with his twin, inspiration hit. He added ingredient after ingredient to the pot of instant mac'n'cheese.

Bacon, Mushrooms, Ham, Onions, Pickles, Black olives, Sun-dried tomato,

Green will also admit he should have stopped there. Quit while you're ahead. Leave the sprinkles out of there.

---

"wakey-wakey sleepyhead!" Green cheered, putting a bowl of his mac'n'cheese in Red's lap and handing him a spoon. Red smiled and stretched before being greeted with the abhorrent dish presented to him.

just then, Blue and Shadow came home again, Vio coming downstairs because what was that smell???

Red grimaced, being the first to take a brave bite of Green's concoction as Green dished out some to the rest of the house. Red felt the extreme urge to either gag or spit it out the second it touched his tongue. The brine from the pickles and olives having somehow managed to curdle the powdered cheese, the sprinkles and bacon and mushrooms making it slimy and crunchy and all around bad. Red fought everything in him to swallow. Green bounced on his toes. "how is it?" he asked. Red grimaced again, looking to Blue for help. Blue, however, had taken one sniff and said something before Red could formulate a lie. "Red, honey, you don't have to eat that." Blue said flatly. Red sighing in relief and putting the bowl down on the floor.

"What?" Green squawked. Shadow had also braved a bite, not getting very far before uttering a "Oh my gosh, you do not know how to cook," and struggling to swallow his meager bite of pasta. "I'll call the pizza place," Vio mumbled, already dialing it into his phone. "anyone want apple pie while we wait?" Red asked.

9 notes · View notes

lumine-no-hikari · 21 days ago

Text

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #324

The baking experiment went astoundingly well – even better than I thought it was gonna. This is quite possibly the best cake I've ever made. It is quite possibly the best cake I'll ever make.

...And I want really, really, really badly to tell you all about it. But I can't. I can't because it's a surprise. It's a surprise for the solstice. It's a surprise for the solstice because that's when I like to celebrate your birthday. Unless you can tell me when it actually is, and then I'll celebrate it on that day instead. But for now... this is the date I picked.

So we're both gonna hafta wait. And I really am sorry about it; I wanna tell you about it so badly that it's like the inside of my mind is straining against my skull and throwing a small, excited, joyful little fit, tryna get me to tell ya! But I'm not gonna. And I know it's difficult, quite possibly for both of us. Pouting will get you nowhere because I'm already pouting at myself.

But I promise you... you're gonna love it. I know you're gonna think it's the best thing ever. So please just wait for it, okay? I promise it'll be worth it. We can do difficult things. We can do them together.

...The cake was part of today's additional stress-cooking. I did a lot of stress-cooking yesterday. I didn't do quite as much today. Mostly, aside from the cake, I just made roasted pumpkin seeds and hotdogs.

I dunno if you remember, but not too long ago, I got a couple sugar pumpkins, roasted them, mashed them, and set the seeds aside. One of the seeds had already sprouted, and now it lives with us, and it seems to be doing well (it gets just a little bigger every day!!). The rest were put on a baking sheet covered in parchment paper:

...Ahahaha, I promise ya, I didn't leave 'em jumbled up like that! No, I set the oven to preheat to 300 degrees F (or 148.9 degrees C), and then I coated them in rendered bacon fat; I always save it every time I make bacon because it's EXCELLENT stuff to cook with:

...We, ah... we just gotta melt it in the microwave a little first, hahaha...

...That's better!!

Anyways, so then you stick it on the pumpkin seeds and you jumble them around so they're evenly coated:

After that, we arrange them on the baking sheet in a single layer:

...It definitely took some doing to get them to line up this neatly, holy cow.

We season them after that:

...On the left, there's garlic, paprika, and pepper. On the right, there's maple sugar, coriander, and mace. And over both, there's himalayan salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves!

We stuck them in the oven for a while; I didn't really keep track of the time. I just checked on them every 10 minutes or so until the spices were toasty and they stopped being wet-looking:

...In between, I made myself a couple hotdogs – natural casing, with Frito cheese, onions, ketchup, and mustard:

...It's some really yummy stuff. The roasted pumpkin seeds turned out splendidly, and the hotdogs were delicious, too. I wish I could have shared these things with you.

…

...I wish I could just... sit with you and talk with you for a while. Knowing that you're safe would go a long way towards putting my mind at ease, actually. Even if things are weird where I am, it'd be nice to know that you, at least, are okay.

…

Things are still... ya know. Still kinda scary over here. Power will change hands in January. Right now feels kinda like... kinda like the calm before the storm. I don't know what the future is going to bring. We'll find a way to weather whatever's coming next, but... I kinda wish you could pop by for just a minute and sit next to me.

...Ah. My eyes are leaking again. I gotta get it together...

This morning, I went with M so he could apply for a new passport; his original one expired years ago. And then when I got home, I got in touch with a Canadian immigration lawyer place, and scheduled a consultation. It'll happen tomorrow, after physical therapy.

...I don't wanna hafta leave my home. I don't wanna hafta leave behind all the places I like to go and all the people I like to be around. I think of Ea and Ch from Eggcellent. I think of all the awesome places we can go eat snacks. I think of the nature trails, and places to forage. I think of the grocery stores in my area. I think of the diversity of people, places, and things available to me here, and... I dunno if it'll be the same wherever we go next.

...But we can't stay here. If more than half the people here would like to see me and my family exterminated... if more than half of the people here are willing to sacrifice actual human lives for the sake of the price of eggs going down a few cents... we can't stay here.

…

...I'm worried for all my friends who might not be able to move...

...Well, nonetheless... I suppose one of the next things we should do is all get our English language skills evaluated. We all gotta take a test for that. We should probably get them scheduled soon. And then we gotta get our college degrees evaluated by WES Canada. I'm not really sure what to do after that, but... I guess that's what tomorrow's consult is for.

Well. It becomes late. Got stuff to do tomorrow. I had better get in the shower and then go to sleep.

...Sephiroth. Please stay safe out there, okay? I don't know that I'll be able to avoid crumbling if I don't have you to look towards as an example of what it means to remain steadfast, brave, and kind even when things get weird. You give me a reason to hope for good things, even when I feel lost.

I love you, and I'll write again tomorrow – I promise.

Your friend, Lumine

9 notes · View notes

clatoera · 3 months ago

Text

Picket Fence is Sharp as Knives Chapter 11: When You Can't Sleep at Night, You'll Hear My Stolen Lullaby

Heeeey besties. It has been more than a minute. I work eighty hours a week. Please take pity on me. If you are still here, still reading, wow I love you and I thank you deeply.

This chapter doesn't have a strong plot, it is just about my favorite things. Mamas and their babies.

A huge shoutout to @districtonekisses who has had conversations about explicitly stuff in this fic with me again and again, I love you and owe you cashbaria content soon I promise.

As always @kentwells my beloved, has been keeping my clato thoughts FED in my DMs to keep me moving through this shitty work schedule I have.

@bodyelectric77 you just have to get tagged at this point im so sorry.

Anyway!

Title from T-swift My tears ricochet

masterpost

AO3

He does not fit in the space from her knees to her hips anymore. His body can no longer fit comfortably resting on the short length of her thighs, where she could prop up her knees and take the time to memorize the details of her son in the middle of the night. Really, he never fit there to begin with. His legs would be scrunched up, and if he extended them he gave her an impressively strong kick for such a little person.

Now, though, months and months into his life, Clove could not even pretend that he still fit in her lap.

Her arms, though, oh her arms were another story entirely.

It was all part of her carefully crafted nightly facade, one she had been orchestrating for the last six months, for the entire duration of her time as a mother.

It went the same way every night. Cato would hand her the baby in his little hooded bath towel, all wet eyelashes and big blue eyes staring at her as his little baby hands just reached for her almost as quickly as she’d reach back for him. She’d absolutely insist she was just going to get him to sleep, then she’d be back to bed. Yet, every single night she’d end up padding across the short distance from his room to their own with him firmly asleep in her arms. She always insists that it is just simpler if he is with them, because really, where in the whole world could he be safer than between the people who brought him into it. Cato always knew his part too, when he’d wordlessly just take the baby back from her so she could get into bed. That is exactly where his son would sleep, right there on his chest and in his arms, until hours into the night when the first slight noise he made had Clove pulling him over into her arms. They’d wordlessly, barely even consciously, pass him back and forth throughout the entire duration of the night. Neither mention it. Neither question it. It is their unspoken, unquestioned agreement.

(Neither want to admit just how scared they are at the thought of him being anywhere but between them)

This is part two of that routine, where Clove and her son sit curled up in the corner of his bedroom, her knees tucked under her as she rocks with him in the oversized (for her, at least) recliner. She’s got him in the crook of her left arm, though her right hand comes around to brush her fingers over his still damp blonde hair on his head, her thumb coming to caress his full little cheek. They share the same fleecy blue blanket that she wraps around her own shoulders and covers her arms in, so that he too is protected from any sting of his first District Two winter that bites outside the window.

Not that there was any real risk of feeling a winter sting; from the blanket to his mother’s arms to the little blue sleeper the color of his eyes to the well heated house that his father endures for the sake of his mother- he was never going to be cold.

Cold he is not. Awake, however, he is.

“You gotta go to sleep, sweetheart, come on..” Clove whispers, though there's a softness in her voice that is reserved for this little boy and this little boy alone. “You had such a busy day, you have to be sleepy.”

Busy is a bold descriptor, but he did have an exciting day for a six month old. The first real layer of snow had finally covered the District last night, an uncharacteristically late start in February. Cato had been nothing short of insistent that he got to take the baby out today. Even Clove, who watched from the warmth of the kitchen window, couldn’t look away from the identical smiles of her boys and the sweet baby giggles coming from her son. There was something about the way Cato dipped this baby down into the ground to toe at the snow, and the way he pulled his little feet up in delighted response, that made Clove almost want to brave the cold for them, too.

Still, the day of discovery did not seem to make a dent in the energy level of Atlas Hadley, who was contently playing with the thin strap of Clove’s shirt, an entire little fist wrapped around the fabric. She shifts, just a little, so that he is less facing into her and more looking up at the rest of the room. She catches one of his hands, and brings it up to her lips to kiss his closed fist, which earns her the biggest, widest smile from the blond boy in her arms.

And God, when he looks at her with the biggest, widest blue eyes in the world, as if she herself hung the stars in the sky? The only thing she can wonder is how the fuck she deserves him.

She finds herself humming to him often, and now is no exception. She never full on sings, and she never will, but there's something just..instinctual about how simply it falls from her. She isn’t even sure where she learned it. Normally it works, too. A few minutes of humming and rocking in this chair and he was out, usually with his little cheek pressed flush against her skin.

It’s always the same song, too, oddly enough. It just flows. She isn’t even sure where she heard it or picked it up from– probably Glimmer– but it does the job.

Most nights, at least.

Now, though, she’s still got those sky colored eyes just absolutely staring up at her, like something is so captivating he can’t bear to close his eyes and miss a moment.

“Whatcha looking at? Do you see the snow?” Clove twists her neck to look backwards, trying to glance over her shoulder out the window to see what could possibly be so enticing to her baby. It’s just a dark sky, not even moonlight within frame to have him so entranced.

When she’s glancing out, beyond what her baby could see, she can see the thick blanket of snow draped over the trees and landscape. It’s involuntary, the chill that goes through her, when she sees the eerie stillness of snow in the darkness.

She doesn’t mean to stretch out her fingers, rolling them out as if she is trying to keep them mobile and warm. She can’t help but do her best to wrap her little hands around her son, somehow managing to pull him closer as if she herself will be the final defense between him and an icy, frozen arena.

It’s been what? Five..Six..Seven years since her games? Nearly a decade and that biting cold feeling just cannot leave her.

“There’s no snow falling, what do you see, my love?” Clove tries again, this time shifting him in her arms so that his head is resting on her chest rather than her arms, hoping to distract him from whatever was keeping him so alert.

Still, Atlas twists his little face so that he can still see hers, blinking up at her with the same lovey expression as before. She makes a confused face at him, eyebrows pinching together, but just wraps her arms tighter, holding them both deeper in the warm embrace of their blanket.

“I can’t blame him, all he wants to see is you.” Cato points out from where he now rests in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over the expanse of his bare chest. “I wouldn’t want to go to sleep either, if my other option was looking at you.”

“And what are you staring at now, Cato?” Clove teases, letting one hand come to the back of her son’s head and strum rhythmic little circles over his hair. “You know you’re going to distract him..”

“Don’t mind me, I’m just admiring my work is all.” Cato grins, raking his eyes over Clove in the corner of the room, so effortlessly curled up around their only child.

Clove, who was once a feral little girl with knives hidden in her socks, now just so delightfully different while maintaining everything that made him love her.

“...your work? You’re admiring your work?” Clove raises a dark eyebrow, though her expression twists into something toeing the line between annoyance and adoration, an expression Cato knows all too well.

“Hell yeah this is my work.” Cato gestures to the two of them with one hand and the most smug smile on his pretty face. “I did make all of this happen so…my work.”

“You’re the worst sometimes,” Clove rolls her eyes, but doesn’t stop the rhythmic rocking of her son in her arms. “It’s our work, thank you very much.”

“Some of our best, honestly.” He agrees, but uses the arm that was reaching out to them to gesture back towards himself. “C’mere. I’m lonely across the hall.”

“He isn’t asleep yet..” She sighs, shaking her head lightly. “He’s got a staring problem like his dad.”

“Can’t blame the kid.” He holds out his other arm as he crosses the distance between them. “Hold on to him.”

“What are you-”

He slips one arm under her legs and the other behind her shoulders, “Just hold him. We’re going to bed.” Cato instructs, before he’s got her scooped up in his arms as if she weighed no more than a baby herself.

“Cato! Be careful!” She shrieked, but curled into his chest as she had done thousands and thousands of times in her life.

“You act like I’ve ever dropped you.”

_____________________________________________________________

“No mama, no sleepy.” Stella Sanford shakes her little head, blonde ringlet curls brushing over her pajama clad shoulders with every move. Regardless of her pouting, and boy does she know how to tilt her little lips into a pout, she flops into her usual bedtime position with her head on her mother’s right arm.

“Yes, Stella, you have to go to sleep. You can’t wake up for your birthday if you don’t go to sleep first.” Glimmer tries softly, bringing her arm up to wrap around Stella, twisting her fingers through the ends of her soft baby blonde hair. She’d remain here until Marvel came upstairs, when she’d effortlessly roll right into his arms for the rest of the night. A baby for each of them to hold– well, toddlers now. “And Sissy’s already sleeping, she’s going to get to have her birthday too…”

“No sleepy,” Comes from the muffled voice of Aurelia on her chest, who doesn’t even lift her head to see her mother or her twin sister, instead keeping her face buried in her favorite pink blanket the three of them fell asleep under every night. “Sing song, mama?”

“You already got your sing song, baby.” She soothes, brushing her hand over the back of her baby soft pajamas, the tips of her fingers tracing the tiniest little shapes on the top of her back. “And your story, and another book, and your kisses..”

“P-eeease, mama?” Stella flutters her long eyelashes at her mother, resting her chin right on her chest next to her twin. “one sing song.”

“One sing song.” Aurelia chimes in, one of her little hands escaping her blankets and coming up to touch her mother’s face gently. “Pease?”

Glimmer audibly sighs, grabbing Aurelia’s little hand and kissing her open palm, using her other hand to pull Stella closer. They’re just her babies, babies who were two years old as of early tomorrow morning, how could she tell them no?

Especially now, when the days of them holding onto her and sleeping in her arms are slipping away so quickly?

“What sing song do you want? You can’t have the birthday one until tomorrow-”

“No words sing song.” Aurelia explains, twisting a hundred and eighty degrees in her mother’s arms so that she can face her sister now too.

“...no words…baby, that's not a song?” Glimmer tries, taking the opportunity to spread their pink blanket out over the three of them, now equally covering both Stella and Aurelia where they would sleep until Marvel was done with birthday set up.

“No words sing song!” Stella agrees with an enthusiastic nod, her little nose scrunching up with her smile in an expression she most definitely did not inherit from her mother. “Like this!”

Glimmer watches with a bemused smile as Stella tries to demonstrate her request, with little furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips. It’s adorable, almost to the point that Glimmer forgets her girl is trying to show her something.

“...oh you want me to hum you a song? That’s not singing, silly girlies.”

“Hum song.” Stella outright demands this time, resting her little hands on her chin expectantly. “Do the hum song, mama.”

“...the hum song?” Glimmer mumbles, trying to rack through her brain for whatever specific song they mean. There’s the one that comes to mind, though she isn’t sure why or where she learned it. Then again, there aren’t words, it’s only a hummable song.

“Okay. I’ll do the hum song, but you gotta cloooose your eyes.” Glimmer instructs, moving her arms intentionally so that they are both individually cradled in an arm, although they are far bigger than the infant babies she brought home in this position two years ago.

“Goodnight Aurelia-” She starts, leaning down to kiss the top of her far more reserved child’s head, her lips lingering for just a moment as she soaks in the time she gets to share alone with them. “Goodnight Stella..I love you both so so much.”

“Nigh-nigh mama, loves you” Stella announces contentedly, curling up into her mother’s side dutifully, before peaking one green eye up and over at her sister. “Nigh-nigh sissy.”

“Night-night sissy.” Aurelia declares, wiggling her little pink nails (an early birthday fun day gift from Auntie Cashy) out for Stella’s matching ones (and match Cashmere and Glimmer’s, too of course). “Love mama.”

As she hums to her girls, Glimmer watches closely. She notices how Stella’s hand reaches up to hold on to Aurelia’s, and her heart catches in her throat. She can’t help but remember the very first time she held the two of them together, how her girls who never knew anything but each other, reached only for each other within the first moments of their lives. She was not a twin herself, but there was something otherworldly about the bond between her children, beyond anything she’d ever get to know. Even now, almost two years to the day since they were born, they still fall asleep every night holding each other’s little hands. As it was right now, it was almost always intentional. Just two halves of the same soul, always reaching for the piece that completes them.

Glimmer never takes advantage of how lucky she is to have the children that she does, what a miracle it is that she gets to be their mother.

She never forgets just how deeply loved her daughters are, by so many people beyond herself, either.

Now, for example. Her sister and brother were adamantly downstairs helping her husband decorate for the girl’s second birthday, with no fewer than 730 pastel balloons to blow up and intentionally place around the first floor. It is arguably the least sexy, most unromantic way for her sister to spend the eve of Valentine's day, something Cashmere most definitely would point out to her later. Fortunately the seven pm bedtime of the twins meant they would be finished decorating before Cashmere was even due to start her skincare.

The point being, Cashmere and Gloss didn’t have to be here. These twins are not their children, they have no responsibility to them, and yet here they are.

Not to forget that Marvel, the sweet sweet man that he is, would most certainly come up with a gift for her. Claiming that, yes it was the girls’ birthday, but it was her who physically birthed them into the world and that she deserved as much recognition as they did.

There's something remarkable about him as a husband and as a father that almost, just almost, makes her think about risking a boy for just one more child to watch him raise. While she likes to think that she was born to be a mother, it cannot be denied that he wanted those girls just as badly as she did.

She can physically feel Aurelia fall asleep on top of her, when any tension in her little body just releases at once and she fully gives into the embrace of her mother. Stella never takes long after Aurelia, though it is far more subtle to hear her breathing pattern even out so distinctly.

Two entire years of this being her life, two years of big green eyes staring at her, two years of “mama” in high pitched little voices, two years of little humans who trusted her for everything they could ever need.

She isn’t sure she’ll ever get used to this being her real life, as if she will ever accept it as anything more than the dream it feels like.

It’s unbelievable to her, that this is the life she gets to live.That somehow, after everything, she has been granted this chance. It feels beyond a dream to have one daughter who prefers strawberry jelly over grape, or another daughter who cries if her bubbles in her bathtub pop. What a privilege it is to sort little socks embroidered with A’s and S’s, to have two of every set of pajamas and every tutu.

It’s nothing short of a dream, nothing short of a miracle, that Glimmer even survived long enough to be a mother at all.

Marvel moves so quietly that she doesn’t even hear him come into the room, and is only alerted to his presence by the shift of the other side of the bed when he sits on their shared bed.

She pauses her mindless humming, glancing up over at him with a soft smile on her face. She notices something speckled on the thin fabric of his white shirt, but pays very little attention to it as he so carefully slides into bed beside her with a well practiced agility that only comes from long dedication to not waking the girls with a shift in the mattress.

“Don’t stop on my account.” He defends, leaning over oh so carefully to kiss her on the cheek without disturbing the freshly sleeping toddlers in her arms. “Balloons, streamers, and the special birthday plates are set up. Your sister did tell me I’m ruining her valentines day because I said she couldn’t come wake them up to give them their first present. She’ll get over it.”

Glimmer gives him the softest smile as his hands thread under Stella, expertly pulling her to his side of the bed where she would sleep incredibly soundly for the rest of the night . As if to illustrate her thoughts, her baby curled right up against her father, burying her face in the fabric of his shirt. She’s paying such close attention there to his side, that it dawns on her exactly what the speckles on his shirt are.

She reaches out to grab the white fabric, and the deep maroon blossoming along his side confirms exactly what she suspected. “Are you….bleeding?!”

“Oh! Yeah! It’s nothing! Just your brother and the staple gun! No harm done!” Marvel brushes off, grabbing the free edge of the pink blanket and dragging it over him too. He offers her a comforting smile, grabbing at her hand. “Hey. Glim. I’m fine. Seriously. Your brother started thinking a bit too much about why we were decorating and how the girls came to be, and you know how he gets! He’s just..protective of you. He’ll get over it one day. Or he won’t, and he’ll try to kill me one day a year every year for the next twenty. Either way, I can take it. And probably deserve it a little.”

“He does not get to hurt you,” Glimmer warns, shaking her head in firm but loving disapproval. “I’m a big girl, and I made my decision. And I would make that choice over and over and over again. And I will remind him of that tomorrow.” She shifts closer, as far as she can without the risk of waking Aurelia in her arms. “They don’t get to act like they’re number one aunt and uncle and then act like that towards you. It’s infuriating” She mumbles, taking the chance to move just a few inches closer, unable to fully close the gap between them. “You don’t deserve that.”

“It’s okay, Glimmer, I can take it. They don’t mean anything by it. Besides…maybe they’re just jealous.” He does his part to shift closer too, leaving just enough space between them for the girls to move to. “‘Cause I got two of these,” he gestures to the sleeping twins, pulling Stella up to sleep on his chest, mirroring Aurelia on her mother’s. “And they don’t have any. And I get a you, Glimmer. They can say whatever they want, because really, I won.”

“Yeah, well, my sister doesn’t pay attention to anything but her own reflection, and my brother is her lapdog. I wouldn’t want to be them, either.”

“Especially not Cashmere, she’s got Enobaria with those teeth-” Marvel jokes, earning him a little nudge from Glimmer.

“God don’t bring that up, there are some things I don’t need to picture–”

“Hey, that’s just mentally picturing. I have actual proof of the things I've done with their sister.” He teases, pointing between the sleeping blondes in their arms. “We don’t need them to like it. We just need them to help blow up balloons once a year. They like the girls, that’s what matters.”

Glimmer feels like her heart physically hurts in the center of her chest, when she looks up and sees the way he just looks at her with such love and dedication in those blue eyes. Blue eyes she wishes were reflected in one of her daughters, sometimes, if for no other reason than how much she selfishly loves them. “....I love you.”

“I love me, too.” Marvel teases, before catching her face in his hand. “I love you, more than anything. And I’m really glad we accidentally pulled off this two for one special thing, because we have really, really cool kids.”

And for all the anxiety, the uncertainty, the discomfort, the stress, and the downright fear that came with the time leading up to the birth of her children… she wouldn’t have it any other way. After it all.. she’d go through every single moment all over again if she meant she held her daughters at the end of it. “...they’re the best.”

“You’re the best.” He promises, finally just slipping his arm around her hips and pulling her closer, damned with keeping space for now. He pauses, and shakes his head for a moment as if he just remembered something. “That song you were humming when I came in..they ask for the no words sing song alllll the time…where the hell did that even come from?”

“Absolutely no idea.”

_______________________________________________

“Good morning.” Glimmer’s raspy, sleep-addled voice in the doorway would have jolted Clove awake had it not been for the fact she had already been wide awake the majority of the night and into the early morning. She stands in the doorway with hair in two frizzy braids that are passively untwisting and oversized sweatshirt with sleeves that cover her hands, and the way she is rubbing at her eyes with said sleeves make her look nothing short of an oversized toddler coming to her mother for comfort in the middle of the night.

Except Glimmer is a twenty five year old woman and Clove is not her mother.

“Can I get in bed?” Glimmer murmurs, though it is nothing more than a formality as she is already pulling up the comforter on the opposite end of the bed from Clove and sliding one leg in. “Ew, this is Cato’s side, I don’t want to lay in these sheets, I know what goes on here-” She scrunches up her nose, but plops her head down on his pillow anyway.

“The sheets are clean-ish. Nothing is going down in this bed for a long fucking time. Fuck, what time is it–” She twists her head to look over at Glimmer, who is making herself plenty comfortable in Clove’s bed. Clove on the other hand is half sitting, half leaning, with her neck just slightly propped up by the pillows. Most importantly is her baby, all of five (six, now) days old, scrunched up on her chest, but incredibly safe and protected in the arms of his mother. She ceases her humming, some old song she can’t seem to get out of her head, before stifling her own yawn into her son’s hair. “What are you doing here? Did Cato send you to come babysit me?”

“It’s five forty two in the morning. Five forty five is the morning workout start time for you district two psychopaths apparently. Enobaria and Brutus are downstairs with Cato, they’re going down to the basement.” Glimmer stifles a yawn with the edge of the blanket, rolling onto her right side so that she is facing Clove, though her eyes are barely even half open to support her argument that she’s awake. “Huh? No it wasn’t Cato. I’m not even babysitting you per say–just keeping you company while everyone else works out- okay, Enobaria came into my room and pulled me out of bed by my ankle and said I had to come sit with you. Not that I mind!”

“Do they think i’m a fucking baby and can’t watch myself?” Clove snaps, wiggling so that she too is laying flat on her back next to Glimmer. It had been six days– how the hell was she going to do this for eighteen years- and the lack of sleep had gotten to her. It’s not a foreign sensation, they had deprived them of sleep plenty of times during games training and even at the hands of Snow in the capitol…but back then the only person she had to keep alive was herself. Not a whole new needy, helpless human being. “What do they think I'm going to do? Throw him at a target to strengthen my arm?”

“I think they’re more worried about you trying to workout six days after you had a baby come out of you. “ Glimmer explains, stifling yet another yawn into her borrowed pillow. “Not that i’m saying you would-”

“Fuck, Glim, I’m not working out. I can barely walk, it feels like he literally ripped me in half and he might have! I don’t know! I don’t care to find out! I’m pretty sure I'm literally stitched back together!” Clove shakes her head quickly, blinking back the wet feeling in her eyes she doesn’t know whether to attribute to exhaustion or hormonal instability. “...Glimmer everything hurts. It hurts and I can’t do anything and all I do is lay in this bed with this baby and try to pretend that everything is fine but Glimmer it hurts.”

Glimmer takes the moment to prop herself up on her elbow, recognizing the need to feel more present for her friend. “...of course it hurts, Clove. He’s huge. You are not. It hurts even when they’re little.”

“Yeah, well you had two at the same time, of course that hurt,” Clove insists, but uses the chance to pull her son up closer to her face, where she can continue to place kisses on his head and try to keep him asleep. “It hurts and I can’t tell Cato that because he’ll absolutely freak out or think i’m dramatic or something and I just don’t need that right now-”

“Clove..do you think he doesn’t know? Like he’s dumb but he isn’t that dumb.” Glimmer tries, giving just the slightest eye roll. “He’s constantly worried about you. He texted Marvel seventeen –and I counted– times the day you had the baby telling him he was afraid you were going to die, Clove. He’s stupid but he absolutely can read you like a book.”

“Yeah, well I thought I was dying too, Glimmer!” She bites back, tension and something else crawling into her tone. “I’ve been in multiple near death experiences, and you know what, it was the only time I had ever actually been scared of it!”

“But you didn’t! And he’s here and he’s okay and you are okay. You deserve to take care of yourself, too, Clove. I know he’s important and all, but so are you…”

“I am taking care of myself, clearly I'm laying up here in bed all useless while everyone else gets to go actually do something for themselves. And God, Glimmer, this baby wakes up all night and he’s already asleep on me so I just take care of him and I love him and I wouldn’t change a thing but I look at Cato who looks so fucking peaceful and well rested and I want to kill him.” Clove’s breathing and speaking speeds up as she rambles, borderline pushing herself to a meltdown. “I love him. He offers to get up with me, and he does, but he’s just…useless to this baby right now. So he sits up and stares at me as his version of moral support. But it isn’t helping!”

“Oh! Absolutely! I remember one time I woke up in the middle of the night, and I was so tired, and I looked down and I had Stella in one arm and Aurelia in the other and I looked over and Marvel was just..out. And all I wanted was to just slit his throat. After that I started making him wake up all night, too. Which…they’re pretty useless but it makes you feel less alone. You’re the only person in the world who can take care of that baby, Clove, and it’s lonely and it’s hard but when he’s like a year old and all he wants is you, it’s the best feeling in the world” Glimmer sits up just a little, holding both her hands out and making a gesture towards herself. “Give me the baby.”

“What? No, he’s fine–” Clove shakes her head rapidly, both her hands wrapping around his little back, holding him somehow closer to herself.

“Clove. You’re exhausted. More than I’ve ever seen you, and that's saying something, considering we literally went through Hunger Games together. You came back from literal capital torture looking less tired. Give me the baby.” She once again waves both hands towards herself. “Do you trust me?”

“Well yeah of course I trust you, it’s just not your job to take him.” Clove insists, shaking her head firmly, but glances sideways down at her baby. “It’s my responsibility to take care of him.”

“Clove. Give me the baby. I swear I won’t leave this bed. Give me this baby and take a nap.” Glimmer all but demands, shuffling her body to sit up a little more properly. She shoves her hands closer to the baby, patiently waiting in that position. “Let me help you. It’s what I'm here for.”

“You’re here so I don’t go try to do a sit up.” Clove hesitates, but finally acquiesced and slides her fingers under her son’s chest, lifting her son so that she can look at his sleepy face before gently hovering him closer to Glimmer.

“You don’t have the core strength for a sit up right now, who are you kidding.” Glimmer flashes the baby a bright smile, all but abandoning her exhaustion as she pulls him into her arms. “Hey little buddy!” She coos at him, holding his head in one hand and his body with the length of her opposite arm. “You’re still such a cutie, even though you look like your dad!”

Clove somehow looks both visibly more tense as she rolls on her side to face Glimmer, and also more relaxed at the same time. “He’s got a cute dad, of course he’s cute.”

“Isn’t it annoying that you did all the work and he looks like him though?” She points out, gently shushing the baby as she bounces him just slightly in her arms. “I wouldn’t know what that’s like, obviously.”

“I wouldn't want him any other way.” She half mumbles, reaching her top hand up to hold on to his little body, despite the fact Glimmer is plenty capable of taking care of him. She sees the skeptical look from Glimmer, and gives her a tired half-scowl. “Leave me alone, I’ve been touching him in some way for like..ten months.”

“You’re just so maternal it’s cute.” Glimmer grins, wiggling down so that she is laying more parallel to Clove. “He’s safe, Clove. I’ll wake you if he needs you. I promise.”

Clove rolls her eyes to make a point, but her eyes do not bother re-opening for Glimmer to notice.

Glimmer of course notices, particularly when Clove’s hand goes fully limp on top of the baby. She laughs to herself, never out loud in fear of waking Clove who barely wants to sleep as is, as Clove slips in and out of deep sleep, occasionally humming something over and over even while unconscious.

“You’ve got a good mama, Atlas. Be good for her, okay?” Glimmer whispers to the tiny blond boy– okay, not tiny in compared to the actual tiny babies she herself made. “Your dad though, you can scream at him all you want.”

This is how Cato finds them an hour later, when he comes up stairs and sees Glimmer in his bed. Clove’s practically curled up in Glimmer’s side, her hand resting on top of the baby, though otherwise she is dead to the world.

“Go home, Blondie, you’re in my spot.” Cato demands, holding a low-slung towel on his hips, nodding his head towards the door. “And don’t get any ideas about taking my kid with you.”

“Jealous, I'm in bed with your wife?” Glimmer taunts, but gives a firm shake of her head. “You can have her back after you make me breakfast, as a ‘sorry you had to come over at 5 am’ treat.”

“You act like you mind it. You’re getting to hold a new baby without any responsibilities.” Cato runs a hand through his wet hair, before dragging it down the side of his face. He struggles to get out the words ‘thank you,’ but it’s understood when he rubs at the back of his neck and asks. “Do you want me to wake Marvel to make waffles or wake Marvel to make french toast.”

“Mmm, I was actually hoping for an egg white omelet?” Glimmer scrunches her nose in a semi pout, sticking out her bottom lip playfully.

“Can he make that?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Great. He’s making french toast then.”

It becomes a daily pattern for the next month and a half.

______________________________________________________

It is literal years before anyone thinks about the song for more than a few seconds, other than long enough to remember to start singing it.

“Did you learn that song from Cashmere?” Clove asks from her spot at the kitchen island, sitting on her barstool as she stirs a bowl of ice cream and sprinkles in her hand. It had been her favorite treat for the duration of her second– and final– pregnancy, but usually she had a blonde boy breathing down her neck for a bite. She takes the moment to enjoy her snack in peace– without her husband or toddler demanding she share with the same pouty face and wide blue eyes.

Sometimes she felt like she married a child and then went and made him an identical, miniature version of himself to be his new best friend.

Enobaria crinkles her eyebrows, her face twisting from bemusement at the dark haired little girl in her arms, to actual irritation. “Did you lose your mind when this one came out?” She holds up the tiny baby girl, swimming in the little sleeper that her brother once barely fit in, as if for emphasis. “She’s been here for three days, you can’t blame her anymore.”

Three days which Enobaria has had to hear every night from Cashmere on the phone back in District One, are the longest three days she’s had in years.

Enobaria couldn’t leave her brand new three day old niece any faster than Cashmere was willing to leave her ten day old one.

“What! I learned it from Glimmer I think. I dunno. It always puts Atlas to sleep, Sevina doesn’t seem to care about it yet.” Clove shrugs, glancing past Enobaria to catch a glimpse of her two year old son, being chased around the pool by his father. “I just assumed if I learned it from her, you learned it from Cash too-”

“Clove, that song is old District Two. I’m talking before the first war level old.” Enobaria explains, before her attention is brought right back down to the tiny girl in her arms. She never knew Clove at this age, but she can’t stop herself from wondering if this was exactly what it had been like to hold her.

“How would I know it then?”

“Because you were once a toddler who didn’t sleep and I was a desperate teenager.”

#arwbfb tag #clato #arwbfb au #clato tag #glimmer tag #marvel tag #enobaria tag #glimmer and marvel tag #pfsk tag #always remember we're burned for better tag #picket fence is sharp as knives tag #hunger games #hunger games au #hunger games fic #clato fanfic

12 notes · View notes

renabe4life · 5 months ago

Text

As I start physio for my wrist, I've been thinking now's a good time to reread some wips and decide which one I might try to work on first once I have less pain from all these exercises. I also thought it might be fun to do a poll to see which fics folks wanna see updated soonest:

Propaganda (read: current wip status) below the cut!

Take Root- the modern AU of two old men supporting each other and learning to grow around their scars. The bulk of chapter 17 is written. There is one small scene I need to add, and one other scene needs some serious editing before it is ready to post. We're hitting a big emotional beat in this one, so I want to get it right.

Ebb- feesh lad! aka the mer AU that wasn't supposed to become a chaptered fic, but alas Qrow decided to have some secrets that need time and trust to reveal. There is enough written to call it a chapter, but... I gotta figure out what's bothering me about it and fix it, along with general editing that needs doing. A fun little reveal in this one, plus a cagey bird who flusters a lot.

Stop-Off- the camping AU meet-cute featuring widdol Yang and Rubes (and their mom being a complete menace while dad is oblivious). Chapter 2 is about three quarters of the way written. It needs at least a scene at the end to finish out the day, with a little editing needed on what's already written. Cloves is having a bit of a crisis at the start of this one, followed by Qrow having one in the second half lmao.

Distraction- the two part hurt/comfort plus spice recovery fic. Very little written for the second and final chapter. It is going to require a delicate balance to keep the tone I want throughout those heated moments. Depending on the vibes, I could bang this out in a feverish trance or take forever on it- hard to say!

#no option for all sorry #tho feel free to use the tags for a ranked list >:)#or to tell me i'm a dork for doing a poll lmao #fair game #renabe talks #poll #Take Root #Ebb #Stop-Off #Distraction #rwby fair game

14 notes · View notes

heliads · 10 months ago

Note

Hey! I gotta request something for our girl Clove. So could you do a Clove Kentwell x district 2 reader where they have been close friends since they were young and shared feelings for eachother but were scared to mess it but one day for some reason (ex: family invites them back or smth) has to move back to the capitol. The 2 lose contact and years later meet again in the lobby of the tribute building at night finally catching up on what has happened in their life. Perhaps also finally confessing to each other! I hope I've sent this in in time! Take your time!

'it's been a while ' - clove kentwell

masterlist

After years of living there, the Capitol is just as gaudy and useless as ever. The sheer quantity of ostentatiousness increases exponentially with the annual arrival of the Hunter Games, to the point where it’s damn near unlivable. Then again, when has it ever been somewhere you’d want to stay?

If you had it your way, you would have stayed in District Two forever. If you had it your way, you never would have come to the Capitol at all, not even as a tribute to become its latest Victor. District Two takes great pride in training its children to become winners in the Hunger Games, but you never fell for the whole spectacle. The only thing you had ever wanted was simply to be home, and then that was taken from you.

All your life, you were District. Your parents had ties to the Capitol, you knew that, but they had direct orders from President Snow that they were to maintain the strength of the district government by remaining there. You had assumed that you would go your whole life without ever leaving Two, and then their orders changed all of a sudden and you were gone. Back to the Capitol, although you had never been there as long as you were alive. Away from home.

That was a couple of years ago. It is expected that one would still nurse faint pangs for home, but over the months, everyone seems to assume that your passions would transfer over to such a remarkable place to spend your days. The Capitol is rich in many things, to be sure. The food is sublime, the houses are magnificent, the dresses sparkle.

Still, what it gains in material wealth, it lacks in substance and in soul. What you see as you look around you every day is a garish facade. Everyone here is dripping with wealth, but the only thing they cannot buy is true spirit. If anyone had a heart in the Capitol, they’ve long since sold it off to buy more gems and shoes. Nothing here is worth living for.

And, with the Hunger Games drawing ever near again, you’re painfully reminded of the emptiness of your current life once again. It is pure privilege that you could live here, secure in the knowledge that you’ll have enough food and clothes and shelter to keep you more than comfortable, yet you’d throw it all away if you could just be back in the one place where you actually felt alive.

You walk listlessly in the back corners of someone else’s mansion. Your family has been invited to an opening gala celebrating the seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games. You’re decked out in the latest fashions, although your clothes are noticeably subdued compared to everyone else. Although it might bother your parents to no end, you can’t convince yourself to adopt the endless frivolity of the other Capitol residents. Not when you would be sickened whenever you looked at yourself in the mirror.

Apparently all sorts of important people to the Hunger Games are here tonight, Gamemakers and past Victors alike. It seems as if half the Capitol has been brought to this particular event, whether by their choice or otherwise. The main parties are happening a few floors up, with plenty of screens displaying the opening interviews of the latest round of tributes, but you just can’t force yourself to watch. Why get wrapped up in the stories of twenty-four new children when all but one are about to die?

Instead, you slink around below, where the lights are dim and you don’t have to worry about being seen. Your parents will be busy upstairs, where they’ll be too lost in the bubbling crowds to find you. Tomorrow, if they question you about where you were, you can lie and say you were up there with the rest. With these crushing throngs of partygoers, they would have absolutely no idea if you were telling the truth or not.

You’re not the only one down here, either. Although the significant majority of the Capitol is very interested in the results of the Games, there are a couple of people here and there who cannot stand the idea. Haymitch Abernathy, the District Twelve mentor, will spend most of his time upstairs wining and dining potential sponsors, but on occasion he cannot stomach the eager discussion of his own district’s children as lambs to a slaughter and he hides down here to catch his breath and sneak a sharp mouthful or five from a flask at his hip.

Other Victors occasionally dip down the stairs when they’re sure they will not be found. They all have the same look in their eyes, and respond with the same flinching terror when they hear a loud bang like the cannons that announce dead tributes in the Games. This whole thing is a horrific show, and you can’t bear it any more than the others. Although you may be a Capitol citizen now, in your heart you will always be District. Your oldest friends were the ones sent in to die.

In fact, last year someone closer than a friend entered into the Games. Sometimes, as a child, you’re fortunate enough to have a best friend, someone who means the world to you because you mean the world to them. You’re past friendship bracelets and always remembering each other’s birthdays. This person is everything to you. The idea of forgetting them is impossible. Whoever you are, there will always be some part of you made up of them, all the insignificant habits and odd pronunciations you picked up from them.

This person is your world, and then you leave them for the Capitol. The day you had to tell Clove Kentwell that you were leaving District Two might have been the worst of your life, except for the day you left the district behind entirely. Although you had limited notice of when you were leaving, you still dreaded the hour in which you would have to inform your best friend that the most inseparable pair in all of Panem was about to be split up for good.

It is hard telling your best friend that you’re never going to see her again. It is harder still when she’s stopped being just a friend in your mind. Your feelings for Clove have changed over time, shifting from emotion to emotion without your approval, but in the end, you know for certain that you love her. You’re also fairly certain that Clove loves you back, but neither of you ever said a word about it to each other.

After all, how could you? The chances that either of you would be reaped for the Hunger Games were quite high, as was the expectation that you would volunteer. And even if you weren’t sent into the Games, the risk of confessing when the other didn’t feel the same way was catastrophic. You could destroy the friendship forever, and worse, still have to live so close together. The remnants of the glorious thing you once had would hang about you forever, choking you out whenever you dared to think about it. All of your days would be spent grieving Clove even while she still walked your streets and passed by your house, and then you would grow up and apart and the whole thing would be lost forever.

It was too terrible a fate to bear for both of you, and so you never said a word about it. You regret that sometimes, especially after you moved, but there’s nothing more to be done about it now. You are here, Clove is there, and never shall the two paths cross again.

That’s what you had thought, at least, and then last year you had been at a party celebrating the beginning of the seventy-third annual Hunger Games, and Caesar Flickerman had announced the two tributes from District Two, and one of them was Clove. You remember that night perfectly, how you spent the entirety of that evening frozen in place, unable to move a muscle while the rest of the party around you danced and cheered and placed bets. Your best friend was going into the Arena, and there was nothing you could do to save her.

You never saw Clove while she was in the Games, for better or for worse. Random strangers weren’t allowed to see the tributes, and since you live in the Capitol and Clove is from Two, that’s what you would always be: strangers. Even though you knew everything about her, from the way she laughed to the exact balance of the syllables of your name in her mouth. Strangers, that’s what you were. Forever separate, never to meet again.

The course of the Hunger Games was immensely difficult. Each day you spent obsessing over the footage, trying to make out if she was injured or hungry or dead. Each night, you had to be all but dragged away from the monitors, so addicted were you to watching your girl. Even after they took you away, you could hardly sleep a wink. In the mornings, you rose early and ran to the live recordings of the Games, torn to pieces by the thought that she might have died while you were away.

In the end, though, Clove was victorious, and you watched from afar as she was paraded around and all but worshiped by the adoring Capitol and District Two. No amount of words can adequately describe the relief you felt when you knew that Clove would survive, although it was shadowed by the knowledge that even as Victor– especially as Victor– Clove would never be able to escape the hold of the Capitol.

You’ve seen many Victors come and go. They’re paraded to and from the Capitol whenever the Hunger Games are so much as mentioned, brought up every time so they can give their takes on the latest round of tributes or the design of the Arena or merely an update on what they’ve been doing since their latest publicized appearance. Once the Capitol tires of them, they’ll be allowed to return to their Districts for a couple of months before the TV cameras are sent out again to catch a glimpse of a Victor in its natural habitat.

She’s here now, probably, with some of the other Mentors or forced to mingle at any of the dozens of events happening across the Capitol. The thought turns your stomach. The on camera bits had been Clove’s least favorite part of being a Career, you’ve known that since you were a child. Clove dreamed of volunteering for the Hunger Games just like any other good District Two girl, but she’d told you fervently that she despised the interviews and all the acting fluff.

You’d been able to see that for yourself, too, while Clove was involved in the seventy-third Games. Although it may not have been apparent to any other onlooker, the advantage of the years you’ve spent by her side is that you know exactly when Clove is uncomfortable or unhappy, and she was just that while being grilled by Caesar Flickerman. Her mentor had trained her properly, and her impeccable demeanor never shifted, but you could see the tightness in her hands, the strain in her eyes. Clove didn’t want to be there any more than you wanted to be watching her.

A champagne bottle pops somewhere upstairs, causing the ceiling to rattle with a chorus of shouts. You’ll probably have to go up there sooner rather than later, or you really will be in trouble for skipping. To clear your head, you push open the doors to the house, letting the cool air wash over you. Just one lap around the mansion, then you’ll entertain the rest. You just need this one last moment of peace if you have any hope of survival.

You’re not expecting to see anyone else out here, but halfway through your circuit, a shadow crosses your path. You move out of the way automatically, not wanting to bother or be noticed by anyone from the Capitol, but you’ve hardly started moving again when a soft, careful voice says,

“Y/N?”

Instantly, you freeze in place. It’s been a long time since you last saw Clove Kentwell in person, but you’d know her voice anywhere, that precise cadence of syllables, each and every inflection like a feather-light touch upon her words.

You turn around slowly, and there she is, taller than you remember but no less stunning. Her eyes are more guarded than they used to be, but maybe that’s what you deserve for going away for so long and leaving her with a gaping hole in her armor.

“Clove?” You ask in return.

Hesitantly, you drift closer. You’re waiting for her to step back or leave, maybe, anything befitting someone you no longer quite now, but she doesn’t go. She doesn’t get closer, either, no delighted embraces for a long-absent best friend, but Clove’s never quite been that type anyway.

“It’s been a long time,” you say, when it becomes apparent that she’s waiting for you to do something.

Her brow twists. “Hasn’t it?”

The question is daring. After all, it is your fault that so much time has passed since the two of you crossed paths. You were the one who left, she was the one who stayed. It is perfectly reasonable for Clove to have nursed a grudge all this time.

“I didn’t want to go,” you remind her. “Trust me. I begged my family to let me stay, but they wouldn’t hear a word of it.”

“I do trust you,” Clove says softly. “I always have.”

The words twist in your heart like a knife. You’re not sure what to say to that, not sure even that you can say anything to it, not without losing yourself, so you briskly change the subject. “I saw you in the Games. You did well.”

Clove scoffs. “There were a couple of sloppy kills. I could have done better.”

This makes you laugh. It’s just like Clove to have won the Hunger Games and still have pointers for herself on what she could have done better. “You had an excellent showing, Clove, and you know that.”

Clove arches a brow. “You saw my Games?”

“Every minute,” you admit. “I couldn’t look away. I was scared that if I did, you’d die. I’ve lost a lot of you, Clove Kentwell. I didn’t want to lose your last moments, too.”

She’s quiet for a while, and it occurs to you that you might have overstepped. Ducking your head, you mumble something about heading back inside, and move to brush past her. Clove catches at your arm before you can go. Her grip is as steady as always, radiating quiet strength without having to hurt you. She’s never hurt you. Not in all those years of training and playing around has she harmed so much as a hair on your head.

“Wait,” she says suddenly. “Don’t go yet. You– you haven’t told me what happened to you yet.”

You frown. “What?”

Clove shakes her head slightly, her dark curls catching in the moonlight. “You saw how I’ve been in the Games last year, but I don’t know what you’ve been doing. It’s been years. Don’t you know how many times I’ve thought about you? Wondered what you were doing? If you were making friends you liked more than me?”

“Never,” you pledge immediately. “I’ve talked to people here, but none of them could come close to you. They don’t get me, not like you do. Everyone here is cold and insincere. Sure, they’ll pretend to tolerate me so they can get to my family’s money, but they don’t actually like me. Not like you did.”

Clove’s voice comes quietly in the dark. “No one could like you like I did.”

Your eyes dart up to her. “Clove–”

“No,” she says firmly. “I’ve done enough running. I wanted to tell you when I knew you were moving, but you were gone too fast. I don’t know if I’m going to get another chance so I have to take this one while I have it. I love you, Y/N. I’ve loved you for years.”

A firework goes off overhead, the remnants of someone else’s late night party. It feels as if the red matter between your ribs has been tossed up there in the sky, made glittery and meteoric so everyone can see and delight in the cascade of bright emotions rippling through your heart. It is one thing to imagine that Clove might have feelings for you, to assume that you enough of her mind to decide what she thought of you, but it is an entirely different matter to hear her confirm it after all this time.

“I love you too,” you say in a sudden rush.

The corner of Clove’s mouth pulls up into a victorious smirk, so familiar an expression that you can remember a hundred other times you’ve seen this exact impression, heard her voice tinged by triumph in this same way. “I knew that, obviously. I just wanted to make sure you know I loved you first, that’s all.”

You laugh. It’s a giddy sound. You don’t think you’ve laughed for real since you arrived at the Capitol, and your voice is a little hoarse from disuse, but it gets easier in moments. Everything is easier around Clove, it always has been. “You loved me first? I didn’t realize it was a contest.”

She snorts. “Everything is a contest, Y/N. We’re Careers.”

Your delighted mood slips away from you once you remember where you are, what you’ve become since you saw her last. “Am I? I’m not in Two anymore.”

Clove’s dark brows narrow. “Of course you are. You grew up with me, you think I don’t know who you are? You’re one of us, Y/N. You’re part of me, and you always will be.”

A soft, tentative smile starts to slip back onto your face. “Always, huh?”

It’s dark, hard to see Clove’s expression, but you swear you can still sense the heated flush as it creeps onto her cheeks. “Always.”

The voices from inside the house are starting to grow more insistent. “We should probably go back inside,” you say reluctantly.

In a perfect world, you would stay outside forever, talking happily with Clove while the fireworks flared overhead. Then again, in a perfect world, you never would have left District Two at all. However, when Clove takes your hand, and you walk side by side back into the house, you start to think that maybe you’ll have some semblance of your perfect world after all, one in which even the distance can’t stop you and Clove from being together. Victors are always in the Capitol, after all. Your paths will cross again, and this time, you will have nothing to fear. Not even separation.

hunger games tag list: @w1shes43, @ilovexavierthrope

all tags list: @wordsarelife

29 notes · View notes

winter-dayz · 1 year ago

Text

Betrayed

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader Gumiho AU; Korean Mythology AU Genre: Angst; Fluff; Horror Words: 2290 Warnings: dead dove: do not eat; implied organ-eating; major character death; murder; strong language; suggestive content; violence

Masterlist | Fictober Masterpost

Taglist: @soobin-chois

“You can’t be real.” He said, leaning back against the bar where I was seated.

I giggled, “And why is that?”

“Too pretty.” He sipped his drink with a smirk, “You’ve gotta be a goddess or something.”

“Something like that…” I hummed.

Yoongi won me over easily. He was charming and handsome. He seemed to always speak plainly with me, which I greatly appreciated.

I fell into his bed easily that night; I fell in love with him even easier.

🎃

It wasn’t hard being with Yoongi, but it was hard staying in my human form so much.

We were often together, sleeping over at one another’s homes, going out on dates, even spending our lunch breaks together.

I wasn’t opposed to spending a lot of our time together, but the longer I hid my secret from him—eventually refusing to transform into my true form at all, even in private just in case he dropped by suddenly—the stronger my instincts started to nag at me.

The first time my instincts started to break through, we had been cuddling during a late morning on the weekend. Neither of us had work, and we had stayed up late the night before bar-hopping with friends, so we decided to sleep in and have a lazy day together. It was relaxing; maybe a bit too relaxing… As we laid together, Yoongi’s scent curled around me. Subtle tangerine and heated spice wrapped me up like a hug during the holidays. Visions of oranges and clove in mulled cider made my mouth water. He was so sweet and warm; it made sense that his scent was too. I wanted to bask in it—maybe a bit too much—as I started nuzzling into his neck. He didn’t seem to mind or notice until I lightly nipped where the smell was strongest. Yoongi took it in stride, assuming I was feeling frisky, and groped my ass. I played along, unready to reveal that it was actually a scent he didn’t even know he had that was driving me crazy.

The second time my instincts got the better of me, I had been spending so much time at Yoongi’s apartment that I hadn’t noticed how much of his clothing I had… accumulated. Until there was a week he had to travel for work, and I found myself creating a den in my walk-in closet out of the hoodies and shirts I had stolen. It wouldn’t have been such a problem except Yoongi surprised me when he was back from his trip. I had gotten back to my apartment a bit late from work to find him chuckling in my bedroom. He had not only found my “den” but was sorting through the laundry to wash—lightly teasing me about getting behind on my chores while he was away, which of course I wasn’t going to correct.

The third time my instincts took over, I really fucked up. Yoongi and I were going a bit rougher than normal. He was taking great pleasure in holding me down, his strong hands tightening around my neck. When I had regained control, so to speak, straddling him and nipping at his neck, his scent and the moment once again overtook my sensibilities, and I bit him with my fangs. Yoongi had cried out, trying to pull away, and the predator in me didn’t want to release my prey… I growled at him. Then the taste of his blood filled my mouth, and I realized how I almost truly lost myself. Yoongi was understandably confused, but he was too distracted by cleaning up his wound and subduing my whining apologies to delve into why it even happened.

Then there was the time that I was truly almost caught as the… creature… that I am. It had been a long day. Everything had been extra exhausting. Coworkers a bit more annoying than usual. Clients a bit more demanding than usual. Friends a bit more dramatic than usual. The day had simply dragged on, and by the time I made it home, I was teetering the edge of losing all control. What pushed me over was the movie Yoongi decided we should watch. It was some horror film that we had in our list for weeks now and had been looking forward to; however, the day had simply been too overwhelming already. At the first jumpscare, I screamed and felt my transformation slip. My ears and tail popped out, and thankfully, Yoongi seemingly hadn’t noticed before I was able to toss a throw blanket over my body. He proceeded to tease me for being a coward, trying to tug the blanket off me, while I tried to calm myself enough to shift back.

That had been the final straw. I needed to come clean with him, but I was too scared of him being afraid of me and leaving. So instead, I took the coward’s route. I had long decided I loved him (and my human life) enough to give up my immortality. I would continue to keep my identity a secret momentarily while I worked out a plan to become human.

It was either to find the legendary Gumiho Pearl or eat one thousand human livers. The legends said that the pearl could be found in the mouth of fish hidden deep within a lake in the countryside. Only the bravest souls could retrieve it. And as… honestly, appetizing… as the livers sounded, I didn’t want to become the monster that the stories made me out to be. Not if I was going to be with him.

No, I would do it the hard way and find the pearl.

What I didn’t account for was Yoongi insisting he come with me on my “camping” trip…

🎃

“You really don’t need to come along…” I borderline-begged as we walked the trails away from the campsite.

Yoongi followed behind dutifully. He had never been one for camping and hiking so I had no clue why he was so insistent on coming with me on my “nature-walk” (to find the lake) or even the trip as a whole. He tried to reason that it would be good bonding time for us away from our normal routine, but something about his blasé explanation felt so weird to me.

“But what if something happened to you out here alone?” He questioned. “There aren’t many campers at the site this weekend as it is, and who even knows if these trails are regularly monitored by passersby or the rangers. You could get hurt… or lost.”

I knew all of this. It was precisely why I had chosen this weekend to go. I didn’t exactly know what the permanent transformation into a human would entail, and I didn’t want anyone to see any mystical shit happening. But Yoongi didn’t know that.

We walked in silence for quite a while, Yoongi always staying a few steps behind me for some reason. It was about two hours into our walk that I spotted the edges of the lake.

“Wow, look at this place…” Yoongi finally spoke up, coming to peer around the area with me.

It was enclosed in thick brush, even the path we came from was barely noticeable within the clearing, and the only sounds were of faint bird chirps and water trickling from a small creek waterfall into the far side of the lake.

I felt myself choke up, not only from the pure nature, untouched my humanity, but also from the deep, ancient magic I could sense emanating from the depths of the water. It was here. The fabled fish and pearl.

“Yeah…” I whispered, not wanting to disturb the mystical energy in the air, and stepped away from my boyfriend. I carefully approached the lake edge to peer into the crystalline water.

“It’s really just perfect, huh…” Yoongi spoke again. “A beautiful place to end everything.”

His words confused me, and I turned to find him poised with a gun aimed at my heart. My eyes widened, mouth dropping in a silent scream. I was stunned. Blindsided. Betrayed. “Wh– What are you doing?!”

“Like I said, ending things.” He stated it so simply. The smirk on his face felt out of place; it was normally for when he was riling me up, but there was no hint of teasing behind his eyes. They looked dead. Emotionless.

“I don’t… I don’t understand?”

“You thought I didn’t know what you are?”

He knew. He knew. He knew I was a gumiho. When? Did he figure it out? Put the pieces together? Catch me one of the times I was careless with my transformation? Or, had he known the whole time?

He must’ve seen the questions filtering through my flickering eyes as I was trying to read his impassible demeanor. “I’ve known all along. You couldn’t trick me with your fake, pretty smiles. I knew what kind of creature you were from the beginning.”

“Then why are you doing this?” I screamed, tears falling in desperation. I knew what kind of being I was; I knew my kind’s reputation, but I had always tried to do things the human way. Be better for him because I loved him… “I thought– I thought we loved each other…”

He laughed, but the sound was so cruel. So spiteful. I had never heard his sweet, low chuckle sound so hateful. “You think I could really love a thing like you? You aren’t even capable of love! You’re just a disgusting monster.”

“I did love you! I changed myself for you; I was going to become human for you!” I cried back.

Yoongi scoffed, “That is a legend, and we both know it. And even if you did, you’re delusional if you think any real human would want to be with a freak of nature.”

His words cut deep into my heart, my soul. But they weren’t new words. They were words I, and those like me, had heard for centuries. The words of a hunter and their propaganda.

Yoongi was a hunter.

And I fell into his trap.

I knew how they worked. He must’ve picked up my information and trail weeks before we ever met. He lured me in, used me for his pleasure, toyed with me, all so he could eventually corner me. He would kill me, and after I die and transform into my natural state, he would collect my paws as proof for a reward and my tail as a trophy.

I never meant anything to him.

Except for a dollar amount.

My eyes hardened, tears drying up, and my jaw clenched. I dropped the transformation as a heartbroken growl tore through me. “So you never cared about me? Months of spending time together, dates, sex… None of it mattered. I was just your next mark, huh?”

“Of course. Sex means nothing except you being easy and gullible. Everything else was a part to play.”

I hummed, lowering into a launchable position. I was trying to goad him into lowering his guard a bit, just enough that when he took the poison-laced shot, I would be able to dodge and counterattack.

Yoongi might have weapons, but I had time, skill, and practice on my side. He certainly wasn’t the first hunter I had ever encountered, and if I remained a gumiho, he wouldn’t be the last.

“So how much will you get for me? How much is my bounty?”

“Think you’re worth a lot?”

I chuckled, just as darkly as he had before. “I know my own history, as I’m sure your society does. Just because I’ve changed my ways the last decade or so, doesn’t mean anything in their eyes. I also know that they know my true age, which I’m sure factors into the trophy price.”

Yoongi nodded in concession. “You’re right. We don’t care about your false change of heart. You’ve done at least a century of harm; ten years of pretending to be a real person is nothing.”

He shifted, my eyes darted following the movement. He was prepping.

“Three hundred thousand.” He cocked the gun. “You have a pure white coat though so I might be able to bargain for more. Who knows.”

And then he shot.

I pounced.

It had been a while since I had exercised this form; it had been even longer—a decade at least, as mentioned—since I had attacked a human, especially a hunter.

My jump was high in the air but not high enough to avoid the bullet grazing my calf. I landed on top of Yoongi, ripping the gun away and tossing it back into the lake, and straddled him. My claws tightened around his neck, digging deep into his arteries and tearing forward.

Tears streamed my face as he gurgled and coughed blood. It splattered onto my face, but I paid no mind. I lifted him slightly, slamming his skull against the ground until the hatred faded from his eyes—along with the life.

I huffed and fell off of the corpse of my ex.

Heartbroken.

Shattered.

Betrayed.

And also in severe pain as the poison pulsed in my leg. It wouldn’t kill me, but it would be a bitch to clean out and would radiate pain until then.

No, what hurt more, was knowing that I had let a man make me feel this weak.

“Never again.” I vowed, rolling his body into the lake. “I will never allow a man to make me feel this low. And I will earn my humanity… But just for you, Min Yoongi, I’ll do it the fun way. I’ll be the monster you wanted me to be… Sorry to leave you without a proper burial, but I have a thousand male livers to devour.”

#bangtan sonyeondan #bts #min yoongi #reader #min yoongi x reader #bangtan sonyeondan x reader #bts x reader #angst #fluff #horror #gumiho au #korean mythology au #oneshot #fictober

43 notes · View notes

stringbeanmcmean2 · 4 months ago

Text

Went right back up to 144 this morning.

What am I doing wrong 😩

I was doing so well for a while. Consistently losing every day, even if just a few ounces... and now I'm just stuck. I first got to 144 on July 21st. And I can't get under it. Ever time I'm able to push through and get under it, I go IMMEDIATELY back the next day. I've tried fasting for 24 hours, I've tried having a meta day, I've tried changing my calorie intake.

NOTHING IS WORKING

I'm convinced at this point there's just a monstrous shit living inside me and growing like a fetus.

Okay guys if you kept reading this far, I'm sorry. But I need your best yeetus the shit fetus methods. I can't go and spend money on laxatives. I have some tea that say "detox" on them but they all have cinnamon of cloves and I haaaate them.

I'm in the process of making myself a cup of black coffee. I have a cup every morning and it sometimes helps things move a LITTLE bit but it never feels like everything you know?? 😭😭 sorry for being disgusting lol I just had to get that out. Almost as bad as I gotta get this shit out 😭

I included a picture of my weight graph so you can all see how dumb this is lol

13 notes · View notes

xx-shotgunenema-xx · 8 months ago

Text

smoking headcanons because im thinking????? maybe too much

keep in mind, ive not finished homestuck, not even halfway thru it actually, so dont flame me if im wrong or whatever

bro strider used to smoke cigs, now he vapes

mom lalonde might smoke, but only with those long ass cruella deville cig holders

do i even gotta talk about dad egbert? pipes dawg

grandpa harley smokes cigars, i dont make the rules

dave snuck one at some point but hated the feeling, but i dont think he vapes or smokes nic. if hes out with someone he will smoke clove cigarettes for the cool factor but outside of that not much

rose hates the smell of cigs, might sneak one after a long hard day tho

i dont think that jade rlly smokes cigs, but she might smoke clove cigs occasionally

john, jade, dave, and bro -have- smoked weed

jade and bro are the only 2 who semi regularly smoke

dave and john smoke socially but tend to avoid it for the most part

rose doesnt wanna smoke weed, but might be convinced if u sweet talk her a bit

dad egbert mighta smoked weed in highschool, doesnt anymore, but let john smoke once to 'take the mystery out of drugs'

mom lalonde thinks its a gateway drug, doesnt touch it

grandpa harley probably doesnt smoke weed anymore, but used to be a regular smoker

TROLLS

im going by the human words cuz its easier for me to process

karkat: doesnt smoke, thinks its stupid

aradia: well, shes dead, idk if she can, and idk if aradiabot has lungs?? so no?? when she WAS alive tho i dont think she did [nic, no weed]

tavros: he could be peer pressured into it but doesnt tend to, might for pain management

sollux: every so often maybe, but not often [not nic, maybe weed]

nepeta: catnip.

kanaya: no

terezi: weed every so often, but not that much

vriska: used to but she didnt like the loss of control, however minor it was

equius: i think he secretly might

gamzee: you already know hes on the zaza 25/8

eridan: nope

feferi: maybe, but i cant see it being a frequent thing

14 notes · View notes

floridakilo · 1 year ago

Note

Man I'm not even a junkie I'm just schitzo and the amount of shit I get for smoking a clove a day to not kill myself I'd absurd I can't imagine how bad it's gotta be for the junkies.

after moving to a more conservative area i now have to drive four hours away to a pharmacy that will fill my opioid script and consistently have it in stock every month

11 notes · View notes

dino-boyo-agere · 1 year ago

Note

Ratatouille soup :00 that sounds so good!! I've always wanted to try ratatouille but put it off bc I don't like the texture of most cooked veggies

Could we get a recipe mayhaps? 👀👀

Oh definitely!!

I don't really have measurements, but I'll try my best! I always cook a little more, and freeze the rest. I have about four days of food with these ingredients.. I also eat fairly small portions though, so keep that in mind!

Without further ado, let's get to making the ratatouille!

For the ratatouille you need:

1 aubergine

1 courgette

1 red bell pepper

1 yellow bell pepper

1 green bell pepper

1 to two red onions

1 can of peeled and diced tomatos

1 teaspoon of sugar

Salt, pepper to your liking

Herbs & spices of your choice (I use salt, pepper, rosemary, parsley and tumeric.)

Half a tube of tomato paste

And technically garlic, but I hate that stuff so I leave it out lol (about one to two cloves should be enough, the garlic should be minced)

Maybe rice, pasta or potatoes to eat it with. (I'll follow up on that later in this post)

for the ratatouille you gotta:

Clean and dice the aubergine

Put the aubergine dices in a bowl with salt and shake it up - cover up the bowl and put it aside.

Next clean and cut the courgette and onions. (& the garlic if you choose to add it). - Put all those in one bowl.

Now clean and dice the bell peppers and place those in a separate bowl.

Take the aubergine out and tap it dry with a paper towel & clean out the bowl - put it back in the bowl clean bowl for now.

Heat oil in a pan (any oil works but olive oil tastes best)

First add the courgette, onion (& garlic) in the pan and cook them until the onions are slightly see through.

When that's done add the bell peppers.

After those are integrated through stirring, add the aubergine.

Let the veggies cook for 5 minutes - keep stirring.

After 5 minutes add the tomatoes, tomato paste, the sugar and whatever seasoning and herbs you want. (I add salt, pepper, rosemary, parsley and tumeric.)

Cook the ratatouille for about 20 minutes on middle heat - don't forget to stirr it every once in a while.

Ratatouille pairs great with:

Rice, pasta or potatoes (I prefer rice).

Simply cook one of these in the 20 minutes the ratatouille needs to fully cook. - Keep it in separate containers, otherwise the add INS suck up all the moisture.

Also, Pasta & Rice Arend good to freeze & it doesn't work with the soup!

If you don't like the texture of cooked veggies, blending them into a soup could be the perfect solution. A friend of mine also has a sensory problem with those textures and she loves this soup. I have the same issue with mushrooms, so I also only eat them in cream soup form.

Sensory issues are way more common than most people think, it's nothing to be ashamed of! <3

So, without further ado, let's get to making the soup!

For the soup you need:

The Ratatouille (without rice, pasta or potatoes)

1 bunch of Parsley

1 Parsley root

1,5 Leeks

1 cup of Cooking cream (250 ml)

I also like to add 2 - 3 carrots, it's not a must though. - That just makes it taste a little different than ratatouille, and I prefer to not have the same tasting food two days in a row! (If you just want to make ratatouille soup right from the start, there's no need to add them at all)

What you gotta do:

Clean and cut/ dice the parsley, parsley root, leeks (& carrots)

While you do that, bring about two and a half cups ow tater to the boiling point.

Add vegetable broth, pepper and the veggies.

Cook until the carrots and parsley root are soft enough to easily poke them with a fork/ toothpick.

Take it off heat and add the ratatouille. [If you youse previously frozen ratatouille leftovers, keep it on heat until it fully unfreezes and heats up too.]

Leave it to cool off a bit before pouring it into a blender to blend it up. - otherwise the blender might leak/ the lid may pop off. [If you use a stick blender, you don't need to let it cool first & can just blend it in the pod you're cooking in.]

After it's pureed to your liking, pour it back into the pot and add the cooking cream (or vegan substitute) and cook under constant stirring, until it begins so simmer.

And now to the toping & side:

I highly recommend to top it with shredded chicken / shredded chicken substitute. - just fry it in a frying pan until it's golden brown. - Make sure to use the same oil you did for the onions & courgette in the ratatouille!

And flatbread with sesame seeds & poppy seeds is amazing to dip it in the soup. - simply heat it in the oven until it's nice and crunchy outside and fluffy inside (ca. 10 - 15 min at 150°C - that's 302°F)

And that's that!

I hope the receipt is easy to follow, if you have any questions just ask in the comments or DMs!

I'd love to see your results if you choose to cook it too! <3

Have fun and good luck cooking!!

#nates foods #nates recipes #recipe #i love soup #soup season #ratatouille #ratatouille soup #sfw interaction only #sfw #sfw agere #age regression #agere

7 notes · View notes

lumine-no-hikari · 10 months ago

Text

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #46

I spent all day today making moussaka! And I told you that I'd take pictures and write to you about it, and so here it is! Today is the day!! So I'm gonna get right to it!!

I started off by rinsing the eggplants and peeling the onions. I always put the papery outer layer and the first fleshy layer into the broth bag, for later use! My husband sliced the eggplants and cut the onions into coarse chunks. I can technically do it myself, but since he's not dyspraxic, he's a lot better at it than I am:

If it looks like a lot of eggplant, that's because it is a lot of eggplant, hahaha! But don't worry; they get a lot smaller once they're baked because the water evaporates out of them.

You have to arrange them on a cookie sheet like this, and then put them in the oven at 400 degrees Fahrenheit for a total of 30 minutes; you flip the slices over halfway through.

This part takes a while because my oven can fit only two cookie sheets at once, and then after they've been baked, I like to use the griddle to make the eggplant slices golden brown and crispy on the outside, like this:

Then, you get a bowl full of eggplant slices that are crispy on the outside, and deliciously gooey on the inside:

In between roasting batches of eggplant, I did the other steps. One of those steps is to use my handy-dandy veggie chopper to turn the onions and a few cloves of garlic into puree for the meat sauce!

I also zested and juiced the lemon; that's for the meat sauce, too!

Once the eggplant is all done, the next step is to cook the onions a little bit - but just a little bit. Then you'll set them to the side in favor of cooking up the ground lamb. Cooking the ground lamb will leave a lot of delicious rendered fat. So you'll scoop out the cooked lamb, and then finish cooking the onions in the fat; as the water from the onions evaporates, the resulting vacuum will cause the onions to soak the lamb fat right up!

After that, you start putting the sauce together. We will use the cans of diced and crushed tomatoes and 2 tablespoons of the tomato paste, and 2 tablespoons of the tomato sauce. We'll stir that up with the onions and the lemon zest and juice. Then we'll add a cup of red wine:

I gotta tell ya, wine in general is GROSS!! But it's really nice when it's used in cooking. A little bit of heat makes the nasty, bitter alcohol flavor dissipate quite nicely, and you're left with a vague sweetness and a weird (but not bad!) grape-ish flavor.

After you let it simmer so it can thicken a bit as the water evaporates, you add the seasonings:

This is parsley, oregano, cinnamon, allspice, and ground cloves! I didn't have thyme yet when I took this picture, but I fetched some later to use.

Anyway, the next step is to add the ground lamb to the sauce! The result is a very thick meat sauce! In this picture, you'll see the sauce and all the seasonings I used in it:

Here, we have our very thick sauce, seasoned with oregano, parsley, thyme, bay leaf, salt, pepper, cinnamon, allspice, and cloves. Yum, yum, yum!!

With the sauce and the eggplant slices ready, we can clear up some space by beginning to assemble the moussaka. You line a baking dish with some parchment paper, and then you put down a layer of eggplant slices:

You follow it up with a layer of meat sauce:

...And then you just keep alternating layers until you run out of eggplant slices and meat sauce. Easy peasy. I stuck it in the fridge once the layers were assembled. Then I began to work on the bechamel.

For that, it's a basic thing. You start with a roux and then you add a kind of cheese to it. I don't have easy access to kefalotyri, and I didn't feel like using parmesan or romano as a substitute, so I used that feta and that halloumi I bought yesterday.

Most feta cheese in my country uses cow's milk or goat's milk. The brand I like to get uses sheep's milk. And the halloumi made by this same brand uses a combination of sheep, goat, and cow milk. Both of them are VERY GOOD!! And it took all my willpower not to just snack on the cheese as I was trying to grate it, but I managed:

Once that was all set, I set it aside and then separated a couple of egg yolks away from some egg whites. I'll use the egg whites to try to make French-style tiramisu in the near future; it'll be good!! We need the yolks for the bechamel:

To begin a bechamel, you gotta add 120 grams of sifted flour to one stick of melted butter, really really slowly. The "slow" part is important, otherwise it gets really weird:

When it looks like the above image, that's when we add 3 and 3/4ths of a cup of milk. But again, this has to be done VERY slowly, or else instead of a velvety-smooth awesome sauce, you end up something lumpy and terrible. I made a LOT of lumpy and terrible sauces before I got the hang of it, hahaha!

Here's how it looks after one cup of milk is incorporated. You gotta drizzle it in slowly, a little bit at a time:

Here it is with 2 cups of milk added:

And here's how it looks after all of the milk is added. This is the part where we add in the egg yolks. We have to make sure that it's not too hot so that the egg yolks don't cook into hardened yellow masses upon contact with the sauce.

Then you add in the cheese. And yes, ALL of that cheese is going into the pot!! Because I am a cheese goblin!! It has been written!! It is known!! Bahahaha! 🤣

From there, you add in nutmeg and white pepper, a little bit at a time, until you can notice their flavors when you taste it. Here is the finished sauce! Isn't it beautiful? It's very, very thick, velvety, and delicious!

From there, we just dump it on our partially-assembled moussaka, it's fine! And the result looks like this:

(yes, we do get to eat whatever sauce is leftover in the pot!! it's delicious!! and if you were here, I'd share it with you, too!! and I'd give you the whisk - everyone should get to lick delicious things off a whisk at least once in their life!)

Anyway! So we take this and stick it in the oven at 350 degrees Fahrenheit until the top is all brown and toasty-looking! Here's how it turned out:

I've been on my feet making this and trying to keep my workspace clean since I woke up this morning, and goodness me, I'm very tired, and this rib injury makes my body hurt a lot, haha! Oh well. I managed to snag this picture of the sunset out of my window while waiting for this to bake. Here, maybe you'll like it:

...And that's the end of today's letter! Because I am thoroughly exhausted, hahaha! I can't wait to share this with my friends tomorrow!

...I really wish you could be here to try it. I know all the very practical and realistic reasons you can't, of course. But maybe somehow my wishes and all these delicious flavors will reach you anyway. Or not. Probably not, haha. But I'll hope for it nonetheless. Maybe something good will happen - if not for you, then maybe for someone else.

Please stay safe out there, okay? Please remember that there is moussaka and people in this universe who would make it for you. Please remember that you are loved and cared for. Please don't do anything that would cause you to be erased from your world. Lots of people need the light of your existence to keep on shining in the way that it does.

I'll write again tomorrow, okay?

Your friend, Lumine

10 notes · View notes