#hawk feeling other emotions other than anger all the time

[bbielski14]

yall ready or what???

[lalunanymph]

𝟏𝟏:𝟒𝟗𝐏𝐌 ─── your husband notices everything about you—even the things you don't notice about yourself

˚୨୧⋆ sylus x wife!reader

˚୨୧⋆ warnings: wife!reader, reader has just given birth a few months ago, jealous sylus!!, pregnancy, implied mentions of a fight, injuries, mentions of b/lood, explicit s/mut, implication of o/ral, teasing, petnames (wife, darling, doll, sweetie), daddy k/ink, breeding, shamelessly self-indulgent AND very selfship-coded :')

Nothing ever escapes Sylus’ attention. 

Other than cunning resourcefulness being his trademark which many associate with ravens—his favorite bird—another marker of your husband’s personality is that like a hawk, he’s acutely aware of everything.

Tonight’s date night after you’ve given birth to the twins didn’t go exactly as planned.

While Sylus was in a convenience store, buying the both of you drinks to whet off the balminess of the summer evening, you were approached by an obviously drunk man who asked if you were here alone.

After countless times of trying (and failing) to convince him that your husband wouldn’t be too happy about his unwanted advances, the man in question whose ring is around your finger appears, tall and imposing.

Safe to say, the night ended with one bloody nose, and a pair of split knuckles, the latter being the ones you were currently patching up. 

Your husband is reclining back against the plush pillows, black dress shirt unbuttoned slightly and showing off the deep divot of his pecs. His face is a mixture of emotions—anger, frustration, possessiveness, a hint of concern. All coalescing into one tense ball he keeps close to his chest as the adrenaline from the encounter with that sleazebag still hums through his veins. 

You stow your phone back into your purse, sighing.

“I've texted Sara to keep the twins for the night. I think we're both too angry and might say or do something rash.” 

His expression softens and he lets out a sigh, the anger and tension slowly starting to ebb away as he gazes at you.

“... that’s good. I wouldn’t want them to see me in this state.” 

You sigh again, picking up his bandaged hands.

“Y’know, I did tell him my husband was a big, scary man, but he still persisted in demanding a date,” you bring your husband’s knuckles to your lips, kissing the contused flesh softly. 

Sylus grunts, rolling his eyes, though his expression softens at your sweet gesture. “Some people just don’t know when to take a hint… so, I had to make a point.”

You scoff, clutching his hands tighter. “Yes. By socking him in the face. Very classy.”

Instead of appearing reticent like a sane person would, Sylus chuckles. “Didn’t see you complaining when you were cooing all over me, patching up like a good, little wife.”

His words make a flash of heat run through you, and you shoot him an exasperated glare. “Well, at least you looked sexy doing it. Punching that asshole in the face. Consider that compensation for tonight’s turn of events," politely, you add, “Thank you for defending my honor, darling.”

He lets out a low chuckle, and wraps his arms around you, pulling you onto his lap. Crimson eyes darken with a mixture of desire and affection, his thumbs rubbing circles on your hips. 

“No need to thank me, sweetie. It’s always a pleasure of mine to defend your honor. No one gets to disrespect you without facing repercussions.” 

You squirm in his lap, hitching a breath when you feel his hands play with the straps of your dress. Slowly, he drags them down, touch hot and insistent as the pads of his fingers graze your bare shoulder.

“Really, Sylus?” You try to look vexed, but the breathlessness his touch incites only fuels him to misbehave further. “Defending me has seriously gotten you all hot and bothered?” 

Your husband grins at your teasing tone, a wicked gleam in his eye as he continues to push the straps of your dress down further, baring more of your skin to his heated stare. His hands continue to explore, tracing over your exposed skin. 

“Hmm. I suppose seeing you in danger… really ignited something in me. Hearing someone insult you and disrespect what’s mine… makes me want to claim you all over again.”

Warmth fills your cheeks, and you fail to fight back a shiver. “T-that doesn’t make any sense.” 

Sylus’ fingers are now trailing your collarbone, tracing the marks he left there from the night before.

“It doesn’t need to make sense, doll. It’s something primal. Seeing you in danger like that… and the look on your face when I punched that idiot senseless… It's titillating. I just want to claim my wife, remind you and everyone else that you belong to me, body and soul and future baby.” 

Heat licks down your spine, and you shudder at his words. 

“F-future baby?” 

Sylus’ hands snake to your bare back, caressing the expanse of skin with soft, ticklish circles. Without warning, he leans in, lips hovering close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

"Yes, doll. Future baby. I'm going to fill you with my seed. Breed you over and over until I'm sure you're pregnant. And in a few weeks, we'll have a mini-us growing in your belly, a physical reminder of my claim on you."

His words are soft and sound almost sweet, but the filthiness in them makes you gasp, involuntarily arching your body into his. 

“Sylus…”

The idea of him claiming you again so boldly after defending you from danger turns you on like nothing in this world can. You know you have much to discuss with him about having another baby, considering you had just given birth to Sabrina and Protus a few months ago. But, in this instance, desire overtakes logic and all you want is to feel your husband deep inside you again. 

His lips are cool when they touch your jugular, trailing down the column of your neck until they reach your heaving chest. 

“Sy…” you whisper, eyes fluttering close. “Stop… teasing me.” 

You want this, he realizes with a jolt. You want this as much as he does. 

He lets out a low chuckle, hands continuing to caress every inch of your skin. 

“Oh, my pretty little doll. It’s not teasing anymore. It’s a promise.” His lips touch your ear, the heat of his breath and words snapping the last of your resolve. “And you know I never break my promises, doll.” 

A whimper slips from your parted mouth. The heat in this room is too much to bear, pressing down on you with the weight of an ocean closing in.

You can barely breathe when you exhale, “Breed me. Please… breed me.” 

Your bastard of a husband grins at your desperate plea, his hands gripping your hips tighter. It’s the predatory confidence of a man who knows he has you completely at his mercy, begging for him to claim you completely. 

“Say it again,” his fingers dance to the hair at the nape of your neck, sinking his fingers into your soft locks and using it to snap your face up to meet his darkened gaze. “Tell me you want me to breed you. Tell me you want to only belong to me.” 

The bite of pain pulls a wanton moan from your trembling lips, and you lose all bearings and composure, giving in to the desire which always leaves you wanting more of him on your knees.

“Oh god... please... breed me, Daddy. Make me yours. P-put a baby inside of me and make me a mama again…” 

Sylus’ eyes darken at your plea, the possessive need flaring in his chest. Those blood-red eyes burn with the desire of keeping and making his promise come true.

“Lay back, sweetie. Go on—there’s a good girl.” His bigger body hovers over you, pressing you into the bed. “Good girl. You're such a good girl, doll. Asking Daddy to breed you, begging to be filled with my seed, to carry my baby. You're mine. Mine to breed, mine to claim. Mine to make you a mommy again."

His words whip through you like an electric shock. You gasp, eyes fluttering and body arching further into his touch. 

“Please… yes…” 

As much as his self-control is reaching its breaking point, he needs to hear the words coming straight from your mouth; his grip on your hips tighten, eyes darkening with possessiveness. 

"You want this, doll? You want Daddy to fill you up—make sure you're pregnant with my baby?"

Your nod is equal parts desperation and desire. You lick your lips, nodding.

“Yes,” your whisper is like a bullet tearing through his chest, leaving it hot and stinging with pure need. “Yes, I want it so badly.”

Sylus groans, your words igniting the unquenchable thirst inside of him to make you his, his, his. 

Tearing the flimsy dress off your frame, he digs his fingers into your hips, mouth leaving a burning trail of kisses and bites across your neck, your jaw, your chest. 

Your hands grapple at his clothing, pulling off his expensive, tailor-made button-down and slacks, reaching into the heart of him to expose him fully to your lustful gaze. 

He sucks and licks on your nipples until they become all puffy and swollen just for him, and the second you tell him you can’t take it anymore, Sylus stakes his claim by sinking inside of you—inch by delicious inch.

Your pretty, milky pink nails stab into his shoulders, dragging down red lines across the pale expanse of his back. Your heels dig into his hips, and the way you’re desperately clinging onto him, makes him wonder if you want to fuse your body as one with his. 

“Sy… Sylus…” 

Fuck. He digs his teeth into the soft flesh of your neck, strong hips snapping forward, giving you one powerful thrust after another. Your walls suck him so perfectly, like you were made for him. 

He fills you up over and over again, until every load becomes more painful. But, you can't get enough. You keen, beg, and cry for more, milking his promise to make you a mama again for what it’s worth.

Hours seem to pass, ravaging passages of time that are marked by more cum filling you; his shuddering, animalistic groans for you take it darling, take it all, take all of me like music to your ears.

Sylus collapses on top of you, breathing hard and red in the face. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, his hand coming to rest gently on your stomach, caressing the soft skin with shaky fingers.

“Mhm… you’ll be the death of me one day, you know that, sweetie?” 

Giggling, you use what remains of your strength to twine your arms around his shoulders. The both of you stay like this for a while, slowly coming down from the high.

Briefly, your hand grazes your belly, and you wonder idly if what he promises has come true—if his seed has already taken.

Sylus, ever keen and observing, chuckles. It’s like he knows exactly what you're thinking. Planting a gentle kiss on top of your head, his voice is low and tender.

“I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you, sweetie. I have a feeling you're already pregnant with my baby."

Your eyes widen, and you give him a shock look. 

Stammering, you say, “How do you know?” 

But, you should know this is Sylus you’re talking about. Mastermind of the N109 Zone. The leader of the most notorious organization alive. 

He’s always two steps ahead of you, seeing what you can’t see, anticipating what you can’t expect. 

Your husband’s palm drifts down to join yours on your stomach, his hand gently resting on yours.

“Call it a lucky guess… or, intuition. A few little signs here and there. Besides, I'm not letting you out of my sight until you confirm it."

His words make your head spin, and you give him a look of reproachful intrigue.

“A… few signs here and there? What are you talking about?” 

Sylus nods, his touch reverent and tender. 

Without caring for your astonishment, he lays down his observations like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Your scent has been different, sweeter, a little intoxicating. Your body is more sensitive, more responsive to my touch. And there's a glow about you, a soft flush on your cheeks, a sparkle in your eyes. It's subtle, but I notice when it comes to you, doll.” 

You gape at him, and without thinking, tighten your grip on your belly.

As if he has a sensor on you, Sylus immediately notices the subconscious gesture.

“Mhm... You've been doing that a lot lately, doll. Touching your belly, caressing your stomach, as if you're already feeling the baby growing inside you. It's adorable, but it's also a bit of a giveaway.”

His tone turns teasing and you flush, flustered beyond measure.

“Wh-what are you? Some kind of werewolf?” You hiss, “How're you so attentive?!”

Your husband chuckles again, amusing himself by brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers gently tracing your jawline.

“It's not a matter of being a werewolf. It's just a matter of paying attention to the woman I love.” His grin turns soft, becoming tender at the edges. “I notice everything about you, doll. Every little detail, every change in your body, every little thing. I can't help it. I can't stop watching you. And you just happen to have a few tell-tale signs right now that are screaming 'pregnant'.”

Pouting, you glare at him churlishly, deciding to challenge him. But, underneath the pomp and bravado is an innate curiosity to see how far your husband’s perception can go.  

“Tell me more then, since I myself don't seem to notice anything.”  

Sylus grins at the sarcasm dripping from your tone, and decides to indulge you. 

“Hmm, you really want to know? Well, here's another one... Your taste has changed, darling. A little sweeter, a little richer. Something I can't seem to get enough of, but it also seems to have gotten stronger lately.” 

You blanch, warmth flushing your cheeks.

“You mean... whenever you eat me out... you noticed my taste? That's...” 

Your speechlessness amuses him, and he chuckles, voice growing deeper, laced with hunger and heat.

“I notice everything about you, remember? Even the smallest changes in your body,” he drawls, glancing at the spot between your thighs. “Especially when it comes to the places I spend the most time on, tasting and exploring... Every. Single. Time.”

He punctuates his words with soft kisses to your neck, flustering you even more.

All you can mutter is a cute, little, “Hmph,” scowling and fanning your cheeks. 

Sylus adores your reaction to his words, and leans in, his lips brushing against your neck, teasing your skin.

“Mhm... why are you scowling at me? Are you embarrassed? Are you... thinking about all the times I've tasted and explored you, doll? I can practically see the memories playing in your head… it's delicious.”

You squeak, slapping a palm to his mouth, feeling like your face is hot enough to explode.

“Sylus!” 

He laughs, though the sound is muffled against your palm. His hand drifts down to your belly again, the gleam in his eyes possessive this time. 

The white-haired devil pries your hand from his mouth, kissing your wrist and placing it back down onto the bed. “Oh, doll. You're just too cute when you're flustered. And it's even cuter when you try to shut me up. It just makes me want to tease you more, Y/N.” 

Emboldened and somewhat foolish, you plaster on your faux confidence, egging him on. 

“Oh, yeah? Well, I think you’re dead wrong.” 

Sylus snorts, finding your foolish certainty endearing. 

“Are you doubting my observation skills? Are you saying I haven't noticed a thing? That I'm not paying attention to the little changes in your body… that I haven't noticed how you're reacting?”

You smirk, nodding. 

“Mhm hmm. I know my body better than you, Sy. You may be my husband, but I’ve been living in this meat suit for years. And I’ll know when I’m pregnant. Besides—” you giggle, enjoying the look of faint amusement spreading across his features. “—I bet you a hundred dollars that if I take a test right now, it’ll come back negative.” 

Sylus cocks a brow, eyes glistening with the challenge. 

You continue, oblivious to his smirk. “My period is due in a week, and I don’t have morning sickness, nor do I have any cravings. Besides, weren’t you the one who said we have to plan our family smarter? Why do you want to be right so badly?” 

Your husband chuckles, enjoying your bold confidence. His grip on your hip tightens, and he kneads the flesh, shrugging. 

“You’re so endlessly fascinating, doll. Yes, I do think we should space out conception times, but I never did say I wouldn't want more babies. Especially when they are living proof of our commitment and love for each other.”

Oh. You swallow hard. When he puts it that way…

But, you’re much too thick headed to give in. 

You cup his cheek, gaze softening, though the spark of a challenge remains in your eyes. 

“Fine. We’ll see who’s right tomorrow.” 

Sylus grabs your hand, enjoying the warmth of your skin with a touch of feral amusement in his crimson eyes. “And if I’m right? What is my reward, doll?” 

Grinning, you tease, “A hundred dollars.”

Your husband tilts his head to the side, as if considering your strange wager.

“... make that a hundred kisses and a dinner, doll. I don’t want your money.” 

Scoffing, you roll your eyes. A hundred kisses and a dinner—that’s easy for you. 

“Fine. We’ll see that I’m right tomorrow, then.” 

Night fades and the next day dawns.

You wake up to an empty bed, sheets rumpled and still warm. Your eyes land upon an innocuous pregnancy kit on the side table, fresh from the store.

Sylus is nowhere to be seen, though you suspect he’s downstairs in the kitchen sipping on a cup of coffee. Not wanting to look like you were chickening out of this bet, you huff and go straight into the bathroom, putting the test to use.

You’re going to win this bet, and Sylus will have to eat his words. There is no way your husband would be correct. All he has is a hunch while you know your body inside and out. 

No singular person in the world, not even the one you share a bed with every night, can claim to predict something as mercurial and unpredictable as a pregnancy which hasn’t happened yet—unless they were a prophet or someone from the world of Dune, you think with a scoff.

The timer goes off and you grasp the test, about to smirk and prance downstairs to show Sylus how far off his observation was, when you come to a hard pause.

“...”

You blink, checking the test and rechecking it again. You look at it closer to the light, scrutinizing the stupid white stick from front to back, wondering if it’s faulty or broken.

A languid knock on the door interrupts your thoughts, and you look up to find your husband leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and an infuriating smirk on his face.

“Go ahead, doll,” he gloats, noticing your reaction, the pallor of shock written all over your face. “Read the result out loud to me.” 

You swallow hard, setting the test down in defeat.

“Impossible.”

But, knowing how competitive your husband can be, he’s not going down without a fight.

“And the result is…?” 

Tossing him a scowl, you throw your hands up in the air, caving in so he can pipe down and just kiss you already. 

“Positive,” you groan, wrapping your arms around him. Sylus responds without a shred of hesitation, grasping your smaller body and holding it tightly to his, secretly elated at this reveal. The ghost of his chuckle brushes your neck.

“Yeah, doll? Say it again. Tell me I’m right.” 

You exhale a watery giggle, tears filling your eyes. The feeling of pure love fills your chest, and you look at him like he’s hung the moon up in your sky.

You’re going to be a mommy again; Sylus has made his promise come true. 

Touching your forehead to his, you breathe in his comforting scent, feeling the softness of his sleeping robe underneath your palms on his chest.

“You’re right, darling. You’re always right,” you whisper, the love you feel for your husband overflowing from your eyes. “It’s positive.” 

Nothing ever escapes Sylus' hawk-like attention, and for that, you love him a little more than you did before.

sydawn lore: we have twins together—a baby girl and a baby boy named sabrina and protus. initially, the scans and tests only picked up sabrina and it was literally on the surgical table when the doctors made a discovery that there was another whole ass baby inside of me (they called it a shadow pregnancy when one twin completely overshadows another) so long story short, we have two babies together with a third on the way :,) ok thx for reading bye !

— reblogs and feedback are seriously appreciated !! thank you all for your support <3

© lalunanymph. do not copy elements of my selfship and reproduce it into your own bodies of work. do not translate and share across on other platforms.

[nepenthendline]

the not-so-good parts about dating them

a/n: I am nothing if not a red flag lover

includes: midoriya, todokori, bakugo, shinsou, kirishima, kaminari, iida, hawks, aizawa

Midoriya -

Midoriya's priority list is '1. everyone' so, sometimes, it's difficult to feel special in his eyes. It's not that he doesn't see you as a top priority, he just often lets himself get caught up with other people and dealing with their problems so you don't get his undivided attention all that often. He doesn't mean to do it at all, but he has missed dates before because he was staying late at work to help his students or got stuck helping out a friend.

Bakugo -

🤨 Aside from his obvious anger issues, Bakugo often struggles to see you as a team and not just individuals. Whenever you argue, he often sees it as a 'me vs you' and not a 'us vs the problem', and he sometimes makes big decisions without talking to you first. He feels like he has to be better than you because he needs to be a provider and a protector, so he tackles issues on his own instead of talking to you and working things through as a team.

Todoroki -

Todokori has no reference to what a 'healthy' relationship looks like, and it terrifies him. All he knows is what, or who, he doesn't want to end up like, and it stops him from taking initiative in your relationship because he's scared of doing the wrong thing. He knows he's not like his father, but he still worries that he's going to end up like him anyway, as if it's fated. Because of this, things move incredibly slowly, and it can be hard to tell that he does love you since he doesn't often make moves or use words to show you. He knows he wants, and needs, to improve though, he just needs some guidance.

Kaminari -

Kaminari struggles with self-sabotage in your relationship - he convinces himself that he's not good enough for you or that he's making your life worse by being with you, and can push you away, cancel dates late minute or act like he doesn't need you. These actions never last long before he snaps out of it, and you're well aware by now of what's going on in his head when he starts acting like this, but he's always convinced he's going to fuck this up. And sometimes, he believes it so much that he does. The guilt eats away at him daily.

Kirishima -

(Absolutely nothing) Kirishima hates showing you when he's feeling down, weak, or 'unmanly'. He bottles up a lot of his negative emotions and thoughts away from you and they gnaw away at him. Its not that he feels like he can't talk to you, in fact sometimes he lets things slip because he feels so comfortable around you, but quickly tries to put a positive spin on his words so that you don't worry. It's more that he feels he shouldn't, and that you have enough things to deal with as it is. He wants to be a safe space for you, so dealing with his emotions is out of the question. He never blows up at you because things get too far though, you just wish he could rely on you more.

Iida -

For the first while in your relationship, it almost felt like you lost your friendship with Iida. The lines between being friends and being a partner were extremely defined to Iida for some time, and he felt that every interaction between the two of you had to be so formally-relationshipy - this meant things such as only spending time with you on pre-scheduled dates, affection felt like ticking boxes on what was 'meant' to come next in a relationship, or not letting you see his deeper, darker times. Things do get better after some time and conversations, but it kinda felt like the first year of your relationship didn't really count.

Shinsou -

Shinsou feels like being with you is the most selfish act someone has ever committed. Sometimes he even thinks that, somehow in a way he doesn't know, he's forcing you to be with him. He feels like you can do so much better than him, but he loves you too much to let you go (not that you would anyway). He thinks that he doesnt treat you as well as you deserve and so he goes overboard to 'make things up to you', when in reality he's the most caring, selfless person you've met. He often brings up the idea of you finding someone else, or that you can cheat on him and he'll stay if that makes you happy, and it breaks your heart every time.

Aizawa -

Aizawa feels like everyone he truly lets in, he has lost, and he is terrified that's going to happen to you. So, he tries to keep his feelings and thoughts for you as surface-level as possible. The problem is that he's terrible at doing that - he has such a big heart and he wants you in every way imaginable, which creates a lot of inner conflict for him. One minute he's telling you everything weighing on his mind and letting himself fall deeper into you, and the next he's keeping you at arms length. He's scared to admit that he relies on you or that he needs you, but he does it anyway and it tears him apart inside.

Hawks -

He lies to you more times that he would like to admit. Well, it's more that he's very good about skirting around a question or situation rather than telling you the truth. There's some things in his life, his past, or his thoughts that he feels are best not being part of your life, and so he will tell you little lies and make adjustments to the truth to fit a narrative that he prefers. He wants to protect you from any negativity or darkness that he can - he knows what going through that feels like and he does not want you to have to feel that too, but mostly, and most selfishly, he's terrified of you thinking he's a bad person because of some actions he's had to take. It can be almost impossible to tell when he's lying or telling the truth because he's extremely open and upfront with other topics.

[dancermk]

HELLO MY FELLOW TRAVELERS!

I, like many viewers, have been completely entranced by Hawk and Tim’s love story in Fellow Travelers. As a mature queer person, this show has been very emotional, and I am deeply invested. (I WILL riot if Tim doesn’t get to die in Hawk’s arms, and know that he is, and has always been, loved by Hawk.) But I digress.

Something that I have been fascinated by are the differing opinions that have surfaced about the characters, especially Hawk. I’m not looking for any arguments here, everyone is entitled to their opinion, and this is simply mine. To me, Hawk falls hard and fast for Tim. He breaks all his own rules for Tim - they topple over like a house of cards.

When we are introduced to Hawk, he’s cold and heartless with the men he hooks up with - they are nothing more than a body to fulfil his sexual needs and desires. He doesn’t do repeats and he doesn’t bring them home. But Tim, he instantly begins returning to, gets him a job, then allows him into his own apartment, etc. When Tim pushes back, Hawk relents further, letting him in emotionally, sharing parts of his past, crossing lines by introducing him to others in his circle, and so on.

Hawk is a traumatised man, carrying guilt and anger and shame, and a bucket load of fear! Yes, he has some internalised homophobia, but interestingly, he’s also extremely righteous about his homosexuality -and I don’t believe he thinks being gay is wrong in any way. (His response to his father is indicative of this).

I can personally say that I’ve never thought it was wrong to be queer, yet I spent much of my life hiding who I was and feeling shame. It’s an odd thing! Perhaps it is that the shame forms purely from what is outside of us, while what is inside of us can love another person of the same sex, knowing it is right and pure. Perhaps these contradictions between self and society are what causes so much pain and conflict?

But back to Hawk. Hawk is undoubtedly most affected by his teenage first love experience. A love that he fucked up through his own fears (fear for many men is unacceptable and a sign of weakness), and now carries the burden of believing he is responsible for their death. Hawk doesn’t allow himself to love again, until Tim. And we see many times throughout the show how much Hawk fears losing Tim. And in the end he’ll have to face that fear. I think that, in part, not attempting to have a life with Tim, is also fuelled by his fear of fucking it up and losing Tim - so it’s easier to just not attempt it! In episode 7, when he loses his son, part of that spiral is Hawk recognising that he can’t really prevent loss, and he wasted his life trying to be something he’s not - still losing his child and Tim along with it.

But Hawk is a survivor! And no one has the right to hate or judge him for it. I don’t think some young people truly understand what it feels like to live in a world where who you love can put you in jail, and destroy your life. I grew up in the 70s/80s and my experiences were bad enough, but I try so very hard to think about what it was like before that! When being queer was a crime and a mental illness! That’s pure terror! And for Hawk, he chose to survive the best way he knew how, and he wasn’t able to change because that’s fucking hard when all you’ve known is living in constant ‘fight or flight,’ and when have chronic trauma and experience collective trauma.

I think in episode 8 we’ll finally get to see Hawk grow - I certainly hope so - because he deserves to be free. Our beautiful Skippy has been free for some time, and while we mourn for the cruelty of a world that would take such a truly decent man, I am glad he got to live freely. Being closeted is the worst kind of suffering- a compartmentalised and fragmented existence where you are never truly whole, and therefore can never be the best version of yourself.

Before I go, I just wanted to also talk about being in a closeted relationship-which I experienced in my youth. I think that Hawk and Tim’s intense and toxic and exquisitely beautiful relationship, in part, arises from this. Because two closeted people in love live their relationship in secret, in a bubble, only in certain rooms, with none of the outside world reflected back at them. It becomes the two of you against the world. It’s so insular. Hawk and Tim literally live their 1950s relationship within two rooms - their apartments. All their memories are held within those walls. And it only belongs to them. They know each in ways that no other living soul does. It’s all-consuming and often unhealthy, but also stupidly romantic.

Anyway, sorry for this long winded post that no one will read and is likely full of grammatical errors because I’m tired! This atheist is praying we get everything we need from episode 8! Acceptance, forgiveness, understanding resolution, healing and a whole lot of love! ❤️

Cheers queers! 🏳️‍🌈

PS Matt and Johnny are exquisite on and off screen and I am so thankful to them for bringing these characters and this story into our lives!

[queerlyvictorian]

Because the question didn’t end up being finished, I want to do my best to explain the rest of the Coven of Elders’s familiars. We all know about Ame’s fox being mischief and selfishness (or impulsivity, depending on how you want to word it) that can interferes with forming and maintaining community. I totally agree with Indri’s polar bear being the predatory viciousness she doesn’t present in polite company.

Mirara’s crow? Crows are known for being sociable, loud, and aggressive. They also have tight knit families and mourn the dead. They’re a lot. That’s not necessarily something a witch of entropy and nothingness would want to internalize.

Gramore’s hawk? Hawks are loyal, quick to anger, and hold grudges. While very forward and intimidating, Gramore doesn’t strike me as necessarily having too short a temper. I would think that strong emotions could infere with the effectiveness of a hunt. The Witch of the Wild Hunt would also have to interact with a lot of predators, and the politics of that could make always holding grudges inconvenient.

Hakea’s boa constrictor? Boas are often docile, slow-moving, curious, and apparently easy to tame. For a witch who is responsible for tending to Orima’s domain, who has to answer to many of the literal forces of nature, I would imagine a certain backbone is required that means that while curiosity and a certain gentleness might sometimes be called for, it would only be in select circumstances.

Anyone who knows more about the temperament of these animals, feel free to chime in with your thoughts? I kept with scientific animal behavior rather than allegorical associations, because these NPCs were created by Brennan “Animals Facts Guy” Lee Mulligan, but one could point out that Hakea having a snake familiar means she’s secretly cunning. Only time will tell if any of this is true, as I don’t have great read on Hakea other than, as @quiddie called her in the Fireside Chat, “Sleepy Time Grandma” lol. We don’t really know many of the witches’ real personality other than Indri, who I think we know pretty well now, despite her having possibly the thickest mask (lol and she’s not the one who wears a literal mask).

[moontheoretist]

"It was true that Anders had been changed by his union with Justice.  But Justice had begun to change him even before that, from the moment of their first meeting.  

Back before Kirkwall, before Hawke, in Blackmarsh near Amaranthine, where the Veil had been stripped tissue-thin by dark magic, Anders and his companions had been thrown into the spirit world, and there they had found Justice.

Anders had, on occasion, encountered other friendly spirits in the Fade.  But those were like shy woodland creatures, fleeting about, silent and inscrutable.  Intelligent in their own way, but preoccupied with matters in which human beings played little part.

Justice was different.  Imposing, undeniable, like something out of a storybook.  Like something out of Anders's own childhood dreams, when he had drifted to sleep in petrified silence each night during his first lonely months in the Circle.

From the beginning, Anders had felt a sort of silent awe in Justice’s presence.  But with time, he realized that what he felt, more than anything, was shame.  

He could see, now, his own veneer of carelessness, of casual disregard, for what it was.  A protective posture.  Armor against the world.  He had long ago learned that selfishness was something to hold onto when cruel experience made believing in anything else too painful.  Selfishness meant that he was permitted to save himself, even if he could save no one else.

But in Justice's presence, all of this, everything of his former life, suddenly struck him as pale and wanting.

There were, Anders knew, certain beliefs that he had always held onto, in a locked away, guarded part of his heart.  That the vulnerable would someday find the strength to unite against their oppressors.  That their oppressors would be cast down and face atonement.  And in Justice, these ideas suddenly stood before him, given form and voice.  They suddenly seemed not only possible, but necessary.

For his part, thrown into the mortal world and confined to the decaying body of Kristoff,  Justice could not help but take note of Anders as well.  It first struck him as odd that a person who burned with such a painful longing for righteousness was regarded by his mortal companions as little more than a charming scoundrel.  Then came the realization that this was intentional on Anders's part - a disguise.  Then, the realization that the disguise was not for others' sake, but for that of Anders himself.

He noted this, for example:  Anders liked to speak about the Circle's cruelties, or the templars who now hunted him, in an attitude of annoyance, glibness, arrogant superiority.  Always masking pain, masking anger.  

When Justice finally named those things in earnest - You were a helpless child when you were taken and caged.  They should never again be allowed to lay their hands on another mage as they did you - Anders looked at him in real fear.  

He was afraid because he knew what this would mean:  to acknowledge that feeling, to face it, to give it weight.  He knew where his desire for retribution would lead him.  

That part - the endgame of all of this - was never in doubt.

But even back then, when Justice was still Kristoff and not yet Anders, his presence at Anders's side was a source of strength, almost intoxicating.  When they fought the templars who had come to recapture Anders, Justice did not hesitate to deliver the killing blow.  He seemed to regard the act as unquestionably right, as no more blameworthy than removing a dangerous weapon from the hands of a child.  

Anders envied this certainty, fed off of it, felt emboldened by it, and desired it for himself.

[...]

Justice was able to recall the first moments of their union in a way Anders could not.  Feeling the different weight and motion of a living body around him, overcome by the blinding flare of a living consciousness, colliding with the surge of conflicted emotion that Anders carried within him, and, finally, merging with the mirrored longing for justice already present there.  More painful than Kristoff, more bewildering, but more ecstatic as well.

For Anders, it was different.  Unconsciousness, panic, a sense of absence, of his body suddenly becoming foreign to him.  The experience of possession.  He was lost for some time, even as Justice worked solicitously to help him find himself again, to lead him back to the surface.  

In the days and weeks that followed, Anders found that all of the old parts of him were still there - memories, desires, fears, faults.  But something had cracked open inside him.  He had a sensation as though his innermost heart were suddenly bared to the world, raw and unprotected."

~ unison by zerodignity

I dislike people who prefer Awakening Anders and sneer at DA2 Anders, not because I dislike Awakening Anders (I didn't play it, so I can't say I dislike him), but because they miss the point of his character, just like the writers of his did. Anders is not a "bipolar terrorist" that was destined to blow up the Chantry in a misguided act of heroism that is actually a villainy. Anders is a person who commits something unthinkable because there was nothing else left. He tried for 7 years to change the fate of the mages and the only thing he got in return were more oppression, abuses and injustice. If he didn't do what he did, if he didn't remove the status quo forcibly, there would be no foundation to build mage's future on. His action was necessary. He didn't start the war, as it was started by the Templars themselves when mages voted for independence from the Chantry, but it had to be done to show that mages have enough of the status quo, that the change needs to happen. Anders before Justice was a man who hated Templars and desired justice, but never could actually pursue it, because his survival was far more important at the time. He acted the way he did, because it was easier, it was a convenient mask to hide behind, so he didn't have to face the reality of his own feelings. Justice changed all that. He allowed Anders to be truly himself. And albeit I mourn his ending in which he lives happily with the Wardens (which was retconned for the sake of DA2), Anders needed this change in himself. He needed this realization that his own survival is no longer the most important, and that he finally can put his anger to good use.

[keigo-takamis-no-1-simp]

Ｈａｗｋｓ Ｘ Ｒｅａｄｅｒ - Ｌｅａｒｎｉｎｇ ｔｏ ｌｏｖｅ: Ｔｈｅ Ｔｒｕｔｈ

TW/CW: INTENSE ABUSE (PHYSICAL AND EMOTIONAL)

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: Hawks x Reader

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: You're too similar to be a coincidence... and the truth finally comes from an unlikely source.

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: ANGST. HURT. PAIN.

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 2485

𝚃𝚊𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @marydragneell, @numblytemporary, @rainycloud858, @theplacetoputfics, @aceofspades190

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝙾𝚗𝚎 / 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚃𝚠𝚘 / 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 / 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝙵𝚘𝚞𝚛 / 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝙵𝚒𝚟𝚎 / 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚂𝚒𝚡 / 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚂𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 / 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝙴𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 / 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙽𝚒𝚗𝚎

It doesn’t take long for your exhaustion to claim you again, and the moment you’re asleep..? 

Keigo slips away, picking up his phone and silently stepping out of the room. His heart is racing, but his mind is faster. This was real. This was proof that you’re really the person he’d assumed you were. His gut- it had been right. He’s an idiot for not connecting the pieces sooner.

He unlocks his phone, stepping onto the balcony and shutting the doors behind him. He types in a familiar number- taking in a shaky breath as it rings. 

At first, he’s almost convinced that they won’t pick up. It just rings, and rings… he pulls the phone away to hang up-

“What..?” A deep, raspy voice comes from the other end, and he quickly brings the phone back up to his ear. Unease settles in his stomach for a moment before dissipating.

“Hey Dabs, uh… I know it’s early, but-” There’s no way to say it but to say it. “I found her.” 

The line goes silent for a moment, and a dark chuckle escapes the male on the other end. “... what makes you think I’ll believe you?” He can’t blame him- it sounds like a fucked up joke. 

But it’s far from that. 

“I had a gut feeling when I met her, and- she knows your name.” Keigo just barely registers Dabi- or Touya-’s breath hitching. “She doesn’t… remember. But she had a dream and said your name. Looked you up, saw the articles where you faked your death-” 

“You’re not fuckin’ with me, are you..” There’s very, very slight disbelief in his tone. It turns into an uneasy chuckle. 

“.. ‘s she with you now?” He hums, and Keigo sighs. 

“Yeah- She’s… still weird about touch. And she still doesn’t cry or smile much.” Keigo exhales, and the line goes silent again as he mulls over his words. 

“... I’ve gotta see this for myself.” The finality in Touya’s voice sends an odd sensation down Keigo’s spine. 

The person they’d grown to care for, the one they’d been convinced was dead and buried- was back. The line goes dead. 

Keigo’s stomach twists. You knew Touya… but not him. It didn’t make sense- he’d met you first. He’d taken you in, given you a place to stay- And it’s pretty damn hard to forget red wings. Were you fucking with him? The more he considers it- the more and more it makes sense. 

The familiar way you looked at him, the way you carried yourself, how you seemed to find comfort in him when you’d been borderline delirious-

You’re fully aware of everything. And you’d been hiding it this whole time. You had to be- there’s no way in hell it’s all coincidence. 

His jaw sets and he heads back inside, feathers bristling. It wasn’t Dabi, it was Touya. Something only they would know. What was this feeling- jealousy? No, he didn’t get jealous. That isn’t the cause for the tight anger growing in his chest, squeezing his heart tighter than it should. 

You’d lied. 

And he didn’t appreciate liars. 

He’d give you a chance to come clean- to admit to pretending not to know him over the last few days. It had been at least three- or was it two? It didn’t really matter. If you knew him, you should’ve said something. Anything. 

He paces in the living room. Maybe dropping hints of the past? Where they met? If he was familiar at all? There had to be a way to get the truth out of you. He isn’t stupid… and he’d get his answer. 

It’s hours later when you wake up again, eyes bleary and… Something’s wrong. 

He isn’t beside you anymore. Your stomach sinks- and you try to force the memories of your fights with your ex out of your head. The weird feeling settling in your stomach is far too familiar for your liking.

 Sitting up, you swing your legs over the side of the bed. You still feel like shit, a little dizzy and nauseous. 

You still feel out of place walking through his apartment. Down the hall, and into the main area.. 

He’s sitting on the couch, fingers laced together and a solemn expression on his face. Your voice comes out soft, unintentionally so. “Keigo..?” 

He jumps a bit, looking back at you. You’re still pale, and you still look extremely weak. It almost makes him feel guilty. Almost. 

“Hey… can we talk for a second?” The look on your face… it’s like this is familiar. Had you done this to other people before? 

“Yeah, um… what’s up?” You approach him cautiously- it’s like you know what’s going to happen.

He forces himself to take a deep breath. Despite hating the commission for the way they trained him… it came in handy sometimes. He didn’t enjoy manipulating people. But to get the truth? 

He’ll do what has to be done. 

“I’m just thinking- we haven’t talked much about what it was like growing up. Figured since I’d be livin’ with ya, it wouldn’t hurt to get to know you,” He gives you a light grin, but there’s more to it buried beneath those amber eyes. 

This isn’t to ‘bond’, there’s a purpose to this. An ulterior motive. Not that you knew that.

“Oh, um… ok,” You swallow, slowly coming to sit across from him. The door is a few paces away- but his feathers would be faster.

“You said you were quirkless, right? What about your parents?” He hums, head tilting to the side. He’d met your sister- He hadn’t even known you had one. How much more were you hiding? 

You dip your head in agreement, finding yourself messing with your nails. “My father wasn’t around much, and- my mother… we had our disagreements, but it was relatively ok,” Despite your memories and beliefs lining up with your words, something didn’t feel right about it. Like something is missing

He hums, wings twitching a bit. “My old man didn’t want me around, and my mother pretty much tolerated me. It was… a messy situation.” He has a somber smile tracing his lips. It’s… oddly comforting to know he’s had poor family experiences too. 

Your brows twitch inward for a moment, and you frown. “I’m- sorry to hear that. If it means anything, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me. You weren’t a mistake.” He falters.

For a split second guilt flashes over his features. It sends a bolt of discomfort through you. Was this more than just… him wanting to get to know you? Your gut was usually right- and you had a bad feeling it would be on this too.

“I- appreciate that.” He gives you a small smile. “.. you said you had some issues with your mom?” 

“Yeah, uh- she and I fought a lot. She definitely had some favoritism. But she did still take care of me, so I can’t complain too much.”

It looks like he wants to say something- but he decides against it. 

“I see… typical arguments?” He rests his hand on his palm. There’s something off with his tone. Why? Were you pissing him off? You’re being honest.. Your memory is hazy, and you have no idea why. It’s not like you’re lying to him.

“Mostly, um… she didn’t like how close I was to my siblings, but I don’t really remember a lot. It was a while ago,” You shrug, and… he snaps. Maybe it's because it’s a blatant lie in his eyes. Maybe it’s the way you said it- 

“Ok- I’ve been trying to be patient but I gotta know. Are you fucking with me?” He looks up at you, his golden eyes hard. It sends a bolt through your body. You knew that look. You knew what it meant. 

“I- I’m sorry, what?-” You exhale, trying to maintain your composure. This wasn’t your ex… this was Keigo. He’d been nothing but kind- what made him suddenly turn on you? 

“Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I mean.” He groans, wings flaring a bit. That, mixed with the irritated clicking sound coming from him makes you flinch. 

“I- Keigo, I don’t-” You start, and he stands up, striding over to you. Grabbing your chin, he forces you to look at him. 

You immediately freeze. For a moment- you don’t see him. It’s Junichiro, looking down at you with a sadistic smile. You hear his voice- 

“You’re a shitty liar.” 

Your heartbeat starts to race. The feeling of his hands on your face, mixed with his tone and words- 

Your chest feels tight. This can’t be the same person- your head begins to throb, growing more and more excruciating-

A sudden sting blossoms over your right cheek. “All you do is whine.” Your ex snaps. In a moment of rage- you move to push him away. 

He grabs your wrists with one hand, and grips your chin. He then forces your gaze up to his. His eyes are dark. Your lips part but nothing comes out- oh god… 

You fucked up. 

“I could break your nose if I wanted to. And if you try to pull that shit again I’ll break your jaw.” Your breath hitches in your chest. It’s not a threat, it’s a promise. 

He’s touching you. Your whole body stays tense, and you can’t tear your terrified gaze off of him. 

“There’s that beautiful expression… you always look like a doll. A pathetic little thing, really,” He chuckles darkly. 

“Let me show you who’s really in charge here, sweetheart… cause it sure as hell ain’t you.”

He shoves you against the back of the couch, straddling you. Your heart is pounding against your ribs, racing faster than it’s ever gone before-

He has a wicked smile on his face. “I could always just break this pretty little neck of yours instead-” 

His hand lashes out, closing around your throat. You choke, hands reaching up to claw at his forearms and wrists. 

You can’t breathe. 

“All it would take is just a little movement. I wouldn’t miss you. Nobody would.” He sneers, leaning so close to your face you can feel his hot breath. He reaches over to the ashtray, flicking the ash off the end. 

Then… everything slows down. 

You can see it- the cigarette. It’s still smoldering, inching towards you. 

You try to wrestle your way out, but he’s got you pinned by your neck. You cough as he presses down harder, cutting off your air supply. 

Your eyes widen, and- 

A burning, white-hot pain sends your vision white, and forces a scream from your lips. He just laughs. 

Twisting the cigarette into your skin further, he just chuckles. It’s a callous, soul-crushing sound. “You gonna cry now? C’mon- let me see those tears.” His voice drops. 

“No wonder nobody likes you. You can’t feel, you don’t cry, you don’t laugh. You’re nothing more than a fucking doll. And no one is ever going to love you like I do.” He growls, eyes darkening. “This is what love will always be for you. Never forget that.” 

Your vision is going black, and you try to cough and gasp for air, but nothing comes in or out. Your grip has weakened considerably. 

He leans in and whispers into your ear. “None of this would’ve happened if you didn’t exist.” 

“Are you even listening to me?” 

“[Name]-”

“[NAME]-”

“NAME!” 

You jerk back, your heart pounding in your chest. Scrambling past him, you push him out of the way. 

Get away- you had to get away. 

He moves to grab your arm, and you whip around. His expression falls. 

“W-wait-” He starts, but you’re already out the door. Bare feet slap against the wood on the floor, and there’s a sense of growing dread. 

You were right. This was too good to be true. 

Glancing at the elevator- no. You’d take the stairs. Go through another floor, then take the elevator. Make it less predictable- As you near the end of the hall, you run into the chest of a male. 

You practically jump out of your skin, and-

“He wasn’t kidding..” A deep, raspy voice. He- he’s familiar. How is he familiar? 

The face from your dream comes to mind. “Touya..?” You whisper, almost breathless. Keigo’s footsteps echo down the hall, and you whip around. 

“This isn’t something you can just run away from.” He seethes, stalking towards you- a predator hunting prey. 

You’re trapped. 

“You know what you’re doing. You know that you’re fucking with me- you remember everything, don’t you? Where the fuck did you go? I can see it in your eyes. You know more than you’re letting on, and I’m done letting you toy with me,” His pupils are practically black. 

You take a step back, heart pounding out of your chest. You’re fucked. You’re totally fucked. 

I wouldn’t miss you. Nobody would.

No wonder nobody likes you. You can’t feel, you don’t cry, you don’t laugh. You’re nothing more than a fucking doll. And no one is ever going to love you like I do.

This is what love will always be for you. Never forget that.

None of this would’ve happened if you didn’t exist.

A voice tears you from the memory. 

“Listen- I ain’t a fuckin’ saint, but look at her. She’s fuckin’ terrified- and I’m supposed to be the asshole outta the two of us. Back off. Let her talk.” 

He growls, taking a step towards Keigo. Keigo just huffs, eyes narrowing. “You don’t understand- she said almost everything right.”

“If she says she doesn’t remember the details, she doesn’t. If you went through all that shit you woulda repressed it too. I know I sure as hell did.”

Keigo huffs, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Touya- He looks different than the kid you dreamt of. Now, piercings line the scars on his body. 

You swallow hard, your chest constricting. 

“... My memories, they- they’re all really fuzzy for the most part up until a few years ago-” Your words come out rushed, tripping over yourself as you try to diffuse the situation. 

“You look familiar but I don’t think I’ve- I’ve met you, either of you, before-” You plead, your eyes flicking to Touya’s. There’s… a bit of pain in those sapphire pools. 

“Please, you have to believe me-” anxiety and pain were the two emotions you could show.. and they were more than just visible. 

Keigo’s expression softens, and he sighs, running a hand down his face- then through his hair. “Damn it…” He murmurs, and Touya hums in thought. 

“Listen…” His voice is low, raspy and rough. “Did they ever take you to the doctors around the time things get fuzzy?” 

You nod, and he glances up at Keigo before he speaks. His next words bring a new emotion forward. 

Rage. 

“Your mother had your memories erased.”

[mushupork4u]

Lovers Point

(Benjicot BlackWood)

•Even if they’re enemies, they belong to each other, years fighting against the others house and customs, just for it to fall apart, because she looks at another man the same way she looks at him. Angry and bitter, but what else is behind those eyes.

(ANGST)

Benjicot had caught Cecelia at a rough time, chest heaving as she beat her sword against a tree, upon voicing his opinion, she had turned her attention on him instead.

He stood at the edge of Red Fork, his sword heavy in his hand. The years of fighting had taken their toll, but it was not the battles that wearied him.

It was her.

She was his enemy, yet she was more than that. She belonged to him in a way that transcended the war between their houses. Every clash of their swords, every heated exchange of words, had bound them together in a twisted dance of fate.

But now, as he watched her from a distance, he saw her eyes linger on another man. One he recognized as one of Aeron Brackens lap dogs.

The same fiery gaze she reserved for him was now directed at someone else. Anger and bitterness surged through him, but behind those emotions lay a deeper pain, a fear of losing the one person who truly understood him.

His body stopped, her attention completely on the other male. The Blackwoods were not immoral, he wouldn’t hit her if she was distracted.

"Why do you look at him that way?" He demanded, his voice trembling with barely suppressed rage.

He tried to relax, his brown eyes softening as he watched her like a hawk, her searing gaze burning into another man’s back.

People were watching, he knew that, he knew her brothers were around somewhere, and yet they played with clashing swords, and rage filled glances and rough yet loving touches.

She turned to face him, her green eyes flashing with defiance. "What does it matter to you? We are enemies, remember?"

Her voice is bitter, a reminder that this is just a game, just a second in time until somebody really claims that throne and that one day, it will happen, and all of this would be like it never existed.

"We may be enemies, but you belong to me," He growled it, promised it like an oath, but they kept each other like a secret.

Benjicot felt as though he couldn’t breathe, rugged breaths leaving his chest as he stepped closer. "We've spent years fighting each other, and now you look at him the same way you look at me. Why?"

Cecelia’s expression softened for a moment, then hardened again. Calloused hands pushed her braids out of her face, and she shook her head. "Because, despite everything, I see something in him that I see in you. Strength. Passion. A fire that burns just as fiercely."

He clenched his fists, struggling to contain the storm of emotions raging within him. Benji had always known that their connection was dangerous, a double-edged sword that could cut them both. But he had never imagined that she would find that same connection with someone else.

The thought of her sharing the same intense bond with another man was unbearable. It felt like a betrayal, even though he knew it was irrational.

They were enemies, after all. But in his heart, Cecelia was more than that. She was his equal, his match, the one person who could challenge him and understand him.

The male looked up at her, brown eyes glazed in something deep, sorrow, disappointment, pain. "Do you love him?" His asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She hesitated, wild green eyes searching his face. She didn’t want to hurt him, it’s the last thing Cecelia wanted, but here she was.

"I don't know," She admitted. "I don't know what love is anymore. All I know is that when I look at him, I feel something. But it's not the same as what I feel when I look at you."

"Then what do you feel for me?" Benjicot pressed, his heart pounding in his chest, if felt as though it was trying to rip through his ribcage and skin.

"I feel anger," Cecelia admitted , her voice trembling. "I feel bitterness. But behind those emotions, I feel something deeper. A connection that I can't explain. A bond that goes beyond our enmity."

Her words cut through him like a knife. He had always known that their relationship was complicated, but hearing her admit it out loud made it real in a way that he wasn't prepared for.

He had spent so long defining himself by his hatred for her and her house, but now he realized that his feelings were far more complex. He couldn't deny the bond that they shared, even if it was forged in the fires of conflict.

And now, that bond was threatened by another man, someone who could offer her something that he couldn't.

"Why him?" He asked, his voice breaking. If felt like a dagger cut through her ribs, she’d rather it. "Why not me?"

Cecelia looked at him with a mixture of sorrow and resignation. "Because you and I are bound by our past. By the bloodshed and the hatred. He is a chance for something new, something untainted by our history."

"But we belong to each other," He instigated it, his voice so quiet and strained that she felt doubt cloud in her head. He took a step forward and she took one back, they were watching. "You and I, we are two sides of the same coin. We can't just walk away from that."

It hurt, but she swallowed the pain, the sobs that wanted to rip through her chest. She sniffled, wiping at her face, hoping her eyes conveyed that this was not what she wanted.

She wanted to cry, to just walk up to him and kiss him, what would everybody do, look on in confusion, or would it be war?

Over a kiss.

"I know," She whispered. "But sometimes, belonging to each other isn't enough. Sometimes, we need to find our own path, even if it means letting go of the one person who understands us the most."

Benjicot watched Cecelia walk away, his heart breaking with every step she took. He knew that their bond would never truly be severed, but the pain of losing her to someone else was almost too much to bear. As he stood alone on the Ted Fork, he realized that their story was far from over.

They were enemies, they were lovers, and they were bound together by a destiny that neither of them could escape.

[yanderecrazysie]

What about a darling who had a quirk that was affected by her emotions like if she gets mad she might just burn the house down or if she is sad it will start to rain something like pepa's gift.(Hawks,Shoto,Bakugou) please (≧▽≦)

Okay ngl I didn’t know what pepa’s gift was (haven’t watched Encanto and I think that’s what it’s from) but I looked it up and I incorporated it in to the best of my ability!

Pairings: Hawks x Reader; Shoto x Reader; Bakugou x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, bullying, imagine if reader accidentally killed them when angry lmao win-win

Summary: Your quirk is affected by your emotions. How will your yanderes deal with that?

Notes: These are separate headcanons for each of the 3 characters.

TAKAMI KEIGO (HAWKS)

Hawks first notices you when he’s out patrolling the streets. The sky is as sunny as your smile and he simply returns a grin, checking you out a little while doing so.

It’s not until the next day that he really notices you, though.

It’s storming so hard that he’s having trouble flying- but only in an isolated part of the city. Everywhere else is calm, so it must be someone’s quirk, he thinks.

When he flies into the heart of the storm, he expects to see a villain. Instead, he finds you, sobbing into your hands and curled up on the dirty cement.

You cheer up immediately when you see him, a famous pro hero, and the storm clears almost immediately. Sun peaks through the dark clouds until they cease to exist, all because of him.

He’s honestly flattered. More than flattered, really. It’s almost addictive, the knowledge that he’s the one that calmed your storm.

You tell him about the villains that held you at gunpoint and stole your purse and he’s so seething mad that he’s surprised a storm hasn’t appeared over his head.

He’s rougher than he needs to be when he catches the villains. They’re in rougher shape than usual when he hands them off to his sidekicks.

He goes back to check on you, see the look on your face when he hands you back your purse and tells you that those villains won’t be bothering you again. You’re smiling so brightly that it makes his knees weak.

You don’t leave your house often, but when you do, he’s your eye in the sky. He even blows off some of his scheduled patrols to watch over you.

Every time that something is off with you- be it a lightning storm or just a slight sprinkle of rain, he feels a need to know just what it is that upset you, and to somehow fix it and bring the sun back into your life.

He wants to be your sunshine, the constant factor to keep that beautiful smile on your face and the clouds far away.

He begins to feel jealous that others make you happy. Angry that you have friends. Furious when someone flirts with you.

He’ll keep trying to make you happy and do his best to drive others off without upsetting you.

After all, he’ll always know how you’re feeling just by looking at you.

TODOROKI SHOTO

When Shoto first met you, he thought you had a fire quirk. After all, you were quite literally burning with righteous fury.

It took a long time of observation for Shoto to realize that you weren’t some secret long-lost Todoroki child and that your quirk was something else entirely.

He watched as you cried literal rivers when you were sad, turned fire engine red across your entire body when you were embarrassed (even your clothes turned red!), and, yes, created tall flames whenever you were angry.

Somehow, he felt like he could relate with you a little, when you had a quirk related to fire, but there was one thing he couldn’t match.

You were so expressive.

Not just quirk-wise, no. Your facial expressions and body language always matched whatever your quirk was doing, and Shoto almost wished he could do the same.

But he was awkward, had trouble expressing his emotions. The only emotion he expressed well was anger, and that’s the emotion that gave you fire.

A connection, perhaps?

Fate?

Shoto longs to grow closer to you, but he settles for watching you every time he’s home. After all, you are his neighbor.

He likes to see your fury fire a little too much. Maybe that’s why he’s always instigating issues with you.

Sneaking into your house and stealing things he knows you’ll need just to see frustrated flames spread up your back while you tear your home apart looking for it.

Throwing things into your yard to watch your hair light up as you angrily snatched the trash off the grass, muttering about “stupid litterers”.

It’s not right for him to enjoy seeing you with a negative emotion so much, but he can’t help it. A sick part of him feels like he can relate most this way.

And Shoto just can’t stop himself.

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

You were always a sight to behold when you were feeling any way other than neutral.

Bakugou liked all of your emotions, if he were to be honest to himself for once. He would never admit that aloud, of course.

You glow brighter than the sun when happy, nearly blinding him with your otherworldly beauty.

You burst into flames when you’re angry, the flames always lighting up your features in the most flattering of ways.

And when you were sad? You cried fountains of water while you drooped like a wilting flower, shrinking a little and looking frailer than ever before.

Would you believe that sadness was Bakugou’s favorite of your emotions?

Sure, you were beautiful when happy and got him pumped up when angry, but when you were sad?

He just wants to scoop you up in his muscular arms and feel your now-tiny form in his own.

He wants to wipe your tears away until they trickled off and no longer spouted wildly from the corners of your eyes.

He wanted to cheer you up a little, to watch you turn from a wilted little flower into a lightly-glowing, sheepishly-giggling mess.

He likes your sadness so much that he finds himself saying terrible things to you, just to watch that transformation.

He feels guilty after saying and doing awful things, to be the cause for your sadness.

But to see you shivering and sobbing below him?

Worth it every time.

[chalkrevelations]

if you don't want to talk about this further, just ignore this of course, but have you seen pond's fucking instagram post about build? (without saying his name of course) i know automatic translations can be wonky, but overall, he is making it all about himself and his feelings, STILL "both sides" the whole thing, and throws in a "watch the new ep of our show" (you know... the one they took away from build) at the end. the audacity that man has is just beyond comprehension. i truly hope karma will do its thing and ruin the company and that man's life.

Hi, Anon. I. Hm.

I went back and forth a couple of times on whether I actually did want to respond to this. I have a lot of feelings and opinions about Pond and about BOC under his direction that I’ve rarely spoken about so publicly (although I have some suspicions, for Reasons, that some things I’ve said in semi-private spaces have been spread further than those spaces). I'm very aware that I'm at a cultural and linguistic disadvantage when I try to evaluate anything about Pond or BOC and that I'm therefore working with limited information. But I don’t think it’s a big secret I’m not a fan of Pond’s. From what I’ve seen, I think his behavior has been deeply problematic and unethical, and not just in relationship to Build’s situation - although the way he’s tried to portray himself as peacemaker during this whole debacle with Poi has certainly only exacerbated my negative impression. The best I can give him is that maybe he’s unaware of his own unctuous self-centeredness? So, while it would be gross and skeevy that he would 1) make something as serious as this all about himself and his own feelings, and 2) use it as a mercenary chance to flog his latest BOC property despite the fact that property no longer has anything to do with Build, I wouldn't be surprised by it.

Personally, I'm sorry that I gave him and his company the benefit of the doubt for as long as I did. Like many other people, I bought into the “big happy family” fan service for a while, before eventually accepting that it was just as much fan service as any branded pair, so, mea culpa on that front, right? But I think too many people didn’t and haven’t realized or accepted that, and that Build in particular has paid an out-sized price for it - including when people have put the blame on him for the cracks in the facade, especially in misplaced anger and outrage over the “leaked” DMs that threatened the happy found-family narrative BOC was selling and that fans want(ed) to believe.

I think Pond and BOC have been very good at manipulating fan sentiment into believing their self-imposed Hero Edit and self-promotion as industry disrupter, despite evidence to the contrary that goes back as far as the filming of KPTS, when Poi and Yok got away with sexually and otherwise harassing multiple cast members, including a teenaged Barcode. It extends through leveraging Barcode’s and other cast members' emotional response to Jeff’s departure to provide a show for a live concert audience, and forward to a reality show in which a bunch of young wannabe actors were pressured into exposing their worst moments, on television, for prurient viewer interest. Setting up Apo, of all people, to hawk skin lightener was a terrible thing to do and makes everyone involved a worse human being.

So, no, I wouldn't find this latest skeevy behavior surprising. I don’t know what Build’s hopes and plans are, as far as regaining a domestic career, and he's always seemed, publicly at least, to be far more forgiving of Pond than I would be in his position. I don't know if that's personal, cultural, or professionally rooted. But I personally hope Build has enough resources to allow him to avoid getting involved with Pond again, given the way Pond and BOC have treated him – from folding to a ginned-up harassment campaign so that Build was kept out of the public eye precisely when VP was airing/trending (funny, that), through leaving him to twist in the wind from the time of Poi’s first salvo of plagiarism accusations - which BOC apparently couldn’t be bothered to respond to, even though it was one of their properties at issue - to Pond standing around for a year and a half with his hands in the air like a bystander while Nong Poi publicly curbstomped someone who Pond claimed was a friend and part of his work "family," before sad-facing for the press about how hurtful it was that Build decided to leave the “family” that had publicly damnatio memoriae’d him.

Anyway, that's really more time and emotional spoons than I want to spend on Pond or his company - tbqh, they're one reason I'm semi-hiatusing at this point - so I'm likely done talking about them after this. But as usual, once I start, I talk forever, so here this is.

[bbielski14]

i truly can’t believe this is the last season.

i’m so excited to get them back on my screen.

and i hope yall are ready to discuss this show once again.

i promise to wait before posting any spoilers 🫡

see ya on the other side lmaoo (of part 1)

in case you need it:

Part 1: July 18th

Part 2: November 15th

Part 3: TBA in 2025

[gemini-sensei]

What if Alexopoulos!Reader doesn't tell anyone who her baby daddy is?

Part One | Part Three Coming Soon

Because I feel like it, I'm going with cottagecore!Alexopoulos for this. @sensei-venus

Reader was relieved when her brother and mother weren't upset that she was pregnant. She didn't wait too long to tell them, but didn't want to do that alone. Luckily, Moon was by her side the whole time. She held Reader's hand through the whole time, rubbing her back when she needed to take a deep breath and helped her keep her head up.

As soon as she heard the news, Sophie Alexopoulos went to her daughters other side and hugged her. Reader cried on her shoulder as she apologized, knowing this wasn't easy for her single mother to hear. But Sophie just shushed her and told her not to be sorry, but Reader still cried because she was so uncertain.

Demetri was speechless. Of all the people he thought would have a teenage pregnancy, it wasn't his little sister. He was a mix of emotions in the moment; confusion mostly.

He was the one to ask who the father was and watched his sister burst into wailing sobs. As their mom and Moon had to calm her down from almost hyperventilating. His confusion soon turned to anger, understanding that someone had seriously hurt his sister and from that moment forward, he knew better than to ever ask again.

That's how things started, eventually leading to Moon joining her for appointments and shopping trips. She stays close to Reader at school and keeps her away from any karate drama happening, keeping her best interest in mind. Demetri becomes far more protective over his sister, and as they tell their friends about the pregnancy, so do they.

With them, so close, they notice things, like how she never wants to go out. It's never because she sick, she never gives them that excuse. "I just don't feel like it," she'll tell them and they're apprehensive to leave her at home.

When at school, she avoids certain hallways altogether. She doesn't want to eat in the cafeteria anymore. She's excused from gym class, but has the option to go outside with her class on nice days and won't. She tucks herself away in the library and hopes to not be found, but Sam or Robby or Moon always end up finding her.

Her big sweaters hide her growing belly. No one expects the bumb under the pale and creamy colors, behind the mushroom embroidery and charming overall dresses or long skirts.

The more she hangs out with Moon, the more their styles compliment each other. Moon takes her out shopping for maternity clothes as that time draws nearer, but Reader doesn't like any of the typical stuff. So they shop around at thrift stores until they find some things within her style that are just bigger and just right for a baby bump.

Reader doesn't talk a lot, which is odd when she's with her friends. Around new people, sure, but even with her own brother, she's quiet. They're usually so close, but ever since this started, she's been a little distant with everyone.

One day, the coach tells Reader she can't sit inside anymore, that the sun will be good for her and the baby. She makes Reader dress in her gym uniform and it's the first time her belly has been put on full display. Her shirt is tight around her whole torso, her belly peeking out at the bottom.

So when she walks outside, Hawk sees her. He sees the way her shirt is pulled taut over her belly, thinking about how she looks so different than he's used to seeing her. It's so obvious to him and everyone else there that she's pregnant. And as she takes a seat, he knows it's his baby growing in her belly.

He forgets everything and starts walking over to her, but she spots him and tenses up. Her hand goes to her belly and she starts breathing hard. Moon, who is close by, sees and hears her stressing out. She rushes over and sits beside Reader, trying to calm her down.

"Hey, whats wrong? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?"

Hawk stops, frozen in his tracks. He's bot far from the pair, able to hear Moon's gentle voice as she simultaneously rubs Reader's back and belly. She's nurturing and calm, but Reader is staring Hawk down, but only until Moon follows her gaze and sees him. She puts her head down and Hawk feels ashamed, thinking that he's done something very wrong if the girl having his baby doesn't want to see him or talk to him or even be near him.

And he knows the baby is his. He just knows it because Reader is loyal and kind and only has a few close friends.

He's heartbroken as he watches Moon stand with Reader and walk her away from him, the look on her face cross and rather unfriendly. It's odd coming from her, but it's obvious him her first priory is Reader and getting her away from him.

Moon doesn't ask what happened again. So long as Reader and the baby are okay, that's all she cares about. She just assumed Hawk's edge and attitude are threatening to Reader. After all, it isn't a far fetched idea given his rivalry with Demetri. So she doesn't talk about it, instead focusing on soothing her mind, using breathing exercises.

As Hawk watches them from afar, he can't help but feel jealous. That should be him either Reader, holding her hand as they sit in the grass field and talk aoftly to each other. Instead, he's yards away made to watch because he knows he's fucked everything up.

After school, Moon takes Reader to her next appointment. They're going to find out if the baby is a boy or girl, so she treats Reader to a little afternoon lunch to satisfy her cravings, then they're off to the doctor's office.

As they're sitting in the waiting room, Moon is gushing and fussing over Reader's belly. She has one hand on her belly the whole time, feeling the baby squirm around. She talks to the baby in a cutesy voice, which makes Reader smile as she watches. Reader just stays quiet and holds her belly, but greets the nurse that calls her back.

She's a excited to find out what the baby is, bjt a little nervous too. She doesn't know what she wants it to be, but knows she'll be happy with whatever her squirmy little baby is. So when she's up on the table with her belly slathered with gel and Moon holding her hand, she's antsy. She can't seem to sit very still and she wants to know already, a little more than a little impatient.

When they learn she's having a little girl, Moon squeals and hugs Reader. The technician thinks they're a couple and congratulates them, making the girls become a little flustered. They don't correct her for calling them a "happy couple" and she leaves. Moon helps clean Reader up, then they leave and they go to the baby store for clothes.

"Go crazy," Moon tells Reader as she grabs a basket. "It's on me."

Reader doesn't want to spend too much money, but as they go through the store, she finds cute dresses and shirts and onesies. Flower patterned dresses and little frilly socks, daisies and snails on top of sage green and cream colored clothes. Before she knows it, she and Moon have filled up two shopping baskets. They have everything imaginable in their hands and as they're checking out, Moon can't help watching the way Reader smiles.

She takes Reader home and helps her put away the clothes, folding them and putting them into the little dresser she has for the baby. Reader has split her bedroom in half to share with the baby, a little crib set up opposite of her bed, a bassinet right beside her bed for the first few months of her baby's life, and a new dresser that's perfect for all the baby clothes. It's not a lot, but it's a good start, and for the room that she has to work with, it's great.

Read and Moon are sitting on her bed, just talking about how cute the baby will be wearing the new onesies they brought. It's lots of giggles and sweet whispers, as if they're hiding a secret from anyone else around. As the baby starts to squirm again, Moon rubs Reader's bump and talks soothingly to the baby.

"Getting your daily exercise in, huh? Are you trying out yoga in there or is it a dance party?" she asks with a giggle.

It makes Reader laugh and it's the happiest anyone has seen her in weeks. She leans onto Moon, resting her head on the other girl's shoulder as they rub her belly in small circles.

"She's gonna be a cutie, just like her mama," Moon says softly.

Reader's cheeks turn hot and she hides her face in Moon's shoulder. "I'm not all that pretty..."

Moon lifts Reader's head with a gentle motion, holding her chin sweetly. "You're very beautiful, Reader, whether you see it or not. Inside and out."

Reader feeling her heart start hammering in her chest. It's the first time in months someone has ever said such lovely things to her and she can't deny that she also thinks Moon is beautiful. She takes a quick glance at her lips before looking back into her pretty eyes. Moon's smile widens and she leans into Reader, pressing a sweet and simple kiss to Reader's lips.

When she pulls away, Reader leans in to follow, but leans back again shyly. Moon laughs softly and it's like listening to an angel. She kisses Reader again, longer this time but still as sweet. Their arms come to wrap around watch other and they moan softly into one another's mouths. Then they're laying on the comfortable bed and just holding each other while making out. Moon rubs Reader's bump gently, showing her she likes all of her no matter what.

It's tender and sweet, beautiful, and for the first time in a long time, Reader truly feels wanted.

[legoprime]

Since apparently I'm doing this backwards, last set of designs is Renan Surana! This is the most I've ever drawn of him, so I hope y'all enjoy meeting the angry Warden.

Avery Hawke | Lorenn Lavellan

Thoughts under the cut:

Renan has a hard time showing emotions, one of the many side effects of being an elf in the Circle since he was five. A subdued, well behaved mage draws less attention than others.

Once he was out the emotion he learned to express the easiest was anger, though only his companions remember this side of him. Everyone else thought he was perfectly cordial. (It was blood magic.)

He began wearing heavy armor after becoming an Arcane Warrior, and continued this through his time at Vigil's Keep. He's also made small efforts at times to keep his hair cut, but it varies year to year.

Vigil's Keep... was not a good time for him. When you're 19 and your girlfriend leaves you and you realize, shit, you actually have feelings for her, and also she's carrying your child and you never even considered having children before because you were a Circle mage all your life, AND on top of all that you suddenly have to manage an entire Arling with no experience, well, it doesn't put you in the best headspace. He drank a lot that year, got a lot more bold about the blood magic, and found out people care more about the bad decisions you make when it isn't the middle of a Blight. (The armor he's wearing here is a custom set Wade made for him from the Sentinel armor.)

The years after he left Vigil's Keep were the best of his life, living with Morrigan and learning how to be a father. Kieran helped him soften quite a bit, and he actually knows how to smile now sometimes. His arms are heavily scarred from all the blood magic and he tends to keep them covered around others, though I imagine when they were alone exploring the Crossroads neither really cared what they were wearing (if anything).

Renan left to research a cure because he began hearing his own Calling a few years before the Breach. He's studied with Avernus and is talented enough with blood and blight magic to stall the effects in himself, but it's slowly been becoming more noticeable. His pallor and resting bitch face make him intimidating to approach, but he's reasonably friendly towards other researchers so long as they don't waste too much of his time.

I honestly don't know where he is now, since Bioware definitely isn't done with Morrigan and whatever they do with her is going to affect him. Ideally he found a reasonable enough cure and they're back together now, though even if they're apart I like to imagine they still see each other often through the Eluvian network. Providing someone (Solas) hasn't locked them both out of it.

[vintagehellfire]

All For Show | E.M

musician!Eddie x showgirl!reader

summary: 1955 New York City, where dreams come true. You get to dance and perform for crowds every night, bringing in good money for yourself and for daddy’s jazz club. The regulars love you, the women envy you, and the musicians are strictly banned from flirting with you (and the other dancers of course). This wasn’t a problem until your father up and coming musician Eddie Munson to perform at his jazz club. Eddie was the first man to catch your eye, and you the first performer to be worth his time, and your fathers wrath.

warnings: implied female reader, mysoginy, eventual smut, swearing, no use of y/n, nudity, drugs, smoking, slow-burn, alcohol, anger issues, controlling father, mentions of assault/implied assault (against reader), 18+ only. mdni

Chapter III: Nightmare

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Fear, an emotion so strong that it overtakes our bodies completely, an emotion so rarely felt to its fullest extent that when it seizes us, freezing up our bodies beyond comprehension,we can’t help but cower or fawn. Some of us might fight, we might even try to get ourselves out of the situation, adrenaline and cortisol pumping themselves through our system at lightning speed. Blood changes its flow to accommodate the sensations you feel in your heart and it becomes a physical entity that consumes without remorse. It shuts down your cerebral cortex and forces you to use your front brain to make lifesaving split second decisions that might even put you in more danger than you could have imagined yourself in. But fear also has a chokehold even after the imminent threat is gone, after the adrenaline and cortisol have subsided to more manageable levels, fear still chokes you like the noose around your neck on the day of your hanging. It might as well have led you to the gallows itself.

Luckily, while your fear would have happily led you to the gallows and watched you hang, a ghost of the person you once were, a brave man called out to it, stopping it in its tracks and freeing you from the noose that was tightening around your neck. You watched as his strong hands grabbed at the biceps of the lankier man who, just minutes prior, had you pressed against the wall, his hips digging into yours and his hands tugging at your pliant body in ways that no loving hands ever would. He swung the younger around with a hard and swift move, seemingly as practiced as the music he played. Not even a split second passed before a horrid crack resounded through the halls, bouncing off the walls with ease, making their way halfway to the dressing rooms. A cry of pure agony pierced the air as blood sprayed across the wall, a painful reminder of what could have been, of the fate that was to be bestowed upon you, and wrongfully so. You didn’t process what happened after your saviour had let out a valiant cry to protect your honour, you didn’t register the snark comments about how the musician was in a lavender haze*, or how you’d been referred to as a bitch. None of it was being processed by your poor brain. It was already working overtime trying to calm you down, to black out and suppress the events that were about to transpire, and yet you fought it, you fought it until you knew you could be safe.

“I told you to go shag, what do you not understand?” Hissed a voice near you, red hot anger seething with every word. A venomous forked tongue hurled the words with such sharpness that they could have cut, and had it not been for the splattered crimson across the white hall maybe it would have been easier to convince yourself that this was nothing but a fever dream, alas, that was not, and wouldn’t be the case — it was too real. “If I fucking catch you with your hands on ‘em again, you’ll rue it enough to pull the Dutch act*, I promise.” With a violent shove the taller man sent the ginger flying down the hall and to the front room, a hawk’s eye on his back, as if ready to fling a switchblade into it at any given moment. Kip, however, did not turn back - young and dumb, and yet he knew enough to keep from angering beatniks with a short fused temper. In the same split second that the redhead disappeared, the honey eyed man turned to you, encasing you in his own personal bubble, the woodsy scent overtaking you. You recognised it as Chanel’s Pour Monsieur immediately — nothing like it was currently on the market. Whether this was a facade to look good, to keep appearances, or whether he actually enjoyed the perfume, it wasn’t clear - not yet.

“I-I-” you began, voice cracking with every vowel that dropped from your lips, weighed in lead and rusted iron.

“Oh, bunny*.” The man cooed, hard gaze softening as he took a step closer, becoming all the more intoxicating, butterflies erupting in your stomach, inside’s ablaze. Graduating from sweetheart to bunny in a matter of moments - now you knew, you had a confirmation of how he saw you, and it was no longer just a one sided affair. “Oh, sweetheart, he didn’t hurt you, did he?” Concern was to the brim in his voice, barely contained in whatever space he had designated for it — there was no hiding this, not in the least, not this time.

“N-No, he didn’t get to lay much of a hand on me.” You confirm. “I mean he,” you swallowed down the lump that threatened to build in your throat, a bile that would spill out if you so gave it the chance, “He did push me against the wall and choke me but that’s as far as he got.” You looked towards your feet in shame, not daring to make a single move towards the musician. What you were nervous of was unclear, there was nothing in particular to hide, nothing that he hadn’t witnessed himself, but there was that slim chance that he would think you were asking for it. He’s seen you perform, he’s even been given his own personal show. Whether he is aware of it or isn’t is another matter entirely.

“That does not make that okay, you understand me?” His attempts at confirming that you knew you weren’t at fault didn’t fall on deaf ears, in fact it created a wave of emotions that you had no option but to let crash over you, and so you embraced it. The dam snapped like a twig under the pressure of the night, under the blame you placed on yourself, and under the consolation that Eddie Munson gave you. Your eyes screwed shut so tight that white spots bloomed across the darkness your eyelids provided, a false hope in holding tears back and yet you tried - you tried like you had tried Sunday confessional with your mother but came out without avail.

“I- I do, I just, What if, what if he’s right?” The four last words you breathed through choked sobs had the musician’s heart hammering into his chest so hard he thought it might rip itself from the secure cage his ribs provided, and opt for a stroll or a temperate run instead of staying put like it should. “I mean, what good am I?” You scoffed, corners of your lips turning downwards into a grimace. It was upon seeing it that Eddie made himself a silent promise to never be the reason for such a reaction, to never have to be on the receiving end of such a broken hearted emotion. He made a decision in his own heart in that very moment to shield you, as much as he reasonably could, from ever feeling like you provoked such a vile and heinous act. Your broken sobs snapped his out of his thoughts and he took a hesitant step closer to you.

“He’s not right, sweetheart. Look at you, you’re strong, you’re self sufficient, and goddamn, are you ever a talent.” Eddie began, yet he found himself cut off with a quick and frantic interjection from you.

“I-I- It’s not - I’m not a tease, I’m just doing my job. Maybe mum was right.” You let out in ragged sobs, they tear at your throat as if a caclawing itself from a porcelain tub, raw, scared, and ruined. Your dignity and sense of self stolen from underneath you, leaving you with unstable footing, slipping further and further into the panic that maybe you were exactly as those unworthy of your time deemed you. Without thought you gravitate towards Eddie, body moving on your own accord, and his meets you halfway, you face colliding with his crisp shirt. You get a better waft of his perfume, a strong citrus undertone breaching through the woody base notes - home. It felt like home. You stay like that for a beat before he’s creating a small distance but only to lose it in a more intimate manner, one you hardly expected.

“Oh, darling, heavens no! Look at me,” He takes your chin between his calloused index finger and his thumb, tilting your head so your glassy eyes meet his gentle ones, “I don’t know what your mother has told you, but it doesn’t seem particularly positive.” His eyes gently flicked over your face, puffy from tears. “But you are not a tease just because you’re doing your job- a job you’re good at. Does it rile people up? It might, but that is their problem, not yours, you hear me?” He asks you tenderly, sincerity so present in his voice, a confidence so unmoving that it could rival the solidity of centuries old tombstones. “It’s never your fault.” He breathed over your face, notes of tobacco and wintergreen hitting your nose, dueling for which would be the more prominent scent. With a gentle movement he swiped his thumb across your cheek, letting it linger for a fraction of a second too long, all while maintaining his index finger firmly planted under your chin.

“It isn’t.” You confirm. “Mother never approved of my uh… employment. She never wanted me dancing. Called me a whore, a person that no righteous man would love.” Eddie observed you as you spoke, eyes glazing over but deep down, even if he thought that nothing your mother did say was true, he was thanking all the devils that he was not a righteous man. Somewhere buried in the depths of his heart he prayed in song that being righteous is something he’d never be if it meant he was able to love you just how you deserved to be loved, to fall for you in all glorious and unabashed sin. If being righteous meant that you’d forever be out of reach he would happily damn himself to the sweet tune of sin and play music for the devil himself. Softly the curly haired man drops his hand from your chin, allowing his fingers to trace down your smooth neck, pondering even just for a second about what it might feel like if his lips were to take the same path as his calluses. Tenderly he smoothed over the silk fabric of your black robe down to your shoulder, feeling it underneath his dry fingertips, anxious he might create a snag in the fabric, and finally like water flows down a waterfall, smooth and swift, his hand dropped to your elbow, cradling it in his hand, his only connection to you, the only one he’ll allow - the last soft moment he’ll allow himself with you. This was never supposed to happen, this proximity and comfort he was offering you, and you knew it too. Your father would hear word of the prior events, the entire reason for the soft touches, and he would briskly find himself moving down the hallway. You wanted to remember this moment, capture it and bottle it up so that you’d remember it forever but you couldn’t bottle up feelings in order to give yourself a little hit of relief.

“Maybe the love of a righteous man isn’t worth a dime if it’s restricting you, darling.” A voice so honey cooed out, so low that you would have missed it if you weren’t standing so close. At that small unspoken revelation a smile tugged at the very corners of your lips, maybe things would be okay after all, damn what your mother says.

It was the quiet clack of footsteps echoing down the hallway that pulled you and Eddie from the trance you had found yourselves in. An echo that seemed loud enough to wake the dead, and yet it was but your imaginations playing tricks on you, your consciousness screaming out that you’d been wrapped in something you both should have stayed far away from, yet you couldn’t help it. You felt tethered to the man before you almost as if attached together by a little red thread. The footsteps grew louder. They were rushed, nervous, unwilling to wait a single moment longer. Waiting was not to be a priority, not when it came to protecting you. The warm toned reverberations could only be recognised as the leather coated wooden heel of your father’s expensive Italian wingtip shoes. He always wore them to these club nights, and it became a staple in his personality, you heard his shoes before you saw the man and you knew exactly who it was. Usually a warm smile would greet the person so lucky as to receive a welcome from the club owner, but on his face was not a warm expression, no, it was stoic and cold, as cold as the winters that befell the north and as unwelcoming as the movie studios out west upon their discovery of political alignments to the reds*.

In a smooth motion Eddie turns away from you, hand dropping from your elbow only to leave the cool burn of where he once held you so tenderly. His priority fell in moving out of your father’s way, allowing him to pass through, and in turn revealing the splatter of rust red that peppered the wall akin to the ones that the perpetrator had scattered across the bridge of what was now certainly a broken nose. His soft honey gaze turned cold, as if left to oxidize and solidify - out in the open too long, uncared for, forgotten. Your mascara stains caught your fathers attention immediately, albeit dried and half smudged across your left cheek, the same smudge that could be found on the Munson man’s right thumb if one were to look too close. With a sharp twist of his neck, he snapped a finger into his newest musician's face.

“Did you do this?” He seethed, a metaphorical steam pouring from his ears. His face became hot, jaw clenching, and his eyes growing dark, a man possessed by the thought of any harm having come to his precious first child. His finger was brought up to Eddie’s face, nearly between his eyes, shaking from pure untethered rage. Upon closer inspection of the lankier man you would notice a lump swallowed, his back straightening, feet grounded before his stern and gentle voice rang down through the empty halls.

“No sir, I would never so much as lay a hand on them.” A lie. Albeit a small lie, but a lie nonetheless for his hands had in fact just been on you in possibly what was the kindest manner one had ever handled you. Soft strokes of his thumb, akin to that of a long term lover, not that you had the privilege of familiarizing yourself with such sensations. Gentle, as if almost afraid to handle you and laced with care that not even your mother held for you.

“No, father,” you quickly interject, trying to save Eddie from the wave of wrath that was to come if this misunderstanding weren’t cleared up. You resorted to grabbing your dads arm, lowering his finger from the musician’s face and cautiously turning him towards you, afraid that it was the wrong move, afraid that maybe it would seem suspicious. The problem with trying to keep a hard ass appearance however came with the fact that that appearance crumbled under the sincerity behind your eyes. “Ed- Mr. Munson here saved me from Kip. He,” you swallowed, tears threatening to well up against your waterline, “he cornered me.” You opt to say, unwilling to disclose the dangerous details such as how Kip was cutting off your oxygen and how you’d soon have been finding yourself underneath him or six feet under and in a cold coffin had it not been for Eddie.

“That little shit.” Your father hissed out, toxicity punctuated the final word, enough harm even the most venomous of snakes. Double quick your father whipped towards Eddie, swift as a breeze and about as gentle as a tornado. “Thank you, son, for protecting my baby girl, but don’t think this means you get a pass for any funny business.” His hard gaze flits from Eddie to you and back to Eddie as if analyzing the situation at hand, trying to decipher whether you were lying in order to save him or whether you were offering up the full and whole truth.

“No, sir, it’s really not a problem. In fact I feel that it is my duty as a musician to protect the dancers I work alongside. S’no big, just professional.” His back hit the cool béton wall and he ran a hand through the few loose strands of hair that escaped his bun, a cold washed over him, detached, unfeeling - it’s what he told himself he needed when around you, because if he didn’t pull away he was sure to fall down a deep rabbit hole, one that he wouldn’t have any luck climbing out of. The problem was that you were too enticing, a silver tongued beauty with a sharp wit, quick on your feet, flirty, yet you played entirely too innocent. Eddie was sure that you were something like the apple in the garden of Eden, you tasted of carnal sin, crisp, fresh, dare he even let his mind stray to juicy sweetness that he wouldn’t mind drowning in. You were temptation on two legs, bound to damn him to life in purgatory, or better yet, hell, playing for you, a devil of the noblest kind, eternally doomed to fall to his knees for you and bask in the small ounce of warmth that you may choose to bestow upon him, and yet even that was uncertain. Who were you to yearn for him the same way in which he would yearn for you? Would you breathe for him the way he would live for you? It was unlikely and so he had to put a stop to the feelings that were starting to arise, that were beginning to bubble up and boil over.

“Excellent, Mr. Munson.” Your father broke him from his thoughts. “It is exactly this sort of behaviour I’d expect from my musicians, and yet that is not always the case.” He huffed out. His thick hands started patting against his blazer, searching for the thick cylinder he kept tucked in his pockets. As soon as he felt it underneath his hands he reached into the innermost pocket on his blazer, just above his heart, and pulled out a fat cigar. “Now, I expect you to escort my daughter here to the dressing rooms,” he begins to turn on his heel, daring to take a step forward before coming to an abrupt halt, “I have some… business to take care of.” The hollow sound of his wooden heels clacked against the cold floor, suddenly lacking the warmth that they would usually possess, the sound turning sour, diminished in nature, eerie with the threat that your father left hanging in the air. You rake your hands through your curls, adjusting them back to perfection before looking up towards the dim hallway lights, blinking back the tears that were still threatening to form. Your exterior was cracking like an old porcelain vase, ill preserved and worn out. It’s a hard lump you find yourself swallowing down, stopping the tears in their very tracks, taking a breath before gently straightening yourself out with barely anything more than the shake of your head and a roll of your stiff shoulders. It was truly the performance of a professional and that was not something anyone could have ever denied, especially not in seeing you in this very moment.

“I could use a cigarette.” You state, and Eddie grunts in response, pushing away from the wall he was leaning against, eye contact of any kind ceasing to exist. There was a heaviness to your limbs that you refuse to acknowledge, hoping that you could distract yourself with a little tobacco. You didn’t want to resort to other means, but you were never above them either. If someone were to extend an offer to the powder room you were not above agreeing to it, besides, it wasn’t like you were going to get any sleep with the events that had transpired. If you were being transparent, however, it was a small pleasure that you indulged in on occasion that allowed you to soar high before coming back down to the wretched and lonesome reality you inhabited.

“I know a secluded spot.” He quips out after a pregnant pause, icy, cold, and detached, the Eddie you had just witnessed, the warmth, the honeyed gaze, ripped away in a tidal wave that would only touch the New England Coast. Grey and stormy, unpredictable and its bite so bitter that you feared to never recognise the warmth that it once held. In a beat you provide him with a nod of confirmation, if he wants to be cold, so be it. He pushed off the wall with his foot, a grey stain left behind where he had been propped up. With the same momentum he takes several long strides up the hallway in the opposite direction of where your father had gone. Before he stops, head turning about fourth degrees, hesitating to look over his shoulder, but the implication was clear — he was waiting for you to follow. You trust him almost implicitly, there was never a question about whether or not you trusted him, and while taking you to his secret smoking area wasn’t exactly going to do him any favours with your father, it would win some with you — besides, who was he to deny such a beauty when they asked to smoke.

You followed him like a lost puppy down winding halls, unsure of where he was leading you, unsure of anything until he made a rapid move towards what was supposed to be the emergency exit. He trudged on to the third floor of the building, until he was met with a door with a small slit for a window. His strong hands pushed it open, beckoning you to pass before he picked up a wooden stir stick used for paint in order to keep the door propped open and prevent it from locking. It was a small courtyard formed by the buildings, one you weren’t even aware existed. How he had found it in so little time astounded you, but you did suppose that musicians held their own little secrets, sheltered away from the rest of the world. You were almost certain that if you were to look at any map, the courtyard would not be on them, such a minor and insignificant detail illustrated only by a difference in altitude.

Coolly, you’re handed a cigarette, pinching the filter tenderly between your fingers you notice the texture isn’t that of what you’re used to, clearly hand rolled masterfully. You dared not read too far into the fact that a hand rolled cigarette was being shared- had he bought a package at a bodega and offered you one it was something you’d easily pay back, but this was somehow more intimate. A small peek into his personality, his efforts, his person. You gently place it between your lips, fingers dropping, expecting a wait before he passes you the lighter only after he’s lit his own cigarette but instead his resolve crumbles before your very eyes as he loses his internal battle - you looked too perfect with your styled hair and mascara stains running down your face, most notably the smear on your left cheek whose remnants burned into his thumb. Too easily, as if second nature, he flicked open his zippo lighter and harshly struck the flit wheel with his thumb. A step closer, and then another, and soon he was invading your space once again, his woody and earthen smell invading your sensitive nostrils, letting them burn up. Kindly, with movements so calculated you’d think he was trying not to scare a baby deer, he went to light your cigarette, leaning in close. You brought your hand up to steady the sweet cancer stick and without so much as an ounce of hesitation Eddie wound up cupping your fingers gently with his hand, creating a barrier. Had he been in less of a predicament, had he cared less about his job - his job that he loved, he would have lit your cigarette first and used yours to light his, he would have touched the tip of his hand rolled cigarette to yours, sharing your space, your breath, your warmth, but Eddie was not a gambling man, and he was not about to gamble away his career, his life, and his one chance at some happiness over someone he fell for within five minutes.

“Thank you, handsome.” You hummed out as he wildly peeled away, as if burned by his own flame. It wasn’t a reaction you were expecting, if anything you expected a more sluggish movement now that you were both alone and able to breathe the same contaminated air without the prying eyes of a certain club owner.

“Yeah, no problem.” He grumbled out, a disappointment clawing at his chest with a certain violence. You were there, you were so beautiful, so worthy of being handled with all the care in the world, and he couldn’t allow himself to be the person to offer that to you as much as he’d love to. If it was tearing him up from this inside out after merely two days in your presence, how was he to tolerate a week, a month, a bloody year being so close and yet so distant against his own will. His shift in demeanor did not go unnoticed and you shied away from him, your barely clothed back turning towards him as you let out a huff and looked up towards the cloudy sky, begging silently for something, anything at all to rid you of this weight that found itself lodged into your chest, sinking further and further down, threatening to reach your stomach and render you ill.

“Christ, did I burn you or something?” You spit coldly, prying at imaginary floorboards, trying to recover the secrets hidden beneath. But prying at Eddie Munson was like pulling teeth, painful, rough, a little bloody, and unless he was already loosened it was of absolutely no use. Behind the harsh delivery of your words there was a small dollop of sadness seeping into the bitter tang of your question.

“No- I-“ He began, but his retort never even stood a chance. Your question was rhetorical from the get go, not intending for Eddie to answer it, in fact you weren’t interested in having it answered, you just desired to be heard, to be listened to.

“Then why are you acting like this? Why do you provide me with one moment of warmth, of some hope that maybe we could be confidants of sorts. Coworkers at the very least, coworkers who might so happen to spend some time with each other outside of work perhaps, but it’s of no obligation… Why are you acting as if I’m nothing but a tick on your back after you pulled a leech off of mine?” In the middle of your rant you had spun around on your heel, now facing the unruly haired man, the bags under his eyes suddenly becoming more evident in the twilight’s shadow.

“I don’t want to get into that, not right here, not now. Besides, we’re coworkers and if I’m not mistaken, sweetheart, I’m lower on the food chain, so if anyone is getting chomped for misconduct s’not gonna be you.” He bit out a little too harshly for his own liking. He took a sinful drag of his cigarette before tossing it to the ground, smoke curling from his sweet lips and through the open air. It didn’t land anywhere in particular but rather continued up and up, blue-grey hues blending in with the skyline. He took his hair out of his unruly bun and let it cascade down his shoulders, and somehow all the breath left your lungs in that moment. It was a nice whiskey brown with honey streaks, lightened by the sun, it fell to just below his shoulders, loose, wild, how a good jazz player should be, and yet you were witness to the opposite in this moment. Slack jawed and misty eyed, you couldn’t help but suddenly look at him in a different light. The darkening sky shrouded him in a sort of mystery you wanted to unravel, but you’d be damned if you didn’t take your time unraveling every last bit of it. Eddie Munson was so fucking beautiful that it put Adonis to shame, truly a sin on two legs, sent most likely by the fallen angel himself in order to tempt you with the most profound blasphemies you could commit. You would go to Sunday confessional if it meant confessing your most unholy sins to the man before you.

“I don’t know what father expects, he can’t protect me from every man to walk through that door, and he sure as hell can’t stop them from being kind. Just because I couldn’t give a damn about the few mediocre musicians hired before you doesn’t mean I get to keep that streak - not when you saved me.” You huff out. “Father can try to keep everyone away from me, but what he doesn’t realise is that in barring anyone from being near me, he’s actually keeping himself further and further away as each day passes. I chose my father’s side because he gave me freedom, but now I realise that all he provided me with was a bigger cage.” At this, Eddie’s face softened and he took a cautious step towards you.

“Listen, bunny,” He screwed his eyes shut at his little slip up. This was the second time and if he wasn’t careful he’d inadvertently let you know that he was already sweet on you and he wasn’t ready to crack that nut open just yet, “if I allow myself a single tender moment with you, more than I already have, I don’t know if I’d be able to hit the brakes on it. You’re something else, and you’re more deserving than some foolish oddball. You deserve a real Clyde*, sweetheart, and s’not me.” He ran another nervous hand through his hair, not for a single second believing what he was saying. Maybe it was true that you deserved a right as rain Clyde, but maybe, just maybe, you were deserving of someone who was unworthy on paper, who didn’t check any of your mother’s or father’s boxes. That’s the thing, however; sometimes one might find someone who checks off all the boxes on paper, who is everything they thought they wanted, and yet when it comes down to it, the reality is that nobody wants someone who checks all the right boxes, they want someone who creates new boxes and checks those off themselves. Sometimes it’s the person that is least expected to do so, and sometimes they’re right under your very nose.

“What if I don’t want a downright square?” You wanted to scream out, to tear your locks out of your head in frustration and anger, but you withheld, opting to close your eyes before taking a deep breath. “What if it’s not what I want, Eds?” You ask him, batting your lashes at him before posing yourself on the railing, your ass half on it, legs steadying you, ensuring you wouldn’t fall. One hand gripped the black cast iron while the other brought the cancer stick to your mouth, breathing in, then letting the smoke curl out, eyes dropping shut. Eddie desperately wished he was watching you light up a roach in this moment because if he thought that you looked like a Hollywood movie star right now, would he ever believe it then. He fully believed you belonged in a cafe in Paris, smoking with other big stars, with singers and showgirls alike, with your perfectly done hair and sharp makeup. Eddie swallowed hard before looking to your closed eyes.

“He won’t be a square.”

“What happened to not needing a righteous man?” You hummed out, teasing him for what he had previously let out. It was this moment you hopped off the railing, taking two long strides towards him and encroaching on his personal space. Your perfume wafted into his nose, mixing with the tobacco leaf you had both just smoked. Hints of sandalwood, magnolia, and palm santo, more musk than floral for what most women were wearing, but you were not them, no. With how sinfully the notes of amber clung to your skin, Eddie would have dropped to his knees and prayed there and then, his new favourite altar of worship before him, but he didn’t, he couldn’t. Your words were the church bell ringing in the belfry, reverberating through the heavy stone structure, bouncing off the walls to be heard loud and clear. Nervously, he swallowed, eyes trained on you, he the prey, and you the predator, and while the roles should have been reversed, he dared not attempt to tip the scales so soon. A good predator knows how to give a false sense of safety to those hunted, and this was no different.

“Come on you little mix, I’ve got something to show you.”

It wasn’t hard to follow Eddie through the winding halls in order to change into a heavier coat and promise to meet him by the back door. It was even easier to push past the crowd and pry open the front door with unrivaled confidence letting the bouncer know to tell your father that you were heading home, a blatant lie, albeit a necessary one. It was easiest twisting yourself onto 6th avenue to sneak into the alleyway beside the club via the small passage that connected 52nd and 53rd and as soon as you entered the alley you were met with the slender figure of the jazz musician you were becoming sweet on. You could tell yourself it was mostly lust, there was a deeper part of you that, despite your carnal desires, screamed out for the tenderness he had shown you, and you longed for this tenderness to blood into something more so long as you were both ready to tend to it mutually.

As you both stepped out onto 53rd, and made your way south west towards 48th and Broadway, you didn’t venture out further than you needed to most days, not feeling a particular need to slink through other clubs but the reassurance in which Eddie whisked you away had you aching for more adventures such as these. The bright lights lit up the night all the way down the strip, clubs you had heard of, ones you weren’t familiar with, ones you wished to one day have the opportunity to see the inside of. Halfway through your silent walk, Eddie had gotten enthusiastic, a grin spreading across his otherwise stiff features, dimples becoming deeply inset in his cheeks, burrowing a home in them. It was something you quickly came to love about the man, it was something you’d cling to, and so lost in your thoughts as you were about the smile he threw you, a wolfish grin adorning his features, you nearly missed when he had threaded his fingers through yours in order to keep you close while pushing through the crowd. You also nearly missed how he carefully rubbed slow and hypnotic circles into the back of your hand with the pad of his thumb, comforting you in case you were unwell. It wasn’t lost, however, that as soon as you made it in front of the large glowing sign that obnoxiously advertised the infamous “LATIN QUARTER” nightclub Eddie still maintained a warm hold on your hand, not yet dropping it. In fact, he relished in this small moment away from your father’s club. He felt a sort of peace flow through him, replaced with a thrum of enthusiastic energy, ready to show you his pocket of the world.

“This place is… Their performances are breathtaking, nothing compared to yours, sweetheart, but you are something else entirely. This- this is a whole production, costume changes, all the works. Lou Walter takes good care of this place here and he brought in that sweet New Orleans touch.” Eddie hummed out, briefing you gently in the recent history of the place. “Some might call it a moldy fig* but if you ask me,” he leans close enough to you for you to feel his breath on your ear, “ I quite dig this barrelhouse.*” He pulled away, tearing his eyes from the light display to wink at you. “Come on.” He beckoned, tugging your hand gently before allowing his fingers to slip out of yours like sand in an hourglass, slowly, heavily, and yet far too quickly for anyone’s liking.

You both weaved in and around the crowd, looking for a spot to claim as your own personal sanctuary in the busy and musty space. The air was thick with dirty grey smoke and the humidity of sweat, a haze hovering above the heads of those around. It was suffocating, and yet it was liberating, finally being pulled into the shadows, hidden from the spotlight, from the unwanted gaze of men as hungry as wolves and the micromanagement of your father. Here you could be anybody at all with anyone you wanted to, though the only person you truly had any eyes for was the tattooed man before you.

The inside of the club was decorated like a New Orleans cabaret, filigree lining the borders of the stage and the trim near the ceiling all while heavy velvet curtains cascaded effortlessly down, creating an elegance unmatched by anything you’d laid your eyes on. The stage was elevated just enough so that those sitting at the tables near would be eye level with it, getting the full scope of the semi lewd performances. Burlesque, line dancing, theater, you name it and it had its own spotlight here. Life Magazine had even claimed that it was the club where the entertainment is provided by “pretty girls who display as much flesh and as little covering as the law allows” and while that may have been true, the most important of all was the musicians and vocalists who would pass through, throw a rager for an evening and then fade back into the scene until one day they would strut back onto that stage and once again dazzle the club goers who never ceased to beg for more. There was a heavy rotation of talent and some names you couldn’t even believe once Eddie had divulged them to you. Big names like Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra, and even Milton Berle were known to make appearances on occasion, keeping seats full and bar tabs running until the sun would kiss the horizon, illuminating the Queensboro bridge in an orange glow.

It was no wonder the whiskey haired musician found a sort of peace here - you could tell that it would grow on you just as quickly as it had on him but little did you know what that would truly entail. While your dreams were big, finally feeling freed from the restrictions of both your father’s and mother’s cage, if even for a few hours, only grew them larger than you could have even envisioned them being. A familiar honeyed voice snapped you from your thoughts momentarily.

“Anything you’d like to drink sweetheart?” Cooed the man before you. You couldn’t possibly allow him to pay for your drinks as well.

“Oh no, Eddie, let me grab this round, please.” You pleaded him gently, you pulled out your small coin purse from your coat pocket, jingling it gently in front of him. “I know you’d love to, but father has yet to pay you and I wouldn’t want you spending any of your precious money on me, you hear me?” Headstrong, you were headstrong and he liked that about you very much, and so he complied wordlessly, unashamed that he was having his drink paid for by you. What was there to be ashamed of? You weren’t a very traditional person, so who was he to follow tradition around you? Suddenly on the count of four a band counted in a vocalist before they burst into a jive around them, energy shooting through couples. You watched them drag each other, tumbling across the dancefloor. “On second thought, what say you to a shot of rye before letting loose?” A flirtation found itself in your voice, and though it was just a small hint, Eddie picked up on it, cocking his eyebrow and yet before he could let any protest slip past his lips you had flagged down a server, slipping him a generous amount for the shots and daintily picked them up off his tray. The honey brown liquid threatened to spill across the rim as you thrust the substance into Eddie’s calloused hands. “Come on big boy, what are you afraid of?” The mischievous twinkle sparkled in your eyes, looking at him innocently through your thick eyelashes.

“Fuck it. Cheers, sweetheart.” With those four words he chose to forget about any consequences and he tipped his head back, spilling the liquid down his throat with a warm sting. In unison you joined him, a slight grimace gracing your lips, shots were not something you were accustomed to, yet seeing the musician before you down it so swiftly and with such elegance made you reconsider the frequency in which you took them when needing to loosen up. You both slammed the sturdy glass onto the nearest table before you chose to extend a hand to him.

“Father won’t notice we’re gone, not for a few hours at least. Come on Munson, it’s a right and proper sock hop.” A playfulness danced across your tone of voice as the rhythm of the music took hold of your body, moving to every second beat in the bar, complying to the rhythm the music commanded. You started teasingly backing into the crowd, dancing lightly on your feet, the rock music providing a much quicker pace than Eddie was used to seeing you dance to. “Come on, Munson, if you don’t dance with me someone else will!” You threatened out with a boisterous laugh - this wasn’t a side of you he had seen at your father’s club, maybe it was a sort of cage in fact and if it kept you from being yourself he didn’t want it.

“Oh fuck no, bunny, This dance is mine.”

“Alright then, snake, let’s rattle.” You smirked before he took a few calculated steps in order to close the space between you two, feet tapping to the rhythm before connecting his hand to your waist, his other hand taking yours firmly to guide you, pressing you to him loosely. It was natural how he fell into step with you. Walk-walk-rock-step, then bringing you back towards his body, you’d repeat that to get the hang of how you both danced, in slow quarters of turns before he began twirling you out at arms length, pulling you back to his chest. He was antsy, this wasn’t his ball park in the least bit, and much less with someone as beautiful and forbidden as you. In a swift move he pushed his hand out, signaling for you to distance yourself, a smirk planted itself on your face as you noted what move he was going for. With Eddie’s double spin, you reached out, sliding your hand across his waist, fingers trailing a little more teasing than they should have been before you reconnected your hands once again only for him to spin you twice, allowing you to land steady in front of him, pressed closely to his chest before resuming that safe moves… Walk-walk-rock-step. Twice over you repeated that to be beat before your dance suddenly took a different turn. You both parted, Eddie spinning, your hand instinctively wrapping around his waist before he grabbed both your hands in his rough ones, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes glimmered and something told you that maybe you’d just found the only dance partner you’d ever need. His hand tucked your right one behind your back, feet keeping to the beat, before he pivoted you out to face in the opposite direction before smoothly tucking you under his arm in a classic Texas Tommy, now once again facing him.

You both set a competitive pace, engrossed in each other's presence, barely paying any mind to the onlookers. Men were hooting and hollering, and women were huffing at their husbands for not being as apt as the mystery man before them. None of that even registered in Eddie’s mind because all he was thinking about was you, you, you. Your infectious grin, the twinkle in your eyes clouded over by the hazy state of slight inebriation, and yet the sober confidence that overtook you, all of it commanded Eddie’s attention, it was all he cared about. Your pure enjoyment of one another without restrictions, without limitations, without anyone to put a wedge between your two bodies and pry you away from each other with a metaphorical crowbar, was something wholesome, it was something that nobody could come between, especially in this moment where you were just two strangers to everybody around. You were free, even if for a single moment, free to behave in whichever way you saw fit, to associate with whomever you so desired to. Most importantly, the restrictions that heavily dictated who you were to be, at whatever given moment, on any given weeknight at the club, were completely lifted. You felt light as a feather and about as stiff as a noodle as your body moved in tandem with the musician before you. Turns out music didn’t just flow through his hands, but through to his feet too, able to control every calculated step, commanding the music around him, almost as if bending it to his every whim instead of merely reacting to it.

At one point Eddie began shouting at you over the music, queues for moves that usually required partners to coordinate better. A slew of words such as wrong way cradle, and dishrag flew out of his mouth in laughs and in turn you’d propose your own moves, moves you wouldn’t feel comfortable pulling with any other stranger. You’d ask him to pull you into a wheel before moving into either dips or drops before he’d hoist you back up from under your arms only to move into a butterfly grip for the next sequence.

The air grew hazier, and the only drinks being had were the occasional gin tonic in between songs. The singer was apt at what he did, well versed in a repertoire of songs that the orchestra easily backed, and eventually they strayed from known songs into a formulaic improvisation. It was as if the smoke had cast a spell upon you, Eddie being a man possessed, and you being subject to your own wiles, eyes trained on each other, bodies perfectly synchronized, working together like a well wound clock. You had no desire for anyone else, and neither did Eddie. He could have sworn that you were the only two in the room and yet that was far from the truth. Somewhere deep inside in some part of him that he wanted to keep buried away, he knew this was the beginning of the end for him — you were to be his downfall. He’d be struck from heaven and sent to plunge into the fiery depths below for his sins — a fallen angel led astray by lust and desire. If only he could keep them locked tight, but he knew there would be no use. Envy would bubble up, the green demon of jealousy, and he would be struck down nonetheless. Ever since you entered his life a mere forty eight hours ago you had ensured that he was doomed to eternal damnation because if he couldn’t have you, the envy would eat away at his bones, decaying his body from the inside out until all there was left was a corpse, his soul reaped and brought down to hell. Even the opposite, to have and hold you, would drive him mad with lust, so close to the touch and yet too far away. You were right under his nose yet locked away under the watchful eye of your keeper, and only he was allowed to take you out to play.

With the last song closing out the night around four in the morning, your tired bones finally succumbed to the cushioned seat, The two of you were sweat drenched and smiling, grins plastered to your faces, giggle erupting from the back of your throats every so often. Neither of you could help it, it had been the first time you were both able to let loose without repercussions.

“Thank you, Eds.” You breathed out, eyes clouded over in a drunken stupor but your voice dripped of honey sincerity, a small drawl making its way into your voice given your condition.

“Sweetheart, it’s my pleasure.” The candor in his voice takes you aback - people didn’t take you out for your own satisfaction, or for you to have as much an iota of fun as they might have. Most times it was self serving, a symbol of status, a trophy to say “look at who I managed to have on my arm!”and yet there was none of that with the mousy haired musician. He couldn’t hold you on his arm and show you off, for one, but he also seemed to damn all good instincts to keep away, to remain cold, stoic, and he indulged in a little bit of fun, a bite of the forbidden fruit. A bite so small that it might as well have been a nibble and yet still he would fall from the garden and back onto earth.

“I’ll cover this, we had what? Two shots and a few gin tonics?” You did a quick calculation in your head. A gin tonic was roughly fourty five cents to a sixty cent martini, and both of you having had your fair share, you left a fiver on the table for the waiter, covering the potential cost of the shots of rye and of course the $2.70 for your drinks plus tip. Satisfied, you swung your legs towards Eddie, body facing him only to meet the wolfish grin that spread kindly across his features. In the low light you could barely make out the colour of his amber eyes, but you didn’t fail to notice the little crows feet that adorned the very corners of them, crinkling from happiness, embedding themselves further into his features. “What?” You ask him innocently at which he simply shakes his head, sweaty curls bouncing from side to side as his dimples become more prominent.

“Nothing, nothing. Just,” you’re so goddamn beautiful, the goddamn ginchiest*, his head and heart screamed out, “we worked up quite the appetite, dontcha think?” He pondered out loud, shooting you a look.

“You know what, daddy-o, now that you mention it, my beaters are killing my feet, you know a place not too far from here?” You coolly let out, the poor man nearly choking on his own saliva as you let the casual quip slip out. You had opened the door into your world just a crack just as he had opened his to you and he hoped, he prayed that it could be your dirty little secret out in the open of the public eye, away from your father’s club, yet he knew that as soon as you both stepped back through the doors of reality you’d both need to exercise caution and clam up in order to protect one another.

“Y’heard of Reuben’s up on Madison?” A certain mischief was present in his voice.

Glossary:

Lavender haze: to be deeply in love with someone

Dutch act: commit suicide

Bunny: a pretty, appealing, or alluring young woman

The reds: the communists

Clyde: rockabilly term of address for a normal person

Moldy fig: term used by bebop musicians in the 1940's and 50's, derogatorily, with reference to those who preferred older jazz and swing to bebop

Barrelhouse: A slang term for bar rooms in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The barrelhouse music was similar to boogie-woogie and was characterized by a loud, raucous sound with a fast tempo.

Ginchiest: phrase used as a way to tell a person they are beautiful inside and out

a/n: thank you for reading this chapter and thank you so much to my love @munson-blurbs for screaming with me at the snippets I kept sending her. You’re the best Bug 🖤🖤 let me know what you guys think, and as always reblogs and comments keep me going.

tag list: @ali-r3n @cryingglightninggg

[rearranged-fanfic]

Update (3/15)

I'm never actually going to get a chapter out on time. Lol. I am resigned to the fact that this is my truth.

So, fun stuff these past three weeks.

The next chapter? I hate it. It has been the bane of my existence for several reasons. I've deleted either the whole thing or massive parts of it no less than six times now. I've probably typed and retyped somewhere between 30K words for this one alone. I'm not happy with it at all. I've already put it off for another week, and I still can't get it the way I want. The perfectionist in me is telling me to pound it out until it's acceptable. The person inside who wants to meet my deadlines is screaming at me to just upload it in its current state and change it later.

I'm finishing it, though. Or, as finished as I can get it in an extra day. So, one more day and it'll be out for you guys to view to your hearts' content.

In other news, while battling frustration with the story, I've tried to distract myself from it so that my anger doesn't bleed into my writing. And I've wound up getting back into one of my old favorite chill games: My Time at Portia. I've put somewhere around 500 hours into it, and still love it. Lol. If you like things like Stardew Valley or Animal Crossing, you'll probably like Portia, too.

I've started rewatching My Hero Academia and Demon Slayer with my husband. Both of those things are living in my head rents free as well, alongside this fic and my game.

So, now I'm resisting the urge to contribute to a smaller, less-saturated fandom or pairing. Like, there are ten million GojoXReader stories, but what about for Arlo? Or Hawks? Or best boi Rengoku Kyojuro? Arrrggggh! The ADHD beckons, and I must resist its call!

I wish I could pause time so that I can write all the things I want to!

Also, I tried to unwind by watching The Boy and the Heron to celebrate its win at the Oscars. And I feel like I'm being gaslit by the world and anime community as a whole. Because it was… not great. Like, it was a genuinely incohesive and confusing movie? The plot was chaotic and nonsensical? The characters weren't very fleshed out? Character motivations suffered due to poor pacing? Emotional payoff was non-existant? The plot "reveals" weren't satisfying? The worldbuilding was lackluster and simultaneously too involved but not involved enough? There was a crappy third-act villain? The English dub is mid (barring Robert Pattinson, who is stellar, TBH); Why the fuck did Christian Bale decide that a Godfather-esque mafioso accent would be fitting for a WW era Japanese man when nobody else in the movie sounds like that?!

IDK… I went in expecting this to be on the same level as Howl's Moving Castle, Princess Mononoke, or Spirited Away. And I feel like we got Tales From Earthsea all over again. Except this time, for whatever reason, it won an award and is being praised as Miyazaki's magnum opus?!

I was actually salty for days. Scratch that; I'm still salty.

So... in conclusion, I'm back, bitches. And I'm vibing to the music of my own internal screaming.

[fellow-travelers-fic-recs]

How do I love thee, let me count the weeks... Final Round-Up

Fellow Travelers Valentine's Celebration: Masterpost

✨ Show the authors some love with kudos and a quick comment on the fics after reading, and be sure to reblog this post, so others can enjoy these fics too!

💠 Authors: if your tumblr (or other socials) isn’t linked, and you'd like it to be, let me know and I'll be happy to add it. Or, if you are linked, and you'd rather not be, please contact me to remove it.

Works below can be found in this Ao3 Collection 💗

❤️ very pretty weeds by @beyondxmeasure | Cyantific [T, 2K] Hawk has really put Tim through the emotional wringer this weekend, and he seems far too nice to deserve any of it. Rafael tries his best to give his new friend a warm send-off and a few words of wisdom.

Or, the walk to the ferry from Rafael's POV.

🧡 Under Stars Chilled By The Winter by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) [G,1K] Hawk has been away in Rome for a week. He comes home to Tim.

Part 7 of Bravery | Part 5 of FT Valentine's Month

💛 you're the home beneath the ruin by @startagainbuttercup | startagainbuttercup [T, 1K] Episode 2, Inside Hawk's head.

He thinks about Tim, about the joy he felt when he woke up next to him just ten minutes ago, and another memory comes to him, a memory of him smiling so adorably Hawk couldn't stop peppering him with kisses until Tim laughed, ticklish, and wrapped his arms around him tightly, preventing him from moving, not that Hawk wanted to move. He fell asleep in Skippy's arms, feeling safe and content.

Part 3 of FT Valentine's Month: how do I love thee, let me count the weeks…

💚 in the still of the night by @thewindyoubargainedfor | thewindyoubargainedfor [E, 2K] Tim stayed up, waiting for Hawk to call. Hawk made it worth his while.

💙 gold-skinned, eager baby by @lispenard-street | lispenardstreet [E, 10K] Tim sets out for Fire Island with a single goal: to dig Hawk out of his pit of self-destruction.

As it turns out, Hawk is after something else entirely.

A 1979 fix-it… of sorts.

💜 In your eyes, this is a place worth remembering. by @in-our-special-place |  Cupping_Cakes [M, 630] Hawk stumbled into the room, his eyes blurry and his steps unsteady, but his gaze was fixed on Tim, as if he were the only thing that mattered. A wave of emotions washed over Tim, flickering between anger, hurt, and a longing desire to hold Hawk close one more time.

💗 Where figures from the past stand tall And mocking voices ring above. by @in-our-special-place | Cupping_Cakes [M, 472] They held each other's gaze, their love speaking volumes more than any words ever could.

🤎 To Wrap Your Love Around Me by @beyondxmeasure | Cyantific [T, 5K] Waking up in Tim’s apartment, Hawk discovers Skippy's old robe, the same one from years ago, and the memories all come flooding back.

Tim doesn’t have much time left, will Hawk be brave enough to stay?

🖤 Beguiled Again by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) [G, 1K] Tim comes home late, finding Hawk asleep and wearing his shirt.

Part 6 of Bravery | Part 3 of FT Valentine's Month

💝 I'll be there beside you, to dry your weeping eyes. by @in-our-special-place | Cupping_Cakes [M, 869] Frankie, the man he had loved and grown with through time. The man who had been by his side through all of life's ups and downs. The man who had never given up on him, no matter how lost or broken he felt.

❤️ I'll Forever Love You by Anonymous [G, 602] Marcus slow dances with his love.

🧡 The Night Before The Road Trip by @vespersong | vespersong [T, 2K] So...we all know Hawk planned the trip to Rehoboth beach. Which means he probably packed a bag. But what about Tim? Was he stuck in that same shirt all weekend? Well, let's just say Hawk was prepared.

💛 please tell me now by @thewindyoubargainedfor | thewindyoubargainedfor [G, 1K] When Marcus arrives in San Francisco, he knows the first thing he needs to do.

💚 We'll find the perfect place to go where we can run and hide. by @in-our-special-place | Cupping_Cakes [M, 706] 'I never told you this, but that was the best day of my life. I never felt so free and happy, like I could do anything with you by my side.'

💙 you should be in my space (you should be in my life) by @startagainbuttercup | startagainbuttercup [E, 3K] What if Tim let Hawk touch him during their mutual masturbation session?

Part 2 of FT Valentine's Month: how do I love thee, let me count the weeks...

💜 All Tied Up With Nowhere To Go by @jesterlesbian | captainquint [E, 2K] “Are they too tight?” Hawk asked, tugging on Tim’s wrists.

Tim’s wrists were, at that moment, bound to the headboard of Hawkins Fuller’s bed by some carefully knotted neckties. Tim was struck by the thought of Hawk wearing one of these ties to work on a later day, becoming distracted in his office thinking of what they had done with them on this night. His mouth twitched up at the corner.

“Hey, are you listening to me?” Hawk placed a hand under his chin and tilted Tim’s face towards Hawk’s own. “This is important, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Tim rolled his wrists and wiggled his fingers to show they were fine. “I’m not made of glass, Hawk, you don’t have to treat me like I’ll break.”

Or, Hawk teases a tied-up Tim

Part 2 of FT Valentine's Day 2024

🖤 No Expectations by @justviwriting | justviwriting [M, 3K] When Hawk wants to leave Tim in 1957, his plans are disrupted when Tim wakes up before he could walk out the door.

Part 5 of My Fellow Travelers Fanfics

💘 the gold of the dusk and the dawn by @redmyeyes | redmyeyes [M, 3K] Valentine’s Day, 1954

Part 4 of Fellow Travelers

🤎 Me too by @alorchik | alorchik [T, 1K] Hawk feels he can afford it now, here, with Tim.

❤️ Where No One Else Can See  by@bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) [G, 2K] Marcus once said Hawk was a damn good liar. And the first step in being the best damned liar that ever set foot in Washington was the necessity of being able to lie to yourself.

Hawk had been lying to himself for so long - about so many things - even he didn't think he would know his own truth if it was laid bare before him.

Until soft brown eyes and a kiss that tasted like milk and eternity.

Until Skippy.

Or, How Tim's touch made Hawk realise a certain fact.

Part 2 of FT Valentine's Month

🧡 The World is Not Kind to Good People♦️ by @lovebunnie | space_kid [T, 727] Tim felt Hawk’s eyes on him whenever they were in the same room, not unlike the unrelenting gaze of God; all powerful, all knowing, something Tim ached for.

💛 Stars fading but I linger on, dear  by @cinnamoncountess | CinnamonCountess [E, 5K] Tulips, roses, lavenders, daisies and orchids —

Tim closes his eyes for fleeting seconds as he passes the bayside and takes in the wide-ranging scent wafting over from the flower sales on each side of the road, drawing into his nostrils where it mixes with the salty sea odor from afar. It is that day of the year again that always squeezes on his heart like a fallen wall of bricks, burying him underneath.

💚 Everywhere I look, you're all I see.  by @in-our-special-place | Cupping_Cakes [M, 950] In that moment, all the pain, the hurt, and the years of separation melted away. It was just the two of them, lost in their own little world. And for Tim, it was all he ever wanted.

💙 Anywhere You Wander, Anywhere You Go  by Anonymous [G, 1K] As he was now, the man he was now - Tim could not deny the longing in his heart. The need to close the distance between them again, to take his heart back into his arms.

Or, another cabin husbands dancing together fic.

💜 cheek to cheek  by vexinganthony💠 [T, 2K] An extremely fluffy one shot about Tim singing at hawk’s behest.

Part 1 of valentine’s month prompts

💗 Unforgettable  by @justviwriting | justviwriting [T, 1K] Hawk and Tim dance together for the first time.

Part 4 of My Fellow Travelers Fanfics

❤️ One Desire  by @lovebunnie | space_kid [T, 1K] Tim instinctively stepped towards Hawk before stopping, "Hawk, I don’t-"

"You said music doesn’t sound the same," Hawk cut in. "I figured… it doesn’t have to sound the same. Let’s make it sound better."

Part 1 of Fellow Travelers Valentine’s Day 202

🧡 Hold Me In Your Arms  by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) [G, 1K] Tim entices Hawk to dance with him, and then sing for him.

Part 3 of Bravery | Part 1 of FT Valentine's Month

💛 You're the one I want to go through time with. by @in-our-special-place | Cupping_Cakes [E, 773] 'Don't you need me, Skippy?' Hawk said softly.

'I have you,' Tim replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

💚 with your kiss my life begins  by @startagainbuttercup | startagainbuttercup [G, 785] 4 times Tim and Hawk dance.

Part 1 of FT Valentine's Month: how do I love thee, let me count the weeks…

💙 The Way We Danced Till Three by @jesterlesbian | captainquint [M, 2K] “There we go,” Hawk said, as he found the jazz station he often liked to tune into. Billie Holiday crooned through the static, singing They Can’t Take That Away From Me. Hawk tilted the bottle toward Tim in offering, who took it and tossed back a large swig before coughing and spluttering on the sharp taste of the alcohol.

“I don’t know how you do that,” Tim said, shuddering and sticking out his tongue.

Hawk laughed and took the bottle back, placing it on the desk near the radio. “Lots of practice.”

“Dance with me, Skippy?”

Or, Valentine's Day, 1954

Part 1 of FT Valentine's Day 2024

Thanks to all the creators for your wonderful efforts, and to the readers for taking the time to enjoy and share these fics!

Thank you to @fellow-travelers-events for hosting this event. 

Ao3 Collection 💗