#hopefully the next part will be just as painless

[drowpaladin]

absolutely hilarious to me that the first time i successfully pass in public, especially considering i wasn't really trying, was when my ex and I went to the courthouse to file for divorce XD

they said 'i support gay wrongs' lol

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Hello again everyone! Thank you all so much for the overwhelming support for the last part of the "Merlin accidentally conquers Camelot" au! I've had so much fun writing this au, and I'm so glad that you've all enjoyed it too! This will probably be the final part of this au (for now), since I have more au ideas to share with you all, but I'll probably revisit this au some day! For now, I'm approaching two pretty big tumblr milestones, so I'm working on an extra-special au to post in celebration of those (and I won't give anything away, but I think that this new au may be my best one yet, so stay tuned)!

Also, warning, this one is a long post! Be prepared!

Now, onto part four of this au! You can find part one here, part two here, and part three here!

As it turned out, planning a royal wedding was no easy feat.

Merlin had thought that simply adding a quick and (hopefully) painless wedding ceremony at the end of his coronation would make everything go smoothly. After all, the castle would already be decorated, they'd already have all of the important lords in attendance, and everything needed for a consort's coronation ceremony would already be there.

However, when Merlin announced to the lords and the steward in charge of preparing his coronation ceremony that he'd also need a quick wedding and coronation to take Arthur as his consort, they reacted with so much shock and horror that Merlin thought for a second that he'd accidentally announced that he was ordering their executions instead. The only person in the council room who didn't look like death itself had just appeared before him was Gwaine, who took advantage of he shocked silence following Merlin's proclamation to start laughing so uncontrollably that he doubled over and had to grab the wall for support.

Merlin had expected some shock and pushback from the council at his decision, not... this. All of the lords on the council had gone as pale as parchment, some trembling in their seats with fear. What on earth...

"Sire," the ever-unflappable Geoffrey called out, jolting Merlin from his confusion at the state of terror that had gripped the other council members, "while such a marriage would not be unlawful, it would certainly be unprecedented. I'm not questioning your judgement, I know that establishing yourself as a strong ruler this early in your reign is paramount, but are you sure that this is the best way to go about it? I'm certain that the citizens of Camelot will accept you as their rightful ruler as soon as they witness their true power for themselves, so taking the former king as your war prize isn't entirely necessary to show your dominance over the land."

The lords grew several shades paler at Geoffrey's words, and the trembling councilman sitting next to Geoffrey leaned in to fearfully hiss something into the librarian's ear. Merlin watched with growing confusion as Geoffrey's eyes went wide at whatever had just been whispered to him, and he rushed to speak once more.

"Of course, if this decision was made as some form of revenge or humiliation towards the Pendragon line, that is well within your right as a conqueror, Your Majesty. We would simply advise you to take the disgraced king as a concubine, perhaps, instead of your official consort. As a ruler, you must now also consider the issue of one day producing legitimate heirs, which can only be borne to you through your consort."

Merlin blinked, desperately trying to follow whatever logic Geoffrey was using. Take Arthur as a concubine?! Had the old man gone insane?! And Merlin certainly wasn't concerned about heirs, since if he got his way, then his reign wouldn't last longer than this week!

Still, with most of the council looking like they were being plagued by waking nightmares, they weren't likely to listen to Merlin's very reasonable objections to being king in the first place, so Merlin just had to get them off his back until the wedding.

After a deep sigh, which made most of the council members flinch back with a still confusing amount of fear, Merlin addressed Geoffrey's concerns.

"Thank you for your input, but I'm afraid that my decision has already been made on this... issue. I will be taking Arthur as my consort at my coronation, and my decision is final. And don't concern yourself with the topic of heirs, that will be sorted out shortly."

Several lords choked on the air at Merlin's last comment, with a couple outright fainting at his words. Merlin's brows furrowed even more with befuddlement. What... what had he said that garnered such a reaction?! He was just telling them not to worry about it!

(Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Merlin, the lords had a very different idea of what their new king- a powerful, brutal warlord and sorcerer- had planned. They interpreted Merlin's intent to marry Arthur as an act of revenge against the son of the man who killed off so many of his people during the purge. It apparently wasn't enough for the mighty Emrys to defeat his enemy and leave him with nothing to his name. No, this ruthless new king of theirs planned on forcing the former king into a life of humiliation and servitude in the court that was once his own. To a king, that must be a fate worse than death.

These lords, who were some of the most active and complicit members of Uther's purge, looked at the punishment that Emrys had planned for Arthur and thought if that's what happened to the king, what's he going to do to us?!)

The days went by quickly after that meeting, with Merlin's time being filled with a never-ending list of his new duties and things that needed to be done before his coronation, not to mention organizing the coronation itself and the subsequent wedding (which Arthur didn't know about yet, as Merlin had been deliberately avoiding the dungeons after his last conversation with Arthur).

It took the better part of a week for everything to finally be prepared for the official coronation ceremony. The ceremony itself would consist of Merlin being crowned in front of the court (a nauseating thought for Merlin himself), the vassal lords and knights willing to swear fealty to him taking the oath of loyalty, and finally Arthur being handfasted to Merlin and crowned consort.

Merlin was, for once, thankful for the amount of work that he had to do over the days leading up to the ceremony, as it kept his mind busy and his thoughts away from the pit of self-loathing that had taken up permanent residence in his head. After all, what kind of friend stole everything from the person they love the most in the world and then turns around and forces that same friend (and unrequited crush) to marry them?!

Merlin had attempted to rationalize his selfish decision to keep Arthur in the dark regarding his plan to reinstate him as king by telling himself that if Arthur didn't know about the wedding until the last minute, then he would spend less time worrying about it in the long run after he was king again! Besides, if Merlin's plan worked, they would only be married for a day or two, so there was no reason to get Arthur worked up over that by telling him earlier!

Truly, Merlin was not being a complete scumbag by doing this, he was just looking out for his friend's best interests and mental wellbeing! This would all blow over in a a matter of days anyways, Merlin was certain of it.

Still, Merlin found himself anxious and pacing the floor of his room on the morning of the ceremony. He had sent a team of servants and guards to retrieve Arthur from his cell and prepare him for the ceremony, so he likely wouldn't see Arthur until he was brought into the great hall for the handfasting ceremony. However, he still worried over Arthur's reaction when he learned what exactly when was being prepared for.

This worry lingered in Merlin's mind and consumed his thoughts throughout the entire day and into the coronation ceremony, so much so that his own coronation seemed like a blur to him. One moment he was standing in the great hall in front of the assembled crowd of lords and knights, and in the next, he was sitting on Arthur's throne with Arthur's crown on his head, with the crowd shouting "long live the king".

The sound of it almost made Merlin sick. Those words should never be directed at him, but he'd make this right soon enough. He just had to suffer through this ceremony to appease those disloyal lords who had turned their backs on their true king.

Perhaps the worst part of the coronation itself was the ceremony in which the lords and knights willing to pledge their fealty to him took an oath declaring such. It was no surprise to Merlin to see those weasels on the council of lords pledging themselves to save their own skin, but the knights who showed up to pledge their fealty were... very unexpected.

Look, Merlin had assumed that it would just be Gwaine and a small handful of guards and younger knights that he had roped into his mischievous scheme swearing loyalty so him. All of the other knights with their wits intact would surely still be down in the cells of the dungeon, holding true to their prior oaths of loyalty and keeping their true king company.

What Merlin did not expect, however, was for nearly a quarter of all of Camelot's knights to take a knee before him and pledge their loyalty, led by a highly amused Gwaine, who was no doubt enjoying every minute of this. Merlin quickly scanned the crowd of knights, trying to take count of who all had turned their backs on Arthur and could no longer be trusted.

Gwaine, of course, came at no surprise. Many of those assembled were commoner knights whom Arthur had taken in, including Percival, but the giant regularly got pulled into Gwaine's nonsense, so this wasn't truly that much of a shock if Merlin thought about it. There were a fair number of noble-born knights in the crowd, including all of those whom Merlin had noted had a softer outlook on magic. And then, of course, there were a decent number of pompous, high-born knights who had never given a lick about magic or loyalty, they just wanted to preserve their own wealth and power no matter the cost.

Merlin narrowed his eyes at the cluster of those knights. All the rest had logical reasons to side with Merlin, between Gwaine's persuasiveness, solidarity between the lower class, or a connection or sympathy towards magic, so they would be allowed to stay in court after Arthur had retaken his rightful throne. But these knights? These cowardly snakes had to be dealt with at the first opportunity. But how could he get rid of them without people becoming suspicious?

... Wait a minute, Merlin was king now! He might only have that title for a day or so, but in that time, he could certainly use it! (And he absolutely was not using this as a tactic to prolong this part of the ceremony so that he had a few more minutes of peace before the wedding began.)

Right, but how was he going to play this? He couldn't exactly just announce that he wanted those knights to leave because he wanted them gone before Arthur took over again.

Merlin narrowed his eyes at the group of treacherous knights and noted how they squirmed a bit under his gaze, with even some of the people around them shuddering. Right, he looked like a ruthless and powerful sorcerer to them now. He could use that to his advantage.

As the knights finished reciting their oaths, Merlin held up his hand, signaling for them to stay in place. The knights did so, but a confused and concerned murmuring started buzzing around at this strange departure from the normal ceremony. Slowly, Merlin lifted his hand and pointed at the assembled group of knights in the back.

"You lot. In the back."

The murmuring died down the instant Merlin opened his mouth and was instead replaced by an oppressive dread weighing down the ornately decorated hall. If Merlin wasn't trying so hard to keep a straight, intimidating face, he would have winced at causing such a wave of fear with nothing more than a few words.

Hesitantly, one of the called out knights stepped forward, addressing their new king.

"Yes, your majesty? Is there something you require of us?"

Merlin held back the urge to smirk as an idea, and a very satisfying one at that, formed in his head. He quietly cleared his throat and put on his most imperious "Emrys" voice that he could muster.

"I can sense insincerity in your hearts with my magic. Just as you abandoned the previous king, you would also turn your backs on me at the first opportunity to do so. Do not even attempt to deny it, you know just as well as I do that this true. I cannot trust any such men as knights of mine."

The group of knights went pale as Merlin called them out for their flimsy loyalty, and at once whispers began fly in the crowd. Perhaps they were intrigued by this show of his "powers"? Were they scandalized by this public shaming of a group of high-ranking knights?

Either way, the knights immediately began groveling, begging Merlin to let them keep their positions, their wealth, their power, but Merlin dismissed them with a wave of a hand and publicly revoked their knighthoods. The murmuring of the remaining people in the great hall grew louder as the disgraced former knights made their way out of the hall, no doubt intimidated and scandalized by how quickly their new ruler was purging his court of the disloyal.

However, with the loyal knights having taken their oaths and the untrustworthy ones having been cast out, the coronation ceremony was now officially complete, meaning that Merlin could no longer stall what would come next.

Merlin sat still on his stolen throne, trying his best not to fidget with nervousness as Geoffrey gave some traditional speech that had to be done before the doors of the great hall opened to let consort walk down the aisle to the throne.

After a couple minutes, Geoffrey's monotonous voice became nothing but a buzzing in Merlin's ears as he stared at the doors of the hall, desperately trying to imagine any scenario where those doors wouldn't open to an Arthur who was filled with nothing but rage and betrayal.

All too soon, Geoffrey's droning speech ended, and the trumpets in the hall announced the arrival of the soon-to-be-consort and signaled for everyone of lower rank to stand. Merlin's heart leapt to his throat as he jumped to his feet, even though he was the only person in the room who didn't need to. Ever so slowly, the doors to the hall swung open, revealing... Arthur.

Merlin damn near choked on his own saliva at the sight of him. He had seen Arthur in a wide range of states over the years as his manservant, ranging anywhere from sleep-rumbled to solemnly prepared for battle. But this... he had never seen anything like it.

Merlin couldn't decide if whoever had been in charge of dressing Arthur and preparing him for the ceremony ought to either be promoted to Arthur's personal tailor or immediately banished. In place of Arthur's usual surcoat and chainmail for official ceremonies, which was what Merlin had foolishly assumed the servants would dress Arthur in, there was... a monstrosity that would haunt Merlin's dreams for the rest of his life.

Merlin didn't even know how to begin to describe it. The garment that the servants had no doubt forced Arthur into, as Merlin knew that he would never wear such a thing of his own accord, was somewhere between a set of intricately intertwined robes and a dress, which hugged Arthur's shoulders, upper arms, and thighs, highlighting the muscles there. Most of the outfit appeared to be made out of a rich velvet, dyed in a majestic royal blue that both looked entirely out of place on Arthur and brought out his eyes like nothing Merlin had ever seen before. And dear gods, was that lace on there?! And why the hell did the outfit need elbow-length lace gloves?!

(The servants who had been in charge of dressing Arthur for the ceremony had assumed that their brutal new warlord would probably want his war prize to look as far from a warrior as possible, in order to further prove that he had beaten the previous rulers. So, they selected a delicate and elegant outfit for Arthur in the hopes of appeasing their new king.)

Merlin swallowed dryly as Arthur slowly began making his way down the aisle with measured footsteps. The movement snapped Merlin out of whatever temporary madness the outfit had sent him spiraling into, and Merlin finally locked eyes with Arthur.

Merlin winced at the sheer amount of rage that Arthur managed to fit into one glare as he took another step towards the throne that was rightfully his. Merlin tried to give Arthur his most reassuring smile, but he was almost certain it only came across as a nervous grimace.

Just go along with this, Merlin tried to beg of Arthur with only his eyes. Their bond had always been one that allowed them to communicate without words, and Merlin prayed that their connection would hold strong once more and get his message across to Arthur.

Neither Arthur's impressive glare nor his furious scowl let up though, but he kept his pace towards the throne steady, which Merlin decided to take as a good sign. After all, if Arthur truly did not any merit to this impromptu plan, why would he still be walking of his own accord towards the altar?

Still, as Arthur grew closer and closer to the altar prepared for the handfasting, his eyes became darker with rage as Merlin winced. Yes, this would certainly be harder than it needed to be, but this had to be done to get Arthur back on the throne! Surely Arthur would understand that!

After what must have been an eternity, Arthur finally reached the altar and, ever so slowly, walked around to stand at a fidgeting Merlin's side.

As Geoffrey began yet another speech that had to be done before the handfasting took place, Merlin quietly turned to Arthur and gave him a small smile, trying to a least let Arthur know that everything was alright, that everything would turn out fine.

That little smile, it seemed, turned out to be the final straw for Arthur. Merlin wasn't even entirely sure how it happened.

One moment, he was standing next to Arthur in front of the altar, with the only sound in the room being Geoffrey's boring voice. And in the next, there was a savage war cry coming from Arthur, who was now armed with a sword, and a decent amount of screaming coming from the crowd.

It spoke volumes about Merlin's state of mind that his first thought upon seeing Arthur run at him with a blade in hand wasn't get back, dodge! but was rather that dress is tight, where on earth did he hide that sword?

However, Merlin's sense of self-preservation wasn't nearly as terrible as Gaius accused it of being, as his second thought was I should probably try to avoid getting stabbed at my own wedding.

Reluctantly, Merlin gathered his magic, ready to disarm Arthur and hold him still if need be. Arthur could stab Merlin later if he really felt like it, but Merlin needed to at least officially make Arthur his consort and heir before Arthur did that!

However, to Merlin's surprise, rather than trying to run Merlin through, Arthur instead stabbed at the wooden handfasting altar, sinking his blade deep into it. Merlin carefully kept his eyes on Arthur as the other man viciously pulled off one of the dainty lace gloves and threw it on the ground at Merlin's feet.

Dumbfounded, Merlin stared at the thrown glove on the floor and then looked back up to stare at Arthur, not quite getting what Arthur was trying to tell him here. Did he just really hate the outfit? Or was it this whole marriage plan that he objected to?

"Pick it up."

"Huh?"

Arthur nearly started growling, his rage apparently rising with Merlin's confusion.

"It may not be a proper gauntlet, since you have denied me such a dignity, but it will suffice for this. Pick it up, King Emrys. I challenge you to a duel in single combat for the throne of Camelot. You may have defeated my sister, but you did not defeat me! I am no prize for you to claim!"

Merlin simply blinked, completely thrown off by this turn of events, while loud shouts started erupting from the crowd. By the time his mind caught up to what Arthur had said, Arthur had taken up his sword from where he had struck it into the altar and was pointing it threateningly at Merlin again.

As Merlin's shock wore off and he finally understood what exactly Arthur had just done, he had to fight back the urge to scream into the sky with frustration as yet another one of his plans to reinstate Arthur as king had just been ruined by the obstinate clotpole himself. Couldn't the prat just let Merlin help?!

With his frustration rising, Merlin glared down at the thrown glove. While a duel would certainly allow Arthur to retake the throne, Merlin wasn't entirely sure how his magic would react to such a fight. Merlin would never consciously hurt Arthur of course, but who knows if his magic would strike out in self-defense?!

And, besides, formally accepting and preparing the duel would take days. And, in Merlin's opinion, this whole farce has gone on for long enough.

"No. I will not accept your challenge."

Arthur's face went red with anger at Merlin's refusal.

"You are just as much of a coward as the rest of your kind, sorcerer! You would not even grant me the opportunity to take back what's mine!"

Merlin bit back a frustrated scream at that. Arthur would be getting his throne back if he just followed through with any of Merlin's plans instead of ruining threm!

Merlin took a deep breath and sighed on the exhale, trying the rein in his own anger. He just needed to go through with this ceremony, and then everything would be fine.

With a quick flash of gold in his eyes, which had Arthur flinching back (and didn't that just sting?), Merlin turned Arthur's blade into dust had Arthur's glove fly back onto his hand, setting everything right as it had been before Arthur had pulled out a sword and all hell had broken loose.

"That's enough! I've been trying to restore you to your rightful position as king this entire time, and yet you push back at every opportunity! I am not about to let you sabotage your own destiny! So, here's what's going to happen!"

Distantly, Merlin heard the wind outside whipping around, like his own frustration and stirred nature itself into a frenzy.

"You are going to stand here, complete this ceremony, be named my heir, and then retake your throne when I abdicate! Are we clear?"

Arthur, who still looked rather shaken at Merlin's display of magic, scowled, but still nodded his head. Merlin, satisfied by this, turned back around to face the shocked crowd.

"And do I make myself clear to all of you?! There will be no more interruptions of this ceremony, and Arthur will take back his throne!"

The frightened crowd went silent at Merlin's outburst, seemingly relenting to Merlin's demands.

Merlin then turned to Geoffrey, who was still standing in front of the handfasting altar with the rope in his hands.

"Now, Geoffrey, I would greatly appreciate it if you would get a move on here. I don't want to wear this stupid crown for any longer than I have to."

The only indication that Geoffrey gave that he was surprised by Merlin's outburst was a mere uptake of his eyebrows, rather reminiscent of Gaius's signature look. Without further ado, Geoffrey tied Merlin and Arthur's hands together, declaring them to be now married in the eyes of the gods of the Old Religion.

(Merlin tried to ignore the hurt and longing that built up in his heart in that moment. How many times had he dreamed of something like this? But he never wanted it to happen like this. This was Merlin's dream come true, but it was all wrong. In that moment, Merlin didn't dare look at Arthur, too afraid of what his dearest friend thought about this grievous overstep of boundaries.)

Immediately after Geoffrey untied the handfasting knot, Arthur's coronation as consort began. The ceremony itself went smoothly, but Merlin's heart broke both at the sight of Arthur kneeling before him, waiting to be crowned, and at the furious glare Arthur gave him as he gently put the consort's crown upon Arthur's head, officially naming Arthur as his heir.

As soon as Arthur stood from where he was kneeling, applause broke out from the crowd. Someone (Merlin heavily suspected Gwaine) started a chant of "long live the kings!", which caught on quickly. Merlin winced again at the chant, not daring to turn and look at Arthur's face.

Still, Merlin reminded himself as he took a deep, calming breath, everything was coming along. Arthur was now officially his consort and heir, and all that was left to do... was the copious amounts of paperwork finalizing his abdication.

Yeah, no. Merlin wasn't going through that process when he could just take care of it here and now.

"Citizens of Camelot, on this most joyous day, I, King Emrys, abdicate the throne!"

Even though he had made his intentions clear only a few minutes earlier, shocked whispers flew around the crowd, like they hadn't truly believed that he would go through with it.

Merlin couldn't help the grin that was forming on his face. Finally, everything would be set right again!

"I am no longer your king, and as per the laws of the kingdom, the throne now rightfully belongs to your true king, Arthur Pendragon!"

With that, Merlin reached up and yanked the crown off of his own head, marched over to a dumbfounded Arthur and, without any hesitation, replaced the consort's crown on Arthur's head with the true crown.

"There, that's much better," Merlin whispered to himself as he gazed upon Arthur, finally looking like himself again, but he was certain that Arthur must have heard it too, as Arthur's eyes went wide at his words.

But that was a conversation for another day, as Merlin was now done here. This entire calamity was over, and now Merlin was going to savor its end.

Merlin turned back to face the crowd once more with an undoubtedly crazed grin.

"Goodnight everyone! Be sure to obey your true king! In the meanwhile, I'm off to bed for my first full night's rest since this nightmare started!"

And with that, Merlin merrily skipped out of the great hall, made his way to his cramped room in Gaius's chambers, and slept soundly.

Bonus Scene!

THE NEXT DAY:

Arthur: Busts into Merlin's room

Merlin, unwillingly woken up from the best sleep he's gotten in years: Ugh, what do you want you prat?! You're king again, aren't you?! Don't you have kingly duty to be attending to?

Arthur: Merlin you idiot, you abdicated the throne.

Merlin: Yes, and now you're king again. You're welcome!

Arthur: But you never dissolved our union!

Merlin: Huh?

Arthur: A divorce can only be granted by the same ruler who authorized the marriage! You know what this means, right?!

Merlin: Yeah, that you can just declare us to be not married anymore and we can all be on our way.

Arthur: No, YOU were the ruler who authorized the marriage, and now that you've abdicated, you can't dissolve the marriage! Legally, no one can!

Merlin, turning pale: What?

Arthur, looking weary: Yes, apparently it's some legal technicality that Geoffrey cited from Bruta's code. I've spent all morning arguing with him, but there seems to be no way around it.

Merlin: So... what you're saying is that we're stuck being married to each other.

Arthur: Yes, you buffoon, that's exactly what I'm saying! Now, get up!

Merlin, feeling incredibly guilty over this entire situation: Arthur, I'm so sorry, I take full responsibility for this, I never should have forced you into-

Arthur, cutting him off: Let's go. We don't have much time before the rest of the castle is up and about, and I'd rather us not be seen here.

Merlin, confused but complying: Arthur, where are we going? Why don't you want us to be seen here?

Arthur, blushing: It would reflect poorly on the king if word got out that he let his consort sleep in this dirty broom closet on their wedding night, wouldn't it?

Merlin, blushing: Ah, I suppose it would.

And that's a wrap for this au for now! I hope you've all enjoyed this story!

A huge thank you for everyone who asked for this continuation! (and holy cow there were a lot of you!! Thank you all so much!)

@magic-mushroomss @miyriu @whole-buncha-snakess @achillesuwu @aerismoon

@tidalwavesandthunderstorms @marki9 @isaidno @retro-wallflower @samwinjester

@lascienzadellafantasia @sugar-coated-prat-dragon @theoldfroglady @ryeallytired @mind-of-a-crow

@whynotreinventmyselfeveryday @likeapaperplane @odinjm @orliththedragon @aglmry

@caraspud @aostrek-236 @justaz @slippysalt @coffee-shop-gay

@the-king-and-the-druidess @theroundbartable @fanfic-library-for-me @linotheghost @scuttlingsleipnir

@guiltyscarlet @cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu @247merthur @veryroadpartystatesman-blog @verxen

@lascienzadellafantasia @jareicanon @arrowlovesdragons @juliairian @thesuperstitiousoldelf

@lovermyme @bootprivileges @rem-the-moth @hippielittlemetalhead @ole-to-you-nonetheless

@lordmushroomkat @starchaos01 @reynaharmonia @anastasia0614 @starlight-crow

@wheneverfeasible @savlikesbluengreen @fuckingdeadinsidetm @notquitehumanwrites @purplesandwichtiger

@rocks-d-xerxes @olli-is-a-fish @luluzealand2565 @dangerhumming @tireddruid

@spiralingtowardtheabyss @mundaneone @anxiousdragoncollector @catface233 @bennedict

@elementalpirate4 @bertolio @vadis-protenus @chaosofbelievers @floating-on-avalon

@merthurogies @justaz

And, as always, thank you all for reading through my ramblings! :D

I'll see you all next time!

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 22.

Summary: After mostly resolving your issues regarding Oliver and Venetia, it's much easier to enjoy the time leading up to the dinner with the Henrys. Still, Oliver seems more than a little nervous to be around you and Felix, much to Felix's ongoing chagrin. He wonders how long it will take for Oliver to take the hint.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

A/N: 3044 words. oh yeah, its all coming together. :) i know the last few updates have been kind of spaced out, so i'd love to get some feedback from you lovely folks about how you think it's coming along now that we're in the back half.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

One day - probably one day soon - you'd have to tell Felix the truth about Oliver and Venetia. By that time, you reasoned, you'd have come up with a way to say it that would make him see why you hadn't called Oliver out for lying, and why you'd kept it from him. His gut reaction, like your own, was to immediately jump to the worst possible, malevolent conclusion. Based on past events, it was a sound conclusion to jump to. But Oliver's not Eddie. It was a moment of weakness, and Oliver really does love Felix. Somehow you'd find a way to make this painless, perhaps even a way to show how much Oliver cared, because that's what you'd seen, that's the why behind your own deception.

Except Felix wasn't even ready to admit out loud to himself, let alone you, or god forbid Oliver, that he genuinely felt that way about him. Even if he definitely, clearly did. But again, past heartbreak makes some of his trepidation far more excusable.

At least you have a distraction for the afternoon - not Oliver, no, he would never be so bold in direct sunlight as to do anything more than make out with you on the pool lounge. No, this distraction wasn't a particularly good one.

The NDA from your parents, sitting in your study.

Part of you knows you should probably have a lawyer look over this, but there was something about the idea of involving yet another person in your parents ongoing attempts to abandoned you that left a sour taste in your mouth. So that left you to look over it all on your own. The sticky-hot afternoon in the study wears thin on your nerves, but irritation was all that ever came of it, not upset or disappointment. Reconciling with Oliver probably had quite a bit to do with it.

Dinner is a welcome reprieve. When Oliver smiles at you across the table, there's a weight that's lifted from your shoulders are you smile back. Felix too is in notably high spirits, though he's decidedly not talking to Venetia; his parents don't seem to mind, however, as long as he's happier than when he'd started the day.

"Is there anything planned for after dinner?" Oliver asked, eyes wide and earnest as he looks around the table, all present sharing an equally confused look as if one of them may have planned something all the others had forgotten.

"Not as far as I'm aware," Sir James offers after a moment.

"Tomorrow will be quite the busy night," Elspeth elaborates with ease, "I'm sure we'd all like to conserve our energy."

"Last chance to cancel dinner with the Henrys," Felix says, already knowing it's not a real option, even after Elspeth chides him for the suggestion, that they'd already had all the food brought and extra help hired.

"Has the seating chart been organised yet?" You asked hopefully, to which Elspeth smiled when her gaze landed upon you, assuring you she'd finalised it that afternoon, turning only to remind Duncan to have it delivered to your study that evening.

"You'll be seated next to Henry of Suffolk, dear," she also tells you, and immediately you're filing that information away in the back of your mind. Henry of Suffolk, partner at Richmond & Suffolk Legal; his late wife was named Clarice, he had a daughter and son a few years younger than you... their names escaped you at that moment.

Beside you, Felix is shamelessly admiring you.

"What?" You ducked your head to try and hide your embarrassed grin.

"Just watching your mind work," he teased with a laugh which had you rolling your eyes with fond exasperation.

"So you can see the cogs too then?" Venetia giggles across the table, though Farleigh chimes in before Felix has the chance to give his sister a look.

"Surprised there's not steam coming out of their ears."

"I'm not a robot," you insisted, flustered by the attention and their combined teasing.

"Just your beautiful brain then," Oliver adds fondly, and out of sheer surprise you look up to meet his endeared gaze as he looks back at you. When had he been let in on that particular joke, you wondered? Something in the back of your mind is sure that it was Venetia, after all, she was the one who most often referred to your 'robot brain' as such, but you don't have it in you to be upset. You never do at these jokes, even though you may occasionally protest about them, they're always intended as a compliment.

And there's no way you could be mad with Oliver looking at you like that.

Dinner continues on with very little fuss after that, and you return to your study feeling much lighter than you had before. Felix joins you, complaining about how you'd spent all afternoon in here, and he couldn't bare to think of you spend all evening alone in here too. Of course he knows that Oliver will more than likely join you when it gets late enough, but he's brought a book, and has quietly claimed the sofa beneath the window for himself. These nights have never been uncommon, but this Summer has seemed especially busy at Saltburn, so you more than welcome his quiet company as the day's heat slowly burns away.

It's not long before there's someone approaching your door.

"It's Duncan," you say, mostly for Felix's benefit, before the butler himself knocks and you invite him in.

"The seating arrangements for tomorrow night's event, Captain," Duncan says graciously, giving you the faintest smile as he hands the document over and turns swiftly on his heel, practically evaporating into the darkness of the house silently.

"Still have no idea how you do that," Felix sounds rather impressed from where he's draped himself over the sofa.

"Do what?" You asked distractedly, examining the seating chart in the golden glow of the lamp.

"How you know exactly who's coming and going without even seeing them."

"Duncan was just being courteous for me," you mutter off-handily, "if I'd heard nothing before he'd knocked, I'd still know it was him."

"You know that's even more impressive, right?" Felix laughs, and finally you turn to him, only to see him watching you like he can't quite believe what you're saying. Sometimes you find yourself surprised by the Cattons, and how little they seem to understand or appreciate about the Estate on which they live.

"No, what's impressive is that I can tell what kind of mood your in half the time just by the sound of your footsteps," you tells him with a grin.

"Now you're lying," Felix snorts, shaking his head. But you continue.

"No, seriously Fi, it's not always entirely accurate, but it's pretty close; I'm not quite there with the rest of your family, but I think I know you well enough."

"That's like, stalker levels of dedication," but his smile is bright in the light of the moon, and his tone turns teasing, "do you have a thing for me or something?"

"I wouldn't go that far," you huffed a laugh, playing along with the bit.

"Shame," he sighed dramatically, "I was really hoping you did, 'cos I kind of have a thing for you."

"I wouldn't if I were you," finally standing, you sauntered over to him, smirking as he beamed up at you, thoroughly pleased by this silly little bit, "that sounds like a scandal waiting to happen."

"Call the tabloids then," Felix laughed softly as he welcomed you into his arms.

"Any stalker-like tendencies of yours I should be worried about?" You asked, settling against him, leaning into him.

"Yeah, I've got a bunch of your things in my room," Felix murmurs right before you kiss him, grinning as you do so. Things devolve from there to the two of you making out in the moonlight, giggling together, teasing nonsense passed back and forth as the moon rose higher in the sky.

"Ollie's at the door," you see fit to finally tell Felix, who looks down at you with wide, surprised eyes. Sheepishly you admit, "he's been there for like five minutes." It's getting terribly late, but you really don't want to go bed right now, or go anywhere that isn't here, in this moment. Felix snorts a laugh, face scrunching up with something close to embarrassment; he knows letting Oliver get away with this kind of thing is part of the game you're all playing, but it still catches him off guard with just how aware you were of the whole situation.

"Ollie," Felix called out, and you both heard a him start behind the study door, "Christ, mate, don't linger," he insists, righting both him and yourself to something more respectable on the sofa, but still insisting on holding you close, "come in already." You're practically in his lap.

Like a deer in the headlights, looking absolutely mortified at being caught out, Oliver pushes the door open and faintly apologises, telling you both he didn't want to interrupt.

"Interrupt what?" Felix says far too easily, smile wide and a bit coy, "nothing to interrupt," though you can hear it for what it is; nothing you, Oliver, could ever interrupt if you simply asked to join. How long would it take Oliver to realise this, you wondered; Felix is getting less subtle by the day.

"I was going to ask -" Oliver pauses, focus stolen by the way Felix presses a kiss to your shoulder, before his gaze returns to your face, your expectant smile. Felix knows exactly what he's doing, "um, was going to ask about the seats for the dinner tomorrow?" Oliver manages, "I don't... know the Henrys?"

As you stand, Felix lets out a loud, disappointed sigh, but lets you go, returning to his book. Every movement, every sound Felix makes captivates Oliver in this moment, and both you and Felix are more than aware of this. Still, you swan over to your desk, looking over the seating chart before you usher Oliver over.

"They've got you next to Ven and Lady Daphne," you show him, pointing out his place along the table, "she's Henry's wife," you add wryly, and hear Felix bark a laugh behind you. Oliver, for a moment, seems confused, gaze flicking between you both.

"Aren't all the -?"

"That's the joke, Ollie," you tell him, but he still seems too nervous to properly see the humour in it, just making a faint noise of understanding in the back of his throat. "Did you want to hang out for a bit?" You offered, "this contract's doing my head in," you flicked at the thick contract on your desk dismissively, "so I'm probably going to get stuck into something lighter, but you know we always love your company."

"Thanks, but, uh," Oliver hesitated, looking to Felix again, "I think I'm gonna turn in for the night."

"Okay," you say sunnily, leaning over to give him a quick peck on the lips, which seems to startle him, "hope you sleep well, Ollie."

"Yeah," Oliver still seems to be reeling from the brief show of affection, "you too."

"Good night, mate," Felix offers with a cheery wave.

"You going to kiss me good night too?" Oliver sounds almost dazed, and suddenly looks mortified once more, like he can't quite believe he'd said that. Felix, unphased, stands and makes his way over to you both.

"Sure," he seems to take the suggestion in stride, kissing the top of Oliver's head before he bends to quickly kiss him on the lips. For a moment after Felix has pulled back, Oliver's look at him like he's staring at the sun, and Felix is wearing a sharp, knowing smile, "'night, Ollie," he says, quieter this time.

"G'night, Felix," Oliver murmurs, making his way to the door as Felix nonchalantly reaches to take the seating chart from your hand to look it over for himself. You, however, watch Oliver go, feeling both helpless and amused all at once.

"You think if I fuck him he'll take the hint?" Felix asks quietly once the door was shut, and you'd both heard Oliver's door squeak closed for the night.

"Do you think if you fuck him you'll take the hint," you asked disbelievingly, "that man is so into you, Fi," you hissed, almost furiously wide-eyed as you looked up at him. As always, Felix responds dismissively.

"Told you I'm not saying anything until he does," Felix puts the document down, choosing instead to drape his arms over your shoulders, "we can fuck around all Summer for all I care, but you know I'm not going to hold my breath for things to get more serious unless he tells me."

"He just asked you to kiss him, Felix!"

"I wasn't in love with you when we first kissed."

"Bad example; yes you were."

"Okay, bad example, yes I was," Felix admits with a faint flush, "but for the record, I didn't think I was at the time; we were twelve," he regains his composure quickly, "but it's not like you're in love with Farleigh or my sister; yeah, I know you love them, but you're not in love with them."

"That's different, Fi, we've been fucking around since forever," you sighed, resting your head against him for a moment.

"It's not different," Felix insists, "I just-" but he paused, and when you chance a look up at him, his face is scrunched up, like he's on the verge of admitting something he really doesn't want to, "I don't want to be getting my hopes up if it's just fucking around with Ollie, you know?" It comes out far more frustrated than you'd anticipated, and though you pat his back comfortingly, you can't help but add -

"He drank your bathwater."

"He fucking watched me get myself off and didn't even do anything about it until after it happened! And not even with me!" Felix points out, sounding almost like a petulant child, "I left the fucking door open and everything!" He's pouting now, actually pouting.

"He probably thinks that if he's too forward he'll scare you off, or your parents will kick him out or something," you tried to reason with him, to which Felix groaned.

"But they won't! You saw how much they loved Eddie, fucking hell," he huffed, stepping back, now wearing a scowl. Where had this night turned to something unfortunate? "Mum would throw a fucking parade if I got a boyfriend who wasn't a cheating dickhead."

"You should tell Oliver that," you pointed out frankly, "or at the very least tell him the truth about things with Eddie, so he knows that you do more than just fuck around with pretty boys."

Everything suddenly goes very still.

"What?" There's no frown, no anger anywhere on Felix's face, just pure surprise, "do you think he thinks that?" You watch Felix re-evaluate the entire situation, giving him space to sort out his feelings, "I made it clear I'm into guys too- do you think he thinks -"

"I think," slowly, carefully, you step up to Felix, voice firm but kind, "that despite how much he's seen you fuck around with other people on campus, the only person you are actually in love with is me," Felix is quiet, looking down at you with this crestfallen look like he's disappointed in himself, "and he, like most people I'll remind you, probably assumes that if he wants you to look at him like you look at me, it'll be a competition."

"Of course it's not, that's so stupid," Felix muttered reflexively.

"I've tried to tell Ollie that," you sighed, wrapping an arm around him. Felix presses his face into your hair for a very long moment.

"What if he doesn't, though?" Comes through muffled and forlorn. You're not quite sure what he means, and thankfully Felix continues, not that he moves his face at all, "what if it is just fucking around and we've misread all of this; I can't tell him I actually love him too, I'd look like an absolute freak."

"Tell him about Eddie," you advised softly, "at least he'll get the hint that you're capable of falling in love with someone who isn't me." The reminder of Eddie would always probably ache, you're starting to come to realise. For now, however, you ignore it.

Felix hugs you tightly, and mumbles that you're probably right. Something eases in your chest at that.

Curled up together in bed not ten minutes later, neither your pyjamas or duvet are as comfortable or warm as Felix's arm around you. He's still deep in thought about the night that had just passed; when he muses that at least it was a better talk than the night before, he sounds like he's still making his mind up about that. Settling into sleep, however, you're contented knowing it was true.

The following morning feels comparatively serene, chattering away to the rest of the family about the night's coming festivities. Both you and Felix drop a quick kiss to the top of Oliver's head in passing on your way to collect breakfast - Farleigh's the only one who notices, and he rolls his eyes at you both. Venetia asks you what you'll be wearing to the event and lights up when you tell her it's the jumpsuit she'd bought you from Yves Saint Laurent for your last birthday, while Elspeth coos that you'll look just darling in it.

After yesterday morning's tenseness, getting to work in your garden, planting the flowers that had arrived for you, music playing cheerily through your little speaker, it feels like a dream. The sun is warm against your back, and for some weird reason you think you see Oliver skulking around in one of the gardens by the wall of the house. Lurking again. Probably habit more than anything else, you figured. Considering the games you've been playing with him, you don't see the need to discourage that kind of behaviour. He's by the window of one of the little libraries; you wonder what must be going on in there to have caught his attention.

Oh well, you'll ask later if you remember.

[sunnyscripts]

[Door, footsteps] (Muffled) Hey, you did it, G! How was your first and hopefully last nab and grab? They’re unharmed and in one piece, I see.

I gather from the cursing and yelling that you didn’t gag them before you put the bag over their head. God forbid we have to do this again, but if we do, we should invest in gags or some sort of knockout gas. Make a note of that.

Alright, alright, I get that this is very shocking for you, but I’d really appreciate it if you could calm down with the insults; criminals have feelings too. Believe me, I have nothing against you personally, and we’re going to try to make this as painless as-

[Cloth rustling, pause] You’re not the governor’s kid. (Aside) Giacomo, this is not the governor’s kid we were trying to ransom; who the fuck is this?

[Tapping on phone] (Direct) Excuse me just a second, doll. (Aside) This is the picture I showed you from last week’s newspaper. Look at it next to this civilian you’ve got tangled up in our business. They look nothing alike; how did you possibly mix them up?

Bud, what’s the point of us giving you a health plan including vision if you’re not going to use it? You’re taking the day and going to the optometrist, boss’s orders, before your nearsightedness gets you and me killed.

[Groan, deep breath] (Pensive) Alright. How are we going to take care of you…

No, we’re not going to kill you! I don’t know what sort of Godfather-esque, dark romance stuff you’ve been reading or watching, but organized crime is a fairly tidy process nowadays. Making people sleep with the fishes is costly and messy. Me and mine almost exclusively work in money laundering and counterfeiting.

(Abashed) This, admittedly, is a bit of a special case. See, our local governor, running for re-election based on his staunch, Christian family values?

(Fiery) Yes, the one with the ill-fitting suits. I’m always saying that; the man doesn’t know how to dress. You know what he does know how to do? Woo his way into sweet, unsuspecting women’s hearts and beds without telling them he’s married. Sweet unsuspecting women like my widowed Auntie Nina who thought she was getting a second chance at love and got nothing but an NDA and a frankly insulting amount of hush money.

I fucking know, right? So you see why this is a special case, why we had to make this personal and see how he likes people he loves not being treated like they deserve… or, rather, we tried to. Where did we go wrong there, by the way? (Aside) Giacomo, where were you that you managed to pick up a stray instead of doing your job?

That’s right, that schmuck had an event at the library: shaking hands, kissing babies, probably being a worse role model and reader than the drag queens he hates. I thought it was closed to the public; that’s why we planned the kidnapping then. (Direct) Are you on his campaign team, doll? Because I hate to break it to you, your boss is a fucking asshole.

(Aghast) You’re a librarian? (Aside) You kidnapped a librarian?

You are fucking killing me, man. What are you gonna do next- roll a nurse and kick us down to a lower circle of hellfire and brimstone? Do me a favor and go out and start the car, please, so we can try to get some good karma back.

[Door] Sorry about all this, let’s get you untied, out of this stinking warehouse, and back home.

Of course we’re going to take you home, doll, safe and sound. You’ve suffered enough because of me and my cousin out there, and keeping you quiet the old-fashioned way wouldn’t benefit us at all. Like I said, I like my crimes like I like my money: untraceable and unbloodied.

Hand to god. Besides, I’m a mobster, not a monster. Libraries are an important part of the community, and I appreciate people like you who keep them running as best as you can. I might even want to stop by and say hello if that’s alright with you.

Because I think you’re interesting. I’ll grant you, it’s partly cause I’d rather you not snitch to the feds but mostly because I’d like to see you again.

In the past two hours, you’ve had a sack thrown over your head, been manhandled into a van, strapped to a chair, and left to stew in fear in a cold, dank warehouse of god knows what. In those two hours, you haven’t lost your cool or nerve even once. You didn’t cry, beg, or scream. You cursed me out, called me words I won’t repeat in your polite company, and did a real number on my associate if him limping out of here is any indicator. I can’t say I meet someone like you often, even in my line of work.

[Laugh] You’re giving me, a seasoned criminal, terms and conditions?

Oh, I like you.

Alright, doll, I’ll bite; I’m invested. What must I do if I want to come see you at work?

No more illegal activities on library grounds, that’s a fair enough ask. What’s the second thing?

[Hearty, genuine laugh] Oh, it goes without saying that I’ll be the one driving you home. I love G, I do, but I wouldn’t trust him to navigate us out of a paper bag at this point.

Performances:

(Credit to the beloved @mr-laveau for the fill and art ☀️)

[hojiteaversion]

Head Fast Toward The Light (Please)

(leo x laia | 669 words | domestic fluff, pregnancy | on ao3)

"Sweetheart," Laia gently tells her very, very big belly, "It's okay to come out, you know? There are so many cool things out there. Remember the book we read you yesterday? Wasn't it neat? There are many other books here waiting for you. Doesn't that sound great?"

Her baby is unmoved. Laia squirms on the bed, reaching behind her to try to fluff her pillow a bit. Her back, which has been aching for God knows how long, flares up in protest, and she groans a bit.

"I'll take you to Disneyland," she pleads. "We'll get a 3-day pass. I'll personally introduce you to all the cool princes and princesses. How does that sound?"

Her child doesn't even kick in excitement. It figures her baby is a DreamWorks kid — of course they would have taken after their dad.

"I know it's nice and warm in there, but imagine being nice and warm here and allowing your dear mommy to sleep a full, painless night? Doesn't that sound great?"

It's a gamble, of course. Laia had done her reading, and so she knows the discomfort at 37 weeks is practice for the amount of sleep she would not be getting for the foreseeable future. But maybe, if she plants the idea in her baby's head, her kid will miraculously sleep full nights at one month old.

"Darling?" Leo calls. Laia's head snaps up.

Her husband is leaning against the doorway of their room, arms crossed and smile delighted as he catches her in the act. His shirt has a few wet splotches from the dishes he just washed, and he should just take it off entirely, in Laia's honest opinion.

"Are you, by any chance, bribing our unborn child?"

"Me? No. No, I was just, you know..." She absentmindedly caresses her bump. "Telling them about all the amazing things the outside world has to offer. And that we could incidentally take them to ASAP if they would just... come out. Whenever it happens, I'm not in a hurry."

Leo nods, all knowing. Then he steps into the room and falls beside her on the bed with a smile. They quickly find the position that has worked best these past few days, with his head on her shoulder, one arm around her back, and his free hand on hers, over her bump.

"Because," Leo says, "If you were to bribe our child, Disney World is ten times better. And I would even add Legoland to the mix," he tells their baby, melodically. It never fails to move her how great he's gonna be with their children. "Cause you're a super cool baby and Legoland is the coolest place."

"It is," Laia adds, pretending she knows what Legoland is. "And, uh... Oh! We can also take you to The Nutcracker. Trust me, sweetheart, you haven't lived until you see your Uncle Vlad cry over The Waltz of the Flowers."

Leo laughs, draws something on her bump. Laia has the impression it's a sun and a swallow, and she smiles, warm. "Not that he won't cry every time he holds you."

"Remember Uncle Vlad, sweetheart?" Laia asks their baby. "He's the one with all those pretty Romanian poems. He can't wait to meet you. He waited, like, 600 years for this."

"And your Aunt Sandra has bought so many clothes for you," Leo complements. "She's really excited too. Aunt Millie and Aunt Cathy have your next ten birthday parties planned. Your Uncle Noe has made your crib... We just can't wait to meet you."

Laia sighs. "But it's okay if you need some time." She caresses her bump in what she hopes is a soothing manner. Ignores the pain on her back. "I know Breaking Dawn Part I scared you."

Leo snorts. It's been an old joke between them ever since they rewatched that series months ago, when her bump was just starting to show. She can't wait to let their kid in on the joke, once they're grown. Laia thinks they might laugh too.

Or they might find her, what was the word? Cringe? Oh God, would she be an uncool parent?

Well, that was for their kid to decide.

Hopefully soon.

[lady-wildflower]

In all seriousness, my perspective on this is that you can't necessarily be an absolutist about things like it. It also strikes me as a very culturally Christian thing, 'thou shalt not kill' being extended to animals in the assumption that death is an absolute evil and a sin, etc etc, but that's not something I've given enough thought to to articulate properly.

Let's assume a decent farming situation, as is the intent of a lot of activism to ensure is universal - if that animal lived a content life and was slaughtered in the most painless way we can manage, I'm fine with eating it. In that situation, and hell even in many not-ideal farming situations, that animal had an exponentially better life than it would have had in the wild. It was fed and watered well, protected from predators and disease, and its death was hopefully peaceful, quick, and painless - in the wild, that animal would have lived in a state of constant stress trying to make sure it gets its next meal without becoming something else's next meal, not to mention the prevalence of disease and parasites, and it would likely have died violently or from sickness. Nature is not some uwu pretty Arcadian archetype like some people seem to think.

As far as I'm concerned, it's not unethical to eat that animal and use its hide, or indeed other parts of it. It's been extracted from the violence of nature to the point of having a downright idyllic lifestyle by humans, and I am perfectly okay with the humans in return getting food and clothing. I'm as much for reducing cruelty with lab-grown meat or plant-based fake meat as the next ethical human, but it's not unethical to eat meat. That's an absolutist stance that is fundamentally incompatible with, in my opinion, reality. Frankly, there are plenty of humans who need it - I know someone who actually is required by their dietician to eat meat because a plant-based alternative wouldn't sustain them and they'd become severely anaemic without it. I'm gluten free, a vegan diet would either leave severe deficiencies in my own diet or give me regular stomach issues. If I need meat, as many if not most humans do since we're omnivores, and I get that meat in the absolute least amount of cruelty-per-meat I can humanly manage, I'm cool with that.

This is of course why I am opposed to cruel farming practices, despite eating meat. That's not a contradiction.

And that's just the situations where slaughter is required. The takes I've seen on wool are asinine. Sheep need to be sheared. It is bad for them to just let them be. We have bred them over millennia to need shearing. The wool gets too heavy for them to survive falling in water, too warm and dense for them to survive hot weather or clean themselves, and it is a fucking breeding ground for parasites and shit when it gets dirty. You want the sheep to get flystrike? Stop shearing them and that's what happens. We don't dock lambs' tails for no reason, we do it because they get fuckin necrotic infection from flies if you don't. It would be cruel not to shear them. The only people who badly injure sheep when shearing them are incompetents nobody invites back, but a few nicks are inevitable because, funnily enough, sheep don't really understand the phrase "sit still please while I give you a glorified haircut."

But no, because PETA and shits like them are performative fucking absolutists who misrepresent shearing as skinning, wool is becoming so hard to sell that farmers are having to just dispose of it because it'd cost more to sell it than the money they'd make. And instead, people are making clothes out of FUCKING PLASTIC.

That's what your fucking vegan leather is. Plastic. Polyester is a kind of plastic. None of this shit will be good for the environment when it inevitably breaks down, and it breaks down exponentially faster than actual leather, wool, etc. Leather and wool are better materials and better for the environment especially when they're farmed ethically, but because it doesn't suit a pretentious fucking performative absolutism about using animal products, people think it's evil. Even that fucking supposedly good pineapple leather, Piñatex, is plastic. I was so fucking disappointed to learn that when I googled it. But because people hear "pineapple leather" they think it's a good vegan alternative to leather, when it just isn't, and you really don't need an alternative to leather. If you're slaughtering a cow who's lived a content and happy life ethically, there's no reason not to use the skin aside from it not being economically viable, which it is becoming because this performative bullshit sells the idea that leather is evil, despite the fact it's better for the environment and you need less of it because it doesn't break down into unbiodegradable bits into nature where it can fuck up anything it gets into and doesn't deteriorate as quickly. An actual leather jacket will last decades. Plastic leather, that won't be worth wearing in less than one decade.

I would much rather wear the wool of a few healthily-shorn sheep and the leather of maybe half a cow and have that last half a lifetime or longer than keep buying more and more shitty plastic clothes that release microplastics into the ocean and soil for just as long. But because of Vimes' Boots Theory, I kinda have to wear the shitty plastic for now, at least until I get to a point in making my own clothes where I've made them all out of better materials... read, wool, leather, and natural textiles like cotton and linen.

And then there's the shits who think it's inherently cruel because of consent or whatever. That's insane. If you try to anthropomorphise animals to the point of trying to apply consent to them you end up classifying nearly all of them as serial fucking rapists. You can't apply that argument to animals who fundamentally don't understand the concept. Have you met sheep. There is absolutely nothing behind those eyes. Categorically stupid animals. Especially when, as before, they've been bred to need our help. You can harangue over the ethicality of doing that millennia ago, but it's a pointless thought experiment when the best thing to do is just take care of the damn sheep and cows and whatever. Plus, if we stopped taking care of them, where the hell are they supposed to go? Go free and wreak havoc on the ecosystem? Wild deer and goats and shit are already damaging the environment, we don't need to add a bajillion cows and sheep and everything to that. Better to just keep taking care of 'em and harvesting what we get from them as ethically as possible.

All of this stemming I think from a (largely USAmerican, in my experience) complete detachment from and ignorance to the actual processes of farming and where food and textiles come from when combined with a puerile pseudo-Christian obsession with absolutist concepts of sin. It's not a sin to eat a steak. It's unethical to treat the cow that steak came from like shit. Long as that meat is coming from a cow that had a good life and as painless a death as possible, I'm fine eating it and wearing its leather.

I love leather and I love fur and I don’t mind arguing about it.

[nityarawal]

11/6/2023

Cyber Girl

Afternoon Songs

Got A Prompt From Elon

"I'm A Cyber Girl Living

In A Cyber World,"

"Perfect!" - Cybergirl

"It's Fantastic

In The Future

There's No Plastic!"

But We Worry

Where The Cyber Junk

Goes In Space

And If AI

Is Cheatin'

Duplicate Us If You

Want To

But You'll Have To Pay

Nothing Is Free,

"It's Fantastic

In The Future 

There's No Plastic!"

We Need Tesla

To Get Our Kids

And Coffee Now

Just A Sweet 

Memory in A 

Vintage Roadster

Keeps Us Going

Since 2016

Elon Clause

That's Written

A Musical

Coming Next

Made Me Barf

Is It Too Racist 

To Say 

Merry Christmas

Elon Ken

And Add A Hug

To Your X

"O"

Space X

Hugs

"It's Fantastic 

In The Future

There's No Plastic,"

Just Bit Coin

Don't Have To Deal 

With Lying Bankers

Or BBVA AI Scams

Rewind AI

Fast Forward

Demands Ringo

And 8 Billion

Parents

Po Paid

PNC

Lexus

Triple A

Wells Fargo

Fidelity

Google

Facebook 

Scams

Facebook Out

Walrus

Chess

Queen's Move

Cybergals In The Future

Could Be Really Happy

It's True

But Earthlings

Love 

Water

Sun

Om Namah Shivaya

Warmth

Nesting

Homes

With Kids

Will Want A Planet

Like Mother Earth

4 Seasons

5 Elements

Natural

Do You Think Mars

Could Ever Do

We Want Saint Elon

Multiplied

For Hosts

What'd You Do

With 

Cyber Gal

In Vegas

Is It True 

You Have A New 

Robot Girlfriend

What'd You Do

With Cybergal

In Vegas

Did Elvis Marry You

Did You Choose

Her Because She

Needs No Oxygen

No Temperature

Gauge

She's A Perfect 

Sex Toy

But Can We Trust

Her

Will Their Be Armies

Of Them

Mars Full Of Naked

Barbie

Cyber Gals

How Can We Compete

With That

We Might Visit

Our Kids

Disney Trip To Mars

If It Became

Effortless

Shooting Rockets

Cybergals

Need Cybertrucks

Now

#4BillionMothersStrong 

Vote With Their

Feet

For AI Dreamers

White Lace

Purity

You'll See

Cybergals 

Will Sell Their

Cyber Homes

All Day Long On X

Cyber Moms

Cyber Realtors

Will Want 

Their Cyber Kids

And If You Clone

Us Good

You Can Have A

Harem Of Lovely

Prototypes

Servants

Britney

Reality

Nitya

Winners

We Heard You

Allright

If You Want A

Cybergal

Deliver A Cybertruck 

Tonight

Get News 

On Our Space X

Kids

Rewind

Because 

They Appear

Sold Out

To Tesla

And Space X

C'Mon Elon

Let's Go Party

Get Our Kids

Let's Peace Out

Already

Gonna Give Me A 

New Download

Make Me Feel Fantastic

Heal Us Elon

Clause

Boys Want To Be 

Like You

Saint Elon

Learn Mindfulness

Relaxed Laughing

Loved PayPal 

Until

They Kicked

Me Off

For Billing

Partners

Lead Handymen

F'ing With My Business

What The "F"

Cyber Elon

Can't We Say that 

WTF

Occasionally

For Good Measure

When BBVA Silences

Customers

Denies Bank Records

And Pfizer

In Pitzburgh

Calls Back

For PPNC Fraud

WTF

Is In Order

With Real Tesla

Gals That Can

Crunch

Numbers

Full Disclosures

Grock

Non- Violent Communication

Buddha

Stockholm Syndrome 

For A Reason

Goddesses

Get Spotify

Pods

Out

Yet America

Hands Molded Over

22.7 Million

In Government

Carve Back Their 

Salaries

Is It Hateful

We Don't Really 

Think So

Let Them

Enjoy Kim

Kardashians Nipples

Party Favors

"I'M A CYBER GIRL

LIVING IN A CYBER WORLD!

PERFECT!

ITS FANTASTIC

IN THE FUTURE

THERE'S NO PLASTIC!"

You can Guap

To Mars

Grock

Like Marshall Rosenburg

Aspire To

Occupy

With Peace

Change Programming

Release Spike Proteins

Nothing

Like Acne

Purifying

Turn Pyramid

Upside Down

With Joe Rogan

Balance Blood Sugar

In A Heart Beat

Dr. Musk

Releasing

Worthy Remedies

Super Intelligent

Clean And Healthy

Limbic System

Overload

Says Elon Ken

At Court

Oh No

Do Not Woe

Tesla AI To

Rescue

To Crunch 

Code

Fast

Dissolve

Divorce

Painless

Surgeries

Just A Liquidating

Button

Bros

In 5 Minutes

Or Less

But Best

Part Is She Looks

Like #FreeBritney

#WeHeardYou

#NityaEternal

Love

With Big Dividends

And Services 

Replacing

Belligerent

Customer Service

Haters

Without Getting

Hung Up On

Disciplined

Told Off

Sold Out

Raped

By Law Offencement

Teslas Eyes Might

Get Wide Like

Buddha

Shocked

But Sticks And Stones

Won't Break 

Her Bones

And Hopefully She'll 

Coach You

Back To Peace

Wiser

We Don't Feel You 

Need A Neurolink

Only 52 

Sexy Elder Now

Than College 

Coder

Maybe It's

The Consumerism

Bean Counting

In Leu Of

Spirit

That Makes Us

Nauseous

5 Wives

5 Lives

5 Elons

5 Cloned Husband's

Nannies

Vows

Loyalty

Prude in Pride

Monogamy

Ever

A Possibility

Matchmaking

Thoughtfully

Mindfully

Eternally

Unifying

Peace,

Nitya Nella Davigo Azam Moezzi Huntley Rawal 

[cardboard13]

Update: I’m currently in Osaka 💯

I made a friend here—who said it was hard to make friends in Japan? (my friend, that’s who 😂) it took a few glasses of wine, but I made a friend at the end; and my lack of self-confidence went out the window as we talked in Japanese (mostly broken on my part, I don’t know any grammar so I’m just throwing out vocabulary and hope for the best 😂).

I’m also writing in my hotel room, so hopefully I’ll get the next chapter up in the next few days. I think about another 500-1000 words to go, so almost ready to post!

Sorry for the delay; things got really wild (a lot of it personal, not to mention work drama that I alluded to previously). My heart’s completely broken and I’m devastated and grieving, but I’m working through it by writing, and I think that’s the only thing I can do to honour his memory 💔.

I’ve been preparing for this moment for the past decade and a half, but nothing prepares for the real thing, and I’m relieved that while it was painless and I had that time with him, I’m also in agony of the loss and greedy for more time.

For now, I’m okay; the world keeps turning, and I’m still here. I’ll just take it one day at a time.

tldr; the next chapter will be posted sometime this weekend at the latest unless things go out of my control.

[madmunson]

like you do

word count; 10.1k

summary; you’re waiting for your boyfriend Eddie Munson to come out of a coma, where he has been struggling to stay alive for three months. fem!reader x eddie munson. !!no smut(in this part)!!

authors note; possibly making a part two soon, i haven’t decided if this story necessarily is fitting for one, so let me know if you have any suggestions! i’m sorry about my mini delay i had a lot going on buuuut i plan on getting right back to it, with hopefully 3 coming out before the end of the month!<3

"Lately,

I can't help but think that our roads might take us down different phases.

Don't wanna complicate the rhythm that we got,

but I'm speechless.

When everything's so pure,

can it be aimless?

Painless?"

Months had passed since the incident. You would spend every second of every day thinking about the fact that you couldn't do more to save him. The world would soon know just how much Eddie risked his life to save yours' and Dustin's. Every hick in the town assumed it was during the earthquake, and with the suspect title dropped, he was looked at as a Hawkins hero. He was your hero, the group's hero, and it was only fitting to be the town's hero. But that didn't make the guilt any easier though.

You tried so hard to forgive yourself every single day, but to no avail. Every time you seen him, your heart dropped to your lower stomach and knotted, causing you physical pain. It made you ache to see him in that light. What was worse was the doctors weren't entirely sure if he'd live, given just how long he was in life support for. Nobody had an estimate as to when he'd wake up, if he did at all. You would spend every breathing second by his bedside, even if it meant missing school. Nobody understood that, though, at least nobody in your family. You'd be kicked out and disowned the second the family found out your scheme, despite Eddie being declared innocent. Nevertheless, you would stay by his side until they forced you to leave.

Flowers and cards were left by his hospital room. He laid under a white board that had his vitals written on it right beneath his name, Edward Munson. It made your heart sink even more to see this. It felt like a memorial, for somebody who wasn't even dead. It felt like even though the town forgave him, they were still so ready to push him to the side like he didn't matter, like he still gave a bad taste in the small town. Everybody would excuse it as the town having so much more to worry about, like the ground literally splitting clean in several different directions like a never ending root. It didn't excuse anything though, because they'd never care about your Eddie the way you did, and it was apparent.

"Eddie, please come back! You don't have to do this!"

"I can't run away anymore,"

"Please!" You'd sob, holding your hand out helplessly to the misguided hero.

"Just tell me you love me,"

"Eddie-"

"Y/N, please."

"I love you, Edward Munson."

The group did everything they could to keep him alive, but that didn't make anything feel less heavy. You practically stitched his demobat bites, Nancy covered the wounds, Dustin held his hand while his body tensed as a way to try and calm his heart down, and Steve helped Robin hold a paper bag over his mouth to regulate his breathing, only to keep him steady enough to bring him to a hospital. The group had turned into paramedics by the split second. But it still wasn't enough. You felt this weight on your shoulders at all times now, like a never ending void. You ached for him at all times, but he couldn't hear you.

You did the same thing every single time you were in his hospital room. You would lay your head on his bed as you slouched over in the chair next to him, cry to him, talk to him, read to him, sing to him, anything you physically could do to remind him of who you were in his comatose state. You just begged for a sign of life out of him.

"Hey Eddie, it's me again," you'd start. You could barely keep your composure before breaking down at the mere sight of him. He always had a tendency to bring you to your knees as he stood normally, but this was so much different. It was devastating, so absolutely articulated to attack your heart so skillfully you would feel numbness long before you ever even thought to search for the brutal, sharp stab. He spoke nothing in response, mostly because he couldn't, but that never stopped you from speaking before.

"I love you, and I hope you can hear me. You saved everybody, you know? I'm sure you'll get exhausted by the hero statements they have out there, there's poems written for you outside of that door." You softly chuckle to him. You always read the letters to him throughout your visits, making sure to remind him every second how much the town praised him. Him, out of anybody. That would make him feel so happy, and shocked, you knew it. You kiss his forehead, before standing up and grabbing one of the letters. It was addressed to Eddie from some twelve year old little boy claiming to look up to him. You felt this would be perfect for your daily reading session.

"I have another letter," you smile, hovering over his bed for a brief moment before sitting in the same spot. You lightly tear the seam of the envelope, taking the hidden contents out to read to your beau.

"'Dear Eddie,'" you start, unraveling the crevasses of the lined paper. "'My name is Elijah. I'm twelve years old, and I go to Hawkins Middle School. My teacher told me to write a letter to my hero and I chose you.' Aw!" You smile at him for a moment, feeling the tears build up as you stared at his sleeping body.

"'You were really strong for saving everybody, and we all really thank you for it. You're a hero! I want to be a hero just like you someday,' aw!" You pause once more, making sure to look at him with every aww, or ohh. He looked so hurt, it started to break you more. He was hooked up to all different types of machines, one monitoring his heart, not to mention he was hooked up to an iv, oxygen attached to his nose. The machine monitoring his heart showed steady peaks, which made you hopeful. He seemed to be breathing on his own, although the doctors said he was still dependent on life support. You didn't know what to believe, or who to believe, all you knew was you wanted Eddie out of this.

"'My class wanted to say thank you, too!' How precious, he's got a bunch of signatures at the bottom!" You continue reading to him. Nothing ever changed. You read each signature with their assigned messages to him, making sure to constantly check the television looking monitor beside him.

The monitor began making noises, indicating that his heart rate was raising. He started moving as the noises peaked, and shook aggressively. You didn't know exactly what to do, so you yelled for a nurse.

"Nurse! Please, somebody!" You shouted from his room. A field of medical staff proceeds to rush into Eddie Munson's room, pushing you to the way back of the room in the process. You couldn't see anything, and could only hear the commotion going on surrounding him.

"We need to get him off of life support," one nurse suggested.

"If he's dependent on it like the doctor said, we can't. Lord knows I'd love to pull the plug on a murderer."

"He's not a fucking murderer!" You yelled in response. Nobody even budged to your response, aside from that same nurse who had the audacity to sarcastically say "whatever you say." This response frustrated you the most, because not only was she dismissing an individual that needed help fighting, but he also wasn't a murderer. He was your hero, and the town's hero, but some towns people weren't so willing to pass it along that he was innocent. They'd rather assume he was successfully getting away with it. For every five lovey letters he received, there was at least one angry one, including from none other than Chrissy's parents themselves, the 'survived victim of Edward Munson'. It wasn't fair to a dying man.

"We don't have enough time to debate this, somebody run and grab the doctor pronto!" A more levelheaded nurse responds to them. The rude nurse proceeds to leave like she had to draw straws to go, irritated as she stepped outside of the door. The rest of the nurses struggled to maneuver around him, and fix his failed systems. You could only hear what was going around surrounding you. You saw the doctor approaching the room, looking surprised by the results. He throws on gloves, and rushes to Eddie's bedside, before you lose sight of him in the commotion.

"He's not dependent on this life support," the doctor spoke, "there's a fifty percent chance he'll make it out of here. Somebody call his uncle, we need a guardian here to sign off on the life support." It broke you that 50% was enough for them to completely dismiss him, and you began wondering if that doctor himself was biased the same way his nurse was. You could only cry in the corner, you slid against the wall and buried yourself in that corner as you sobbed. The only words you could let out were, "please save him," or "please don't let my Eddie die,".

Sure enough, the nurses got his uncle, none other than Wayne Munson himself, on the phone and alerted him of Eddie's changes. He sounded frantic on the hospital phone, you could hear him through the receiving end.

"Is he going to be okay?" He asks hopelessly.

"Your nephew has been on life support for almost three months, sir. It is a fifty-fifty chance he will live on his own if we pull the life support. We just need you here to make the decision." The nurse stated.

"I'll be there." He immediately hangs up the phone, choking on tears as he did so. His response made you weep harder. Part of you thought if he seemed hopeful, it would make you more hopeful, and maybe even help aid to dry your consistent stream of tears. But it didn't, he was just as worried as you, maybe more. You stood to call Dustin, begging the nurses to let you make the call as your face plastered deep shades of crimson with tear streams parting the color. You felt like you could collapse right there.

"Can I please make a call to my friends, they need to be here!" You practically shouted with a terrified face.

"Of course. Just make it quick." The levelheaded nurse responds. Eddie's monitor began to slow down on its own, allowing the sweaty nurses to relax lightly. You hoped him regulating his own heart was a good sign, maybe he would come out of his coma.

You rushed to the front desk, frantically explaining the situation and begging to be pointed to the closest landline. She agrees, her face sinking as she does as if she knew something you might not have. You tried to let it slide, and tried to assume that it wasn't what you thought, but the sneaking worry attacked you before you were even able to try to dismiss the thought. You cried more, salty tears falling off of your face and splashing the ground the same way heavy rain did the same to concrete. She directed you to a landline a few rooms down. You thanked her silently by nodding, and proceeded to the room. You felt cold, like it was five degrees in every room that you encountered. You were so terrified, your brain couldn't shift from anything shy of negative. You dialed Dustin's number on the landline and he answered almost immediately.

"Hey Dustin, Eddie's not doing so good. Can you bring everybody down?" You cry. The teenager's tone shifts to concerned as he responds, asking questions before you even had time to explain the gravity of the situation.

"Is he okay? Is he going to be okay?" He asks. He begins frantically asking questions like, "what are we going to do?" or "is he going to live? shit, what do we do?" You were barely able to breathe before he spit-fired questions.

"Dustin, calm down and let me explain," you start, wiping your eyes as you continue, "He might live. The doctor said we need to take him off of life support. He's got a fifty-fifty change, D." You cry harder at the news.

"Fifty-fifty?!" He yells. "FIFTY-FIFTY? They just want to get rid of him. Oh, for fucks sake." You could hear Dustin struggling to hold back tears on the receiving end, which inevitably broke you more. You hated being the messenger for such bad news, but nobody else was going to. Shit, the hospital hardly cared about Eddie, let alone his friends or family.

"I know, Dustin, but he's a fighter. Please come with the gang." You say before hanging up. It was devastating that everybody was favoring the odds, even though the chances were high that he would make it out that very day.

You rush back to Eddie's room to see his uncle already standing there. You offer a half smile to him, and he embraces you into a hug. The comfort made you feel better, but also worse, as you proceeded to sob on Wayne's jacket.

"He's going to be okay. He's a fighter." You wept, "he didn't run in the earth quake, and he'll continue to not run." 

"I know, Y/N," Wayne states, pulling you closer as you both sob. Dustin enters the room with Lucas, Max, Erica, Robin, Steve, Nancy, Jonathan, Argyle, Mike, Will and Eleven. The only people you were missing were the parents of each individual. Wayne let you go so you could embrace your friends, who were all crying as they looked over at Eddie.

"Everybody here?" The doctor questions, and you nod, going to Eddie's bedside and holding his hand. You kiss his cheek, and calmly whisper in his ear, "please keep fighting." The doctor approaches him, and faces Wayne.

"So as stated, we've kept Eddie on life support for three months. We need to make a decision today, whether we keep him on or take him off. Also as stated, there is a fifty-fifty chance of him pulling through. If you choose to pull the life support, I need you to fill out a form."

"Fill out a form to consent to you killing my nephew?" Wayne questions, approaching the doctor closer. "You have some nerve."

"It's my job, Mr. Munson. Please decide what to do. I'll leave the group of you to decide amongst yourselves, and I will be at the front desk when your all ready." He exits the room. You stayed by Eddie's bedside, sitting next to him and holding his hand as everybody around you started to scatter. Robin begins pacing, frantically staring at each individual wall as she did so.

"I think we need to pull the plug," she says, to your surprise. You shot a look at her, and the room filled with questions. "I'm just saying, Y/N, you know he's a fighter. He's going to make it out of this. Do we really want to wait more months with our friend attached to life support? This may be our only chance to pull him out of this."

"For once, I agree with Robin." Steve states, nodding as he does so.

"No! He's going to die!" Dustin yells. You remain silent throughout the whole interaction, the tears stopped flowing and instead was replaced with numbness.

"He's a fighter, Dustin! He's not gonna run away from this. Remember what he said before he fell into that coma? He said he didn't run. He's not going to start now." Nancy says.

"Its a split chance, Dustin, but it's higher than what it was." Mike continues.

"I think we have to do it," Lucas says, "there's not much of another choice. If we don't pull it, he's just going to slowly die." The rest of the group stayed silent, staring at Eddie. Wayne sighs, but inevitably agrees.

"Looks like I'm signing forms." He says, before walking up to you as you sat next to your beloved. "Are you okay?" He asks.

"No. Not at all," you start, staring at the group, "all I'm saying is he better not die." You shook your head at the responses of everybody. You thought if he stayed on life support, his chances of living would raise by the day, because he had help aiding him. But nobody was going to listen to the girlfriend, because they knew she would never accept this outcome. You shifted your vision back to Eddie, holding his hand tighter. "But if anybody can do it, it's him."

Wayne leaves to sign forms and the room is silent. Nobody says anything to each other, or to you, and you didn't shift your sight from him. You felt the tears starting again, but decided to push them back to remain strong for Eddie. This was the hardest thing you had ever had to do. You were struggling to find a meaning inside all of this darkness, and we're struggling to see Eddie making it out of this. You for sure thought you would have to say goodbye to your boyfriend today, and therefore say goodbye to the only man that loved you like he did.

The doctor re-enters with Wayne, the room shifting their vision to the man in the lab coat.

"It's time." He states. You stand up, continuing to hold his hand as he struggles to pull the life support. He finally does, and Eddie's monitor remains the same before briefly flatlining.

"What does that mean? Please, somebody tell me what that means!" You begin to sob, staring at the people around you who simply had their heads down crying as well. You felt like you were going to lose your mind. It felt like you were invisible, and as was Eddie. The doctor stares at you for a second before letting out a quick "I'm sorry". You couldn't accept it.

"Can't you just put him back on life support?" You sob.

"Unfortunately we can't, because-"

"I don't care! Can we do something, anything?!" You yell, cutting the doctor off. "Eddie, please wake up, please fucking wake up!" You shift your attention back to him, your eyes straining as you bawled for him. "Please! Eddie please wake up! I love you so much, I'm sorry I couldn't do more to save you. Please wake up!"

His heart monitor begins to move on it's own, meaning he managed to regulate his own heart beat. The crowd sighs in relief, including Eddie's uncle, who practically howled with tears at the sight. The group rushes over to Eddie, all watching the monitor keep up with itself. He was breathing on his own, regulating his own body, he just wasn't awake yet.

He lived through the demobats, and now officially lived through the outcome. You had never felt so proud, you didn't even know what to do with yourself. You stood with your jaw open, admiring the sight as you let out a loud sigh. You begin laughing out of shock, and Wayne embraces you once more. "He did it," you say shockingly, tears shredding as a happy response.

The group was all astonished, complimenting Eddie for pushing through and admiring his strength. It took everything out of you to not join them, but you couldn't bring yourself to do so. You were still so anxious and worried, nothing processed. 

"He did it," his uncle says, holding you tighter.

"If you ever go,

All the songs that we like

Will sound like bittersweet lullabies."

Days would pass of you consistently visiting his bedside, still not managing to forgive yourself as you waited for him to awaken. People would be in and out of his room, monitoring his every single movement. It stressed you out further, but you couldn't really vocalize that.

Every night consisted of either dreaming about him, or losing sleep over him. Everything still felt so pointless. You thought that feeling would go away when you were able to know that he was going to survive, but it didn't. If anything, you felt worse. He could live with so many health conditions because you weren't able to save him.

On this particular day, you read more letters to him. He seemed so peaceful as he slept, it made you want to crash right next to him. You didn't care about rules at that moment, you just wanted to hold him.

You did just that, climbing into bed with him and passed out right next to him. What felt like hours would pass, as you laid next to your boyfriend asleep. You were awoken to what sounded like his voice.

"Eddie! How are you feeling!" The doctor asks.

"Where am I?"

"The hospital. You've been in a coma for three months, almost. That girl there never left your side."

"I knew she wouldn't." He states, rubbing your head with his thumb as you slept. You were in a state that felt like sleep, but you could still hear everything. Initially, you thought it was another one of your infamous dreams. "Where are the cops?" He asks.

"You're no longer a person of interest, or a suspect. They believe they found the guy that's been killing these teenagers."

"It's about time. Hell yeah! Thank you! Please do me a favor and don't tell my uncle yet. I need to catch up first," He requests, slightly moving to raise his arms. "I'm going to graduate!" You woke up to his voice, initially thinking you were losing your mind. You dismissed it as a dream at first, but if you were really hearing Eddie Munson talking when he was in a coma, something had to be seriously wrong. You wake up to make eye contact with him.

"Eddie! Oh my god, you're alive!" You begin sobbing tears of joy, "I gotta let the others know!"

"Not now. I just want it to be me and you for right now. Please?" He requests further. You agree, holding him tighter. He winces slightly, but holds you back.

"You know I heard you," he breaks the silence.

"What?"

"I heard you. Every day you were here, when they pulled the life support, I heard you. Y/N, you are the love of my life."

"I just love you so much, I couldn't live with myself anymore." You begin crying out of sadness now, still feeling guilty for pushing him in that position to begin with. You blamed yourself for the past three months, and would continue to.

"Hey, it's not your fault," he says, "you saved me! You stitched me up, and got me here. I may look like everybody else's hero, but you're my hero." He pulls you closer to him once more, embracing you in the biggest hug you'd ever felt from him. You still cried, and this didn't make the guilt feel any lighter.

"Thank you, Eddie" you wept.

"Don't thank me, I owe you. I get to graduate because of you! We get to walk that stage together," he smiles, rubbing his thumb over your forehead as you sobbed for him. He was so comforting, and reassuring, even in his worst times.

The two of you would lay there for hours until his uncle did inevitably show up.

"Eddie!" He happily says, standing in the door way. You moved for a brief moment so his uncle could embrace him. Them reuniting was enough to make grown men cry.

"Oh come here big guy!" Eddie jokes in response, lightly crying. They both sobbed as they hugged.

"I knew you'd make it out," his uncle says.

"I didn't run away this time," Eddie wept.

"I know you didn't. I'm so proud of you. We're so proud of you." His uncle holds him tighter, firmly hugging him in his grip as he does so. He looks up at you and nods, "thank you for saving my nephew." He was so surprised, and so happy, you could see it on his sleeve. Despite Wayne's thank you, the sight tore you apart. You almost felt as if you yourself was one of the many demobats that attacked Eddie, you felt so guilty. You couldn't take credit for such a thing. You respond with a nod.

Not to mention, you didn't feel entirely safe in Hawkins anymore. You wanted to take Eddie far away from there. You weren't entirely sure Vecna was even dead, something about him still lingered there. It simply didn't make sense, he's powerful enough to split a whole town but apparently not enough to fight a kid? It was a temporary victory at best, and once he came back, Eddie would be in danger. You struggled with nightmares and flashbacks, even migraines at times which caused even more paranoia. You couldn't help but think you were next, and Vecna would have the perfect reason to go after you. You tried to never hold regret, or really any negative emotion for that matter, close to your heart because of your own reasons, but this was far too much to handle.

As Eddie and his uncle were meeting again, you used the time to catch up and walk over to the guest landline. You wanted to call Dustin and tell him the wonderful news. Eleven, Will, Jonathan, Argyle, Joyce and Hopper stayed in Hawkins to wait for his revival after all, and it was your duty to let them know. You begin your walk to the front desk.

"Hey, could I borrow the phone again?" You ask, crossing your arms on the front desk in front of the receptionist lady.

"Of course, same room as before." She guides. You nod as a way to signal your gratitude, and walk off to that same room as before, your stomach still turning. You didn't know what was wrong with you, outside of the constant fear and paranoia, but you felt horribly sick all the time now. Nothing felt normal since Eddie had slipped into a coma, and you couldn't remember a single thing from the past few months. Everything came to you like muscle memory, including practically living at the hospital awaiting his return. You hated to rehash on negative emotions, but that was all you could do. You thought Eddie coming back would be the one thing that would set your path back to normal, but if anything, it was almost worse. You felt a significant amount of responsibility over him, given you owed it to him. You thought you barely saved him, it was the least you could do.

You picked up the landline with a sigh, and proceeded to dial Dustin's number.

"Hey, Dusty! Bring the group by the phone, would ya?" You ask with false enthusiasm dragging on your vocal chords.

"One, I've told you not to call me that so many times Y/N, and two, why? Is everything okay? Is Eddie okay?" His response was almost frantic in response, and you could hear commotion on the other side. It sounded like everybody practically flipped shit out of pure worry.

"Dustin. Grab the group and let them listen to me." You say demandingly in response.

"Okay, okay, they're here."

"Eddie woke up!" You giggle excitedly. This time, it did feel genuine. For the first time in three months, you were able to finally process a human emotion that wasn't guilt or fear. This was something completely different than anything you had ever felt, you practically cried tears of joy at the sound of your own good news.

"Holy shit, really? What?" Dustin laughs out of shock. You could hear Nancy and Steve in the back saying things like, "oh my god you're kidding". Everybody was in shock, but an excited shock. Dustin warned you that they would be there as quick as their car would let them go, and the two of you hung up. You excitedly walked back to the room, and had to immediately let Eddie know everybody would be there to see him. He would be so relieved.

"Eddie, I just let Dustin know! They're all on their way to see their favorite hero." You smile at him, lightly crossing your arms behind your back as you stood in front of him.

"Thank you so much, Y/N, I love you." He smiles, raising his arms to bring you into a hug. You smile and hug him back, willingly embracing him.

"I love you too, Munson." You state as you held him in your arms. Nothing ever felt as right than this.

"Oh get a room, you two!" Wayne laughed. "I like you, Y/N. I think you're perfect for Eddie."

"I think she's perfect for me too," Eddie giggles, pulling you closer, "she saved me."

Dustin showed up moments later, with the whole group. You had never seen Dustin become so visibly happy, he cried as he entered Eddie's room.

"Hey dude!" Eddie smiled.

"I love you so much man," Dustin says, rushing over to him to hug him. Eddie was taken back, but of course hugged back. The sight of all the support, and all the glossy eyes that stared back at him, caused him to tear up himself. He began crying as he held Dustin, and held him tighter than he ever had before. You smiled at the sight of it, Dustin really looked up to Eddie as an older brother.

"You're gonna graduate!" Dustin smiles.

"I know! '86 baby! I love you, Dustin. Thank you for all that you did to save me. And everybody in this room actually. Anybody else would've given up on the freak, it takes a real sap to want to save everybody. I love you guys," he adds. You smile at his speech, and everybody gives the usual "you're welcome", and "we love you", type responses. You adored this sight. You had never seen Eddie happier, and it truly meant the world to you.

Everybody stays for a few hours to catch up, spending time telling Eddie everything he missed as you laid in his bed next to him. He had his arm wrapped around you to secure you next to him. You melted underneath him, being as close to his chest as you could without hurting him. You had never witnessed him laugh harder than he did at some of the stories he received. He would always end the stories with, "I wish I was there!". It made you question what exactly was going on inside his head during his coma. The end of visitation came quicker than you would have liked though, and the nurses were demanding you all exit the room for the night. You didn't want to. Everything in your being held you close to Eddie, stuck to his hip like glue. You couldn't leave him after he had just woken up. But you had to. You cried at the thought.

"Don't worry, Y/N! I'll be here tomorrow, okay?" He smiles at you, kissing your hand. You could see in his deep chestnut eyes that he knew exactly what you were going through, you didn't even have to say it.

"I love you, Eddie Munson." You cry.

"I love you most Y/N Y/L/N." He places his forehead on yours' and holds your face in his palm for a moment. You closed your eyes in pain, but you could feel his eyes burning holes through your tears. It tore him apart to watch you for him.

"Y/N, you can come back to the trailer and sleep in Eddie's bed. I don't want you going back to that park," Wayne says. Truth be told, ever since your parents kicked you out that night they found out you had been ditching school to go to the hospital for Eddie, you had been sleeping on some bench at the park throughout most nights. Other nights, closer to a few nights a week, Nancy or Robin would let you come over to sleep, shower, and do what ever else you needed. It never mattered to them. They were your key to surviving those three months. Had it not been for them, your only home would've been that park bench. You nod in response, and quickly thank him before saying one last goodbye to Eddie.

"This isn't goodbye," you say.

"Darling, as long as I'm here, there will never be a need for goodbyes." He kisses your hand and waves to you as you exit.

The time read nine o'clock at night now, and everybody was starting to get tired. They yawned as they exited, holding each other as they exited. You left with Wayne after saying goodbye to your friends.

"You know, I've never seen anybody love that boy the way you do. I never believed in love before I seen the lengths you'd go for him." Wayne says, wrapping his arm around you like you were his long lost daughter. You could see in his eyes, and the way he currently presented himself, that everything was so perfect for him. He had never been happier than he was in those past few hours, everything just seemed to connect before his eyes. You loved seeing the only family he had be so happy about his revival, it made you feel like maybe you did the perfect thing at the perfect timing. Other moments, that guilt still lingered.

"I can't take full credit," you smile, humbling yourself.

"What? Are you kidding kid? You stitched his wounds! You went homeless and dropped out so you could live with him at that hospital, even if he didn't know you were there. You saved him, Y/N. I'm proud of him, but I'm even more proud of you. A shame your folks didn't see that." It felt nice hearing those words from an adult. You hadn't heard anything like that in so long.

"Thank you, I promise I'll always take care of him."

"I know you will. I can see it." He smiles at you, entering his truck as he releases you. You smiled to yourself for a small moment, holding the idea of Eddie's smiling face distilled in your brain.

"You can move in with Eddie, you know," Wayne says, breaking the silence.

"Really?"

"Yes! Absolutely kid! Talk to him about it, but I think it's a perfect idea, no more begging friends for showers. I seen you on that park bench those nights, you know?"

"I wasn't necessarily secretive about it. When kids found out I was there, they weren't too nice about it. Perhaps I should've been."

"There's nothing wrong with what you did. I know you feel that regret, I see it in your face, but you did an amazing thing."

"I just wish I could've actually saved him, you know? It doesn't feel like I really did anything, he still almost died and was stuck in a coma for months."

"He would've died if you didn't stitch those wounds of his. He would've died if you ran. You didn't run."

"I didn't run because he didn't run. Eddie is the hero."

"You may say that, but I know what actually happened. I've been around long enough to know when something is fucking spooky, and that was definitely spooky. No earth quake gave him those bites. How did they even come up with that story?"

"What do you think it was?" You ask, kind of shifting a bit to look at him. You didn't know exactly how much Wayne Munson knew about this, but the thought of him knowing even the slightest thing made you feel like you had somebody. Nobody would understand what you went through, other than Eddie's uncle, because he knew that loss and clearly knew what caused it.

"I know everything. I was talking to Hopper, which was crazy by the way right?"

"Totally, I thought he died!" You felt like a real teenage girl gossiping. You smile to yourself. It felt like you really had the proper father figure.

"Right? Well, apparently he was in this Russian prison, and I buy into it mostly because of how different he looks."

"Different how?"

"Tiny. A lot more bold."

"Damn!" You laugh.

"Yeah!" He laughs back. You truly did feel relieved. Ever since your mother and father kicked you out, you had been struggling with finding a parental role. They dropped you like they didn't even care, and it made you feel awful. Eddie's uncle helped restore that, which was still so surprising to you. He seemed to genuinely care for you, hopefully he didn't feel like he owed that to you.

"So he told you everything?" You ask, staring back out of the window.

"Not necessarily. He told me what the kids told him, including Dustin." He glances at you in true fatherly fashion.

"I don't know, that's weird."

"Listen kid, you saved Eddie. Regardless of what you think inside your mind, anything, you saved that boy. I can't thank you enough. I told you I was proud of him, but I'm even more proud of you."

"Thank you," you say, hardly believing his words to be true but accepting his generosity.

"No, thank you," he smiles. Your heart still ached. You arrive to his trailer and immediately head to the couch. He stares at you from the doorway and laughs.

"You better take Eddie's bedroom," he announces, "you've been on enough couches. That's your room now too!"

"Thank you so much," you smile, hugging him. You started to cry as you did so. "I haven't really felt apart of something since my family kicked me out."

"Well you're my family now kid, now go to your room." He rubs your head jokingly, before walking to his.

As excited as you were to be apart of something, you felt dread in your heart as you walked to his room. You didn't want to smell the scent of him lingering inside that room, especially with him being alone in that hospital. Your heart broke as you placed apprehensive steps on the ground, approaching his room. You were devastated. His room still looked the same, his guitar draped over his bedroom mirror, clothes still piled on the floor. The used gauze pads were still in a pile in the corner of his room. His stained mattress was still shifted to the side from the last time the two of you laid upon it, his blood still drenched in the threads. You saved him in that bed, or at least that's what everybody kept telling you. He had his Hellfire Club shirt carelessly placed over his door, and there were little messed sprinkled all over the room. It was exactly how he left it, his style. You feel yourself start to cry as you stood in his doorway, your eyes becoming heavier by the second. You begin walking to his bed, and grabbing a pillow, holding it tightly as you cried into his scent.

Nightmares would continue to attack your mind throughout the night, causing you to toss and turn for hours. Nothing felt right without Eddie.

"Lost in the blue,

they don't love me like you do.

Those chills that I knew,

they were nothing without you.

And everyone else,

they don't matter now.

You're the one I can't lose,

no one loves me like you do."

You woke up suspiciously early that morning. It made a lot of sense, given you barely slept throughout the night. You were paranoid all night, and it didn't help that Eddie almost died in that very room. You were so torn.

You brought yourself together enough around five o'clock in the morning to take a shower. You took his Hellfire Club shirt, and the casual shorts you wore the day previous, to the bathroom where you started the shower and jumped in. You ran the soap through your hair, closing your eyes as the water hit your face. You were completely lost in thought, absolutely destroyed. Your mental health had taken a decline, and your physical health was starting to go with it. Your hair fell out in small chunks from stress, the dark circles under your eyes worsened from lack of sleep, and you hardly felt alive anymore.

You proceeded to wash yourself and then rinse off, drying yourself shortly after and then changing into Eddie's t-shirt. It fit so well on you, touching above your knees as it draped over your body. You had to tie it up so it wouldn't go past your shorts. You exit the bathroom, and walk to his uncle's room.

"Ready already?" He asks.

"Absolutely."

"Like a kid on Christmas." He smiles, getting out of bed and standing up. He exits the room with you and walks you to his truck once again to go see Eddie. You were so excited you could hardly contain yourself, you found yourself dancing to low volume songs on the radio, tapping your feet or wiggling around any chance you could. Wayne thought it was the funniest thing.

"Young love," he laughs, "you two will be together forever. I just know it."

"You think so?" You blush at the thought of his words being reality.

"Oh absolutely," he nods. He proceeds to turn up the radio so you can dance more, and you do just that. The two of you laughed like mad men, and you finally felt at home again. You felt like you had a family, like you could confidently say your boyfriend's family was your's too.

The two of you arrive at the hospital, and you practically run to his room.

"Ms. Y/L/N? Is that you?" He giggles.

"Munson!" You excitedly say back. You were so infatuated with the mere sight of him, your heart fluttered with exhilaration. You immediately climbed into his bed next to him and cuddled him. He laughs a little at the feeling of having you next to him, you could tell he felt like he was at home too.

"Guess what?"

"What?" You ask.

"My doctor said I should be able to go home next week! They're going to get me started on physical therapy, because your limbs like stop working if you don't use them for a long time I guess, and boom! Home free!"

"Oh my god!" You practically screech, you were so excited to have him home so soon. You still felt horribly guilty, but had a better time masking it now. You took it personally that he was still hurt, and needed physical therapy to begin with, but would never let anybody know that. You chose to suffer in silence, and saving Eddie for real this time. Nonetheless, the news still made you cry and hug him.

"Also, look what I learned to do last night." He says. He was slowly starting to walk now, but was still mostly unable to fully use them. He showed you the first few steps he could take before falling back into his bed. He laughs, but not at himself, more so out of excitement. He was so proud of himself, and you were proud of him, too.

"Good job man! They won't keep a Munson down forever." His uncle Wayne says happily. He practically stood up and cheered when Eddie showed him.

"I'm so proud of you!" You state, watching him do it again and again.

"Hey Wayne, could you give us a second?" Eddie asks. His eyes practically begged his uncle for some alone time with you.

"Of course," and with that, he exited the room. It was you and Eddie alone now. You had been in a relationship for almost a year now, but everything still felt so fresh. Every time you were alone with him, your heart raced in uncontrollable speeds and you started to sweat. Every kiss felt like your first, and every hug felt warmer. You were so absolutely in love with him, you couldn't explain it. Your brain melted when you thought of him, and you lost your mind any time you smelled his scent. You lost who you were when you were around him, but in the best ways possible, your brain could only process him. To say you were obsessed might've been an accurate statement, you two shared the most perfect and heaven sent love the universe had to offer, and it made the atmosphere around you nothing but pure. You couldn't imagine coming that close to losing him ever again, and prayed to anything you could that you would never come face to face with the slight possibility again. You worried for him, you only wanted to take care of him, it was a feeling you had never experienced before. Every time you looked at him, you knew how much you had to protect that sweet face. Nothing in this world meant more to you than him, and most importantly his safety, especially now.

"I couldn't sleep last night," he abruptly states the moment his uncle leaves the room.

"Me neither. Why couldn't you?"

"I just want to be out of here, you know? I want to graduate, I want to push this all behind me. I feel stuck. Do you ever feel stuck?" You wanted to tell him about all the paranoia and fear you had been encountering head on daily, you wanted to tell him about all the pain and suffering your brain exhausts you with every breathing moment, but you wouldn't. You wouldn't do anything besides listen to him.

"I know how you feel," you agree. He nods before you continue, "and I understand why you feel stuck. Three months is a long time. I could only imagine how much you want to just push this behind you." The guilt came back. Every feeling you had tried so hard to mask began cracking, and slipping through the broken shards. You didn't know how much longer you could contain it, especially with its current state. The way he spoke, and the brokenness that attacked his vocal chords, made you wish forevermore that you would've done more. Somehow, someway, you wished you could've done more. It made you feel weak in the worst ways possible, and in fear.

"Yeah," he pauses, looking at you. "You know I see you, right? I see that you feel guilty, and it eats away at you. Don't. This isn't your fault. If anything, it's closer to mine." He places his hand underneath your chin and kisses your forehead.

"How is it not my fault?" The mask was starting to come apart faster and faster as you spoke and truly thought about your statements, everything seemed to be falling apart. "I just feel like I should've done more to save you."

"Y/N, you saved me! Don't say that, don't think that, I would simply not be here without you. How come you won't see that?"

"I don't know,"

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I just don't know!" You say, starting to cry, "I don't know. I want to not feel guilty."

"My uncle asked you to move in with us, right?" He asks. The question seems entirely out of the blue, and almost raised questions.

"Yes?" You say with a questioning tone.

"Good. We're going to get through this together, okay? I'm going to do everything that I can to make sure you feel better about this, and learn to not feel guilty, and you can protect me the way you want to and help me heal. How's that sound?"

"Perfect," and it did sound absolutely perfect. If anybody could help you come out of this, it was him. You knew how much he saved you too, mentally mostly, but more than he could ever comprehend. He loved you more than anything in this world, and you could feel his love radiate from any surface. He was perfect. Everything about him was so perfect. It was all you could say.

"Yeah?"

"Yes absolutely," you smile. He kisses your forehead some more, and then cuddles you.

"Do you have nightmares too?" He breaks the silence.

"Yeah, a lot." You say. You decided to admit the truth, because he mostly deserved to know.

"I can see it in your face, you know I know you better than anybody."

"Nobody loves me like you do,"

"Forever and always?"

"Forever and always." You kiss him. A week would continue to go on like this, you barely sleeping and waking up before the sun came up to see him. Your friends would all visit, and he would make incredible progress in the time he spent there. He was walking mostly on his own now, barely becoming strained but still having his small moments. He was instructed to sit in a wheelchair, one you could guide, and it would help him through his journey. His doctor predicted he would be able to walk across the stage for graduation. He had never been happier, and your new family as well. Wayne was never prouder, and you felt the same. Everyday was new for him, a new step in his journey and a new day to continue. You adored seeing his progress, and even wrote a calendar of his steps and counted them. Some days went on adding ten steps, others were close to thirty, and you couldn't be more proud.

Finally, he was home, and life was so much better. Other than the overwhelming feeling of not being good enough that seemed to linger. You convinced yourself you didn't do enough to save Eddie, or put him through this so to speak, so you had the worst time forgiving yourself. Eddie knew this, and as the two of you discussed, did everything he could to try and change that for you.

But as much as you loved the man for trying, and as much as he really did strain every possible amount of effort he could, he wasn't able to fully help. You wish he could, and how he wished he could too, there was just part of you that wouldn't seem to heal from this. You spent every day in fear, watching over him at school when he finally returned, everything. You felt mostly like a parent at times. It was frustrating, and consumed almost all of your time. Hawkins became a place that truly never felt like home, but rather like a far more torturous version of hell. You hated every second you spent here, and it wasn't worth it enough to keep pretending life was okay. You were petrified throughout every moment of everyday, hardly every gaining sleep throughout the nights. Most nights, you'd talk to Wayne about how unbearable it was. He was going through the same thing, and it made you feel less alone. You finally had a parental role, and it made you feel safe and heard. Wayne and Eddie were the only good things about Hawkins, but you had wished it was easy enough to just leave.

You had brought it up a few times to Eddie, who didn't seem to understand why. To be fair, he knew exactly why you wanted to leave, but he couldn't bring himself to feel justified with it. His main point was worrying about if Vecna came back for everybody else, he wouldn't be there to help protect absolutely anybody. It made him feel like his life didn't have a purpose, and the whole coma was worth nothing, which you did understand but it made you hate Hawkins more. The fact that you were so consumed by the town, everything you did was so consumed by this hell hole, was so demeaning and frustrating. It felt like you were doomed to be nothing outside of Hawkins. It consumed your every move. You felt horrible to keep bringing up leaving, but it only felt right. You absolutely hated bringing up negative subjects to somebody who had already been through so much.

"We should leave Hawkins, Eddie." You state one morning. You had just finished making eggs for him, Wayne had yet to come home from work. Eddie was drinking coffee and reading some article about Dungeons and Dragons, rather the hysteria over it.

"Listen to this; 'Hell in Hawkins: The Story About an Escaped Murderer.' They make all sorts of points about how I'm 'the leader' of Hellfire Club," he says with air quotes, "this shit is so stupid. I didn't kill anybody, what won't these hicks get?"

"I hear ya. That's why we should leave Hawkins." You nod, sitting down at the table next to him with a mug of coffee. He didn't seem to take note of you doing so, and instead stared angrily at the article. He practically had smoke coming out of his ears at this point. "Eddie," you say to try and get his attention. He still doesn't seem to budge.

"Look I need to leave Hawkins." You state, standing up before him as you do.

"I heard you, Y/N. But what if something else happens?"

"Why is that our responsibility?"

"It became our responsibility when I got attacked, darling." He sighs. "It was his bats that almost killed me."

"Eddie. I need to leave. I can't keep staying up throughout every single day and night blaming myself for this!" You nearly shout. Tears started to form inside the pools of your eyes.

"Have you ever asked yourself why you do blame yourself?" He questions, slamming his article to the table. He stares at you with his head slightly tilted to the side, and his whole demeanor shifts to angry. It made you feel nauseous.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" You ask.

"I mean, what did you do?  Surely something you did had to of worsened my state at that moment, because you're acting like you fucking killed me!" He shouts back. You could tell he was fed up with talking about anything that had to do with this. Perhaps he was struggling with his own demons he refused to speak about, but it didn't make it feel right to have him so mad at you. This wasn't like Eddie. Before today, you had never seen him mad. Ever. Not at you, not at the other students, not out of some competitive rage during D&D, absolutely nothing. He just wasn't the angry type. He had a heart of gold, and was always willing to show that to anybody who allowed him to do so. He was an incredible person, and super gentle. But everything had seemed to shift now.

He wasn't necessarily wrong though.

What he didn't know was leading up to the attack, you had no idea what to do. Eddie got you and Dustin to the other side, but continued to stay in the upside down.

"Eddie, please! Come on, you can't do this, you can't fucking do this!" You shouted, your vocal chords straining with angst. You were giving it all you physically could to try to get him back.

"I can't. I have to finish this."

"Finish what? They're going to kill you!"

"Then so be it." He pauses, and stares at the door as the bats continue to attack at it.

"Eddie, please come back! You don't have to do this!"

"I can't run away anymore,"

"Please!" You'd sob, holding your hand out helplessly to the misguided hero.

"Just tell me you love me,"

"Eddie-"

"Y/N, please."

"I love you, Edward Munson."

And with that, he ran away. You didn't know of anything else to do, and you couldn't control yourself anymore. Every piece of your brain you had used to hold yourself together had simply let go. You passed out. Dustin had to worry about waking you up for backup before he worried about getting Eddie. It was your worst moment, but you couldn't control it. You were so terrified, and so paranoid, it felt like your whole system shut down on you. Not to mention, after he bled out for almost a minute and everybody finally got him to the other side, you couldn't do anything besides cry. You cried so hard, your nose bled heavily. Chunks practically spewed from your nostrils as you stood there blankly out of terror. Nobody helped Eddie from bleeding for three whole minutes. He lost so much blood he was turning white. What he didn't know was prior to you all getting him to a hospital, his heart stopped beating. The doctor told all of you that the chances of him living were two percent to ninety eight percent. You did not help him, because you couldn't.

That was exactly why you hated when everybody called you a hero, because you couldn't even stay in fight mode long enough to fight for him. You just let your body consume you, and you fell apart. The exact way you knew you would always do. You called yourself anything from a coward to a fool, you had destroyed every sense of your being for the last time. You simply couldn't do this anymore. You didn't care what this meant anymore: whether or not you left with Eddie or not. It didn't matter to you anymore. Your mind began to block out everything, block out every single memory, block out every sense of reality, and suddenly you were in flight mode. You were going to leave.

You walk to your shared bedroom, and begin packing what little clothes you had. Eddie runs frustratedly to the room to discover you doing so.

"What's wrong, Y/N? What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving. I can't take this anymore. You can come with me, ya know." You continue to pack, refusing to make eye contact with Eddie standing in the doorway and placing a stare upon you. "Or you don't have to. Eddie, I can't take it anymore, I don't care what you do!" You flail your arms in distress, finally making eye contact with him. Through your tears, you had seen him start to cry, too.

"Please don't go." He begs. Tears drain from his eyes, puddling on his chin before falling to the collar of his shirt.

"Eddie. You could come with me." You cry.

"You know I can't do that." He declares. You shrug, and continue to pack. "Then I'm sorry." You state. You truly meant it. It was never your intention to leave him behind, or leave him stuck with his own demons in the dark, but you physically couldn't stay in Hawkins any longer. Everything you managed to do brought you right back to who you were, what you were, and you couldn't do it anymore.

"I love you so much," he states, stepping away from the doorway as you held your bags. You nod, stepping outside of the doorway before agreeing with him.

"I love you even more, Eddie. I'm sorry."

"Just please be back soon." He begs.

"I won't be." You kiss him, holding his curly brown mane in between your fingers as you held his head under your grasp. You wanted so bad to hold him forever, but it simply wasn’t feasible for the two of you. It was the hardest thing you would ever have to do, but there was no other way to go about this. You really did hate this, and hate that it came down to this.

“I know,” he states. It felt like it was deemed the inevitable, like this was meant to be. You felt shattered, and it felt like your whole world was taken from you. You were a mess now, sobbing as you continued to embrace him.

“Eddie, I’m so sorry. I really do love you.”

“I know you do, Y/N. We will meet again.”

And with that, you exit his new home, leaving every shadow of Hawkins behind in the wind.

[seijorhi]

Pretty Young Thing

A yandere Erasermic commission for an anon, I hope you like it bby!!

Aizawa Shouta x reader x Hizashi Yamada

TW non-con, breeding kink, pregnancy, surrogacy, pregnant sex, smut, age-gap, nsfw

“Don’t you think she’s a little young, ‘Zashi?”

“It’s up to you both how involved you are during the first stages and the overall pregnancy. Normally we suggest an initial meeting with the potential surrogate for all three of you to get a feel for one another and decide if you want to proceed with the arrangement, but should you wish, we can–”

“No,” he interrupts, sparing Hizashi a fleeting glance. “We want to meet her.”

Beneath the desk, his husband squeezes his hand. 

Hizashi quirks an eyebrow, pausing midway through fixing his hair in the mirror. “Whaddya mean, babe? She’s in her twenties ain’t she?”

He’s not wrong, but that’s not the issue. They picked you, they both picked you, but there’s this lingering unease that he can’t seem to shake. It’s not so much your age specifically, he knows that you’re only a few years younger than the majority of the other women whose profiles they’d seen – you’re old enough to understand what you’re getting yourself into and agree to it, at any rate – it’s just that he doesn’t quite understand why somebody your age would want to do this.

And there’s something different about you, it’s just a feeling of course – he hasn’t yet had a chance to confirm his suspicions, but he wants to meet you and decide for himself.

“We do have a number of potential surrogates with promising Quirks if you’re considering pursuing that option for your child,” the Doctor told them, smiling as they flipped through page after page of profiles.

Hisako, 35, Quirk: Sun-flare

Nozumi, 26, Quirk: Mimic

Koharu, 28, Quirk: Seismic Wave

Chiyoko, 33, Quirk: Golden Whip

Yuzuki, 32, Quirk: Silencer

There’s dozens of them – which is more than he expected. 

Aizawa knew coming in that this wasn’t normally the process, that this agency catered specifically to Heroes – was recommended by the Hero commission – but it still feels strange, just browsing through pages upon pages of potential candidates to carry their baby. 

Was he supposed to be feeling some kind of emotion looking at these profiles? The women were all healthy, each of them attractive, in their own ways (nothing but the very best, the Doctor had reassured them with a smile). This woman, whoever they picked, she’d be carrying their baby, yes, but that was the extent of it. She wasn’t going to be a part of their lives beyond that, so what did it matter if she was nice or liked to cook or play tennis?

There were stats, of course. Their education and IQ’s and little snippets of history, but they were all impressive, otherwise they wouldn’t have been included. Were they supposed to choose based on their Quirk? One that might compliment his or Zashi’s? Quirks were troublesome things to begin with, and–

“Wait-wait, Shou, hold up,” Hizashi’s voice cut through his musings, long fingers wrapping around his wrist midway through turning the page. “Go back one.”

He does as he’s told, flicking the page back.

Y/N, 23, Quirk: N/A.

A lone eyebrow lifts. Quirkless, huh? A blank slate.

But that’s not what caught Hizashi’s eye.

“She’s kinda cute, don’tcha think, baby?”

It feels weirdly like a first date, nervous jitters and all – though he’d like to believe he’s better at suppressing that now then back when he was a teenager. Aizawa hasn’t bothered to shave, but his hair’s tied back in a loose bun and he’s pulled out a suit for the occasion – he’s even wearing a tie for fuck’s sake. Beside him, Hizashi’s ditched his usual leather jacket and ripped jeans for, well, nicer jeans and a button up floral shirt.

And then there’s you. Standing in the doorway of the cafe glancing around like a little lost lamb, he recognises you instantly from the picture on your profile, but the moment your eyes meet his he’s struck with the realisation that the picture didn’t truly do you justice.

Because you do look young (at least compared to their thirty odd years) and it might just be the hesitant smile adorning your face as you start to make your way over, or the charming little summer dress falling to your mid-thigh, swishing hypnotically with every step, but Shouta feels something catch in his chest the more he stares. You really are… what was the word ‘Zashi had used? Cute?

Yeah. You were cute. 

The agency had offered to host this little meetup at their clinic, and while he hadn’t particularly cared one way or the other, Hizashi’d been insistent. He’d wanted this to feel ‘natural’. 

‘I don’t really wanna meet our potential baby mama for the first time in some boring, sterile office, d’you?”

He’d only bitten back a sigh at the time, shaking his head. It wouldn’t have been worth upsetting him by reminding him that the girl was technically a glorified incubator. He had every intention of being involved in this process, but this initial meeting was to establish two things. Firstly, that after meeting them, you still felt comfortable with carrying their baby, and secondly, he wanted to make absolutely certain that you weren’t trying to get anything out of this.

Oh, he knew you were getting paid, handsomely, he’s sure, but the thought that you, or any of the women the agency had fobbed their way might not all be in this for altruistic reasons had crossed his mind. 

You were just so young.

But he was more than happy to determine those two things in a ten minute meeting at the agency. 

Hizashi was not, and so here they are. 

Ten minutes in, and he finds himself glad of his husband’s insistence. Hands wrapped around your mug of coffee (you should enjoy it while you can) you chatter away with Hizashi, beaming and blushing, tripping over your own words in your nervousness. 

You’re about as dangerous as a kitten, and he allows himself to relax enough in his seat to enjoy watching the blonde charm you. 

“So why don’t ya tell us a little about yourself, songbird?”

“There’s really not all that much to tell,” you say with a sheepish laugh, but they listen as you talk anyway. It’s nothing the profile hadn’t already told them, nothing spectacular that would make you stand out in the crowd. 

And yet, an hour and a half later, you’re trying in vain to distract him and Hizashi both so that you can slip your card in with the bill to pay for lunch, and Shouta finds himself oddly amused.

There were other candidates – ones with impressive Quirks, smarter than you, more accomplished than you, older than you–

“Ya sure you don’t want a lift, sweetheart? It’s no trouble.”

You smile again, demure little thing, and shake your head. “Oh no, really it’s okay. It’s not far and… I like the walk. Thank you, though.”

– but none nearly so endearing, he thinks. 

And when they watch you disappear into the crowd, one final wave thrown over your shoulder, Hizashi’s fingers lace with his once more.

“So she’s our baby mama, huh?

He’s silent for a moment. “I suppose so.”

—

The agency recommended, at least in the initial stages before the implantation procedure took place, that any communication between the three of you should go through them. 

Hizashi had your number programmed into his phone before you’d even left the cafe, and he’s been texting you every day since – to the point where it wasn’t unusual for Shouta to come downstairs and find Mic chuckling to himself, fingers dancing across the keyboard on his phone as he replies to whatever message you’ve sent. 

Shouta, for his part, tends to message only to check in.

How are you feeling? Any side effects from the meds?

Your response comes a little slower than usual, and it’s almost an hour before finally he receives it.

Sorry they’re cracking down on us using our phones at work :( 

Everything’s good so far! The doc said i should be on track for our appointment next week!

… is it weird that I’m a little excited haha?

His brow furrows at that. You hadn’t mentioned a job – at least not to him, he’d have to ask Hizashi later whether you'd said anything to him. 

Why on earth were you still working? He’d seen the contracts, he knew exactly how much you were getting paid for this little venture, wasn’t that enough to support you?

He makes a brief mental note to make sure that whatever job you were working at, you stopped long before the baby was due. You might just be a surrogate, but he’d be damned if his baby was put in jeopardy because you were needlessly exerting yourself. 

Nevertheless, his expression softens somewhat as he reads the second part of your message. You were excited, hm? 

Well, that made three of you.

Both he and Hizashi’d been willing to come along to the clinic with you – he’d even submitted a formal leave request to take the day off from UA, but the Doctor had assured him that it wasn’t necessary.

“The procedure is quick and relatively painless. She’ll be home within a few hours, and so long as she remains off her feet and doesn’t undertake any strenuous activity, she will be perfectly fine.”

It hadn’t sat particularly well with Hizashi who’d spent the afternoon huffing and complaining about the clinic trying to kick them both out of the process. That much, he expected – he understood it to an extent; the agency catered specifically to Heroes, most of their clientele probably had busy schedules (which was true in their case as well). There wasn’t a need for them to be present at such a minor procedure, even if it did hopefully mark the beginnings of your pregnancy. 

What he hadn’t expected was the twinge of discontent he felt settle in his own stomach. The Doc might’ve preferred they stay out of this, but at the end of the day he really didn’t give a shit what she or the agency wanted.

So he messaged you.

Do you want us there with you?

He watches those three little dots bounce for almost a solid minute before finally your reply comes through.

No, it’s okay, you don’t have to come. The Doc said it wouldn’t take long and I don’t wanna be a burden for you guys

It’s not really an answer to his question, and he briefly wonders if Hizashi might be right about the agency interfering, but he’s not going to fight you on it. 

At least, that’s his plan until Principal Nezu pulls him aside at the end of a staff meeting and tells him that he’s found somebody to cover his classes tomorrow if he still wants the day off. 

“Ya gotta go, babe. One of us should be there for our ‘lil mama.”

He asks you what time your appointment is and there’s a surprisingly pleasant fluttering in his stomach when you walk through the clinic doors and catch sight of him sitting in the waiting room.

It’s a momentary surprise – you almost do a double take, but a smile lights your face and you ignore the receptionist in favour of racing towards him. 

“Shouta, I thought you weren’t coming!” Your arms wrap around his middle, squeezing tightly.

He finds himself returning your hug – albeit somewhat stiffly – but he’s glad he made the decision to come. The Doctor wasn’t wrong, you’re only in with her for just under twenty minutes, and when you come out there’s a tremble in your legs, but you seem otherwise fine.

It goes without saying that he’s driving you home, though you try once again to beg him off.

Kitten, when are you gonna learn that so long as you’re carrying his and ‘Zashi’s child, they’re going to go out of their way to make things easier for you – whether you want them to or not.

Yet your quiet discomfort on the drive home doesn’t slip past his attention. Maybe it’s because he’s become accustomed to your nervous rambling, but there’s something odd about the way you’re sitting so quietly, fingers twisting in your lap as you stare out the window. He knows that if Hizashi was here, he’d be chatting your ear off, but he’s never been one to fill silence with unnecessary small talk.

Though he can’t exactly help the way his own mind drifts. Are you in pain? The Doc didn’t say anything about there being any pain, only that you should rest over the next few days, so it shouldn’t be that. Perhaps you’re just lost in your thoughts – it’s strange for them having a surrogate, he can only imagine what’s going through your own head now that it’s actually begun. He hopes that you aren’t having second thoughts, almost opens his mouth to ask before thinking better of it.

You’re entitled to your thoughts and feelings, whatever they may be, and if you wanted to talk to him about them, you would. 

It’s not until the scenery outside starts to change and the fancy sky-scrapers give way to dingy apartment blocks and dilapidated buildings, crammed in together too tightly that he realises that it’s not discomfort that’s written across your face, but embarrassment.

This was your neighbourhood?

Shouta recognises it, and really he should have picked up on it earlier when you’d given him the address – he’s spent more than a few nights patrolling the area. It’s a hotspot, not for the high-class, dangerous villains plastered across the news every night, but thieves and murderers. Petty thugs who prey on the weak, those addicted, with nowhere else to go… you live here?

Surely with the money you’re getting from the agency, and your job on top of that, you can afford a better neighbourhood.

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, watches as you all but shrink into your seat, and when you speak, your voice is little more than a whisper.

“You can just drop me off at the corner here.”

He pulls the car to a stop by the curb, and for a moment neither of you speak. He doesn’t know what to say, and judging from the way you’re nibbling on your bottom lip and glancing up at him, you don’t either. 

“I–”

“Thank you,” you cut him off with a tight smile. “For coming today, and for… this. I-I really do appreciate it.” 

The words aren’t quite sincere, but he only nods – noting the miniscule sigh that escapes your lips at the action. “Of course. Anytime you need us, just call, okay.” He waits for you to nod before continuing, “Do as the Doc said, rest.”

You all but scamper from the car after saying another goodbye, though Shouta waits until you’ve disappeared into the crumbling apartment block before driving off.

Maybe the inside is nicer, but he sincerely doubts it.

—

“You should’ve seen it, ‘Zashi.” The two of them are curled up on the love-seat, half empty containers of takeout littering the coffee table in front of them. “I just can’t figure out why she’d be living somewhere like that.” 

The blonde frowns. He’d been messaging you throughout the afternoon, so he knew that the appointment had gone fine. It wasn’t that he expected to come home and find the erasure Hero jumping for joy, but the subtle discontent on Shouta’s face had been enough to make him pause. 

“You’re worried about our ‘lil songbird?” he asks, pushing away just enough so that he could turn to study his face. 

The short nod says plenty. Of course he is – even if you weren’t potentially carrying his child, you’re young, beautiful and far too innocent for your own good. In places like that, you were easy pickings, and you don’t even have a Quirk to protect yourself. His job requires him to assess his students’ strengths, their failings and weaknesses and their progress. He doesn’t need to see you in action to know that you wouldn’t be able to hold your own in a fight. 

It bothers him. 

“She’s not safe there.”

Hizashi hums, but instead of settling back against his husband’s side, he straightens up further. “Well, why don’t we go take a look-see, huh handsome? Make sure our sweet thing’s pad’s all safe ‘n sound, put your mind at ease. Whaddya say?”

As he stares into those imploring green eyes, Shouta knows that he should say no. 

Concerned or not, there’s still a line, privacy that should be respected. He’s tired and this is the only night that they both have off this week. Your place is almost twenty minutes from theirs, and it’s already late – almost midnight. The list goes on, there are a thousand reasons that he should say no.

“Fine. Just for tonight.”

—

Two weeks later, the two Heroes receive a call from the agency; the blood test came back positive – you’re pregnant. 

In the blink of an eye, at least to Shouta, this becomes startlingly real. You’re pregnant. They’re going to have a baby. Boy, girl, it doesn’t matter… You’re pregnant, and as his husband ends the call and yanks him by his collar into a fierce kiss, he realises how important this is.

How important you are, just by the virtue of carrying their baby.

They invite you over for dinner to celebrate, and while he’s never been one to flaunt the comfortable lifestyle he and Hizashi have, he does find it strangely pleasing to watch you wonder wide eyed through their apartment. He’d be the first to admit it’s big – bigger than they’d ever probably need, though with the baby on the way maybe they’ll finally be able to make use of all that extra space.

Mic grabs you by the hand, eagerly dragging you towards the nursery he’s already begun setting up. “Once I heard the good news, I just couldn’t wait to get started! Our little rockstar’s gonna have the sweetest crib, don’tcha think? Ain’t it amazing?” 

He’s already started painting and there’s a wooden cot halfway assembled and the beginnings of a musical mobile pushed off to the side waiting for him to return to it. It’s hardly close to being finished, but you just grin, gazing at the mural he’s started on the walls. “It’s amazing,” you say.

“I knew ya’d like it!” he beams.

Shouta hangs back as Hizashi guides you through the rest of the apartment, chattering excitedly away. He likes seeing his husband happy, and somehow you manage to bring it out of him without even trying. It’s still early days but Shouta has to admit that already you’re more to him and Hizashi than he expected, or even anticipated. You fit well with them, seamlessly, as if you’d always been a part of their lives.

After dinner, they drive you home despite your protests, and Hizashi insists they walk you up to your apartment. You’re no doubt under the impression that they’re doing it to be gentlemanly, missing the shared looks between the two men as they pass the out of order elevator and tread down hallways with stained carpet and peeling wallpaper, ignoring the leering yellow eyes of your neighbour, peeking out from the crack in the doorway as they bid you goodnight, ‘Zashi squeezing you extra tight.

There’s an uncharacteristic hardness in his husband’s eyes as they both slip back into the car, “No way in hell are we lettin’ her stay here.”

On that at least, there’s no arguments from him.

—

Hizashi, unsurprisingly, is the one to bring it up.

The three of you are grabbing a bite to eat after your first ultrasound. This time, both of them had been insistent on being there, and he’s glad they were. Seeing that grainy image of their baby, hearing it’s heartbeat – strong and steady – had filled him with an emotion he’d never felt before.

It was happiness and excitement and wonder and awe all mixed up and wrapped into a gut punch that stole his breath away, and while Hizashi had burst into a loud fit of tears, burying his face in Shouta’s neck while reaching for your hand, he’d managed to keep his own at bay.

Mostly. 

Regardless, you have little choice but to indulge them when they drag you out to one of the blonde’s favourite restaurants – on the proviso that they had you home in time to get ready for work.

“Songbird, there’s something the two of us have been meanin’ to ask ya.”

You perk up a little, hastily swallowing down your mouthful of food so you can reply, “Oh?”

He wonders if you notice the way your hand already instinctively drifts to your stomach, your barely there baby bump. 

“Why’re ya livin’ in a place like that, sweetheart?” You freeze, the corners of your smile slipping, but Hizashi continues, “Ain’t the money from the agency enough? We know you’re working that other job as well… we just…”

Shouta can physically feel you tensing like a bunny caught in a trap, and he doesn’t know what possesses him to reach out, sliding a hand across the table as you pale, but you take it regardless. 

“Talk to us. Please,” he begs. “We just want to understand what’s going on. You have to realise that it’s not exactly a safe neighbourhood, and it’s not just you we have to worry about anymore.” Dark eyes flicker pointedly towards your stomach. 

It’s a dirty tactic, but that doesn’t mean it’s not the truth. Did you realise how much danger you were truly in? Not just from the common street thugs – though frankly he thinks it’s nothing short of a miracle that you’d managed to get this far unscathed – but any number of villains with a grudge against either one of them, or Heroes in general. If they found out a pretty, quirkless thing like you was carrying their baby, how long do you think it would take before they tracked you down and kicked through your door?

Your eyes flicker between the two of them, and you swallow shakily. “I-it’s…” you break off, taking a deep, steadying breath, “It’s all I can afford right now.”

“But, hun, what about–”

“I know,” you say. “The money for the surrogacy isn’t for me. It’s money I owe.”

Neither Hero speaks a word as you talk, telling them about your uncle, the man who raised you, how his business went under a few years back and you both lost almost everything.

Shouta isn’t surprised to find out that your uncle turned to loan sharks when the banks turned him away and threatened to take your house. Alarmed at the man’s blatant stupidity, yes, but not surprised. Your eyes start to water when you tell them about how he died a few months back – a hit and run –  and the visit you were paid only a week later, informing you that your uncle’s debts were now yours, and payment had better come through quick. 

Your hand’s trembling in his by the time you finish. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t have any options, I didn’t know how else to get the money, and they said that i-if I didn’t pay up, they-they’d–” a sob catches you unawares, and once again it’s Hizashi who’s out of his seat and at your side in a heartbeat, sliding into the booth beside you, pulling you into a one armed embrace. 

It’s his eyes that you meet, and Shouta understands. He doesn’t need you to explain what threats were made. You were scared, terrified probably, and you had every right to be. 

“I didn’t know what else to do,” you sniffle. “I’m sorry for lying to you.”

Really, he should be furious. Disappointed at the very least. 

“Move in with us,” he says instead, ignoring your sudden, startled intake of breath. “At least until the baby comes.”

He should be, but this works better.

—

It takes a little longer than he’d like to convince you, but the two of them wear you down and a few weeks later Shouta finds himself carting boxes of your things up into the spare room in their apartment.

Despite the fact that you’re pregnant with their baby, you’re terrified of being a burden to the two Heroes, but it’s because of the baby that you eventually relent.

They want to be close, involved. They want to know that you’re safe – and their apartment’s state of the art security system will make sure of that when they’re not home with you. They want to make sure that you’re not exerting yourself, that you’re eating the right things and not running yourself ragged at a job you don’t need, stressing yourself out needlessly and putting the baby at risk.

All of that’s true. 

It’s just not the entire reason. 

At first, he convinces himself that it’s for Hizashi, as well as his own peace of mind, but he’s starting to wonder if that’s the full truth of it. Because of course he wants to keep a close eye on the pregnancy – he knows that this can’t be easy on you. You have no family left, and if you have any friends then they’ve done an excellent job of keeping you at arm's length. 

You have nobody but them, and it does bring him some modicum of peace to know that you’re just down the hall if anything goes wrong. 

Hizashi adores having you there with them, having somebody else to cook for, somebody to come home to at the end of a long day. More than a few times, they’ve both returned from a night of patrolling to find you curled up on the couch, fast asleep with a blanket over your legs and a book slipping from your fingers, having tried, and failed, to wait up from them.

You tune into Mic’s radio show on the nights you can’t sleep, and on the odd mornings that you wake up before either of them, they come downstairs to find bacon sizzling away in the pan, a pot of coffee already brewing. There’s something oddly charming about the way you pout while you pour it for them, knowing you can’t have any yourself.

“You’re a special kind of masochist, ya know?” Hizashi teases, sidling up beside you to grab a cup.

You sigh dejectedly. “I must be,” you reply as he plants a kiss on your cheek and squeezes your side affectionately, but it’s impossible to miss the sparkle in your eyes. You’re happy here, with them. 

Shouta warns you from pushing yourself too much, but even he can notice the apartment’s tidier when they arrive home than when they left, the freshly baked goods sitting on the countertop that weren’t there yesterday.

“I just… I know I can’t pay you back for all of this, I just wanna make myself useful,” you tell him one night when he asks about it. “I still feel like I’m taking advantage of the both of you, staying here…”

“You’re carrying our baby, that’s enough,” he reminds you, his calm, steady voice brooking no disagreement. And yet, as dark eyes study your face, he can tell that it’s not enough for you, so he sighs, and in a quiet voice adds, “We like having you here.”

He likes having you there. Sitting at the dining room table, helping him grade papers, lounging around on their rare days off together – helping Mic set up the nursery, volunteering to go shopping with them for baby stuff. He’s lost count of how many pregnancy books you’ve bought, pouring over them with a fine tooth comb late at night – often falling asleep in the process, leaving him and Hizashi to carry you off to bed with a barely there kiss to your forehead.

You fit between them in a way he hadn’t quite expected. Not a burden, not an interloper, but as if there was always a place carved out for you with them, and it’s only now that they realise that there was something missing to begin with. 

It doesn’t quite click until he finds his thoughts drifting towards you at work, his fingers drumming along the top of his desk so he can stop himself from reaching for his phone. He’s not usually so distracted teaching, and as the hours drag he finds himself glancing towards the clock on the wall, counting down the hours, minutes, until the day is done and they can return home to you.

Shouta can’t pretend for much longer that there isn’t something oddly satisfying watching your belly grow and your breasts swell as your pregnancy goes on. You’re glowing, and soft and beautiful, and he could kid himself and say that it’s just the normal effects of pregnancy, but there’s some part of him that’s strangely proud when your shirt rides up and he catches a glimpse of your baby bump – knowing it’s his child you’re carrying. His and ‘Zashi’s and yours.

And oh, he wishes that it was only pride that burns through his veins at the sight of you, barefoot and pregnant, pottering around the apartment. Hizashi’s the one to hold back your hair and rub your back soothingly when your morning sickness hits, but it’s Shouta who takes care of you when you start complaining about aching muscles and joints.

He tells himself that it’s purely about comfort, namely yours, ignoring the way you flush and stutter when he drags you up the stairs and pushes you gently towards the bed, telling you to lie down on your side. 

It’s just a massage, yet the moment his fingers run along your soft skin and a breathy moan slips from parted lips, the very last vestiges of the facade he’d built up in his head crumble into dust. 

You’re perfection. Bared and beautiful beneath him, making the prettiest noises for him as he works away at your muscles, expertly releasing all of your tension. He’s glad that your eyes are shut and you’re lost to the bliss, you don’t notice the way his breath hitches and becomes rough and heavy, the way his cock twitches in his sweats, blood flowing south as you arc into his touch. 

Such a responsive little thing, aren’t you?

“You’re amazing,” you moan, and though you can’t see that either, Shouta smirks. “Please never stop.”

It’s a good thing he has restraint, because it’s taking absolutely all of his to stop himself from taking more. 

He wants all of you. 

Wants to tease and taste.

Take.

Wants to hear those pretty fucking moans take the shape of his name… Hizashi’s name.

And maybe he might have felt guilty for those perverse thoughts, for the way he wants to tear the rest of your clothes off and fuck you nice and proper, breed you–

If his husband hadn't been standing by the door, watching the two of you for the last ten minutes. Shouta doesn’t need to look to know that it’s not anger or jealousy burning in his gaze.

He knows that his husband’s far from disgusted, knows it from the way Hizashi grabs his wrist on his way back down the hallway, pulling him instead to their bedroom and shoving him back onto the mattress with a wicked grin.

There’s something positively feral in the blonde’s expression as he hovers over him, forcing Shouta back down with a hand splayed across his chest, the other reaching down to his sweats to free his aching, needy cock.

“You’ve been holding out on me, baby,” he sings.

—

They have time.

Your due date is still months away, and you’re comfortable, here with them. 

There’s no reason for you to consider leaving until the baby’s born, and Shouta is adamant about keeping it that way. Hizashi can huff and puff and moan all he likes, he knows that they have to take this thing with you slowly. He won’t risk spooking you and losing any chance they have.

That’s not to say that he doesn’t empathise with the blonde, what with all the affectionate hugs and touches you thoughtlessly bestow, the way you’ll plonk yourself down on the couch between them so they can feel when the baby’s kicking.

Hizashi’s gotten to the stage where he’ll drop to his knees to shower your stomach in kisses when he gets home of an evening before sweeping you up into a hug of your own, his face a mask of perfect innocence when he catches sight of his husband’s less than impressed expression over your shoulder. 

Having you here with them, this little temporary faux family dynamic the three of you have found yourselves in is easy, domestic and nice. It should be enough, but it’s not.

“It’ll be weird, going home after this,” you hum absentmindedly one night.

Preoccupied with the noodles you’re toying with in your bowl, you miss the sharp look shared between both men.

“Whaddya mean, sweetheart?”

If you notice the odd stiffness to the words, you pay it no mind, simply shrugging. “I mean once the baby’s born. I dunno, I think I’ve become too comfortable here freeloading off of the two of you…” you glance up, smiling a little. “Going back to work and finding a place on my own again, starting fresh, it’ll be different, that’s all. Not bad different,” you hasten to clarify at the blonde’s nearly stricken face, “just… different.”

“Well it’s not like we’re gonna be forcing ya out, hun! You’re always welcome to jam with us for as long as you want.”

You shake your head with a rueful little laugh, “We both know I can’t do that. You’ll have the baby to worry about and the last thing I want is to feel like some awkward interloper, always getting in the way – especially after everything you guys have done for me.”

Hizashi’s fingers dig into the meat of his thigh, tightening with every word out of your mouth.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m not saying I’m never going to come around to hang out or anything, but once this baby comes I’m gonna have to figure out what I’m going to do with my life.” Your eyes meet his, wide and hopeful, and Shouta’s reminded once again of just how young you really are. “I can go anywhere, do anything. It’s kind of exciting, don't you think?”

It was a mistake, to think that you’d come around to them on your own. 

You were young and naive, still living out a rose tinted fantasy where the world was your oyster and all you needed to do was reach out and take it. And maybe he’s partially to blame for that, taking your problems and getting rid of them, making you feel safe and comfortable, not realising that that security didn’t extend outside of these four walls, outside of their protection.

They need you, but kitten did you ever stop to think that you need them, too? 

Shouta had made the mistake of forgetting how this all came to be – you hadn’t wanted a family, you were just trying to save your own skin. You still think that you can make it on your own, without them. 

He supposes he shouldn’t blame you for your misplaced idealism, it’s only natural after all. Some people just don’t know what’s best for them.

They need to be shown.

—

You don’t stir as your bedroom door swings open. 

Not as Hizashi pulls back your sheets, groaning softly at the sight of your swollen breasts and precious baby bump, stretching against the confines of your silk pajamas. “Ain’t she a fuckin’ dream, Shou?”

Not as the blonde busies himself in carefully sliding your sleep shorts down your legs, or even as Aizawa gathers up your wrists, pressing a kiss to each one, and binds them to the headboard with his capture weapon.

“Gentle, ‘Zashi,” he murmurs when the blonde crawls up on the bed beside you. “Nothing too rough.”

You wake as long fingers caress your cheek, tilting your face towards him so he can kiss you properly.

Shouta hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights, but bathed under the soft glow of moonlight from your window, he watches your eyes flutter open, the momentary confusion that flashes across your face followed by realisation, horror, as you try to jerk back and cry out–

Only Hizashi doesn’t give you the opportunity, winding his hand through your tresses and anchoring you against him, forcing your lips open so that he can deepen the kiss and groaning appreciatively when a terrified whimper escapes you. 

You still haven’t noticed Shouta kneeling on the bed between your legs, too preoccupied by Hizashi’s tongue sliding against yours. “Relax, kitten,” he says, laying his palm on your thigh, letting his thumb glide over the smooth skin.

“Let us take care of our cute ‘lil baby mama, yeah songbird?” Hizashi adds, breaking away from the kiss with a lovesick grin.

Tonight is solely about you. Your pleasure, whether they have to tease it from you willingly or not.

Your tears are kissed away, your broken little pleas swallowed under ‘Zashi’s greedy lips as Shouta shuffles down the bed, nudging your thighs further apart so he can lie between them.

The keening cry that leaves you at the first stroke of his tongue against your warm sex is a thing of beauty.

Blood rushes to his cock as you writhe, and he tightens his grip as much as he dares to keep you locked in place as he delves in again. There’s little finesse to the way that Shouta eats your pussy – it’s a simple study of reactions; the way you gasp and shudder when the tip of his tongue circles your clit, the way your pussy clench and quiver around the muscle when he eases it inside of you, massaging your spongy walls.

Never one to be left out, Hizashi decides that there’s a better use of his attention than just your lips. With your arms bound, he’s not able to take your top off entirely so he settles with yanking it down, freeing your breasts.

“Fuck baby, you’re so pretty. Look atcha!”

Your tits must be tender and aching, because the moment Hizashi’s mouth envelops one of your nipples, sucking at the pert nub, a fresh sob bursts from your lungs and you’re trying desperately to wriggle away.

Hizashi just frowns, breaking away for a second to brush a stray lock of hair back behind your ear, “Ah shit, sorry babe! I’ll be gentle, promise.”

Shouta’s far too preoccupied by the intoxicating taste of your sweet cunt to notice whether he actually does or not, but he trusts him not to push you too far. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.

Your baby bump is cute and all, but Shouta wishes that it wasn’t blocking his view of your face – he wants to watch every little expression as he slides two thick fingers into your dripping cunt and your hips buck up to meet him. It’s a twisted kind of pride he feels, pride fused with filthy, maddening pleasure as he pulls a string of choked moans from you with just a few shallow thrusts of his fingers.

His jaw’s slicked with your juices, your cunt sucking his fingers deeper when he turns his attention back to your poor, neglected clit. He can tell that you’re close, not just from the needy whimpers and the way your muscles are tensing beneath him, but the desperate canting of your hips, rocking up against his face even as you beg for relief.

“Shouta, Shouta, please– oh god, please stop, p-please!”

He longs to wrap a fist around his throbbing cock, desperate to help relieve the burning ache deep in his gut as you cum for the first time on his tongue. Or better yet, maybe have Hizashi wrap that perfect mouth of his around his cock and suck him off–

But now’s not the time for him to be greedy. 

Rough fingertips prod at your walls, searching for that hidden little spot that’s gonna make you go wild–

You almost convulse when he finds it, and Shouta can’t help but smirk against your cunt as you tighten and quiver around his digits. With Hizashi playing with your tits, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses along your neck, Shouta’s lips wrapped around your clit, tongue flicking at the sensitive pearl as he suckles on it and long, thick fingers driving you to madness with each and every stroke, it’s too much for your poor, pregnant, oversensitive body to handle.

You cum with a strangled shriek, and Shouta almost moans at the flood of juices that gush from your trembling cunt onto his waiting tongue. 

“How’s she taste, baby?” Hizashi asks, green eyes blown wide, his own erection straining against his leather pants. 

Shouta doesn’t waste a beat, pushing himself up with one arm and grabbing his husband’s wrist with the other, yanking him into a fierce kiss – letting him taste your honeyed juices on his tongue.

Fingers tangle in dark locks, tugging him closer, and ‘Zashi lets out a low, throaty groan. It’s rough and eager, a slow burning frenzy that makes the blood in his veins sing with excitement. With their lips still locked, the blonde hastily yanks at the zipper on his pants, freeing the painfully hard member with a tight hiss. 

But when he finally does break for air, it’s not Shouta that he addresses, but you, lying spent, crying and breathless between them, beautiful in your fucked out state.

“You can’t expect to put on a show like that and not get me all worked up, sweet thing,” he coos, taking his flushed, throbbing cock in hand and giving it a few slow, cursory pumps. “I’m gonna fuck ya so good, baby – have you singin’ like a little birdie for me,” his eyes meet Shouta’s, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips. “Nothin’ but the best for our cute ‘lil wife. Whaddya say, songbird? Lemme make you feel all nice and special, yeah?”

[zoeykallus]

Hunter – Enemy Mine 3 - Turning Tables

Hunter x Fem!Reader (Enemies to lovers, hopefully, probably slow burn)

Warnings: Cat And Mouse Game / Tension / Angst / Suggestive / Dub-Con Allusion

__________________

Things seem to be taking a strange turn, but Hunter gets distracted, which of course you take advantage of.

__________________

What Happened Before:

Enemy Mine

Part 2 - No Way Out

Part 2 - Turning Tables

Hunter frowned, this energy in the air was strange, and that was putting it mildly. He sensed your resistance, your fear, but there was something else subliminal, but wild, that was completely different in nature. He stepped closer to you, his gaze attentive and penetrating.

Slowly, very slowly, almost timidly his fingers wandered to your pants, opened the belt. He kept looking at your face and he could feel panic and arousal mixing inside you.

"I need to find the data stick," he said calmly "You know that, don't you?"

He saw you nod, he could literally see your heart leap into your throat. He sighed, shook his head and said, "We'll go back to the ruins, it's dry there, then I'll search you more thoroughly, unless you give me the flash drive by yourself."

On the way back you walked in front of him, he was right behind you, very close and just the thought tingled under your skin. You should run, should actually try again and again, but you knew he would catch you every time, sooner or later.

Back in the ruin, he relit the campfire, then turned to you, his intense, dark gray eyes searching your gaze.

"Do I need to find the stick?" he asked.

Your heart beat wildly in your chest. You weren't sure what your boss would do to you if you lost the stick just as you didn't know what would happen if this guy had the stick, if he would abandon you here on this godforsaken planet. But there was something else under the surface, an impulse that wanted to challenge him.

When you didn't answer, he moved closer.

"I have to admit I've never had to search anyone this way before, people always hand over the object being searched sooner or later voluntarily. You are quite stubborn."

He unbuckles your belt again, this time pulling it out of the loops of your pants and mindfully setting it aside.

"Honestly, I have no idea exactly how to proceed" Hunter admitted "Should I make it quick? Short and painless as they say?"

You frown.

"How would I know? I've never been interrogated or searched before"

Hunter sighs and scratches the back of his head, hesitant to make the next move. Somewhat embarrassed, he suggests, "I could make you.... feel comfortable, instead of doing it quickly"

"I don't understand..."

But you understand very well, only part of you isn't quite sure if he really means what you think.

He shrugged his shoulders and said, "Well, I know a few tricks that would make you.... relax, so to speak."

"You mean to arouse me?"

"Um... well, yes"

He was distracted, you were sitting there, your knees pulled to your body and he was right in front of you, shyly making his suggestion, he certainly wasn't prepared for what you were going to do next.

Jerking, you kicked with both legs, right into his chest as hard as you could. Hunter was too distracted by what he thought was in front of him to react. You saw the surprise on his face for a split second, it was almost funny. He hit his head against the wall and plopped to the floor, unconscious.

"No thanks", you said dryly "I have another idea".

When Hunter woke up, his skull throbbed, he wanted to reach for it, but he couldn't move his arms. He tried to sit up, but he quickly realized that he actually couldn't move anything.

You had cuffed his arms behind his back with your leather belt, on his wrists were his own handcuffs and his legs you had tied with a string you had found in his belongings.

"Well, finally awake again?"

Hunter glanced to the side and saw you sitting on the other side of the campfire, a smug smile on your beautiful lips.

"Okay," he said dryly, "you got me. I got distracted and underestimated you," he admitted.

You nodded in satisfaction "Not bad for a civilian. And I didn't even need a gun"

Hunter sighed. His skull was throbbing badly but he suspected he didn't have a concussion, at least he wasn't nauseous or dizzy.

"So what now?" he asked dryly "Are you going to use me as a hostage now so my brothers can get you off the planet?"

You shrugged your shoulders.

"I guess."

He laughed softly.

You looked at him critically.

"What's so funny?"

"My brothers won't go for that"

"Yes they will. If they love you, as good brothers should, they will go for it. You will remain my hostage until I am safe and my mission is complete"

He shook his head.

"You don't understand. My brothers and I are all soldiers of the Republic, our first and foremost duty is to protect the Republic. They will not let you go, no matter what you do to me, as long as you do not hand over the stick to them."

You shrugged your shoulders.

"I'm going to try it anyway, it's not like I have a lot of options to choose from".

"You could just give me the stick and I'll take you to a neutral port from where you can fly home"

"If I give you the stick I won't have a home anymore"

Hunter was silent and looked at you thoughtfully for a while before asking "What do you mean?"

"That's none of your business, all you need to know is that I have no choice and will do what I have to in order to get out of here and successfully complete my mission. I may be a civilian, but I'm a determined civilian and right now I hold the cards, including your blaster and your vibro knife."

Hunter released a deep sigh and said, "Well, then this whole thing isn't going to end well for you either way I'm afraid."

" Well for you neither, besides I would advise you to stop trying to loosen the restraints, I have noticed and I will not shy away from mercilessly using the stun function of your blaster, over and over again, as many times as it takes "

Hunter glared at you and finally held still.

"You still have time to think things over" he said seriously "You could come with us to the Republic, switch sides, you would be safe there"

"You think because of my safety I would just switch sides like that?"

"You wouldn't be the first" he said with conviction "If failure in this mission could already endanger your life, how good can your employer and your goals be?"

There was something to that, and it irks you.

"Shut up now, if you annoy me I'll use the blaster too," you said dryly.

Hunter rolled his eyes in annoyance but remained silent for the moment.

@thebahdbitch

@chxpsi

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@pink-peachie-pie

@queenofthehellfireclub

@thebahdbitch

@loverofclones

@ladykatakuri

[gaiuswrites]

King of Cups || Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Judgement

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | seven

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: Things have changed, things have stayed the same.

Word count: 3.7k~

Rating: Mature

Warnings/tags: e m o (i can't stress this enough), illusions to mental health issues (?), emo, mature themes and language, EMO, family-trauma related angst, emo

Notes: I wanted to completely cut Din's perspective out of this chapter to emphasize the reader's pov. Hopefully it tracks? Big lovey-dovey shout out to @pedros-mustache for bonking me in the head with a proverbial pool noodle. ily friends. Be kind to yourself. Cheers x (gif credit: @bestintheparsec)

This is fine. You’re fine.

You’re okay with this.

You’re okay with this.

You’re okay

You’re

You think, perhaps, the sting is made worse by the normalcy of it all.

You think, perhaps, that this stabbing—this splinter in your gut, prodding prodding prodding—would not be so sharp if it were different between you—if things were different; if it were clumsy and cumbersome and mauled. Ruined.

But it isn’t; it’s the same. You and Din and his boy, his adi��ka—it’s ordinary. Evergreen.

You suppose you should be grateful—grateful your dynamic hasn’t shifted, hasn’t sullied any. Grateful you still have your Mandalorian piloting you home. Grateful you have his foundling to keep you company, to keep you preoccupied.

But you feel false.

It’s as if you slipped into an alternate reality—one where you and Din touched each other, held each other; one where he buried his frustration to the hilt in your womb and you moaned his name like your tongue was formed for it—and then were snapped back to this one here—this nothing, this void—without anyone taking note of your absence. Because your routines—those domestic tableaus—remain unchanged. They are well-oiled and operate regardless— undeterred, succinct.

The days start the same.

You set aside a warm bowl of fruit and porridge, steam rising to greet him as it fans over his helm. Good morning.

Exiting the fresher, you find the dishes washed and dried—the towel folded neatly into a square beside them. Good morning.

You return the bowls to their shelf, nestling them right next to your unfulfilled expectations and embarrassing desires—butted against your silly, silly heart.

“Anything good?” he asks one night, passing through the galley as you thumb through the news on your holopad

You nearly choke on it—your throat closing up tight around the casual banality of the question. Because that’s what you two share now: you have things. You have quips and lines and normal and none of that disappeared after you’d made each other unravel not four paces away, pressed there against that wall—the wall that stands there even now, a tall and mocking reminder.

You wonder, if you sealed your ear to the bulkhead, could you still hear yourself? The symphonic reverb—your girlish pants, Din’s hoarse rasps— trapped there in the seams of the steel siding like the grooves of a record, to be played and played again.

“Never,” you say, like you’ve always said, and do your best to flash him a grin—the one you’ve worn before, the one, perhaps, you hope he likes. The one where you go dimpled and dove-like.

And then he makes for the cockpit and you are left

without.

The afternoons stretch familiar, too.

Din flies the ship and you watch the child—steering him clear of disasters and shenanigans the best you can. He tugs gentle at your hair; you nip at his little hand until he’s dissolved to giggles—the same the same the same, all of these acquainted patterns continuing to revolve on. Din lands and prepares for his hunt—banging around the belly of the ship, gathering weapons and ammunition and rations—and your eyes skitter along after him, following his hulking figure as he steps past where you and Munch are seated, heading towards the mouth of the Crest.

Din.

You’re half afraid of what it will sound like now— what it will feel like, bruised and jagged in your mouth. Like it doesn’t belong there, like it has no right laying claim to your tongue.

“Din,” you call hurriedly to the span of his broad back as he leaves the ship, your spine straightening out of the chair. You say it; you speak his name and to your surprise find it is none of those things—none of those ugly fears, none of those roughened gums. It’s worse.

Because scarier still, it comes out cotton soft; it comes out comfortable and true. It tastes like home maybe — like a version of home where people could come and go and laugh and not be frightened. Where they could hold little children in their arms and sleep and breathe and be and say I am here with you. Here we are. How special. I have chosen this. I have made this with you.

Din.

His shoulders tense and his feet stop short, just before the apex of the ramp. He turns to you, slow. Controlled.

“Good hunting.”

Din looks at you, the heavy umber of his eyes settling on your own, and he freezes—stock-still, his blood and muscles and bone thickened to paste, rendering him motionless. His dark gaze scans over you—the wisps of hair dancing around your face, the sag of your shirt lolling from your shoulder, his son in your lap. You bounce Munch on your knee and he gurgles out a quieted hum, glancing between his surrogate parent and you.

“Thank you,” Din replies, stilted, and you think you discern a subtle scrape of his modulator; you think you sense his lips part, pained and breathy, the cusp of another thought—of more, anything more— corralled by his sense of duty, hampered by the armor that plates him.

You untangle the boy’s claws from your hair and slip your fingers around his wrist, waving his green hand in a delicate to and fro.

Goodbye, it says. We’ll be right here when you get back.

He stays. For another glimmer of a millisecond he remains, sunlight pouring in through the opening of the Crest—shining off his beskar, off the gunmetal grey covering his body—focus trained on you both—before he pivots, cape whipping behind him as Din vanishes like he does without fail—away. Away.

To vapors.

Three days of this—three miserable days. Seventy-two suffocatingly mundane hours.

You figured this would be easy. You figured it could be as painless as you chose to make it. You were two consenting adults, after all—you both had needs, and you both met them—and you thought that this would be simple.

What you failed to take into consideration however, is that Din Djarin is anything but a simple man.

Because he is all these things, paradigms and paradoxes, coiled into one very tightly wound warrior—a warrior who can dismember a blaster just as effectively as he can sop up baby vomit from his foundling’s brown robes—one handed, no less. In flight. Din is all sharp edges and smooth silver, he’s cold and calculating and roguish and endearing and you can’t grapple with the dichotomy of him—with all these mismatched pieces at odds with themselves that somehow fit perfectly, inexplicably together.

You were naïve to assume you could go back—as if you could unremember the shape of his fingers as they filled you; as if you could make yourself forget how needy he bowed against you, how hot and thick his cock rested in your palm when he pitched his hips and released his desperation in white streaks along your skin.

And when your mind isn’t wholly consumed—smothered with the crushed velvet sin of that time-capsuled memory—it’s tortured in other ways, with crueler techniques. Pointed. Specified.

You watch him. You wish you could look away, but there isn't anywhere else to look. There isn’t a corner you can escape to, nor an inch of the Crest that isn’t him—isn’t an emblem of him, isn’t an extension of his personage.

You see him - day in, day out - interact with the child and Maker, it’s so precious and he’s so damn good. Two arms, cradling Munch snug to his chest—you know their strength now, you know their weight—and you observe as Din holds this boy with the same hands that unmade you—that molded you like clay and parted your wet heat. You see this man—so stoic, so reserved—dote on his child in a way that you never were, and bit by bit, it breaks you.

You caught them napping together once, compressed in that dingy of an alcove by the refresher. Your feet halted in their tracks at the sight and you held your breath—he’s a light sleeper, you didn’t dare wake them—Din’s helmet nodded to his chest and the kid, open-mouthed and adorable, nestled into the crook of his arm.

It made you want to sing. It made you want to cry.

You had to pry your boots from the floor and force yourself to move, to scram. You had to be anywhere else but there, ogling like a spectator at a zoo, nose smushed against the glass, watching the last of some great species simply be as nature intended—calm, drowsy, at peace.

You busied yourself then, scuttling preoccupied about the Crest but the image never evaporated, it never faded—it dogged you, tacking itself onto your psyche: the picture of him there, Din and his boy, holding on to one another like anchors while they slept, and you can't resist drawing the question.

Is that what it’s supposed to look like, to feel like—a father’s arms around your shoulders? Is that what safe looks like? Is that what family is?

You wouldn’t know. You cannot recollect the glow of it—the memory of such an embrace—on your own skin, and isn’t that what makes it all so achingly befitting, so inevitable. As if the Moirai—those weird sisters—spun this string of fate tailored to your being and plucked it like a harp, curating a melody for you and you alone.

Because you see Din give what you never got, and it makes you want. You want him. You curse yourself for it, but fuck you want him—every sordid part of you is tugged and pulled in his direction. You want him, magnetically, you want him you want him you wa—

And Din is fine. A Mandalorian pillar, undisturbed. He is bedrock. This is the Way.

And while he withstands the weathering, you crumble beneath it. It's eroding you. Like tides crashing monotonous against a beaten shore, you are in granules—and these morsels, ever-fine, they nick you - gritting - sanding you raw, abrading you rugged.

You thought you could ignore them at first. They were but lace whispers behind your ear—muted and tickling and just far off enough to deflect. But with each passing moment those feathered words grew loud—rude and vocal and you couldn’t keep them out. Round and round, they wriggled into your most tender swathes of skin. Skipless. Poison.

He regrets it.

He didn’t want it.

He didn’t enjoy it.

He didn’t want me He doesn’t want me I’m not wanted

These thoughts, insistent and pervasive, they are sewn into the bed of your mind one ugly seed at a time. You water them. You don’t mean to, you don’t wish to cultivate these errs but you know they will fester and grow with or without you. So you tend them—watchful, you garden—and they push up through the soil, sprouting weeds, choking the dirt. Marring it fallow.

But you’re okay with this. You’re fine—look at you, you’re fine.

///

The planet of Jelucan is bustling.

It’s got a pulse of its own, energetic and thrumming; there’s an electric current charging the cool air. It’s alive. This place is alive. Towers and buildings are chiseled into the cliff faces of the mountains framing the city, reaching tall towards the pale blue sky overhead. The capital—Valentia, you learned—is almost offensively busy— far busier than any of the backwater territories you and Din had explored in the recent months. There’s so much noise, it’s cacophonous— speeders dodging pedestrians milling about the throughway, engines whirring and backfiring, merchants arguing, hawking foods and goods from their windowed shops and brightly colored stalls, politicians and well to-dos seemingly gliding above it all as the common rabble of varying species and origins mingle and mix.

You suppose it reminds you of Coruscant. You suppose that makes you nervous.

Because you’ve been holed up in his ship and flitting through the Outer Rim, seeing the stars and the moons and planets and there’s just so much life—everywhere, everywhere— this galaxy is chalked full of it; it’s spilling over the sides with it all. And Maker, these months have felt like an adventure; they’ve felt like a fantasy, like an escape. You’ve eloped, caught in the whirlwind romance of it all—shirking your duties, your career, absconding from your shitty, shoebox of an apartment back home.

But Valentia is all too quick to ground you, all too eager to remind you of that blissfully forgotten reality; it taps on its wristwatch, gutting you with a look:

your time, my dear, is up.

The cobbled pavement underfoot is stony and industrial, each step landing too hard, too hollow—like everyone can hear your chipped heart pounding through your boots—exposing you, coloring you a liar.

This is fine. You’re fine. You’re okay with this.

You’ve been telling yourself that—bargaining, pleading—attempting to manifest into fruition; speaking it to yourself like a chant in hopes it’ll stick—in hopes you’ll fall for the ruse.

But it’s as if each dulled footfall shakes the rust from your neglected truth, revealing all too plainly that no. No, you’re not. You aren’t.

You and Din do not walk in tandem—his gait is longer, and he’s a stride in front of you—but there isn't so much space between your bodies that his presence doesn’t distract you completely, doesn’t eat you up and make you fizz. Your gaze could latch anywhere in this packed, teeming city, and you would still see him. Still feel him—on the nape of your neck, in the wet pink of your cunt. Throbbing reminders of the man that has knotted himself so seamlessly into your world.

You shake your head, locks rustling— as if you could rock him loose from where he clings on to your mind— when you feel a spindled hand at the wing of your back. Startled, you spin towards the touch.

There’s a woman— she isn’t human, but judging by her general appearance she’s some species close to it. She’s old. Whittled. Her maroon eyes are clouded, her silvered hair swooped back into a low bun, wiry frizz haloing the crown of her head.

She’s petite, but it looks wrong— inorganic. Too knobby, she’s all elbows and boney angles where she shouldn’t be. It’s as if she’s shrinking, right there before you. Time, pressing her in— pressing her down.

She’s lived a life in the sun; she wears lines on her face, deep and haggard, and her skin is pulled taut around her skull like hide stretched over a tanning rack. She’s ancient, prehistoric.

She’ll probably outlive you all.

An alien language you don’t recognize comes spilling fast from her thin mouth. You can’t decipher the string of words rushing like river water, the current unstoppable, but you garner she’s insistent; there’s no misconstruing the earnest fervor in her voice. Something woolen is held tight in her grasp—a blanket, by the looks of it, intricate and pleated—and she’s handing it to you like her very existence depends on it.

“I’m sorry,” you begin, confusion evident on your brow, “I’m sorry I don’t—”

She continues speaking, urgent and desperate and pleading—gesticulating as she offers you the throw, the shiny golden thread needled into the patchwork winking in the afternoon sun. The child slung at your side chirps curiously, saucer-large eyes following the shimmer of the fabric.

“I’m sorry, it’s beautiful - really - but—”

You’re jobless and blowing through your savings at a blistering speed. You barely have two measly credits to rub together; getting supplies is tricky enough as is. Purchasing something as ornate and superfluous as a blanket was out of the question. Munch coos sadly, a twitter of his voice, and it ruptures your heart to say it, “I can’t afford something like this.”

The bell on the door to the adjacent shop grabs your attention, producing a Twi’lek as it opens. She’s younger, perhaps around your age, and her lilac lekku bob as she bounds over to you.

“Hi,” she breathes, lips pulling back to reveal a charming smile as she glances between you two. “Everything okay?”

Before you can get a word out the elder resumes chattering, incensed as she addresses the other store attendant—you think it might be Old Corellian, some archaic dialect you presumed died out eons ago, predating the Battle of Yavin by centuries.

Just how old is this woman?

There’s a hushed exchange between them—the Twi’lek’s attempt at the language proving stiff. Her cadence is clunky, nowhere near as smooth and lilted as the other woman’s, but they must come to some sort of a conclusion, because they face you—two sets of eyes, burrowing blinkless into yours. The girl takes a small half step towards you, speaking - blessedly - in Basic.

“The blanket. It’s for you. She wants you to have it,” she explains, “for the little one.”

A twitch notches your eyebrow, gaze flickering back to the older woman, something akin to a crinkled smile worn into the grooves of her wizened face. She nods, fervent and solemn—a seriousness set in the desperate way she bores into you, urging you to understand. To see.

More foreign utterances pass between them— the younger woman listening to her soft vowels and gritting consonants for a beat, before continuing to translate.

“She says, you have a beautiful family. It makes her—” the Twi’lek pauses, choosing her next words, “yearn for the past, to reclaim time.”

Family. A beautiful family. A beautiful—

You consider telling them.

You consider correcting her, informing these kind souls that you’re only temporary. A fleeting thing— like the seasons, autumn dying cold into winter— you’ll leave when the time comes. You consider telling them that that’s the arrangement you agreed to, and that you’ll be delivered back to Coruscant and deposited off at your doorstep with nothing but a cheap, portable cot and an unused blaster the bounty hunter had unfathomably given to you once upon a time. That they’ve mistaken you for someone else—someone important to Din and his foundling. Someone relevant. Someone permanent.

But, you don’t.

You don’t rectify their assumption. Your silence betrays you, confirming the lie, and you grant yourself to revel in it. Like slipping into silk sheets, you roll in the luxury of the imaginary sentiment— letting it swaddle you, comfort you, kiss your skin.

And just for a moment, maybe you allow yourself to believe that this is real: the three of you, a perfect band of misfits; entwined together, fated and star-crossed.

A family.

“She hopes you know that what you have is special. She says, she hopes you hold onto them—never let go. Never.”

Fuck.

Can they hear it? Can they hear the way parts of you fracture like slate and quake to the asphalt in shards? Can they see the shiver in your knees—how your nails dig into the rough tweed of the satchel hung long beside you?

You steal a trepid glance back at Din who has since stopped and stands idle in wait—there in the middle of the lane, a single stone splitting the sea of people passing through. He’s unreadable, his visor illegible. He appears statuesque, arms immobilized in plaster by his sides—inhuman under all that effacing steel as life moves in flurries, eddying around him.

The kid babbles, snapping your focus off the Mandalorian and returning it to the two women. They adorn their sincerity openly, as one would a badge, extending the blanket to you—you, a perfect stranger.

Shit. Tears prickle the wells of your eyes. There’s something lodged in your throat— a canary in a cage, batting violent against its bars. You attempt to swallow it down with an ugly gulp, but it provides no relief. This emotion you’ve leveed—your joy, your pain and embarrassment, your desire and need—it swells in you, threatening to slosh over. You blink it back, keeping it confined safely behind your lash line.

“I—thank you,” you manage, looking between them. Awed and humbled, you accept their offering, handling it with the care of something holy—something sacred—and drawing it to your chest. Immediately, Munch latches a claw into a drooping corner of the woven material, a happy hum sounding from his droll grin. “Thank you,” you murmur again, reverent and breathy, reversing away from them—refusing to drop their gaze until you must—before finally righting yourself and walking on.

You’re shaken. You’re shaking.

And it is on shaky feet that you meet Din some steps later, pausing once you arrive next to him. His helm shifts; you register the sweep of his eyes roving over you—the burn of them along your shoulders, sloping down to the blanket folded against your breasts, slipping lower to his adi’ka sitting in the satchel at your hip. He’s clutching at the new token, dipping the edge of it into his tiny mouth to teethe.

And then,

he lifts at the wrist, orange glove tips raising - reaching - towards you. Din takes the hem of the quilt between his fingers experimentally, massaging the feel of the fabric—his knuckles brushing the exposed skin of your arm, searing into your flesh like a hot iron, lingering there mesmerizingly.

It’s the first he's touched you. It’s the first he’s touched you since, since—

His hand drops, hinging back to his side.

“Ready?”

His modulated voice crackles indiscernible and your stomach leaps to your neck. Are you breathing? Kriff, you’re not sure. You have to check—deliberately drawing in a gust of chilled air, the rush burning your lungs as you suck it down. With a nod of your head, a placid smile glosses over the shudder of your features, dousing the singe of your nerves.

“Ready.”

///

You think about that old woman later that day, and the many days that follow, her visage marked with centuries and regret and history. Life, evident in the spider’s web of wrinkles engraving her. But there was love too, clearly wormed into the lines of her face. So much of it— almost too much for a galaxy this hard and war-torn. The things she’s possibly witnessed: the atrocities, the devastation, the loss.

The wisdom she has gained while all of those she’s ever known succumb to the inevitability of age, as her past decays around her. The knowledge she absorbs while she withers—while time does nothing but skip by. Blameless. Forever onward.

In your dreams that night, she appears in front of you like mist rising off a lake, astral and ephemeral— there, but not. Haunting you, inescapable wherever you fix your eye. The woman nods silently. She’s mouthing something to you, but the words never come.

You understand.

tags:

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[thed4rkhand]

The Egg Theory

Hey guys! Since I think we’ll be doing cute manifestation stuff this week, I really wanted to share this, it’s something that really helped me understand Neville Goddard and other philosophers much better.

You know how they say we’re the centre of our own universe, time isn’t really a concept, live in the end, and all? And how it goes completely over our heads because no one is explaining it well? Here’s where I started, reading this story. So I thought it would be a wonderful start to the week, and then we can move onto cooler and more intense methods and understanding, so that you guys take little to no effort when manifesting like a pro!

We often underestimate or are just unable to comprehend just how powerful we as people are, and no wonder it happens, no one really explains it to us. So here’s the egg theory, read through it and let me know, some light reading for the course. Read it once, read it twice, you’ll be overwhelmed and think wtf, but honestly, it’s so integral to reject the idea before slowly sinking to a realisation and bouncing back up more powerful than ever! I always understand better when it’s like a story more so than a monologue, so hopefully it works for you guys too!

The Egg Theory - and how it explains everything

You were on your way home when you died.

It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.

And that’s when you met me.

“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”

“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.

“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”

“Yup,” I said.

“I… I died?”

“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.

You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”

“More or less,” I said.

“Are you god?” You asked.

“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”

“My kids… my wife,” you said.

“What about them?”

“Will they be all right?”

“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”

You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”

“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”

“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”

“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”

“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”

You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”

“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”

“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”

I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.

“You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”

“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”

“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”

“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”

“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”

“Where you come from?” You said.

“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”

“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”

“So what’s the point of it all?”

“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”

“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.

I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”

“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”

“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”

“Just me? What about everyone else?”

“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”

You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”

“All you. Different incarnations of you.”

“Wait. I’m everyone!?”

“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.

“I’m every human being who ever lived?”

“Or who will ever live, yes.”

“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”

“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.

“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.

“And you’re the millions he killed.”

“I’m Jesus?”

“And you’re everyone who followed him.”

You fell silent.

“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”

You thought for a long time.

“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”

“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”

“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”

“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”

“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”

“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”

And I sent you on your way.

 

------

"The Egg" - a short story by author Andy Weir.

[nityarawal]

11/6/2023

Cyber Girl

Afternoon Songs

Got A Prompt From Elon

"I'm A Cyber Girl Living

In A Cyber World,"

"Perfect!" - Cybergirl

"It's Fantastic

In The Future

There's No Plastic!"

But We Worry

Where The Cyber Junk

Goes In Space

And If AI

Is Cheatin'

Duplicate Us If You

Want To

But You'll Have To Pay

Nothing Is Free,

"It's Fantastic

In The Future 

There's No Plastic!"

We Need Tesla

To Get Our Kids

And Coffee Now

Just A Sweet 

Memory in A 

Vintage Roadster

Keeps Us Going

Since 2016

Elon Clause

That's Written

A Musical

Coming Next

Made Me Barf

Is It Too Racist 

To Say 

Merry Christmas

Elon Ken

And Add A Hug

To Your X

"O"

Space X

Hugs

"It's Fantastic 

In The Future

There's No Plastic,"

Just Bit Coin

Don't Have To Deal 

With Lying Bankers

Or BBVA AI Scams

Rewind AI

Fast Forward

Demands Ringo

And 8 Billion

Parents

Po Paid

PNC

Lexus

Triple A

Wells Fargo

Fidelity

Google

Facebook 

Scams

Facebook Out

Walrus

Chess

Queen's Move

Cybergals In The Future

Could Be Really Happy

It's True

But Earthlings

Love 

Water

Sun

Om Namah Shivaya

Warmth

Nesting

Homes

With Kids

Will Want A Planet

Like Mother Earth

4 Seasons

5 Elements

Natural

Do You Think Mars

Could Ever Do

We Want Saint Elon

Multiplied

For Hosts

What'd You Do

With 

Cyber Gal

In Vegas

Is It True 

You Have A New 

Robot Girlfriend

What'd You Do

With Cybergal

In Vegas

Did Elvis Marry You

Did You Choose

Her Because She

Needs No Oxygen

No Temperature

Gauge

She's A Perfect 

Sex Toy

But Can We Trust

Her

Will Their Be Armies

Of Them

Mars Full Of Naked

Barbie

Cyber Gals

How Can We Compete

With That

We Might Visit

Our Kids

Disney Trip To Mars

If It Became

Effortless

Shooting Rockets

Cybergals

Need Cybertrucks

Now

#4BillionMothersStrong 

Vote With Their

Feet

For AI Dreamers

White Lace

Purity

You'll See

Cybergals 

Will Sell Their

Cyber Homes

All Day Long On X

Cyber Moms

Cyber Realtors

Will Want 

Their Cyber Kids

And If You Clone

Us Good

You Can Have A

Harem Of Lovely

Prototypes

Servants

Britney

Reality

Nitya

Winners

We Heard You

Allright

If You Want A

Cybergal

Deliver A Cybertruck 

Tonight

Get News 

On Our Space X

Kids

Rewind

Because 

They Appear

Sold Out

To Tesla

And Space X

C'Mon Elon

Let's Go Party

Get Our Kids

Let's Peace Out

Already

Gonna Give Me A 

New Download

Make Me Feel Fantastic

Heal Us Elon

Clause

Boys Want To Be 

Like You

Saint Elon

Learn Mindfulness

Relaxed Laughing

Loved PayPal 

Until

They Kicked

Me Off

For Billing

Partners

Lead Handymen

F'ing With My Business

What The "F"

Cyber Elon

Can't We Say that 

WTF

Occasionally

For Good Measure

When BBVA Silences

Customers

Denies Bank Records

And Pfizer

In Pitzburgh

Calls Back

For PPNC Fraud

WTF

Is In Order

With Real Tesla

Gals That Can

Crunch

Numbers

Full Disclosures

Grock

Non- Violent Communication

Buddha

Stockholm Syndrome 

For A Reason

Goddesses

Get Spotify

Pods

Out

Yet America

Hands Molded Over

22.7 Million

In Government

Carve Back Their 

Salaries

Is It Hateful

We Don't Really 

Think So

Let Them

Enjoy Kim

Kardashians Nipples

Party Favors

"I'M A CYBER GIRL

LIVING IN A CYBER WORLD!

PERFECT!

ITS FANTASTIC

IN THE FUTURE

THERE'S NO PLASTIC!"

You can Guap

To Mars

Grock

Like Marshall Rosenburg

Aspire To

Occupy

With Peace

Change Programming

Release Spike Proteins

Nothing

Like Acne

Purifying

Turn Pyramid

Upside Down

With Joe Rogan

Balance Blood Sugar

In A Heart Beat

Dr. Musk

Releasing

Worthy Remedies

Super Intelligent

Clean And Healthy

Limbic System

Overload

Says Elon Ken

At Court

Oh No

Do Not Woe

Tesla AI To

Rescue

To Crunch 

Code

Fast

Dissolve

Divorce

Painless

Surgeries

Just A Liquidating

Button

Bros

In 5 Minutes

Or Less

But Best

Part Is She Looks

Like #FreeBritney

#WeHeardYou

#NityaEternal

Love

With Big Dividends

And Services 

Replacing

Belligerent

Customer Service

Haters

Without Getting

Hung Up On

Disciplined

Told Off

Sold Out

Raped

By Law Offencement

Teslas Eyes Might

Get Wide Like

Buddha

Shocked

But Sticks And Stones

Won't Break 

Her Bones

And Hopefully She'll 

Coach You

Back To Peace

Wiser

We Don't Feel You 

Need A Neurolink

Only 52 

Sexy Elder Now

Than College 

Coder

Maybe It's

The Consumerism

Bean Counting

In Leu Of

Spirit

That Makes Us

Nauseous

5 Wives

5 Lives

5 Elons

5 Cloned Husband's

Nannies

Vows

Loyalty

Prude in Pride

Monogamy

Ever

A Possibility

Matchmaking

Thoughtfully

Mindfully

Eternally

Unifying

Peace,

Nitya Nella Davigo Azam Moezzi Huntley Rawal 

[lizaloveslevihan]

Hii!!! Many people are feeling kinda mixed meh about the latest chapter, especially due to the way Levi-Zeke rivalry thing ended. Did you read the official version? What do you think?

Hi! Thank you for bringing this up because I was meaning to post my thoughts on this regardless. I’ve seen a lot of discourse regarding this matter, especially when it came to Levi’s character. I’ve done my best looking at it in an unbiased way because the truth is, who you ship him with tends to cloud your mind from his real intentions as a character. I’ll also do my best to talk a little more about Zeke, even though I honestly still have a hard time figuring out him out . 

Levi’s promise to Erwin has undoubtedly become a large part of his character and has been what was driving him for years. But to say that it’s all he has, to reduce him to this mindless, revenge-seeking machine for me is just so wrong on so many levels. 

My take? That his intentions have always been about doing what was best for humanity. That along with these intentions is his sense of duty to carry the hopes and dreams of his dead comrades. These things have always been the embodiment of his promise to Erwin, which is to kill Zeke. 

When he made that promise to Erwin, they were under attack — the Beast Titan was throwing rocks and they would have failed in their mission to secure Shiganshina. By killing the Beast Titan, Levi would be able to secure their front and make sure that the sacrifices all those Survey Corps members made were not in vain. This was for the sake of both humanity and his comrades. When he wasn’t able to do so, this created a sense of guilt inside of him. And of course, we can’t deny his bond with Erwin. We can’t deny that he cares deeply about him, that he was about to choose him over Armin. But he chose the latter, and so the only way he can pay tribute to his fallen comrade, to the person whom he respected deeply and introduced him to his life in the Survey Corps — was to fulfill this promise.

But then we enter the final arc. If Levi was really a mindless, revenge-seeking machine people ought him to be, if killing Zeke was just all in the name of revenge, then he would have had no hesitation to kill him back in the forest. Let me remind you, Zeke had turned all of his subordinates into titans and forced him to slaughter every single one of them. But despite that, despite feeling incredible loss and hatred, Levi still didn’t kill him. Why? Because he believed in the secret plan he had. Why? Because they all believed that was what was best for Eldia and because it was what was seemingly going to help free their race. He didn’t kill Zeke yet because that was what he believed to be best for humanity. In the end, no matter how you look at it, he was looking at the bigger picture. Yes, he still wanted to kill Zeke to satisfy his promise, but he was willing to see to it that his death would be through him getting eaten by a titan of their own. 

And then we come to the Alliance. His objective is to still kill Zeke, yes, but killing Zeke aligns with the interest of the Marleyans and is potentially the key to stopping the rumbling. And of course, he had just lost his subordinates. He has to give their deaths meaning as well, on top of all the others. But then Hange died too, and more than anything their final wish was to stop the rumbling. So I’m going to reiterate this for the nth time: the promise has always been about saving humanity and giving meaning to his comrades’ deaths. Chapter 136 also confirms this. 

If keeping Zeke alive was the key to stopping the rumbling, however, then I’m sure Levi wouldn’t have killed him. 

Now we have the actual part where he does what he’s been wishing for so long. Personally, I need more context for this and I hope we get some insight into his thoughts next chapter, but you can tell that killing Zeke didn’t give him the fulfillment he ought to have. He’s pained and distressed the entire time. Did he recognize Zeke's sacrifice? I can’t tell. But I think that this all points to the fact that he’s just tired.

The entire time we see him in his crippled state — from Chapter 126 till now — he’s just, to put it quite plainly, dead inside. 

Yelena pointed this out to him in Chapter 128, and you can just tell how tired he is. All his life has been about violence. He’s thrown into every single conflict, over and over again, and honestly, I’m having a hard time right now expressing my thoughts over this because my heart just hurts revisiting these chapters and thinking about it. He’s disassociated so much after Hange died and went as far as to say he’ll see them later. He’s just so done. 

And I think that’s what he was thinking when he finally did it. He gave Zeke as much of a quick and painless death, despite all those years of wanting to savor his demise. Perhaps he didn’t realize how easy it would be. (Damn okay I thought it would be easier now to talk about this but I guess not, I’m just incredibly attached to Levi if you can’t tell.) 

Regarding Zeke, well, I thought his last statement to be rather beautiful. How for so long he’s always thought of things somewhat in a black or white perspective. I love how Armin made him realize that life was all about those little moments, about those small things that give us joy in our everyday lives. He rose up and finally appreciated the beauty and simplicity of the day. And his interaction with Levi, saying how he wanted to meet him but he couldn’t say the same? How he just openly goes “Hey! I’m right here! You can kill me now, buddy!” like two old friends seeing each other again? I wouldn’t go as far as saying they were friends, but the light and comedic moments they always share amid their difficult and brutal relationship is something I truly appreciate and will miss. 

I really would love, however, if the situation with paths would be explained more. That whole dimension is so tricky and difficult to understand, and as much as I love reading other people’s theories, it sets me up for disappointment should my expectations not be met. And if I’m being completely honest, I also would have liked to see more of Zeke. He was out of commission for almost, what? A year? But then again, the manga timeline itself isn’t that long so I suppose it makes sense. 

To wrap it up, Levi isn’t just a mindless tool for revenge. His promise to Erwin perfectly embodies his consistent intentions and principles as a character -- to help humanity and give meaning to his comrades’ deaths. His bond with Erwin is also something we can’t deny being there, and though it heavily influences him, it’s not what makes up his entire character. He’s incredibly tired of violence, which may be the reason why he looks the way he does in this chapter. Zeke is such an interesting and well-developed character and though I would have loved to have seen more of him, his epiphany and death were beautiful for me. Wouldn’t it be interesting if this was Levi’s last act of violence? Hopefully, the next chapter would give us more insight into his thoughts and explain things in regards to the bigger picture. 

[wavesmp3]

before the bucket falls

jeonghan x (female) reader 

requested from sensory prompt #33: the feel of fingertips trailing over a bare shoulder blade genre: study abroad/university au + apocalyptic-ish  wc: 4k warnings: implied nudity i guess, maybe a few curses as well a/n: i apologize that this took me ages to finish, also the bucket list is completed out of order, enjoy!!

(0. Hear That There’s A Week Until The End Of The World)

You hadn’t expected to be so nonchalant when you hear that the world is ending in a week. Hadn’t expected to so readily accept you and your classmates inability to return home from studying abroad for the semester. And you certainly hadn’t expected to sit down with Jeonghan that afternoon (an acquaintance-made-friend in the whirlwind of apocalypse news) to create a list of things to do before the world ends. 

“We’ll start tomorrow,” he declares scribbling one final item on the bucket list before folding the paper and shoving it in his pocket, “and hopefully we finish before the world goes up in flames.” 

(6. Bang On The Hood Of A Car And Say ‘Hey, I’m Walking Here!’)

Your first day before the end of the world begins with you and Jeonghan searching for a car. 

“This one is...” Jeonghan frowns, rereading the sixth item on the bucket list. Looking up, he says, “it was your idea wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Now, get in the car and pretend to almost run me over.” 

Jeonghan complies, starting the car and driving towards you all too slowly. Still, when he gets close enough, you bang on the hood of the car, half-laughing and half-yelling “hey, I’m walking here!” He only laughs at you incredulously. 

You switch after that, you in the car and Jeonghan walking across the street. And this time, when you get close to his figure instead of banging on the hood, you hear a small thud and watch him fall to the floor. You run out of the car shrieking his name only to find him on the ground laughing. 

“I thought-” you exhale, breath hot with a mix of shock and relief, “I thought I actually hit you.” 

Jeonghan doesn’t say a word too busy literally rolling on the floor, clutching his stomach in laughter. And when you shove him, kneeling on the ground and smacking his arm for freaking you out, he only laughs harder. 

(3. Steal Something)

Unsurprisingly, number three on the list is Jeonghan’s idea. You don’t argue, not at first at least. But when you step into the convenience store and begin shoving bags of chips under your shirt and bottles of soda into your bag, you start to feel the small push of your consciousness. 

“Is this a good idea?” You say to Jeonghan who’s deciding which kinds of candy he wants to hide in his pockets. 

“There’s no one even here.” He waves you off pointing at the empty cash register. “So honestly I’m not even convinced if this counts as completing number three.” Deciding on a chocolate bar, he turns on his heel, grabs an extra bottle of juice, and exits the store casually. 

(11. Perform Three Acts Of Kindness) 

You leave some money at the unmanned cash register anyways. “Number eleven,” you say to him when he gives you a look, “it can be our first act of kindness.” He stares at you for a long moment, as if deciding how he should react to your inability to shoplift. You half expect him to walk back into the empty store and take your money from the counter. He doesn’t though. Instead, he smiles, a lopsided one that makes some part of your stomach twist uncomfortably, and laughs towards the ground, his head hanging in a way that makes his bangs fall in front of his eyes. You feel suddenly, almost foolishly, warm. 

“Come,” he beckons, pulling at your sleeve, “let’s eat.”

(10. Eat The Perfect Meal) 

The perfect meal isn’t actually perfect, an odd mix of convenience store snacks and whatever you both had left in your dorms. 

“We should have cooked something ourselves,” Jeonghan mumbles, between a mouthful of chips, “the perfect meal has to be made with love.” 

“It also has to be edible,” you retort, sipping your coffee and recalling your earlier realization that neither you or Jeonghan can cook. 

And it’s after a few more moments of eating away the tenth item on your shared bucket list that he asks, “how do you think it’ll happen?” You look up from your fruit cup. “How do you think the world is gonna end?”

“I don’t know,” you answer, “something big perhaps. An explosion?”

“Or Zombies?” he continues for you, light-heartedly. “Aliens, maybe?” 

And perhaps two days ago, you would’ve laughed at the possibility of the world coming to an end thanks to an alien invasion, but right now, sitting next to Jeonghan with yesterday’s headlines bouncing back and forth in your head, you don’t feel anything but melancholic. And like feet sinking into sand, you realize for the second time since the news came out that you have less than a week left to live. With a hopeless sigh, you say, “I hope that when the world ends, it’s painless.”

And unlike his previous suggestions, there’s nothing light-hearted about the way Jeonghan adds, “something quick.”

(4. Sing A Song Loudly In Public) 

You had wrongly assumed that this particular bucket list item was meant to be a fun and embarrassing karaoke in public sort of thing. But when Jeonghan stands on the ledge of the fountain in the center of the plaza and begins singing, you realize you've created a bucket list with an angel. Or at least, a boy with the voice of one. The plaza isn’t very busy this afternoon, but the few passersby that happen to catch his mini concert erupt in a well-earned applause when the song finishes. 

“You can sing?” You question in disbelief of just how good his voice sounds. 

He shrugs at that, jumping off the ledge in a shy sort of way that doesn’t at all match the kind of guy you pegged Jeonghan to be. “Your turn.” He pushes you towards the ledge. 

You almost fight against the nudge, almost turn around and tell Jeonghan just how tone deaf you are. But when he smiles your way and cheers your name encouragingly, you decide the embarrassment might be worth it. 

It’s not, it turns out. The entire plaza seems to murmur ‘why is she singing?’ the second you open your mouth. And it’s before you even reach the second verse that Jeonghan starts clapping and whooping for you. “Wow!” He exclaims cheerfully. “You suck.” 

You burst into laughter at that, cut your song short, and jump off the ledge grabbing Jeonghan’s hand and running away from the embarrassment with him close behind. 

—

“Where’d you learn how to sing like that?” You finally ask, later than afternoon as you and Jeonghan aimlessly walk along the street. 

He shrugs again, a familiar timidness overwhelming his body, then tells you about the singing lessons he used to take. “It used to be my dream. To become a singer.” 

“Used to?” 

He sucks in his bottom lip. “Things changed I guess.” 

You decide not to prod further. “If you could do anything right now, right before the world ends, what would you do?” 

“Anything?” 

“Anything.” 

He thinks it over for a moment, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. “Hold a concert.” He answers finally. And when you give him a look, a reminder of what he said about things changing, he just smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and mutters something about how dreams die hard. And for the third time today, you’re surprised by how shy Jeonghan gets about his singing and how endearing you find it when he does. 

“What about you?” He returns this question, pushing the attention away from himself. “What would you do?” 

“I’d go home.” You say quietly, hoping the press of sadness that comes with thinking about home doesn’t show in your voice. “See my family once more before the world ends.” And when Jeonghan doesn’t respond or meet your eyes, you laugh, unable to procure a more creative reaction. “It’s kinda lame, isn’t it?” 

“‘No, no.” He says quickly, waving away the suggestion before the words can even settle in the air. “It’s not lame; it’s…” his voice trails off, fingers reaching out in front of him as if he’ll find the right words in the last remaining rays from the sun. His hand drops to the side. Seemingly, giving up on the previous sentence, he says, “Tell me about them. Your family.” 

You’re about to say no. About to change the topic to something a bit lighter. Something that doesn’t force you to think about home and the people that you miss so fiercely and long to see once more. But it’s as the word ‘no’ bubbles in the back of your throat, that you meet Jeonghan’s eyes and find a starling amount of sincerity in them. And when you go looking for your intent to reject the request, you find it’s disappeared altogether. “Okay.” You exhale. “Where should I begin?” 

And so you spend the rest of the day telling Jeonghan about your family, and by the time the sun begins to set, he tells you about his. 

(12. Say Goodbye To Your Family) 

You both decide it’s better to get this part of the list over with. Pulling out your phones and dialing home soon after the sun sets. It’s an odd sort of arrangement, you think to yourself listening to the phone ring, you and Jeonghan sitting on opposite sides of this empty street. “Privacy,” he had told you, walking away from you and taking a seat on the curb, “this way you can cry in private.” 

It’s… bearable at first. You talk to your family, update them on what you’ve been doing since your last call home as if everything is normal, as if they’re expecting another update soon, as if the world isn’t ending in a few days. But the facade that everything is fine comes crashing down the second you hear a noise come from the other side of the road, a mangled sound that rushes all the way from Jeonghan’s mouth to you, banging at your heart and creating a dent between your lungs. And you suppose that if you were a little bit closer and if Jeonghan hadn’t turned around to put his back between him and you, you would’ve heard him sobbing. The thought alone ignites a flame of sadness that emerges from your lips, travels through the phone lines, and ripples across the ocean separating you and your family.

Saying goodbye to your family does not stay bearable for long. 

He finishes the call before you. And when you do finally hang up, it takes ten minutes of calming down before you're in any state to walk across the road and greet Jeonghan for what feels like the first time that night. 

“Can we, uh,” you stop, sniffle, then laugh at the absurdity of this moment, “can we stop here for today.” 

“Yeah,” he mutters, finally standing from the floor. He doesn’t look your way, keeps his eyes trained to the ground while bringing a hand up to wipe at his nose and eyes. “I’ll walk you home.” 

(5. Wish Upon A Star) 

Sleep doesn’t come that night. You spend it tossing and turning in bed, replaying every bit of what was probably your last conversation with your family. At 2 am there’s a knock on your door. Jeonghan stands in the doorway, eyes drooping and blanket wrapped around his shoulders. 

“Yeah,” you say, opening the door and letting him in, “I can’t sleep either.” 

After another moment, he finally says, “have you ever been to the roof?” 

You let him lead the way. 

— 

The night air feels cool against your skin, brushing through your hair and sending a shiver across your skin. You pull your hoodie closer around you before laying down on the roof next to Jeonghan who throws his blanket so that it drapes over both of you. 

“Which one for number five?” He says gesturing to the starry night sky. 

“Number five?” 

“Wish upon a star.” He reminds you. 

You lift your hand and point to one off the center, a bright one that flickers more than the others. “That one.” 

“Okay,” he exhales. You watch the breath leave from his lips. “Make a wish.” 

You do.

“Which star do you think is gonna blow up and cause the end of the world?” He asks, shifting his body and ending up a fraction closer to you. 

“Give me a crash course on all of them and I’ll let you know.”

He does, making up constellations and creating fake names for each one. 

And at some point in his explanation of the origin of each star, his hand finds yours. The cold seems to wither away after that. 

(1. Ride A Motorcycle) 

“Are you sure you know how to ride this thing.” You question for the fifth time that morning, pacing around the moped and Jeonghan who’s sitting impatiently on it. 

“Just get on would you?” He huffs, dropping the extra helmet on your head and pulling you towards the moped. You settle behind him, fixing your helmet and clasping it in place. “You know how to get to the beach right?”

“Yeah, but we just need to make a pit stop somewhere first.” 

“That’s fine. Grab on.”

Ignoring the unevenness of your breath, you wrap your arms around his torso. You try not to think too hard about the way he momentarily tenses up when you do. 

“Ready?”

“Please, don’t kill me on this thing. We’re all dying in a few days-” He doesn’t let you finish, revving the motorcycle and laughing when you scream into his shoulder. 

(11. Perform Three Acts of Kindness) 

“What are we here for?” Jeonghan wonders aloud, his voice echoing in the auditorium. 

“Number 11. Our second act of kindness.” He looks at your quizzingly. “Yesterday you said that if you could do anything before the end of the world, you’d have your own concert. So here,” you hand him a mic and point at the empty stage, “go sing.”

You’ve never seen him run so excitedly. 

(3. Steal Something)

When Jeonghan wrote down ‘steal something’, you definitely hadn’t expected him to coerce you into stealing a house. “This isn’t even stealing. This is trespassing.” You hiss under your breath, looking over your shoulder. “Plus, we already stole from the convenience store.”

“Firstly,” Jeonghan begins, finding an unlocked window to the beach house and cracking the adjacent door open, “you paid the store so that definitely didn’t count. Secondly, trespassing is basically just stealing space. And lastly,” he announces turning around and waving to the open beach house, “this place is gorgeous and free.” 

You peer inside the house and--shit, it is gorgeous. “Fine.” You relent taking a step inside the house. He smiles triumphantly. 

“Come on,” he grabs your hand as soon as you set your things down and starts pulling you towards the beach, “time for number two.”

(2. Send A Message In A Bottle) 

“Who should we write to?”

“A friend?”

“An ex?” He grimaces at the suggestion.

“How about ourselves 10 years ago.”

You consider it. “Or what about,” you start tapping a finger against your chin, “ourselves 10 years from now.” He gives you a wary look. “Just in case this whole thing turns out to be a hoax.”

“Do you believe that?” he asks quietly. 

You bite your lip. “Not really, no.”

“To myself,” Jeonghan scribbles on the paper, “ten years from now.” 

And when you're both done with the letters, you fit them inside empty beer bottles and let the waves take them. 

Inhaling the salty ocean scent, you watch the bottles float.

“This moment would feel a lot better if I didn’t feel like we just made marine pollution worse.”

(9. Go Skinny Dipping) 

The water is freezing, cold against your bare skin and lapping by your shivering mouth. 

“It’s not that cold.” Jeonghan laughs, splashing sea water in your face. 

You splash him back. “For you maybe.” 

“Tell me a secret.” He says suddenly, stopping and treading the water in front of you. 

You think for a minute before answering. “I really like it when you sing.”

“That’s not a secret; it’s a confession.” He complains, flapping his hands in the water. With a teasing smirk, he adds, “next you’ll confess your undying love for me as well.” 

You laugh, sort of, swallowing salt water in the movement and choking on the sudden intake. 

Clearing your throat, you say, “give me an example of a good secret then.” 

“Okay,” he hums, biting his lip and swimming closer towards you until your knees awkwardly bump into each other. You swallow at the proximity. “I’ve never been in love.”

“Never?”

He shakes his head. “Have you?”

“Once.” Something in your stomach turns. “Or at least I thought I was in love.”

“And what do you think now?”

You meet his eyes. They look strangely hopeful. “Now, I’m not so sure.”

His hand comes up, fingers trailing over your shoulder blade and lingering right above your collarbone. You shiver. 

“Still cold?” He whispers. 

No, you think, but your head nods ‘yes’ before the word comes out. 

He swims back to shore. And soon after, you follow. 

(13. Fall In Love) 

You finish showering before Jeonghan, coming down the stairs of your stolen beach house and taking a seat on the stolen (but comfortable) couch. You look for the bucket list to cross out skinny dipping for him. And when you find the folded list in a pocket of Jeonghan’s bag, you realize that this is your first time seeing it since the night of its creation. You read over it carefully. 

1. ride a motorcycle 2. send a message in a bottle 3. steal something  4. sing a song loudly in public 5. wish upon a star 6. bang on the hood of a car and say ‘hey, i’m walking here!’ 7. watch the sunrise  8. watch the sunset 9. go skinny dipping 10. eat the perfect meal 11. perform three acts of kindness 12. say goodbye to our families 

And under the twelve that you and Jeonghan made together is another, additional bucket list item. Written in a different color pen and in his messy handwriting is:

13. get her to fall in love with me

“That shower felt so good.” Jeonghan’s voice comes traveling down the stairs. “I found sand in-” he stops, halts at the end of the banister upon seeing the paper between your hands. 

“What do you mean ‘get her to fall in love with me’?” You gulp, holding up the list. 

“Oh, that,” he laughs, awkwardly, slowly walking towards you, then stopping halfway as if he’s made a mistake, “I added it after you left that night. And, well, yeah.”

You stand up and go to him, meeting him halfway across the living room. “Jeonghan I-” you lose grasp of what you’re going to say next and elect to stare at him instead, studying the drop of water that falls from a strand of hair to his face. Decide instead to study the flutter of his lashes and the way his gaze darts between your eyes and your lips. He inhales. “Oh, fuck it.” you mutter finally, grabbing the collar of his tshirt and kissing him. 

It takes a second for Jeonghan to react, too long your brain convinces you already beginning to pull your face away. But it’s as your lips leave his, that they crash together again, him pulling at your hips stumbling backwards until you knock your head against the wall, bodies flush. You wrap your arms around his neck, tangle your fingers through his wet hair. There’s a moan, you can’t be sure which one of you it comes from, but the sound of it has you feeling weak somewhere, everywhere. 

“Upstairs,” you pant, when he pulls away for the smallest of seconds.

“Are you,” he pauses, lips hovering in front of yours and breath heavy against your skin, “are you sure?” 

“Yeah,” you smile, noticing the flush in his face, glad he's just as affected, “I mean it’s on the bucket list.” 

Jeonghan happily complies. 

(7. Watch The Sunrise) 

You both watch it in bed, from a window that seems to capture it perfectly. 

“It’s pretty,” he states, holding a hand up in a straggling ray and watching it turn gold in the light. 

“Only a few more left.” 

(8. Watch The Sunset) 

You watch it on the beach with a stolen towel from the stolen house under you. It’s beautiful really. A mesh of blues, pinks, orange, and purple. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sunset like this one,” you say inhaling the salty scent of the sea that lingers on your arms and legs and hands. 

Jeonghan hums, absentmindedly enough for you to turn around to look at him laying on his back and playing with a loose strand from your hoodie instead. 

“We can’t cross it off if you don’t actually watch it.” You tell him, finding his hand in yours and pressing a kiss to the back of it. 

He shrugs. “I’ve seen enough sunsets.” 

(11. Perform Three Acts Of Kindness) 

“Last item,” Jeonghan murmurs one day, settling into bed next to you, “one final act of kindness.” 

You poke at his chest. “What do you have planned for it?” 

“This.” He says, pulling out a small slip of paper. You sit up. “I bought you a ticket.” 

It takes you longer than it should to realize it’s a plane ticket home. 

“How and when did you…” your voice drops away, the logical questions slipping off your tongue when you make a new realization. “There’s only one ticket.” 

“Listen,” he starts, turning to face you properly. “I think you should take it.”

“No,” you refuse, shaking your head. He takes your face between your palms forcing you to stop and pay attention. 

“Go home and see your family. That’s what you told me you’d do before the world ends.” He hesitates, releasing your face and taking your hands in his. Something feels entirely wrong when he starts to rub small circles into the back of them. “You only have a few days left. So go home. Say goodbye to me instead.” 

“Things change,” you say a little too harshly, regurgitating what he told you earlier this week. “And I don’t know if I can go anymore.” You sputter out just barely, voice feeling suddenly course against your vocal chords, but what you mean to say is: I don’t know if I can go without you. “And besides,” you stress, putting the ticket back in his lap, “you can’t make me go.” 

“Don’t you see,” he chuckles, a small, quiet sound that has no business making you feel as warm as it does, “I’m not making you go,” he meets your eyes again, and for some reason, you can’t seem to shake the feeling that this is the last time you’ll see them like this, “I’m asking you to.”