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steviewashere · 2 months ago

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Deserving

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Unspecified Eating Disorder, Food Insecurity Tags: Post-Season 2, Pre-Season 3, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Different First Meeting AU, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Worried Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Has Self Esteem Issues, Insecure Steve Harrington, Lonely Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Strangers to Friends, Sharing Food, Food as a Metaphor For Love, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Steve Harrington Has Rich Parents, He is Not Rich, Dialogue Heavy Originally, this was going to be 5+1 where Eddie shares his food five times and once where Steve shares his food, but I just couldn't finish the original plot.

🥪——————🥪 There’s a boy in Eddie’s lunch period that doesn’t have anything to eat. It’s weird because he knows who this kid is; Steve Harrington—cocky and rich and bitch with no bite—the kid who’s fallen from grace thanks to a few punches to the face. And the same kid who doesn’t really talk to anybody.

As it is, Steve is sitting by himself at one of the lunchroom tables. Arms crossed on the surface, head down on his forearms, hair limp at the crown of his head. Unusual and unseen. His shoulders are hitched, shaking like he’s crying unsubtly, yet quietly—unseen and unheard. It’s weird, he thinks, because Steve had just been looking out one of the windows, eyes a little hazy, glazed like he’d been gearing up to cry. Eddie had caught Steve pushing his hands into his hair, tugging like he was trying to rip it all out. But then he’d gone ahead and collapsed into this sad, huffing little heap onto the table.

Eddie maybe keeps his eye on Steve for too long, too often. To know the multitudes. The little fractures in his mask—spider webs, that’s what they were, spreading and sprawling. He supposed that, at some point, the web would be completed and be easy enough to knock down. Leaving in its wake a sad, mole-dotted, half-bruised, white-scarred face.

A face with a hungry maw, if the way Steve clutched his stomach said anything.

He makes a last minute decision today. Eddie curves his path away from the Hellfire Club’s table. Lunchbox dangling in his hand—a measly bologna and mustard sandwich, a baggie of salted pretzel sticks, and a Yoo-hoo he didn’t need to refrigerate all clinking against the metal interior. And then he plops himself down in front of Steve without a peep, just the hard clink of his wallet chain on the bench and his too big rings on the table.

All at once, slow, yet purposeful—Steve’s head springs up. He looks worse up close. Mottled purple. Swollen and shiny. There’s one of those terrible scars on the edge of his hairline, though this one’s different: pink, long, jagged, and fresh.

Steve squints at him. Covers the side of his face by the window, hand cupped around his one good eye, and swallows hard enough Eddie almost recoils. “Munson?” Steve croaks—literally, Eddie notes, like a strangled, old frog—“what’re you doing?”

“Mm, having lunch with my pal,” Eddie answers, prying open his lunchpail, food pulled out one thing at a time. He catches his thumbs in the Ziplock fasten, and from it produces that sad, drooping sandwich his uncle made last night. It’s a little soggy in his hands, too much mustard. And the bologna is sort of…lukewarm, but not inedible. Eddie digs around in one of his vest pockets, pulls out a small Swiss Army knife, and cuts the sandwich in half. Licks the blade, mustard just a little left of what’s meant to be tastefully sour. Then, he pushes a portion of the sandwich across the table to sit right in front of Steve. “Usually, I’d bring a lunch of your preference, but this is all I’ve got right now. So, hope you don’t mind some bologna.”

“I don’t wanna take your food away from you, man. I’ll be fine until I get home.”

Selfless is a trait he didn’t think Steve could really have. Well, from the assumed version he has in his head anyway. But it’s a trait he’s learning he probably won’t like. Not all the way, at least.

“Right,” Eddie murmurs, “and you clutching your stomach out of hunger seems like something to be fine about.” He picks up his half and takes a large bite, licks the bit of mustard from the corner of his mouth. With his mouth full, “It’s weird, y’know, I never see you in here with food. Not even lunch lady Donna’s mashed potatoes and gravy. If you wanna know my opinion, that’s one of the better lunches she makes, and it’s something anybody should try at least once.” He wrestles around in his lunchbox again, a glass bottle of Yoo-hoo now in his grip. The cap pops off satisfyingly and he takes a small swig, swallows the incredible glob in his mouth, and then offers the drink across the table. “Or, y’know, I thought maybe a rich kid would have their own lunch. With all of the good brand stuff. Like uh…Pringles? Yeah, Pringles and Coke? That seems like your game.”

Steve sniffs, looks down at his sandwich, and picks it up gingerly. He keeps staring at it, though. Not out of thought, like maybe he’s wondering if he should give it back. Something more…somber. “Correction,” he mutters, “I have rich parents. I’m just the kid they let live in their house.” Finally, he takes a bite with a gentle, low hum. As if it’s the greatest thing he’s ever put in his mouth. Which can’t possibly be true because, even though Eddie knows this meal is one of Wayne’s specialties, it’s honestly one of the shittier ones. If anything, this sandwich is just placeholder food—something that’ll get them by until Wayne gets paid next, if he gets paid on time.

Eddie hums, taking in the information. “They can’t even bother to send you on with at least a little something? Dude, tell me you at least get some breakfast. You’re breakin’ my heart over here.”

Again, Steve looks at his sandwich. Somber and small. He won’t look at Eddie, though. But Eddie can see him. His flushed cheeks—blotchy and tear track stained. Red rimmed eyes. Shaky fingers. He’s pale underneath the ruddiness. Lips chapped, eyes sunken, dark circles.

He looks like shit.

“Sometimes,” Steve murmurs, “I used to have a bagel in the morning, but my mom said the carbs were bad. I stopped buying them. So…I dunno. It’s not like she even”—He stops. Shakes his head. Takes another bite.

“She even…?”

Steve catches his eyes for all of a second. Places his sandwich on the baggie it came in. Wipes his cheeks, just barely missing some of the bruising. “She’s not even home most of the time anyway. It doesn’t really matter,” he states quiet and bitter. He clears his throat, the sound strained. Shrugs. Rests his face in one hand, looking out the window again. Face going pinched and pained. “You ever had a fend for yourself kind of day?”

“Eh…I’ve had fend for yourself nights. But that’s because my uncle works late, sometimes it’s just up to me to figure something out. Those are cereal nights, man.” He watches Steve again. At the way he doesn’t go back for the sandwich. Not even disgusted. Just…blank. “Was today one of those, Steve?” he asks quietly.

No verbal answer. Just one, small, shaky nod. Eddie won’t stand for that.

“What food do you like? Maybe I can help you come up with like a…a meal plan calendar or something. So that you know what you have at all times and you can, like, make sure you’re eating good.” Steve still doesn’t say anything. Lips rolled tight to his teeth. Eddie tries again, “Or at least just eating, Stevie. I know we don’t really know each other at all, but I see you in here everyday. No lunch. Not even one of those stupid boxes of raisins. You gotta eat, man. Or else, y’know, that shit catches up to you.”

Across from him, Steve sniffles again and wipes the back of his hand on his nose. “I don’t know what I like,” he says, “sandwiches are fine, I guess. It’s fine”—

“Good, great actually. Steve Harrington is getting a tour of the Munson sandwich recipes. Passed down from my uncle, the master of sandwich art. Y’like black forest ham? Maybe a bit of grilled chicken? Tomatoes?” Steve’s finally staring at him now. Wide eyes and raised eyebrows. Mouth dropped ajar with slight disbelief. “What?” Eddie says, “don’t look at me like that. We don’t have to be friends or anything, but you gotta eat. It’s equity, dude. I already got what I need in terms of food and eating, but you don’t. So, I getcha what you need. I help you out.”

Steve droops, breathes out a little sigh. Digs his thumbnail into the stale crust of the sandwich, picking at it, crumbling it onto the table. “You don’t have to do that, Eddie,” he speaks quietly, “I…uh…I don’t want to assume anything, but I don’t think it’s fair that somebody who makes less money than my whole family has to make up for my parents’ stupidity. It’s not your job to look out for somebody like me anyway, right? Just another screw up who can’t get his shit together, can’t even figure out how he’s going to pay for worthwhile groceries for the month.” He finally stops picking at the sandwich. Wipes his nose again. “Thanks for trying, though. I’m sorry that you have to care at all.”

Eddie eyes Steve for a silent beat. And then, with careful, languid movements, he lays his hand palm up on the table. Steve looks to it, but pretends to pay it no mind. Even if his face crumbles a bit more. “Steve,” Eddie speaks, keeping his voice measured and low, “I want to help. I—I know that my uncle and I don’t make a lot. And, sure, maybe figuring out a way to get you some good homecooked meals is a little out of my budget. But I don’t care. You deserve to eat, man. No matter how much money your parents make.

“If I can make your day a little easier—because, I gotta be honest, it seems like you’re just having…the toughest time a person can ever possibly have—then great. If it means me giving you a dollar for the school lunch or just coming here with an extra sandwich in my lunchbox, whatever.

“Nobody deserves to go without eating because their bullshit parents prioritize work and social lives over their own children—and no child deserves to believe they’re the problem. Let me help, okay? Even if we have to start out small, so be it.” Eddie takes a moment to pause, to breathe, to let the cafeteria background noise mingle around them. He crinkles the edge of the Ziplock baggie, pushes it further into Steve’s space, and does the same with the bag of pretzel sticks. “I want to take care of you. Even if we’re just strangers in the hallway, I want to make sure that you’re doing okay.”

He does his best to lean across the way, to block off the rest of the cafeteria from their table. As Steve lays his shaky hands flat on the surface and his face turns bright red, tears steadily streaming down his face. Eddie digs the bandana out of his back pocket and slides it across the table, too, offering it up in silence.

Steve takes it with a shaky hand and pats the tired fabric on his tacky skin. He blows a sharp, wheezing, snotty breath from his nose. “If you’re sure, then I like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches a lot. But I…I wanna make sure I can pay you back, okay? Don’t wanna—I don’t wanna like abuse your generosity or something.”

“You wouldn’t be,” he quickly amends. “I’m offering, man, don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, but I…I don’t think you understand,” Steve adamantly presses, “I know it’s gonna make me sound all whiny and like uptight or whatever, but I don’t earn an allowance from my parents anymore. Not since…well, I’m sure you know how stupid I am.”

“Hey,” Eddie gently scolds. “You’re not stupid, Steve. You know what you’re talking about, I’ve heard you.”

Steve snorts like Eddie said something funny. “Try telling that to all my college rejection letters and my dad’s crumbling expectations of his only son. I’m sure they could find a million ways to explain just how…how worthless I am. That I’m a burden or…or a stain.”—those last sentences sound like echoes, if Eddie cares to explore it enough. Like they come from a different, more expectant mouth. Steve continues, “How am I even supposed to get a mediocre job? Just feels like I’m too nothing for anything out there. I don’t even know how I’m gonna pay you back, Eddie. Shit, I just shouldn’t accept. I have no idea how I’m supposed to get back up from all this garbage—I—I’m such a fucking loser now. I don’t even have anything going on anymore.”

Eddie furrows his eyebrows, not sure which part of any of that to unpack. Instead, he goes with, “You’ve got sports, Stevie. Surely you can figure something out with that. I’ve seen you perform, man, you’re fucking phenomenal.”

“My brain’s too fucked up now to play,” Steve quietly admits, “too many concussions. Coaches say I’m too befuddled to make heads or tails of where my targets are. Sports are over for me. I literally have nothing.” He blows out another wet, shaky breath. “So, I’m just saying, I’m sorry if I can’t make this up to you.”

“Steve,” Eddie says firmly, “look at me.”

At the demand, he’s met with Steve’s sad, hazel eyes. Clogged with discontent and miserableness he never thought he’d see out of a guy like Steve. Every part of him wants to reach out, cradle Steve’s face in his hands, wipe away his tears, caress his injuries with a tenderness he’s sure Steve has long forgotten. A part of him wants to hold Steve forever, no sign of letting go.

Heart in his stomach, shattered yet beating, he speaks as softly as he possibly can manage. “You owe me nothing, Steve. You don’t owe me your best. You don’t owe me your money. You don’t owe me payback or…or a job on your back. There’s nothing that I want from you, I promise. But if you want to give me something…how about just being my friend, huh? Just sit down with me at lunch, share the food I brought, give me as much of a conversation as you want, and just…just let yourself be cared about.

“That’s what I’ll ask of you. If you feel the need to give me something, give me friendship. That’s it. Nothing more than that. Anything else that arises in the future, we worry about then. Bridges waiting to be crossed later, y’know? That’s doable, right? Just being a friend.”

Steve nods in slow understanding. “You wanna be friends with me?” He asks in a whisper. “You know that I’m not the best company, right? I’m…I’m stubborn and I’m bitchy and I—I know sometimes that I don’t use my brain half the time and I just say shit before I really think about it. And I…I’ve been a jerk and I’m—I’m sort of bullshit, Eddie. Is that really something you want in your life?”

Eddie merely shrugs. “You think I don’t have my own flaws? Everybody’s got shit. All of us have baggage. You’re just a teenager, as am I, and we’re still figuring shit out. At least you’re aware, right? Means you can try and…and be more thoughtful about what you do, how you act. And, besides, stop giving me reasons to leave you alone. I want to be your friend. I’ll say it from here to fucking Mars, man.” He raps his fingers against the table, darts his eyes to that sandwich. There’s not really a good way to keep drilling the want of it all into Steve’s head. So, finally, he relents. Gives Steve the step away that he wants. “Go ahead and eat, Steve. I’ll bring you a PB&J tomorrow, yeah? You like grape or strawberry jelly?”

A lapse of silence. Wherein they stare at each other. Two things work their way onto Steve’s face. Adamant protests that, in turn, are squashed and cornered into becoming stubborn acceptance. Jeez, Eddie can’t help but think, what’s it gonna take to get this guy to realize that people can care about him?

“Mm…strawberry, please,” Steve finally decides.

He simply nods. Looks out the window to the courtyard. Cafeteria white noise and Steve’s soft chewing surrounding him. The light hits him just as a cloud begins to move, yellow sunlight, warm and new. It marks the beginning of something unexpected, good, Eddie believes. “I think you’re a good guy, by the way,” he murmurs, “you probably don’t believe me now, but you will one day. Swear on it.”

🥪——————🥪

#stranger things #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #angst and hurt/comfort #food insecurity #tw disordered eating #eddie munson takes care of steve harrington #pre relationship

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akkaweo-akkaweo · 1 year ago

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Fed Up

Ha Sooyoung/Yves x M!reader

Tags: bratty sub? & switch, post orgasm

WC: 1.6k

—————

By now you've lost track of how many times you've thanked a higher being for it, but you loved being in love with Ha Sooyoung. Not because she was pretty much the woman of your dreams – beautiful, talented, and physically and emotionally strong – but because you had great sex.

Both of you could come from a tiring day of overtime work and still find enough energy to toss each other in the sheets. At worst, one would coax the orgasm out of the other, and that was it for that night. But more often than not, it's Sooyoung who begs you for release, a bit more than you to her. And you know what? You found it hot.

This fun setup practically laid out a red carpet for both of you to get into BDSM. Not the chains and leather variety, but more specifically the needy sub kind of top-bottom relationship. And Sooyoung perfected the brattiness on a regular basis, even on the uncommon days where you would ask for a break. But when you bit into that side of her, she bit back harder. Hell, she even preferred using her stage name – Yves – when she was ready to perform her nightly duties.

Tonight was no different. You had a meeting with a client on the other side of the city, while she had to wrap up a photoshoot that stretch past dinner. When you both got home and settled, it took Sooyoung no time at all to start whining.

"Baaabe," she cooed, "I'm booored. I want to lie down and cuddle already. I wanna feel you all over me. Can you hurry up already?"

You, fresh out of the shower, put a hand to her head, saying "Calm down, Sooyoung. I'll be right with you." If you were being honest, on a horny scale of 1 to 5, you really only were about a 3.5 at the moment – up for it, but not in a rush.

Sooyoung was.

"Don't 'Sooyoung' me," she whined again, "your hot model girlfriend Yves wants you right now and that's not up for negotiation. Besides," she says, trailing off. Suddenly, you feel something light hit the back of your head as you were hanging up the towel. Turning to face her, you see her covered up in your blanket, shoulders bare, hair messy, and a stare that said exactly what she was thinking. But the telltale sign was what hit you earlier: a black lace bra.

Oh, Yves was most definitely here.

"Okay, you little brat. Come here," you growl, crawling under the sheets to try and grab her in a tight embrace. She giggles as she tries to kick and slap you away, but eventually she's no match for you. When you have her in your arms, she melts and starts kissing you every which way possible.

You make deep, sensual kisses down her neck, taking a quick break from drowning in her to taunt, "There, is that enough for you?" She doesn't retort, moaning from the ecstasy of your hands, legs, and lips writhing around her, but in an instant snaps up and replies, "Hmm, not quite."

Yves then tries to kiss you back, on to your chest and your nipples (something that caught you off guard, but didn't complain about). The quickness of her tongue sent jolts up your back, cut short by Yves saying, "Babe, you're still moving too slow. I'm moving across you much faster than you are. How about you actually beat me to it and suck on my tits?"

Yves being playfully feisty was amusing, but it did rile you up enough to actually catch her bluffs with enough vengeance to shut her up. So respond immediately you did, even lightly nibbling on her nipples with your teeth. The reaction was immediate: Sooyoung arched her back as you switch nipples, right to left between your fingers and your mouth.

Thinking she's had her fill, you slow down, taking your mouth off her breasts and pinning her wrists down, giving her another deep kiss. Once you break away from it, it's your turn to rile her up. "Sounds to me like you've been pretty satisfied."

Yves starts kicking her legs, almost like a child having a tantrum. "Don't just tease me like this! I want more right now!," she scowled. You're only half sure she's still playing around this time, so you peck her on the lips and work your way down to her pussy.

As you lick her clit, Yves starts moaning and giggling, pleasure streaming all throughout her body with every pass of your tongue. As the moans start to lessen and her insides lubricated, you try fingering her, using only one to try and tantalize her – a light punishment for getting just a bit your nerves. More of the same moans and giggling, followed by her pleas. "Harder, baby," she moans, "I want you deep inside me, please..."

You keep doing this, and Yves continues to ask for more. Just the sound of her deep but whiny voice was enough to get you throbbing hard. What you didn't notice over your focus on touching and licking her, however, was that Sooyoung was no longer amused by your pleasure-making. Moans started to turn into growling commands. "Come on baby, just like that. Give me more." Of course, you try and catch up, using two fingers, flicking your tongue on her as fast as you possibly could.

Suddenly, Yves screams out, "Screw it, I can't take this anymore!," before pushing you off of her. She pushes with enough force, in fact, that it is you now the bottom. Logic would dictate, then, two conclusions: one, that Yves is now on top of you; and two, that she is furiously dissatisfied with your roleplay.

"Wait, Yves, time out," you try to say, but she immediately places a hand over your mouth.

"I don't think you quite get what I'm asking of you," she growls, slowly moving her pussy over your cock. "I don't want you to tease me, or replicate some corny porno scene."

She slides your dick into her all the way with little effort. "I want you to fuck my pussy hard until I'm done!," she exclaims, slamming her hips hard into you at the end of every syllable towards the end of her outburst. That alone gave you what you felt was the first and only fear boner of your life, and Sooyoung's thrusts were way too stimulating to give you a mind clear enough to think.

"Hah... haaah... Yves... Sooyoung... fuck, you fuck me so good...," was the only thing you could say.

"Good for you then! Then show me you like it by actually fucking me!," she replied.

You start to meet her bouncing on your dick with a thrust on your hips, each impact causing her tight, muscular ass to ripple. Moans turned into screams of "Fuck yes!" and "Just like that!", and the sensory overload of her pleasure-filled screaming, high-speed fucking, and just the idea you were her fucktoy start bringing you to the edge much faster than you thought.

"Wait, fuck, Sooyoung! I'm gonna cum! Slow down!," you cry out.

"No, hold it in! Please, fuck! Don't stop!," she begs, starting to fuck you harder and push you deeper into her more than ever. The pleasure was way too much to handle, and before you knew it, you used every last ounce of force to push her off and finish all over her ass, each string of cum trickling down onto your belly. You take a moment to catch your breath, and it appears so does Sooyoung... for about 10 seconds, before putting your dick back into her pussy.

"My turn," she smirks.

Uh oh.

She turns around, with her ass on full display to you – which she knew would make your dick hard enough again – and continued at the pace she was in just before you finished. And holy shit was it good. Your cock was sensitive from head to base, and Sooyoung's tight walls ensured that feeling was everywhere all over you. You couldn't help but start clenching your teeth and moaning, laughing and giggling but trying to buck her off, like your body was trying to stop the overstimulation.

"It's not so fun being teased isn't it?," she interjects with a vindictive laugh.

This continues until you stop bucking and start feeling another wave of cum well up, now frozen and unable to moan out of pleasure. "Yves... Please... You're gonna... make me... cum again..."

"I'm going to cum too, please, let's finish together!," she replies, and you dig as deep as you can to hold it in. Yves's hips start to convulse as she nears her climax, screaming louder than ever.

"Fuck yes! Cum for me baby! Cum inside me! Fill me up, daddy!" she screams.

Fuck, her saying that one word sent you over the edge in an instant, sending another pool of hot cum out of you and straight into her. The feeling must have been mutual, because the instant you do her walls tighten over your dick, spreading your seed all over her walls and your shaft.

Sooyoung hops off you and onto the bed, both of you still a mess and catching your breath. After a few minutes of silence, you look towards her, and she looks back at you.

"That was fun," she said, before making a pouty face. "But I'm lazy to get up, can you get me a towel? Please, babe?"

I guess some things never change.

—————

A/N: this concludes this first batch of fics i had in mind. lets see where the next round of self-contained hard hours imagines takes me

#girl group smut #kpop smut #male reader #loona smut #yves smut

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mashiraostail · 10 months ago

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Hi there, I was wondering if you would write some vlad, Kugo, and hound dog x fem reader with nipple piercings and how you think the guys would feel abt them, if they like them or not and if they play with their nipples more because of it I love your writing btw 🖤

I'm gonna start going through old asks but feel free to send new ones! I have mine done and they certainly slay. I did also spend the past two years getting crazy body mods and making myself unemployable hehehe idk what this phD is even for because I'm big time tatted up.

I wanted to start with my best boys (esp Kugo :3) and some headcanons. I've been rewatching the show which is what made me think abt and miss the blog a little. Idk if the demand for MHA content is still there so I'll probably make an updated post with other shows and media I enjoy (big Bauldr's gate rn!!! yall already KNOW who it is.) NSFW under the cut!

Vlad: *I think he would be the least surprised upon noticing them. He's maybe seen them on other partners, or just is familiar with the concept. *the first time he notices them through your shirt probably went something like this: You're fresh out of the shower, pajamas sticking to your still damp skin as you pop into the kitchen for a drink. The relationship is new, and he's still in awe of you. He's always eyeing you in an appreciative way, especially when you're freshly showered, his eyes climb up your exposed legs shimmering from your body lotion, to your stomach and waist, and of course to your chest. Usually they'll slide up to your shoulders and linger on your neck and the cut of your jaw, but today they stop. Your shirt was smaller than usual, and of course it complimented your chest but there was something else. "What?" You pull the bottle of water away from your lips, "do I have toothpaste on me?" "No." He shakes his head, "no you don't." You cap the bottle and shrug, starting to walk by him, "I'm gonna go watch the-" Before you can get by him he grabs you by your arm, "what is that?" He's looking at your chest again. "My boobs-" "No I know." He looks up at your face, "are those your-" "Oh yea. I guess you've never seen them like this before huh? You can see them through a tight shirt." He's blinking, he's taking it in. All you can do is laugh, "go ahead." "No I'm an adult. I don't need to squeeze-" "It's fine, go ahead." You bridge the short gap between your lips and kiss him, holding him by his jaw and pressing the full weight of your body against his. After the fact he might be slightly apologetic for getting worked up so easily. *H's probably the most delighted by them too. I feel like he's just a horny guy, he's easily worked up, his brain always goes right to the wrong place. *Wearing a baby tee with no bra underneath so he can see them prominently will drive him up a wall. *He might get used to it with time, but all you have to do to hook him in is lean over the table at him, get him to look a little too long and he'll be bent at your will. *He loves them, he loves when you change the jewelry, colorful rhinestones, short chains, or captive hoops are all equally enticing to him. Red is his favorite on you though. *He'll lavish them with attention in bed, especially when he's going down on you, one of his hands is always occupied. If you're especially sensitive you'll need to tell him. *He likes to use his mouth too, the metallic taste on his tongue paired with the taste of your skin is a huge turn on for him.

_________

Kugo: *Most perplexed. He's probably not encountered them before. Show him the ropes, let him know they help rather than hurt and he'll be good. The first time he sees them he's going to have a lot of questions: Honestly, getting into a car and going home with Gang Orca was not necessarily in your plans for the evening. If anyone asked Kugo, taking home a random reporter was also not like him at all, in fact he had never done it. Maybe it wasn't fair to call you random, he had your phone number, you'd met before, you even had a friendly and slightly flirtatious banter. Maybe you had been sending him signals all along, maybe he had failed to pick them up, until now. He doesn't even get the chance to ask you if you're sure about this, if you want to sleep with him, if you'd been hinting at that this whole time, because you're straight to business as soon as his front door closes, climbing him like a tree. He guesses you were sure. Your excitement was contagious, you were handsy and giggly tugging him further into his home. You end up ontop of him, stopping your assault of kisses to sit up around his waist, "hey are you sure you want to..." You trail off, hands at the hem of your shirt, "I won't be offended, I was probably coming on so strong this whole time." You laugh a little but Kugo shakes his head, "take off your shirt." Your sweater flys off, something about the fact you've been bare skinned under that sweater all night makes his stomach warm with arousal. His eyes catch two shiny, metallic adornments. He reaches up instinctively to touch them. One hand still holding your waist. Your gasp makes him pull back. "Sorry does it-" "No it doesn't hurt." You catch his hand before he can pull it away any more, "the opposite." He spends most of your first sexual encounter fixated on them, licking, brushing his fingers over them, squeezing and so on, but you don't mind. *That being said he'll grow to love them as well. *Especially enjoys seeing you touch them in bed. *If you're riding him he won't be able to keep his hands off though. *Doesn't have a preference for jewelry, but if you ask him to pick you out something he'd secretly be delighted, he'd probably pick a barbell with some small charms on the ends, maybe hearts. *Lowkey already a huge boob guy so they just draw more attention to what he likes!

______

Hound Dog: *Mostly indifferent, doesn't get the point. *Until you're fucking, then he gets the point, then he likes them. A lot. *He doesn't avoid them during sex but he doesn't give them special attention either until one specific night: You're in missionary below him, his hands are holding onto your waist as his pace increases from dizzying to bruising. He likes to watch your face, your furrowed brows and the way you draw your lips between your teeth drive him nuts, it's almost impossible to get his eyes off. He'll let his gazy flicker downwards though, he likes your body almost as much as he likes your face, seeing the bounce of your stomach or the way your thighs shake is also rewarding for him. Today he stops on your chest though, bouncing to his almost abusive pace the dim light in the room catches on the jewelry, it's tantalizing, begging to be touched. When he ducks his head down to roll his tongue over one the moan you let out and the way you say his name would have probably made him cream his pants honestly, and the cherry on top is the way you hold the back of his head, practically burying him in your chest. Safe to say he gets the appeal after. *Lowkey likes rings better than barbells, he'll start to gently tug them, enjoying the way it makes you buzz. *Likes to pick jewelry out for you, for all your piercings, wants them all to match!

#bnha hc #bnha x reader #kugo sakamata #kugo sakamata x reader #vlad king hc #vlad king x reader #kan sekijiro x reader #ryo inui x reader #ryo inui

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pullhisteeth · 1 year ago

Text

the bone crush | eddie munson

summary you’re five years out of high school and your boyfriend's managed to get famous. some days are harder than others, but he goes to great lengths to make it better. [5.5k]

contains modern!au, fem!reader, rockstar!Eddie/famous!Eddie, established relationship, insecure reader, a fight (kind of), depression, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

something I dreamed up on the train home from work one evening because I was listening to Taylor and getting all emo. lots of love xxx

But I don't like a gold rush / I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush / I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch / everybody wants you / everybody wonders what it would be like to love you.

A tingling sensation spreads from your fingers into your hand, creeping slowly up the length of you arm where it’s pressed between your body and the couch.

You’ve been lying here, on your side on the couch in your apartment, for three hours. The sun’s gone down but you’ve made no effort to move to switch on a light, or to eat, or to do anything, really, besides scrolling mindlessly through every app at your disposal. It began with TikTok, which you opened upon slumping down on the couch after work, still in your stuffy trousers and button-up shirt. It moved to Twitter for a while, then over to Instagram, and back round to TikTok. At one point you even entertained Pinterest, keying doomed phrases into the search bar that you knew would drive you further into the hole.

You’re on Twitter right now. Somehow, you landed on a thread dedicated to the lead guitarist of a well-known rock band. Each new tweet is another photograph of him showing another way that he is, as the poster claims, boyfriend material.

They’re not wrong. The photos are candid shots, taken behind the stage after a gig, or at stage-door late into the night. In each one he looks sleepy, soft, a direct contrast to the gritty stage persona he adopts. He’s got a dopey half-smile or he’s sticking his tongue out; in some, he’s wearing a beanie, and in others he’s got a black hoodie on.

You keep going, reading the replies to each tweet individually, scores of young women cooing over him. Your screen is awash with hearts and flames and flowers, exclamation points and capital letters.

One of the photos catches your eye. You linger on it for a few minutes, studying the details, reading the replies. You swipe up from the bottom of your screen to close the app, replacing it quickly with your camera roll. You swipe quick, scrolling upwards until you reach your photos from six or seven months ago.

Eddie had been on a tour across Europe. He’d left in February and come home in May, leaving you behind. But in mid-April he’d flown you out to Spain, where the band had a week break between shows. You’d spent six days trawling the streets of a small coastal town, eating your body weight in paella and swimming for hours in the sea. When you got home you’d posted a photo on your Instagram, just one. You like to keep these moments to yourselves, and usually you don’t share much of anything of your life with the world. When you do, though, the fans go wild.

It’s a photo of Eddie at a restaurant. It looks intimate, like it’s just the two of you, though no one’s to know you were surrounded by the band and crew. It was a clear evening, warm and fresh, and he was sat opposite you in a pretty shirt, top three buttons undone so his ink-splattered chest peeked out. He’d tied his hair back, though by this point it was loose, and the ring on the chain around his neck reflects in the light of the candle between the two of you.

He’s looking past the camera, up and over it to your face. You think about what you must have looked like, tongue between your teeth while you got the right shot, head pulled back, the angle unflattering, but it never changed the way he looked at you. The way he always looks at you.

His big, round eyes catch the light, too, deep and rich in the orange glow. His skin’s lit just the same, and so he looks softer than ever. It’s one of your favourite photos of him, which is all the more reason for you to regret ever sharing it.

You take the dangerous leap with this tweet in particular: checking the quote replies. The ones usually hidden from you, only seen if you go looking, which is precisely what you’re doing now. You know this never ends well, only ever leaves you with a deep pit in your stomach, but you have no will to stop yourself.

You know this because this has become routine for you over the past weeks. It’s like a drug, addictive though it does no benefit to you really. Acknowledging that the mean comments sent your way were increasing was your first mistake; seeking them out is where you fell down the hole.

As the window opens, the first tweet you’re greeted with is surprisingly tame and kind, something sweet about how pretty he looks. True.

But then the second, and the third and another a few tweets down, is where it gets bitter. See, when you’re as famous as Eddie is, with such a dedicated following of young girls, your life is never private, and never can be. These girls know who took what picture and when. They think they know how he felt in each one, or who was making him laugh, or where he’d just been. This one is no exception, and their biting remarks resemble thousands you’ve seen before.

He always looks so bored of her.

Surely he can’t enjoy being kept away from the band???

Am I the only one that thinks he hates her lmao

It doesn’t stop there - it goes on for ages, tweet after tweet after tweet of sarcastic or scathing comments about you. Your appearance (which has never been good enough for anyone, apparently), your personality (boring, stuck-up, controlling), and, most commonly, the fact you are a - quote - clout chaser.

Your arm’s completely numb now. You tell yourself that you couldn’t turn your phone off if you tried, despite the fact your thumb is scrolling just fine. You ingest every word, find new fan accounts to trawl and new insults thrown your way to soak up. There are maybe three photos of you online now, and they circulate through these accounts like paper money, exchanged for nothing but the venom of teenage girls. Are they teenagers? You’re not even sure; some of them definitely are, but you’re convinced most of these people are adults.

A call comes through just as you open another series of replies - this time to a thread titled times Eddie Munson looked good enough to eat. It breaks your concentration, your eyes flitting up to the little picture in the corner of the screen.

Eddie.

You can’t bear to answer the phone. You haven’t spoken to him yet today, and the last time you texted him was yesterday, on your lunch break. Sometimes he’s busier than usual; you’re no stranger to a bit of distance.

You let it ring out, the little green telephone going until it stops, the notification sliding back up the screen. Soon enough you get another, for a text, but you swipe it away before you can read the preview.

You stare at the replies for a while, lingering on the ones that claim they could be better girlfriends than her, before finally hitting the lock button and letting your phone drop onto the carpet. You roll onto your back, groaning when the blood rushes back into your arm and the tingling feeling comes back, and muster the energy to push yourself up and stretch.

As the joints in your back and across your shoulders pop, you toe your shoes off and stare blankly at the wall. There's that feeling that always follows these late-night escapades into the depths of the little yet dedicated following Corroded Coffin have amassed: it's a hollow feeling that somehow still fills you entirely. It rips through you, a deep and unwavering yearning for him.

He's been away since August, and now it's October. Two weeks ago, you'd laid here for a few hours after your friends had packed up the dinner party at midnight, looking up at the ceiling, counting the weeks you'd spent with Eddie this year.

So far, it was fewer than you'd spent apart. Of course, watching the man you love do the thing he loves so much is one of life's biggest blessings, but you'd be a fool if you tried to convince anyone that it didn't hurt. Even if you have friends, and your own life, and a job. That clawing yearning, it grows, expanding by the second every time he leaves for another grand tour of some continent somewhere, with his childhood friends and their insatiable libidos, their lowkey stimulant dependencies and the roadies.

He's home in a month, which is really a month and a half but giving yourself more manageable goalposts is something that helps. You're definitely not delusional.

You decide you’ll spend the rest of the evening offline. It’s 9pm, so you strip your work clothes and pull on something comfier. You put bread in the toaster and when it’s done you spread peanut butter on one slice and jam on the other, and on your way to bed you pick your phone up off the floor.

Your offline evening lasts maybe twenty-five minutes. Something about the comfort of bed and the need for something to entertain you while you eat two slices of toast lulls you back to the welcoming arms of evil fans.

It’s 1am when you get another call from Eddie. You managed half a slice of the jam-covered toast before discarding it in favour of your favourite meal - the insults of strangers - and you’ve been curled up in a ball scrolling TikTok for three and a half hours.

Should you answer it? Probably, yeah. For some reason, though, it feels like you’re angry at him, even though he's done nothing. Something spiky flares inside you when he calls, like you’re jealous, or bitter. It’s entirely your own doing and yet you’re punishing him for it.

He calls again when you don’t pick up, and then texts when you let this one ring out too. You try to swipe the notification away again but click it by accident, opening your conversation, which is awash with grey bubbles where he’s tried to reach you with no reply.

The latest one, above the bouncing bubble with three dots, reads: is everything okay?

No, you think to yourself. You watch the dots, addicted to knowledge that he's out there somewhere, texting you after a gig, when everyone else is getting drunk or high or laid. You know this isn’t healthy, but tonight you feel particularly self-destructive.

give me a call when you wake up. xxx

He thinks you’re asleep, so you’re off the hook for now. You can return to your mind numbing, to breaking down your brain cells one by one, until your eyes force themselves shut and your brain winds down, your phone still open in your hand, playing the same video on loop into the night.

It’s a restless sleep, broken too many times and not deep enough to really count as sleep at all. You eventually drift off properly, some time in the early morning, and when you wake, the light’s blinding. You didn’t close the curtains before you went to bed - did you even try to close them at all? - so as the sun’s moved across the room, it’s landed directly over your face. You’re splayed out on your stomach, drool in your hair.

The sun seems high, too high for an autumn morning. You reach around, patting the mattress and your bedside table in search of your phone. With no luck you sit up slowly, groaning, rubbing your sleep-laden eyes.

Your phone’s on the floor beside your bed. You reach it and find that it’s dead, so you tug the charger cable out from where it’s lodged down the side of the bed and plug it in.

For a few minutes you lie there, befuddled, with no idea of the time or how long you were asleep. Impatient, you get out of bed, aching and creaking because of how you slept, and pad across the room to the bathroom. After you pee and dodge your reflection in the bathroom mirror, you head to the kitchen.

The little fluorescent numbers on your stove read 12:08.

Shit.

Turning on your heels, you run back to the bedroom, throwing yourself over the bed onto your stomach. You grab your phone and try to power it up but it’s still flashing the little battery at you, almost like it’s angry you’d even try to turn it on.

Shit, shit, shit.

How long were you out? It’s definitely nearly 12 hours since Eddie last called, and it’s now 48 hours since you spoke to him on your break.

The wait for your phone to come back to life is agonisingly long, a painful three minutes wherein you pace and sit, break out in a sweat, and even start making your bed in desperation.

Finally it buzzes and you jump. As it comes to life it buzzes again, and again and again, and you freak out, dropping it onto the bed.

4 more missed calls from Eddie, and 3 texts. Normal, to be expected with your lack of response.

But the strange thing is the texts from your friends. Each one of them has text you multiple times, at various points since 6am. Even your mum has called, which is strange for a Saturday.

You’re not sure where to begin, so you start with where’s comfortable: Eddie.

I’m worried, sweets. text me soon x

this is getting weird, what’s going on?

any sign of life?

You tap a response quickly, too quick to keep up with yourself. You’re floating in a post-late-night haze, thick with guilt from the night before and head stinging from staring at your screen for so long.

I'm alive! give me a call when you’re free. love you xx

Almost as soon as you hit send, your phone’s buzzing again, Eddie’s name and picture flashing up on screen.

“Hello,” you say quickly as you answer it, bringing the phone to your ear and holding it with both hands, as though it might slip away if you’re not careful.

“Christ, y/n, you scared the shit outta me.”

“Sorry,” is all you can say. He sounds so breathless and it makes your nose burn.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I just... I was worried, ‘s’all. Sorry for all the texts.”

“No, it’s okay, I should have called.”

“It’s fine, really, I thought you might be out, after work or something, y’know, didn’t wanna bug you, but-”

“No, Eddie,” you say, cutting him off. “It’s okay, I should have text you or something, I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry,” he says with a light laugh. “But you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, knowing he’ll see right through it anyway, regardless of the fact he’s miles away and hearing you down a phone line.

“What’s up?”

“It’s fine, really, I don’t wanna keep you.”

“’M not busy, sugar. Y’got me for however long ya need.”

“But-”

“Did you, uh... Did you read the news? This morning?”

“What?”

“I think you should, uh, check it. Now.”

“Is everything okay? Did something happen?”

“No, no,” he says, laughing again. “Just...” Your phone buzzes in your hand. You bring it down, setting his call to speakerphone, and see that he’s sent you a link.

You tap it and it opens a webpage. It’s an article on Rolling Stone.

Corroded Coffin postpone US tour.

“What the fuck?”

“Heh...” His nervous laugh sets you on edge, your anxious sweats not letting up.

“What does this-”

“I, uh, I’m about fifteen minutes away.”

“What?!”

“Here, I’ll explain when I’m back, okay? Just... Just please call your mum, will you? And maybe text Robin and Nance back? They’ve been on my back all morning.” And then, before you can protest or ask questions, he says, “I’ll see you soon, sugar. Love you.” The line buzzes. He’s hung up.

You bask in bewilderment for a few seconds, staring at your phone. Your messages app has a little red 57 in the corner - unheard of for you - and you have 5 missed calls - four from Eddie, one from your mum. You call her and tell her you’re okay, and that you’re sorry for the radio silence, and that you’ll tell her everything about the tour when you know more. And then you text your friends back, mostly ignoring the 40 messages in the group chat about the news, telling them the same thing, that you’ll fill them in once you can.

Fifteen minutes passes like an age. You finish making the bed, and then put on some coffee. You tidy away yesterday’s clothes, which you’d left in a pile by the bed, and splash your puffy face with cold water.

Is he angry with you? He didn’t seem angry on the phone. But why is he coming home, and why has the band postponed the tour, because you didn’t pick up the phone for one or two days? Your relationship has been long distance just as much as it hasn’t; going a day without speaking isn’t much to shout about.

You stare at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes are still puffy and there are marks down one side of your face where your bedding’s made indents in the skin. You scrub the sleep from your eyes and the drool from the corner of your mouth and run your fingers through your hair, doing your best to smooth it down.

It’s then that you hear the familiar sound of keys in the door. Just as you round the corner into the hall, sliding across the wood in your socks, you find your boyfriend closing it behind him and setting a bag down on the floor.

You’re moving before you know what you’re doing. Your body caves in from want, from the deep-seated desire to be next to him, and you can’t - won’t - stop yourself from throwing your arms around him. You squeeze him, your arms around his middle, and feel him relax into you as his own come around you. The two of you stand like that for a while, him rocking you gently, and when he pulls you back so he can look at you, he finds that you’re crying.

“Oh, baby,” he coos, pulling you back in again. You slip from his grasp, though, moving so that you can reach up and paw at his face. You plant firm lips on his and let yourself drown in the euphoria of the reunion.

“Eddie,” you pant against his mouth. “Why-”

“Hey,” he laughs. “I’ll explain, okay? Just-” Kiss. “Missed you.” Another kiss.

“I don’t-”

“Are you okay?”

You speak at the same time, but he’s sterner where you’re unsure. He's looking at you with your face in one hand, eyes hard like he’s trying to get you to fess up.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, nodding quickly and ignoring the way the sound bubbles in the thickness of your throat.

“Here,” he says, the firmness ebbing and his face softening. He takes your hand in his and walks you to the living room, past the kitchen where a week's worth of dishes sit beside the sink. If he notices the state of the place, he doesn't say.

He sits on the couch and waits for you to join him.

He watches you when you do, and for a while it’s quiet. There are a hundred questions you have for him, but they dissipate when he holds your face in his hand again, tucking hair behind your ear like he’s in a movie, tracing the fading indents from your sheets down your temple and across your cheek.

You take in the state of him - the wildness of his hair where it’s pulled back into a scrunchie, your scrunchie, and the deep marks of tiredness beneath his eyes. Otherwise, he’s much the same as he was when he left you in August, your rockstar off to wow every state with that skill of his you love so much. He’d taken too long saying goodbye at the airport, nearly missed his flight to Washington, and when he’d finally let you go you’d stayed, sitting in a deserted café, clinging onto the last glimpse you got of him before he was weaved through security by their manager, Jason.

“What’s goin’ on, hm?” he asks, voice soft as ever and sweeter too. It brings you out of your head and you look up at his ridiculous, gorgeous face, his brown eyes burned with sorrow, the scrunch between his eyebrows that appears when he’s concerned.

“Missed you,” you tell him, whispering in case speaking louder will shatter what can surely only be a bitter daydream.

“Why’d you go all cold on me then?” He drops his hand from your face and holds your leg where it’s bent up underneath you.

“Been a bad couple days.”

“How come?”

“Just missed you,” you repeat. It’s all you can think about now he’s here and he’s got his hands on you - how you’ve missed him, his smile, his eyes, his hands, the way he smells, the space on his shoulder where your face fits when you hug him.

“Missed you too,” he tells you. “But I think you’re hidin’ somethin’ from me.”

You groan and twist in your seat, letting your legs drop off the couch, his hand falling to his own lap, and lean your head back. With your eyes shut, you breathe deep.

“Sorry I didn’t text, or call, I just... I’ve been really low.” You hear the tremor in your voice and know he can hear it too. He hopes you don’t hear his heart and the way it breaks at the sound.

“I know you don’t really go online, or whatever-”

“I know what’s been happening,” he says, cutting you off. You open your eyes and turn your head so your cheek’s pressed to the back of the couch and you can look at him. His eyes are harder now, trained somewhere away from your face, though his hand, now resting too on the back of the couch, toys silently with the ends of your hair.

“You do?”

“Yeah, Jason’s been keeping us, uh, updated, or whatever. Showing us some of it.”

His eyes meet yours and he looks back at you with a tenderness that pulls you limb from limb.

You crumble then, all the emotion of the past few weeks easing out of you like crackling smoke. You lean, without thinking, into his side and cry, wet and heavy sobs, gasping for air. Through cotton-wool ears you can hear him soothing you, feel his hands smoothing up and down your back. You listen as he coos pretty things in your hair and kisses the crown of your head until your breath’s a bit more level.

“Sorry,” you hiccup.

“Stop apologising,” he says, with that same feather-light laugh he had when he told you the same thing on the phone. And then he breathes out, slow, and says, “I knew somethin’ was up last week, when you called me from the store.”

“Oh, yeah.”

You think back to last Tuesday, when you’d been picking up groceries and only just made it back to your car before the tears had spilled over and left you in a miserable puddle in the driver’s seat. You were tired, of what you couldn’t tell: going home to an empty apartment, shopping for one person, the fact you’d had to buy a different shampoo because you’d used Eddie’s up and they didn’t have the one he usually uses at the store.

You’d called him after you’d cried, just to hear his voice, but it had been late in the afternoon wherever he was and he was getting ready to play another show so all he’d been able to say was I love you, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?

It’d left you feeling bereft, worse than ever.

“I don’t know what to do,” you choke out, mind on that evening and the hundreds of others just like it.

“What do you mean?” he asks, taking your hands in his own, his thumb smoothing up and down the sides of your wrists.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you say flatly. “You being away so much, I... It’s so hard, Eds. I know I have friends, and-” Hiccup. “-and they’re great, they’ve been great, Nance and Rob especially, they... We have dinner every week and it’s not like I spend every night here on my own, waiting for you, or whatever, I just... Everything online is so hard to look at but it's also so hard to not look at, it’s so hard to see all these people being so invasive and weird, wanting you all the time, following you around, and sometimes it’s mean and then I think, you know, maybe they’re right sometimes. I miss you, and it hurts and I don’t know what to do because you’re so happy, and I love you and I love your band and you’re so talented but I just... I sit back here, waiting for you. It’s like I’m a... An anchor, or something, y’know? I feel like they’re right, I’m holding you back, I just-”

“Stop it,” he says. You take a well-needed breath and look at him, hearing the way his stern words come out filled with remorse, and find that his eyes are red round the edges and his mouth’s doing that thing it does before he cries.

“Oh, Eddie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

He squeezes your hands and says, “No, it’s okay, I just- I hate when you talk like that.”

He takes a breath and, letting go of your hands, pinches the bridge of his nose. After a quiet moment he sits upright and turns to you.

“I never, ever feel held back by you. Do you hear me?”

“I know, I just-”

“I mean it. Never.”

“Okay,” you sigh.

You see him ease a little, leaning back slightly.

“I know you didn’t sign up for this, and the fact you’re still here is honestly... Maybe one of the craziest things ever. I know that it’s been bad recently, I’ve seen some of the stuff online and god knows I have to deal with it in person every time I leave a fucking building, but you can't listen to them, baby. I don’t want any of this if it’s hurting you.”

“Eddie-”

“I’m serious. I’d drop it all, leave it all behind, change my name and flee the country or something, if it meant I’d get to be with you.”

Your nose burns again, and there’s a simmering ache in your temples. You breathe and try to keep the tears at bay but it’s futile; they come without permission and quickly, thick drops down your cheeks.

“When you called last week, I... It broke my heart, sugar, I couldn’t bear it.”

“I had to get different shampoo,” you tell him bluntly, like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world to cry over the little red out of stock sticker underneath where the bergamot shampoo would usually be.

He just looks back at you sadly. You’re not sure where to go from here, because whatever outcome you know your heart will break. You could leave him, abandon all of this and start afresh somewhere new, taking your time to mourn the loss but get over it eventually. You could stay, doing this every year for the foreseeable future, playing your role as the doting girlfriend who waits patiently for her world-famous boyfriend to come home. Or Eddie quits, and you live with the guilt of what he’d lose forever.

“What’s goin’ on in there?” he asks you, tapping your forehead softly with his index finger. “Hm?”

“What do we do?” you ask him, as though he's somehow wiser than you when it comes to this.

He toys with your hair again, tucking it behind your ear. “I don’t know,” he admits, “but I’m here for now.”

“But you’ll go again,” you remind him.

“Yeah,” he responds reluctantly. “But there’re only two weeks left of tour.”

“But there’ll be another, and then another.”

“Not like this, there won’t.”

“Eddie, you can’t quit. That’s not fair, I can’t expect you to do that, I don’t want you to do that.”

“Who said anything about quitting?”

He’s suddenly got a smile on his face. It’s only small, one side of his mouth pulled up in some kind of mischievous signal.

“You can’t keep making music and not touring, that’s not-”

“I’m not quitting music, baby. Tours just won’t be this long.”

“But you’re getting more famous, you can’t-”

“Let me explain,” he drones playfully, not really fed up with you but playing into it to get you to listen.

“You’re right, you can’t expect me to quit and stay here with you, just like I can’t expect you to drop everything and come with me. I thought about it, y’know, the logistics of you coming but it’s not easy, I mean, we live on a bus for most of the tour and when we are in hotels we’re doin’ press all day, and just ‘cause we could afford it now doesn’t mean I want you to quit your job, or leave your life behind for me or anythin’. But I also... I hate this just as much as you do. I don’t know how it looks to you ‘cause my free time isn’t exactly a lot but I spend literally every minute I have on the phone to you, so much that Gareth’s started really takin’ the piss, givin’ me shit for it...”

He’s laughing and as you let yourself laugh too, feel the heavy weight of distance lifting off you. It’s been so long that you’d almost forgotten how blissful it feels to be sat with him, laughing like this in your little apartment. Almost.

“I’ve got some ideas about how we can make this work,” he continues, “but right now I’m just happy you’re okay.”

“How long are you home for?” you ask him in a low voice, hesitantly, lest you get your hopes up.

“However long you want,” he says softly, tracing the side of your face. “But probably a couple of months.”

“Months?!” you gasp, incapable of controlling your volume. He flinches and laughs again.

“Yeah. Won’t be able to sort new shows for a while anyway.”

The tears return, only this time they’re born of a deep relief. You feel it lift you and you fall into him, gripping on for dear life. Your arms wrap around his middle and your nose rests at his neck, and you squeeze him as hard as you can while he carries on laughing, his own hands matching yours. When his t-shirt is sodden with tears and your arms have eased up he brings you up to meet his eye. As you watch them flit between your own and your lips you get that feeling, the fluttering of a crush deep within. Suddenly you’re both seventeen again, when your biggest worry was whether the boy with long hair in your English class liked you back, rather than all the burdens of early adulthood and fame. And then he kisses you, a true homecoming kiss, warm and firm and sure, and you melt into him, sighing happy noises and kissing him back.

Four hours later, you’re still on the couch. He helped you clean, slowly undoing the wreckage of depression, and you both showered, washed his hair with the shampoo that will become his new smell. You’ve torn through an order of Chinese takeout and you’re halfway through a tub of Ben and Jerry’s, though currently it sits abandoned on the coffee table, the two spoons leaving melted ice cream across the varnished wood.

The conversation - about where you go from here, how you navigate this new life together - is saved for another day.

Right now you’re in his lap, right where you like to be, kissing him senseless and letting him do the same to you.

You dance your mouth across his cheek, down his jaw and onto his throat, over the scattering of pretty, blooming bruises that match your own (just marking what’s mine, he’d told you). When you reach his collarbone, he says, “Maybe we should get a cat.”

You sit upright and look at him quizzically. “A cat?”

“Yeah,” he says, a lazy smile growing. “It’d keep you company when I’m not here, and Nance would love lookin’ after it when we're away."

You dwell on the idea, your eyes dancing across his face which glows a pretty shade of pink in the low living room light.

“Okay,” you agree, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Let’s get a cat.”

One month later, you pick up Ozzy from the pound. He’s a baby, really, small but filled with restless energy. He’s black with white socks and though you dote on him endlessly, it’s Eddie he truly falls for.

At least you have something in common.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson angst #Eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fic #st 4 #stranger things vol 1 #stranger things eddie

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bloodgulchblog · 9 months ago

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Thanks for answering my ask! You just made me realize how interesting Halsey. I mean I always knew she was a complex character but I haven’t really read the founding halo books since middle school(?). Anyway you have now have me utterly fascinated with her and know I must consume all content relating to her (that’s written by nyland). Sooo thanks for that! Also the scene spartan ops where she learns John’s alive is the scene that has stuck with me the longest from that mode, that followed by the prison break or the warthog run mission.

You're welcome! God, she breaks my heart now. (This ask answer just turned into a fresh outpouring of Halsey thoughts/feelings and I hope they are interesting.)

Halsey is one of the characters that I sat down and was like I need to understand what their deal is when I started really getting back into Halo. It's really easy to just hate her because, you know, she's the architect of horrible things happening to children. But especially once I started understanding the food chain of exploitation that goes on within ONI it was like oh my god. Then going back through the diary and being like wait, how old was she when the Carver findings were being discussed? How old was she when ONI started to court her?

You realize that Halsey was also so young, and they groomed her and manipulated her and preyed on her and built her in the image they found most useful. And by the time she wanted out, she was too far in and they basically held those kids hostage by threatening to hand the reins over to someone who wouldn't have cared about whether they suffered more than "necessary."

Halsey was their useful monster and had to figure out how to keep living with herself, justifying the monstrosity, and just throwing herself headlong into her work. I'm still struck by how the diary shows her feelings about Keyes, it's not in-your-face but augh. Catherine Halsey, terrifying science witch of ONI, cold and ambitious and condescending, and Jacob Keyes was a gentleman to her and trustworthy with secrets.

On a related note: Something I've thought about a lot with Halsey is that, on its face, her having Miranda does not make sense. ...But then if you turn it in your mind, suddenly it does. Halsey is a doctor in the deep space future, if she did not want to have a child she would not have a child. What did she want by that? It was obviously not to tie Keyes to her, they never married and only occasionally saw one another (even though it's obvious how much they mattered to one another.)

Rampant speculation: I don't have a canon answer to that question, but the timing (during Spartan-II) maybe speaks to Halsey wanting to prove something to herself about her own humanity vs monstrousness. Maybe, if she could raise a child well, it would prove that what she did to those other children was not the whole of her.

And in the end, her work for ONI devoured her and she did fail Miranda. She tried for six years, and in the end she sent Miranda to live with her father because she knew she was not a good mother to that child. Halsey missed Miranda and even though her daughter took after Keyes so much more than her, even though Miranda wanted nothing to do with her, we know that Halsey used what influence she had in the UNSC to try to protect Miranda from a dangerous frontline posting that could kill her.

Even though the whole My-Spartans-are-the-next-step-of-humanity thing is bullshit to me, there are some things about her late-canon characterization that do make sense to me.

Imagine how bitter it must feel, how alone she is. Halsey believed, truly believed, she was sacrificing herself to protect other people. Halsey believed that great ability came with the responsibility to spend herself for what she thought was a good cause. So she did, and now here she is: alone and hated, with nothing to show for it but regret and isolation and death while she has outlived almost everyone she ever cared for.

#asks #catherine halsey

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miziubai · 2 years ago

Text

ok so, wanna hear something funny? I did not have a solid ref for Nari, for like, this entire time. While i made two for Lamb and considered making one for Ratau (who i don't really draw often)

So I made some changes for his follower design! This is from fresh out of godhood and into the cult. His post-canon/aftermath AU doesn't differ much from this, just remove the bandages and add the orange loose cloth under the first layer and that's it . rip the drawing i made not too long ago but not a big deal.

a pinch more of info on my Nari under cut bc i'm really invested in him

Narinder!! has!! HMD!! (hyperthropic muscle distrophy!) It does cause exercise and eating harder for him but most issues aren't really present for reasons Below.

Because he didn't have a Corporeal Body TM for like a thousand years, his limbs were kinda... numb. Very numb. Which led to him tripping on his own two feet and crashing into things often. He knew what the issue was but didn't tell Lamb, so Lamb figured this out by themself. Which led to them holding Nari by the scruff to put bandages on him (so he could feel his own limbs) and the golden chains so he could have some sense of weight on them. It really helped, but because he's a stubborn prick, he didn't thank them until weeks later.

He doesn't actually have *two* tails. It's a single tail that divided into two. This one also felt numb for a while but got better without needing help.

And yes- this means that as a god, both arms, legs and the tails had the rotten boney look. (i might draw this actually)

His face STILL opens. Its mostly involuntary however, and happens when he can't control his emotions (getting angry, for example), when sneezing, or whenever he hisses/spits really loudly.

He does have remnants of his power. Its mostly being strong physically (despite his condition and the only reason why his body isn't really weak), retains some control on fire, and can feel whenever a person is about to get sick or die. If he's near the Lamb (or just the Red Crown) he can see spirits.

He's actually really good at tailoring and sculpting! He had to do SOMETHING while he was trapped for such a long time in the afterlife, so to pass time, he learned how to knit and sew, sculpt and anything in between. He did make Aym and Baal's clothes, and whenever Lamb wants to make a statue, they just bring a huge rock, hands him a chisel and lets him go wild with it after some instructions.

Nari can't actually regulate his own body temperature too well. Lamb gave him thicker clothes and eventually handed him their wool so he could make his clothes to keep himself warm.

A lot of the things Lamb did for Narinder early on (the first 3-4 months or so) were in an attempt to make him simmer down and get accustomed to the cult. It did kind of work, but for the longest time he was still a bit of a shut-in and refused to speak to most other cultists or even make friends. Everyone eventually found out who he was, but still didn't approach despite being another cultist because he was so intimidating and temperamental. The entire proccess was basically like socializing a feral cat.

that's it

#cotl #cult of the lamb #narinder #my art

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pastel-omegas-blog · 2 years ago

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How would the original plot work into the hybrid au? Or would it be it's own little thing much more seperate from the og work, with it's on plot? I'm asking cause I wanna know if MC and Marrav were still forced together, if MC still has that God in him, etc etc. The au is super interesting!!!

I'm honestly working out the au, since I'm continuously making little changes, but the hybrid au is completely different from the og timeline with just a few things staying the same. It's explained a bit more on the part two of this that I posted on my quotev.

The first major difference is that Marrav's family is no longer the imperial family, instead their a grand duchy.

I haven't posted anything on the imperial family of this world but the only thing I can say is that their siberian tigers.

Two. There is no god locked up inside the mc this time around, instead it's more focused on his split hybrid self, since he's a sheep hybrid born from a wolf family ( the sheep genes are recessive but he ended up inheriting them) the black lash and bullying he faces and how he struggles to keep his canivorous side in check.

Leon in this au is a bit different as well, unlike the original au where he's trying to take over the empire, in this one he's bored. From birth people have always adored him and he constantly the center of attention because of he's an omega and a cute rabbit hybrid so people never fault him for anything.

In this au he reaches out to mc to satisfy his saviour complex, but ends up obsessing over him to a dangerous degree.

He finds it absolutely fascinating that at any moment the mc can quite literally attack him and eat him up since he lacks control of his canine side and at the same time he likes that mc had become so dependent on him and he can mold the smaller man to be anything he wants.

This au will have much darker themes like slaughter/murder cannibalism, but this au focuses more on Leon and mc.

If you thought Leon was unhinged before, this version of him is just down right disturbing.

Observe.

" pretty amethyst eyes watched as the 'sheep' hybrid seated across from him stared at plate with dread.

" aren't you going to eat ? " The rabbit asked his voice having a chirpy tone it which made the e/c omega's stomach churn in disgust as he struggled to hold down his lunch but he found it difficult with the smell of copper clogging up his nostrils.

Served on the paper white ceramic plate was a slab of meat. Cleanly cut meat with blood still oozing out of it, a very clear indication it was fresh.... Very fresh.

The fear M/N thought he had pushed away came back to put him in a choke hold.

How had Leon managed to get such a horrid thing ? Where had he gotten his hands on fresh meat ?!!

M/N knew Leon was capable of things but he didn't think murder was one of them ! No he couldn't believe the blue haired omega could have the monsterous tendency to end another life, but the proof was staring right back at him.

Looking and smelling o so delicious-

The giggle that left the rabbit's lips snapped the smaller man from his chain of thoughts.

It sounded so beautiful. Like a choir of angels.

" oh my~ if I had known you would be drooling like this I would have brought you more " the larger omega cooed, his words making the other realize that he had I'm fact actually been drooling.

The horrified look that crossed the other's face at this realization made Leon giggle again.

" your always so adorable " he said, his voice having a sickly sweet tone to it.

" now start eating up my little lamb, don't let the hunt I did for you go to waste " the blue haired man chastised like a mother scolding her child.

" If you don't eat up I'll be mad " all the sweet and cheerful emotions left his voice at those words, stone cold eyes boring holes into the smaller omega and M/N felt his body freeze in bone chilling fear.

At that moment he knew there was no escaping unless he obeyed the omega's orders and he wanted to cry at the monster he would soon become "

Here. Hope this helps a bit

#hybrid au #omegaverse #x omega male reader #mc #dearly detested #nobility #ask #omegaverse.#omega male reader #leon #anon #x male reader

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hairstevington · 2 years ago

Text

Freaky Friday (Steddie's Version) - chapter 2!

Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington

Summary: Eddie and Steve have swapped bodies. They have to shower and it's weird. Time to set some ground rules, I guess. Chapter 1, Link to Ao3

Word Count: 3K, more chapters to come

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, slow(ish??) burn, canon universe (more or less) set before season 4, me adding in lore than the show didn't touch on such as how Eddie and Steve met etc, body swap, ANGST, revenge, POV switching, honestly just tons of fun lmao

A/N: WOW this got so much attention and that makes me happy because I love writing it. I will definitely keep this one going, I have soooo many ideas. Stay tuned for next chapter, because it's going to be a wild one!

“I gotta get out of these clothes, dude,” Eddie said, itching at the stiff material of the vest and Steve’s jeans. “I’m gonna shower, I promise I won’t ogle your naked body or anything, I just wanna get clean.”

“Yeah, me too,” Steve agreed. “Why do you wear these chains? They’re weighing me down, I keep having to pull these goddamn pants back up.” He said this as he demonstrated what he meant. Eddie had never really thought about it much. Staring at himself was making him feel weird.

“Okay, well you have a shower at home, don’t you?” Eddie asked as he took the vest off and threw it to the floor. “Probably something voice activated with a robot butler who hands you a fresh towel.”

“Jesus, Munson, you’re so dramatic,” Steve groaned. “My bathroom is normal.”

“Whatever you say,” Eddie dismissed. Steve’s shirt came off next, joining the vest on the floor. Eddie walked back down the hall to the bathroom. He felt like he wouldn’t be able to think until he was dirt-free and in his own clothes.

“I can’t go home like this!” Steve shouted from the living room. Eddie smirked, then turned around.

“Why not?” he hissed. “Is Daddy Harrington gonna beat you up for looking like that? No, sorry. Would he beat me up for having the audacity to enter his perfect home?” Steve’s jaw clenched, and there was a look in his eyes that made Eddie immediately feel like he’d gone too far, and not in a fun way.

“Watch it,” he warned. “My dad’s out of town, but my mom would probably call the cops, yeah.”

“Charming,” Eddie replied as he turned back around and continued his journey to the bathroom. He unfastened the jeans and shimmied himself out of them, leaving him only in Steve’s boxers.

Steve’s body was far more toned and muscular than Eddie’s was. It was clear he worked hard to keep himself looking good, even post-graduation. It was the kind of body that probably hadn’t so much as seen a carb in the last ten years.

Eddie didn’t really care about any of that, of course. But also, almost everybody wanted to look like this, deep down.

As he stood there in boxers alone, he began to feel the trepidation that Steve referred to about seeing each other naked. It definitely felt like a weird, nonconsensual line to cross, but what other option did they have?

Eddie heard his own rough hand clamor against the doorframe, the rings making a distinct noise against the wood.

“Hey, asshole, I'm serious,” Steve said. “I’m trying to be a good guy here, and you just -”

“I see what you mean,” Eddie interrupted. He also in that moment realized that Steve was right in pointing out the amount of times Eddie cut him off. Oops. “About the showering thing. It’s weird. Let’s talk about it.”

Steve was clearly stunned by Eddie’s rapid turnaround into compliance.

“Y-yeah, okay,” Steve stuttered.

“You have, like, a lot of chest hair,” Eddie said, looking at the newly exposed parts of him in the mirror.

“Is that what you want to talk about? Seriously?” Steve balked. Eddie smirked.

“No, just an observation. I don’t have much chest hair. I mean, you’ll see.”

“Okay, I think talking about it is making it worse,” Steve said, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

“Well soooorryyyy, I’ve never done this before!” Eddie exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. Steve chuckled. “What? Is my misery fun to you?”

“I mean, yeah,” he replied. “I’m laughing because this whole thing is, like - I mean, you know. It’s funny.” Eddie would never have chosen that particular word to describe their situation, but whatever. “Okay, so when I take this shirt off am I gonna see a third nipple or something?”

He wasn’t expecting Steve to make a joke like that. It caught him off guard so much he genuinely laughed.

“I don’t have a third nipple, but are you afraid of spiders?” Steve raised one eyebrow, confused, then shook his head. “Good. I have a big one tattooed riiiight around here.” Eddie took a step forward and pushed his index finger into Steve’s chest - his own chest, really - at the approximate location of the tattoo. It was a bit of a mindfuck to make physical contact with his own self and not be able to feel one side of it.

“Why a spider?” Steve asked with genuine interest.

“Because it looks badass,” Eddie responded. There was a far more meaningful reason, but Steve Harrington didn’t deserve to know it. He may have had Eddie’s body, but Eddie still had his mind, and thank god for that. It was dark in there sometimes. “Okay, so I’m gonna go in there -” Eddie pointed at the shower, “- and I’m gonna shut my eyes and just not think about it. Then you’re going to do the same thing, and then we’re gonna bury the whole experience deep into the depths of our souls and never talk about it ever again. Poof! Error message. Memory does not exist. Deal?”

“Works for me,” Steve agreed with a shrug. Eddie sighed deeply, then motioned for Steve to leave so he could shower in peace.

Okay, maybe not in peace, but at least he was alone. Just him. Eddie.

In someone else’s body. In Steve Harrington’s fucking body.

What a nightmare.

Steve waited on Eddie’s couch and stared into space, the sounds of running water through the wall. He tried to wrap his head around the entire sequence of events that had led him here. If I had just let Eddie rescue Dustin, and stayed at my goddamn job, none of this would have happened.

His father really would have been so disappointed in him.

Steve thought about his first time interacting with Eddie, way back in middle school. Steve was a seventh grader, but he still hung around with the popular kids and had a decent reputation. He was funny and didn’t take things too seriously. At the school talent show, he and some buddies did a choreographed dance to the song I Will Survive, and everybody loved it. A real crowd pleaser.

Steve sat in the audience and let the next act go, still high off his own performance, and saw a 13 year old Eddie Munson walk up on stage with his band, Corroded Coffin. His hair was buzzed, and he was a lot smaller than he was now.

They played alright, considering they were a bunch of kids. That didn’t stop Steve’s friends from making fun of them, though.

“Freaks,” Tommy coughed loudly into his hand. The rest of Steve’s group laughed, making other similar comments. Steve laughed with them, because that was the thing to do. Something uncomfortable stirred inside of him, but he chose to ignore it, as he continued to do throughout the rest of middle and high school.

That was his first brush with Eddie, but it wasn’t the last.

Yeah, he’d been a douchebag. Robin had reminded him of this enough for him to come to terms with it. He did and said a lot of shitty things, and watched in silence as his so-called friends said and did even shittier things.

He hadn’t even noticed that the water had stopped running until Eddie poked his head back out into the living room. Steve’s jaw dropped as he watched Eddie absolutely manhandle Steve’s well-kempt locks.

“Dude,” he announced, offended. “Fuck, I - I didn’t even think about-”

“What?” Eddie asked, concern flashing across his face.

“My hair,” Steve explained. “What did you even use on it?” Eddie stared at him in disbelief as he stood up from the couch and reached out to feel the damage. “Jesus Christ, man, have you ever heard of conditioner?” His fingers grasped a few strands and rubbed them together, before Eddie swatted his hand away.

“Don’t touch me.” Eddie warned, his face gravely serious.

“Technically, I’m touching myself,” Steve replied, before immediately regretting it. Eddie opened his mouth to say something, but Steve wouldn’t let him. “Stop. Whatever you’re about to say, don’t do it. I’m gonna shower now.”

So, he did. He went into the bathroom and stripped off Eddie’s shirt, seeing the spider and skull tattoo underneath for the first time. It did kinda look badass, he realized. Steve had no tattoos - although he’d thought about it a few times. He just couldn’t commit to anything he’d really want on his body forever. He continued removing clothing, placing the rings on the counter and pants on the floor. Here goes nothing, I guess.

He tried to do what Eddie had proposed - he kept his eyes closed as often as he could and did his best not to think about it, but it was damn near impossible. He was washing a body that was foreign to him, and running his hands through hair with different length, texture, and style. The skin he was in felt completely different. Softer, in some places, like on the stomach. Rougher in others, like on the fingertips. The stubble on his chin was courser than what he’d been used to.

Same parts, different sizes and shapes.

There was basically just a bar of soap and some cheap drug store shampoo in there. Steve shuddered at the thought of his own hair being a victim of that shit - he wondered how many times his hair would have to be washed to really mess up what he’d carefully crafted over the years.

With any luck, Steve wouldn’t have to find out. He hoped and prayed this was the first and last shower he would ever have to take in Eddie’s body.

He dried himself off and opened the bathroom door once he was done.

“Eddie?” he asked, unsure whether he should just walk out in the towel. It’s what Eddie had done before, but he still wanted to tread lightly.

“In my room.” Steve followed the voice towards the sound. “I didn’t say you could come in here.”

Apparently, Eddie had heard Steve’s approaching footsteps.

“Okay,” Steve said, backing up again. “Should I…put your clothes back on?”

“Nah,” Eddie said. Steve noted how his voice sounded from outside of himself. It was higher than he thought it would be. Eddie was speaking in a much less angry tone than he had before, which made Steve even more uneasy. “You’re in luck. Everything in here is in your size.” Steve heard shuffling of drawers before Eddie resurfaced in his doorway with jeans and a t-shirt bundled in his hands.

The light from the bedroom shone behind him, casting shadows on his face. Steve’s face. He was only wearing pajama bottoms, which hung low on his hips. Steve’s eyes locked in on the lit cigarette resting in Eddie’s mouth.

“I quit years ago,” he noted.

“Yeah, well I didn’t,” Eddie responded. Steve frowned, thinking of all the times Robin had rambled on and on about the dangers of smoking and the health complications it leads to. He had promised her he wouldn’t smoke again.

“Just -” Steve hesitated, knowing he sounded whipped. “Don’t smoke in front of Robin, okay?”

“What’s your deal with her anyway?” Eddie asked, the snark in his voice returning.

“Friends,” Steve said with a shrug.

“Sure. Friends.” Eddie repeated the word sarcastically, then handed the clean clothes to Steve, who didn’t have the energy to argue. “I don’t plan on seeing her, but sure. I’ll refrain from smoking in her presence, your honor.”

“You’re gonna see her,” Steve countered, “because we work together tomorrow.” Eddie scoffed.

“Are you seriously suggesting we just pretend to be each other? Cuz I gotta say, Harrington, that idea is pretty stupid.”

“You got a better one, super senior?” Steve snapped. He’d been cold stepping out of the shower before, but the anger within him was keeping him warm, now. Eddie chuckled darkly.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. He threw his head back and groaned. “I can’t believe this is happening with you of all people.”

“Look, man,” Steve began, trying to express what he’d been thinking about earlier. “I know I was an asshole in high school, but a lot has changed since then.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Eddie replied with a roll of his eyes.

“I’m serious!” Steve insisted. “And there were so many other people who treated you worse than I did.”

“You mean your friends?” Eddie countered, his words like venom.

“They’re not my friends anymore.”

“That’s great for you, Harrington. Juuuust great. Really makes up for all the times you hung around and brushed off the shit they did.” The conversation was getting heated again, and Steve started to feel his heart pounding in his chest. “Get the fuck out of my trailer.”

Steve could have hit him. He still had pent up anger from the assholes that had hurt Dustin, and then there was the ever-growing frustration that his body and life was entrusted to someone he despised. He didn’t want to hate him - no, Steve was trying to be nice now, but since when had Eddie shown him the same effort?

“Fine.” Steve spun around and headed back to the bathroom so he could quickly slip the clothes on. They were, of course, a perfect fit. The pants were well worn and shaped to his body, the shirt soft and loose. The two men were about the same size, Steve noticed.

“Fuck!” Eddie exclaimed from his room. Steve peeked out from the bathroom only to see Eddie trudging back out to meet him again. “I can’t miss school or I won’t graduate. And I have to graduate okay? I have to. So fine, Harrington. You win. I’ll work at Family Video tomorrow so you can keep your stupid job, and you’ll go back to high school for me. Sound good?”

Shit. Steve had no interest in going back to school. He wasn’t that good at it the first time around.

“None of this is good, Munson.” Steve sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. Irritable. He felt a craving for cigarettes. God dammit, I have his fucking nicotine addiction. The residual smell of smoke in the trailer didn’t help. “Okay, yeah. You’ll work, I’ll go to school. We both have shit at stake.”

“Seems that way,” Eddie admitted. “Not that you’ll be any better in school than me. Maybe I should have body swapped with Nancy Wheeler or something -”

“I’m leaving.” Steve turned around and headed down the hall, picking up his car keys on the way to the front door. He paused, then turned back around. “People are gonna notice if I show up to work in your red van.”

“Yeah, like I wanna be seen showing up to school in your prissy car, Harrington,” Eddie called from out of sight. “I don’t care if people notice. Don’t let the door hit me in the ass on your way out.”

Steve chuckled dryly at the humor and shook his head in disbelief. This was ridiculous. This was going to end in disaster. But what other choice did he have?

He got in his (nice, perfectly normal car) and drove back to his house. The light in his parent’s bedroom was on, which meant his mom had turned in for the night and would be sleeping soon. This was good, because he could sneak in without being noticed - which would surely have caused commotion. Steve wasn’t that close with his mom, but he was closer with her than he was his dad. She was just kind of distant. She didn’t really know Steve at all. If he tried to convince her of the body swap, he wouldn’t even know what he would say to prove his identity.

Robin and Dustin on the other hand? Easy. Steve figured he could convince any of the Upside Down gang, if he had to. It was something to keep in mind when this whole thing inevitably got worse.

He had to wake up early and go to goddamn high school in the morning. Jesus. At least he’d be leaving before his mom woke up. That crisis was averted, for now, but if this lasted through the next day he wouldn’t be so lucky.

He hoped as he crawled into bed that night that he would wake up in his own body. He wondered if this whole thing was payback for all the stupid shit he’d done years before.

He thought that maybe, this is what he deserved.

Eddie hated Steve, and he hated being in Steve’s perfect, chiseled body. He hated that he had to wash the stupid green vest and put it back on in the morning, then act semi-normal at Family Video. He had to, because he did have something to lose after all.

Wayne Munson had taken Eddie in a few years prior, and he’d been more than kind despite the amount of trouble Eddie frequently got into. Wayne didn’t ask questions about Eddie dealing drugs, or coming home after school with swollen knuckles and a chip on his shoulder. He supported Eddie through his failing senior year, then failing it again.

But Wayne had made it abundantly clear that this year was Eddie’s last chance. If he didn’t graduate, he was cut off.

It made sense, of course. Eddie didn’t blame Wayne for that decision. Eddie had grown complacent in high school, running Hellfire and avoiding all the future responsibilities he desperately wanted to avoid. He didn’t have much of a future anyway, so why hurdle himself towards it?

He wasn’t even bullied so much in school as much as he was avoided and hated. People thought low of him, but it was manageable. They feared him too, at least.

He wanted to stay in his weird bubble, but if he did he’d end up on the streets, and probably be found dead somewhere.

He wondered how he’d be treated in the world now that he looked like Steve. He imagined the difference would be vast. Of course it would be. Society was a prison for which there was no escape and no bail.

Eddie hated Steve, and rightfully so. Steve had always been popular, charming, and adored. It was silly to think that years ago, Eddie had hoped that maybe Steve would be different. He hoped that Steve would be better than the others who looked down on anyone who didn’t come from money or who maybe looked a little different.

The first few times Eddie had been the victim of harsh stares and rude comments, he’d looked for Steve’s face in the crowd and hoped he would speak up. Eddie gave him a few chances, and then he realized that Steve wasn’t better than those other assholes. If anything, he was worse.

Eddie wanted to burn his whole world down.

(next chapter)

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@thegoatscoat @ao3screenshots @stevessluttywaist @tartarusfairy @croatoan-like-its-hot @mightbeasleep @ofherscarlettwitchways @livvyshmiv @paintballkid711 @abraca-fxckyou @allbimyself26 @jellybabiesforall @allbymyselfexceptformycactus @justaloadofgarbage-blog @alliemunsonsstuff @undreamingscatworld @thefruityfours @hobbitnarwhal @calivanus @wreckmyplans-thatsmyman @antheia @goodolefashionedloverboi @lillemilly @missmagillicuddy @steviesbicrisis @gamerdano @menamesniall @eyeslikewildflowers111 @callmesirkay@stringischeese @eds-trashmouth @mnl-enuh @redfreckledwolf @itsanarrum @soulsofstarsliveinyourveins @gregre369 @stevesbipanic @momotonescreaming @aryakanojiaa @wrenisflying @comicmadlover @lilacrobin @itch-my-b0nez @anonymousbandgirl @disastardly @Dang_Dirty_Demons @daisyellsong @val-from-lawrence

#st fanfic #writing #steddie #steddie fic #freaky friday steddie's version #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie x steve #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction

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lulutaylorsimaginarium · 1 year ago

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The Chain

Summary: When the guys get stuck in a situation and hunted down by a drug lord. Frankie makes a call he really doesn’t want to make to the only person that can help them

Words: 2004

Warnings: “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the right age to handle mature themes. We handle our own triggers with kindness and grace

AN: Mind any grammar mistakes even though the story has been checked. The author is dyslexic and it is the wonders of her brain.

AN 2: Ladies and Jellybeans, let me know which day you want me to post and what you think so far. Should I keep going? XxLu

THE CHAIN MASTERLIST

Part Seven

Santiago walked down the stairs to the smell of bacon and fresh coffee. It kind of felt like a dream. He rounded the corner and saw Gabby at the stove top, moving around to music on the small radio in front of her.

“Geez, look at you Donna Reed”

“I take it that you don’t want some breakfast then?”

“I just didn’t know you were so domesticated”

“Well Garcia. Maybe you don’t know me” she laughed “Sit down”

He looked around wondering where everybody else was but then again it was six in the morning. They were going to need an earthquake to wake Benny. He had walked past Frankie’s room and heard snoozing and God knew where Will had gotten too. If anybody was awake, it was going to be Will.

She walked over to him with a cup of coffee

“Thanks”

“You’re looking at me strange” she laughed “What?”

“Nothing bad. It’s nothing”

“What do you want to for breakfast?”

“Whatever you give me”

“Shit on a stick?” she offered “Shit rolled in sugar?”

“I’ll take both”

“Hungry then?” she chuckled, he didn’t. Gabby turned her head to the side and frowned at him “Are you okay?”

“Yeah” he said quietly “Tired, I guess”

“Well, have something to eat and go back upstairs and get some more sleep”

“Yes, Madre”

She rolled her eyes and turned back around only to crack a few eggs and break them into the pan.

“Martha Stewart, Gabby. Is the best Gabby” a voice said from the doorway.

It was Frankie, she didn’t need to turn around to know that. She left the eggs and poured him a cup of coffee. Before walking it over to the table.

“The boys still asleep?”

“I think I heard them shuffling around” Frankie told her yawning “Where's Sebastian?”

“Picking corn"

“Harvesting corn” Santiago told her

She took a deep breath, looked back and smiles at him “You like correcting me, don’t you?”

“Everybody needs a hobby”

“He’s harvesting corn” she told Frankie

“Is he going with you to see Gunner?”

“No, he’s got too much to do here. I’ll just go by myself. It will be fine”

“Gabs”

“Frankie, what do you think he’s going to do?” she laughed

“I can go with you” Santiago offered. Gabby and Frankie looked at him quickly “If you want”

“Yeah, if you wanna come to town”

“I’m driving though”

She muttered something under her breath before she turned back around to the stove.

After breakfast and after everyone was taken care of Gabby walked down to the corn field and somehow founded him there with no workers. She smiled to herself because it was so like Sebastian to think that he can hand pick a field of corn by himself.

She sidled up beside him and started picking corn.

“What are you doing?” he chuckled

“Harvesting corn”

“You don’t have too. It’s boring”

“I could do with a little boring right now” she smiled “I’m going to take Garcia with me to go met Gunner”

“Mmm-hmm” he smiled

“What?”

“Nothing, Luna. Nothing”

“O-kay” she told him confused, continuing to pick corn not looking at him “Will you go to dinner with me tonight?”

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

“A little”

“I’ll always say yes to that”

“There’s food for you in the fridge when you’re ready”

“Be careful, I might get used to you taking care of me”

“All a part of my evil plan”

She smiled and nodded her head, dumped the corn in the basket and wandered off again

When they said the guy’s name was Gunner. Santiago was expecting a tall blonde guy that sounded like the Swedish guy out of the Muppets but he wasn’t. He was a short, dark-haired guy that looked more Italian.

He was also eyeing Gabby like he was starving, and she was a rib-eye.

Instantly Santiago understood where all the concern had been coming from.

They all sat down at a table in an empty restaurant, Gunner across from them.

Damn straight Santiago was feeling territorial.

He draped his arm over the back of her chair. Casually, of course

Gabby didn’t notice, Gunner did.

“So this is a, don’t ask, don’t tell type deal?” Gunner asked smirking “Can I know what I’m moving?”

“Nope” she said sweetly “Better for you if you don’t know”

“What do you need?”

“A plane. Bigger the better”

“I can do that. Where are you guys at?”

“Sebastian’s farm”

“Can’t fly into there”

“Where do you think we can go?” Santiago asked

“Boarder is probably better”

“Gunner” she warned

“It’s abandoned and it has an airfield”

“It’s basically a mass grave”

“Where are we going?” Santiago asked

“Camp Cult” she said impossibly sweetly

“In the Jungle?” he asked

“If you guys can think of a better idea”

“Ugh” she said under her breath “Fine. When?”

“Need a few days. I’ll call once I get the plane and the papers. I have a C-5M that would work”

“We’re still figuring out where we’re flying to”

“You have time” Gunner stood up and smiled at her “You owe me”

“I’m aware”

Santiago frowned as Gunner walked out the door. She smiled at him, trying not to laugh at the protectiveness.

It was amazing how fast men turned into pack animals.

He led her out to the street and even opened her car door for her.

It was the first time in history that had ever happened.

She knew where it was coming from.

As much as they got on each other nerves both Santiago and Gabby had each other’s back.

He was concerned about Gunner, just like Frankie and Sebastian and she understood why. Gunner didn’t know where the line was sometimes, but she knew he wasn’t dangerous. Sure, he could be greedy but if he didn’t know what he was transporting.

They were golden.

Gabby and Santiago were on the road for maybe twenty minutes before anyone spoke

“Where did you meet this guy?”

“He was smuggling ivory out of Africa when we were there”

“He was smuggling ivory?” Santiago laughed “A little old fashioned don’t you think?”

“It’s still huge. You’d be surprised. It’s still happening, it’s just more difficult now. Then he was smuggling cigarettes into Bosnia from Montenegro. I was in Bosnia, about to go to the Central Africa”

“So, he is a smuggler?”

“Isn’t that what we need?”

“Can we trust him?”

“Enough”

“What does that mean?”

“I have more on him than he does on us, and he knows I’m willing to use it. Frankie’s involved and Sebastian’s involved. Gunner knows the lengths I’m willing to go to keep them safe”

“He’s not going to cross a line?”

“I doubt it”

“Okay”

“Why?”

“He seems a little creepy?”

“Have you been you been talking to Frankie?” she laughed

“One thing that Frankie will always worry about is your safety. Especially, after everything you two have been through. Sebastian seems to feel the same way”

“You’ve met him. What do you think?”

“I think he wants you”

“He can want me all he likes and give us a plane when we need it”

“Gabby”

She quickly looked over at him

“It’s going to be fine, Garcia. I promise. I can handle him”

There was so much more he wanted to say. So much that he wanted to ask but he knew it wasn’t his place.

So, he just kept on driving.

Once they had pulled up to the house she was climbing the front steps before she looked at her watch

“Crap. Crap,Crap. Crap!”

Santiago watched her confused as she raced up the stairs taking two at a time then disappearing.

“They have a date in an hour” Benny told him

“With Sebastian?”

“No, with The White Rabbit”

Santiago gave him an annoyed look and shook his head

“I hate that Gunner guy”

“I know” Frankie agreed

“He’s all handsy and in her space and she feed into it”

“Technically she is using him” Will told them “So that would make sense”

“What does he want out of it?” Frankie asked worry all too clear in his voice

“He didn’t say”

They all hoped that money was enough. She was right. How much money was enough

Forty-five minutes later Sabastian walked down the stairs in a suit, minus the tie. Slicked back hair and already for their night

“You guys going to be alright here for the night?”

“We’ll be alright” Will reassured him “We won’t burn the place down”

They all heard a pair of heels click down the stairs slowly, carefully before Sebastian offered her his steady hand.

All four of them gawked at her. She looked so different all dolled up. Hair curled, full face of make up, heels and a satin lavender dress which was backless, all but a flimsy satin ribbon barely but not even tying it all together.

She couldn’t believe that he had kept it all this time.

All her clothes were still here

Will looked at Santiago, then looked at his brother. Benny smirked and looked at Santiago’s expression of pure shock and awe.

“Are you guys going to be alright for a little while?”

“Don’t worry” Frankie told her, kissing her on the cheek

“Now” Will said to Sebastian “You have her home by eleven”

“Yes, Dad” she answered

They watched them walked out of the house. Arm in arm.

They got a full fifteen minutes into the evening before Santiago suggested they to were going out on the town for a drink.

They locked the front door behind them.

Santiago could still smell her perfume

It took them two hours and a few clubs till they found Gaby and Sebastian on the dance floor, lit up by lights.

It took three of the guys some time to find her but not Santiago. She hadn’t look so carefree since she landed. She was laughing and smiling.

She caught them by the corner of her eyes. It was actually hard to miss them. They all clearly came across as military. Something about their presence, their stance.

They weren’t fooling anyone.

It was kinda funny.

Sebastian and Gabby parted ways on the dance floor. He picked another partner up in five second because that’s the type of place it was and Gabby just walked up to her guys at the bar.

Frankie was getting distracted by the lights. Will was watching all the exits and Benny was chatting up a girl

Like she could expect anything else

“In all the clubs, in all the world” she teased Santiago “Coincidence?”

“Caracas is smaller than you think”

“It has over two million people”

“Well, that’s good since we’re trying to hide”

“Go buy a pretty girl a drink” she told him “Take her for a spin. You might like it”

She made her way back through the crowd and back on to the dance floor where she was going to stay for the rest of the night.

At least that was the plan

It was only few hours later, just when they were getting comfortable and dare, they say it, complacent in their surroundings.

When suddenly shots rang out at the front of the club and the place changed completely. The only calm people were standing at the bar. Will waved her over, Sebastian grabbed her and dragged her through the panicked crowd.

As her feet hit the street someone grabbed her free hand and dragged her in the other different direction.

“Garcia” she protested

“We’re going to spilt up. Will and Frankie are going to go with Sebastian. You’re coming with us”

“Why?” she asked looking at Sebastian

“Luna, go”

She stood there watching the three of them jog away

“Will” she called out

She didn’t finish the sentence, but Will heard it

My whole life is with you, protect them

“I know” he called back to her.

She swore under her breath and let Santiago drag her away down the street.

#frankie morales #romanticism #santiago garcia #triple frontier #will miller #benny miller #netflix #santiago garcia x oc #ben miller #charlie hunnam #pedro pascal #garrett hedlund #oscar isaac #the chain

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folkdances · 2 months ago

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I never told you about the day I met him. It was, say, the weirdest winter day and the snow was clinging to the corners of the buildings like a blanket in the morning, what a sight! And everyone was going around with the lapels of their coats flipped up, hats fit firmly over their heads. It was a workday and we were in the financial district, in this little cafe sequestered quietly in between old white-stoned facades. The smell of coffee hung in the air like a smog you could push through, like bead curtains.

A good day for first meetings. And he had the kind of face that made you think you’d like to get to know him, too. His teeth were the kind of straight and white that haunts those that come from money. He dazzled them at me while he shook my hand.

It was hard for me to talk, that first morning. It was only the second or third time I’d gone out after Francis had started school, my pillbug angel. I’d let a Klonopin dissolve on my tongue not too long ago and I was a glacier on it, every word surfacing already fully-made into my head out of a sea of sand. It bothered me to think on what she might think of me, six and already so sharp, and then there was me who chain smoked out the window and had gotten laid off again, this time from the local dep, a low I’d never expected even myself to reach.

But he made me forget all about it. His normalcy staggered me. He was so well-adjusted in his life that just being near him made me sit up a little straighter.

He went bad when we moved in together. There’s a certain kind of person that goes limp and flaccid when removed from the rigorous pace of society. He never drank, he barely ate, he gave Francis the cursory scrub on the head whenever she came before him. He called her tyke, whatcha doin’ there, tyke, like some bad mockery of what a father might have said in a movie. He spent his evenings in front of the television, still in his slacks, his shirt unbuttoned just enough that you could see the collar of his undershirt below. He didn’t watch hockey like Pierre had, and he didn’t watch reality like Mama did when she was over. Instead he watched the news, for hours; local, international, right and centre . Segment after segment: Sports, financial, breaking, exposés. He’d lean forward on the sofa, forearms planted on his knees. If I offered him a bite of a snack, he’d wave me away. Never cruelly; he was never cruel. But there was something hurtful about the dismissals nonetheless.

When it came around to bedtime, 10:30 PM sharp every day, 10:00 on Sundays (to give his week a fresh start, he said) he’d brush his teeth and comb his hair and shed his uniform. He’d stand before me in his undershirt and his boxers, resplendent, angelic, looking over me.

None of this was to say we never spoke. We spoke quite often, about trivial things, even. But the conversation that sticks out most to me now happened in the dead of winter, the same as the first we’d ever had. The lights were all off in the kitchen except for the flashlight of my phone. I was smoking. Francis had decided to go to bed without taking her glass of milk but she’d decided this after I’d already poured it, and I couldn’t stand thinking of it all alone in the fridge, so I was taking perfunctory sips at it, lips slathered in lipstick I’d stolen from the Shopper’s down the street.

He came in while I ogled the red mark on the rim of my glass, smudged but stark. I remembered Giulia who I’d gone to college with, because she’d said red was my colour once at a party. He was holding a letter, one of the letters I’d written for you but never posted. I watched them in his hand for a few moments and he watched me, both of us assessing.

“I think Francis must’ve put it in my briefcase,” he said finally.

“Okay,” I said.

“I’m not mad,” he said.

“Okay,” I said. Then I said this: “I make a bad whore.”

He slid the letter across the island to me. It shot through my light’s field of vision like an adder.

He said something else. I don’t remember what. The Klonopin blurred most of. But I remember the way he’d shrugged. I remember the way he slid a finger through his belt loop. He said: “Do you ever get so sad you can hardly walk?”

I took another drag. He twisted the finger in the loop once, twice.

When he realized I wasn’t going to say anything he said, “You can write to whoever you want. You don’t have to hide it. They said in the news that keeping secrets begets domestic violence. I’m not that kind of guy. I just mean, you don’t have to keep this one. That’s all.” And he lumbered off to the bedroom. I sipped contemplatively at my milk, studying his retreating form, the broadness of the his upper back and the acne scars that peeked out at me like stars while he slept.

#txt #my writing #something i’ve been working on slay or no slay

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the-crow-binary · 7 months ago

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Found a WIP in my phone and @beevean wanted me to post it, so 😔 Have it, I guess. 😔 (the context, if I remember correctly, is Mathias bathed Hector in holy water without his knowledge in order to keep Dracula from touching him again. It succeeded in hurting Dracula pretty badly, and Mathias ended up sent to the lowest cell of the Castle to be tortured. :) This is (part of) the aftermath ❤)

No major torture, but there is a little bit because Isaac is really unhappy.

"Aouch! Let go!"

"Will you stop struggling already!? Or do you want me to put the chains back on!?"

Mathias gritted his teeth at the devil forgemaster's grip on his wrists. His legs were too weak and injured to be of any use in his struggles, moving them even slightlt sent jolts of pain through his hips as well.

He froze, and the general waited a second before letting go of one of his wrists to focus back on the bandage he began to put around Mathias' throat. A fairy was working on healing his arms, it's tingling yet warm magic spreading it's curse inside every wound it could get it's little hands on. It could've been soothing, comparable to the touch of an angel... if he had not the knowledge that the little thing was of a much unholier nature.

Hector never would've done this. He would have healed him by classic, normal means all the way through, like he would have ask him. He would have been gentle and cautious, and certainly wouldn't have made the bandage around his throat so tight he struggled to breath.

"This doesn't please me more than it does you. After what you've done... Consider yourself lucky that Lord Dracula only asked me to heal you. Though he didn't say I had to be nice about it."

A knee pressed on his hip and Mathias let out a pained moan. He had no more wound there, but it was still sensitive to pressure.

"You filthy little rat," he spat with venom, "Unworthy of the title of Lord, undeserving of breathing the same air as us cursed creatures..."

"Are you done yet?" Mathias hissed, impressed with his own ability to keep his voice from wavering, "You made your hate for me pretty clear from the start. I am growing tired of your redundant insults."

"Oh, you poor little thing. I sure hate to be a bother to you, your highness..."

Mathias winced and clenched his lips as a thumb pressed against a fresh wound, slowly making it's way inside the flesh. No, he wasn't going to give that beast the pleasure of hearing him moan again, of seeing the pain decorating his face. He had endured much worse since he had been imprisoned... he knew how to handle it.

"Maybe it will make you think twice before trying to harm my real Lord again."

Mathias scoffed, and oh, how great it felt to see the general frown. With an annoyed click of his tongue, Isaac pulled his thumb out and let his fairy do it's work. The lord hoped his small sigh went unnoticed.

"Playing the brave one now, aren't we?"

"I am not interested in playing your games, that is all."

Now it was Isaac's time to scoff, as he brought his thumb to his lips, his eyes piercing through those of his prey. Mathias' stomach raised to his throat as he watched him lick the blood off his finger.

"You will find soon enough that you don't have a choice, Cronqvist."

#maac #yeah i tag their ship tag because they are being very them :)#castlevania #akumajou dracula #mathias cronqvist #vlad dracula tepes #more or less? at least in mention?#isaac laforeze #crow writes

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phoenixblack89 · 1 year ago

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Chapter 10 - The Secrets We Keep

Well its certainly been a hot minute since I posted a chapter. If ya follow me ten ya know that a unexpected, but otherwise welcome, pregnancy has taken up much of the past year. That whole shebang was very stressful which could b a whole episode of some soap opera with how certain members of my family went on about how I'd end up with post natal depression again and wouldn't cope with 2 kids etc. this person basically can go to hell...

Anyway that's taken up a lot of my energy and as ya can imagine i haven't had time to write or even read anything but I am finally in a place where I have the time, creativity and energy to write again and am already working on the next chapter of this so please keep ya eyes peeled.

As always - page breaker is by the awesome @firefly-graphics

TAG LIST: @lilythemadqueen @autocon23 @archerangel @littlegodzilla @pandora-writes-stuff @boondoctorwho @browneyes528 @darylsgirl @purple-serenity @fandomsaremykryponite

WARNINGS: Shane being a gaint tit, typical TWD gore, character death, foul language

Main Masterlist

SERIES MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Phoenix made her way to the camp fire as her stomach growled loudly. She knitted her eyebrows together in confusion as she saw Maggie shaking her head at Glenn from the porch of the farmhouse. She turned quickly to look his face as he received a nod from Dale. Glenn stood and walked to the centre of camp before he cleared his throat as everyone sat, gaining their attention.

"Erm.. Guys. So... Barn's full of walkers." His voice quivered out.

"Ya know how to fucking ruin the day before it's begun don't ya Glenn." She scoffed as everyone slowly stared at the Asian man in shock, as he shuffled nervously from foot to foot.

The group rushed towards the barn where Glenn said the walkers were. Growls and snarls could be faintly heard as the group gathered around the barn. Shane being curious, peered through the gaps in the slats into the dark building then startled back as one growled and lunged towards the smell of fresh meat. The walkers crashed against the door, making the chain rattle as the group took a step back in fright.

"You cannot tell me you're all right with this." He stated, shaking his head and pointing at the barn.

"No, I'm not, but we're guests here. This isn't our land." Rick counted in his soft southern tones.

"This is our lives!" Shane spat at his friend in anger.

"Lower your voice." Glenn hissed as the doors gave another shake.

"We can't just sweep this under the rug." Andrea sighed with a disappointing tone to her voice.

"I would hate to agree with blondie but... We can't stay with walkers under 100 feet away." Phoenix huffed, pointing at the barn before shrugging.

"It ain't right. Not remotely." T-Dog input quietly.

"Okay, we've either got to go in there, we've got to make things right or we've just got to go. Now we have been talking about Fort Benning for a long time."

"We can't go." Rick snapped at his friend.

"Why, Rick? Why?"

"Because my daughter is still out there." Carol said breathily, giving Shane a look of disgust at such a suggestion.

"Okay. Okay, I think it's time that we all start to just consider the other possibility." Shane laughed a little with a strange look in his eyes as he stared down the smaller woman.

"We're not leaving Sophia behind!"

"I'm close to finding this girl. I just found her damn doll two days ago!" Daryl growled out, getting angrier by the second as the loud mouth former police man spoke.

"You found her doll, Daryl. That's what you did. You found a doll." The man scoffed.

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"I'm just saying what needs to be said. You get a good lead, it's in the first 48 hours." He half whispered to his former colleague, making sure that everyone else could still hear him.

"Shane, stop."

"Ye being a dickhead Walsh." Phoenix growled, her hand going to her knife in anger.

"Let me tell you something else, man. If she was alive out there and saw you coming all methed out with your buck knife and geek ears around your neck, she would run in the other direction!" Shane snarled into Daryl's face with a look of sheer disgust on his face. Daryl shoved at Shane as his anger got the better of him, causing the group to begin to yell at each other.

"Back off!"

"Keep your hands off me." Shane hissed at Lori.

"Now just let me talk to Hershell. Let me figure it out." Rick yelled, trying to defuse the situation before it became a fist fight.

"What are you gonna figure out?!" Shane spat, gesturing to the barn in question.

"If we're gonna stay, if we're gonna clear this barn, I have to talk him into it. This is his land."

"Hershell sees those things in there as people... Sick people... His wife, his stepson." Dale spoke quietly, trying to get everyone to calm down.

"You knew?" Rick gasped at the eldest group member.

"Yesterday I talked to Hershell." Dale said calmly, glancing at the group.

"And you waited the night?"

"I thought we could survive one more night. We did. I was waiting till this morning to say something. But Glenn wanted to be the one." The older man reasoned quietly as Shane glared at him in shocked anger.

"The man is crazy, Rick, if Hershell thinks those things are alive or no -"

Phoenix scoffed at the noisy group before she walked around the side of the barn and looked up at the ladder.

A Hayloft?

She glanced back at the rest of the arguing group and made her mind up and picked the torch lying in the grass up before her feet and hands pulled her quickly upwards. The smell made her gag slightly as she nearer the edge of the loft and looked downwards. The groaning mass turned their attention to her, broken and bloodied hands reaching upwards. She flicked on the torch she had grabbed and spun it over the creatures.

"Oh shit." She gulped as she tried to do a head count. There was more than she expected there to be. How had they all gotten in here without people noticing?

Suddenly the beam of light landed on a smaller figure and her heart stopped.

"God no..."

She turned and scrambled out of the hayloft and away from the barn as quickly as she could. As she reached camp, she leaned against a tree with her good hand and threw up all she'd eaten the last few hours. Her stomach feeling twisted and her heart completely shattered.

It had to be her eyes playing tricks. It couldn't be her! It couldn't! Daryl had just found her doll two days ago! She wasn't in the fucking barn! She was simply lost out in the woods.

No one noticed her throwing up or the tears streaming down her face. She fell to her knees gripping her hair tightly as she sobbed. Her rosaries fell from her shirt and she clutched them tightly in her fist.

T-Dog was the first to notice the girl, who seemed to be in some distress. He nodded to Daryl and pointed to her. Daryl frowned and shrugged, he still felt guilty and was avoiding her. The most contact between them being when he had dragged her to Hershell. He shook his head at T-Dog and made his way to the house.

Carl stood and frowned in confusion at Phoenix as she slowly stood.

"What's wrong with you?" He asked curiously. She glanced down at him and walked away. Her hands itched, she needed to end the poor child's suffering for her mother's sake and the group's. It would destroy Hershell's trust in the group but to hell with that. Living with walkers less than 100 feet of them.

That wasn't going to fly.

"Maggie. Hey, Maggie, just talk to me. Hey. Maggie." Glenn panted as he rushed after the girl, who finally paused and turned towards him.

"Give me your hat." She held her hand out to him. "You said talk to you, I'm talking to you - Give me your hat." Maggie said quietly as Glenn handed her his hat before taking one of the eggs in the basket and placing it into the hat. Glenn looked puzzled for a moment before Maggie forcibly pushed the egg filled hat onto his ebony locks, the broken egg running down his face.

"Why would you waste an egg like that?" He gasped flicking egg off his forehead.

"I think it was rotten." Maggie snapped as she walked away.

"Egg is good for ya hair Glenn. At least you'll have the best hair around here for a while." Phoenix chuckled as she glanced over her shoulder, continuing her way towards the farmhouse before spotting Carol sneaking around near the stables and heading, out of sheer curiosity, in that direction instead.

"You can't!" Phoenix heard Carol call out as she peered round the stable door.

"I'm fine." Daryl puffed out as he lifted a saddle down off the rack.

"Hershell said you need to heal."

"Yeah, I don't care."

"Well, I do. Phoenix does too." Daryl's eyes flicked to the red head at the stable door before focusing back on the saddle. "Rick's going out later to follow the trail."

"Yeah well, I ain't gonna sit around and do nothing. Besides Rick can't track for shit."

"Seriously Dixon?! You that pig headed that ye can't see ye need t' heal!? Ye really think I'd let Rick go out without me?" Phoenix snapped, her accent changing to a slight Irish lilt, as she entered fully, standing behind Carol and giving him a look.

"Now ya talkin' t'me? Huh?" He spat in her direction before scoffing. "Mind ya own fucking business!"

"No, you're gonna go out there and get yourself hurt even worse! We don't know if we're gonna find her, Daryl." Daryl paused and glanced at the grey-haired woman in shock. He couldn't believe he was hearing this from her mouth. "We don't. I don't."

"What?"

"Carol....." Phoenix breathed in disbelief before glancing at Daryl.

"Can't lose you too."

Daryl threw the saddle in anger before clutching his side groaning. Carol rushed to his side and reached out to help but was brushed off. "Are you all right?"

"Just leave me be. Stupid bitch." He growled harshly as he limped away. Phoenix wrapped her arm around Carol's shoulders and smiled weakly.

"He's just sore and upset Carol like a bear with a hangover. Just ignore him."

"I know. Just wish he understood...." Carol said quietly, slipping out of the embrace and leaving the Brit to stand in the empty stable with her thoughts.

"Come on in."

"A little light reading for lunch?" Rick asked, glancing at the bible beside the vet's plate.

"Been working so hard lately I get my study in where I can." Hershell sighed, placing a bookmark into the holy book before gently setting it down on the table beside his plate.

"You know we can help you out with your work."

"It's my field to tend." Hershell said quietly.

"We found the barn."

"Leave it be." Hershell said, his eyes not leaving the page.

"Well, I'd like to talk about it, but either way... your barn, your farm, your say."

"I don't want to talk about the barn. I don't want to debate." The man said finally looking up at Rick.

"Not a debate, a discussion." Rick reasoned quietly.

"I need you and your group gone by the end of the week."

Rick sighed heavily.

"I talked to Dale. You and I have our differences with the way we look at the walkers. Those people, they may be dead, they may be alive. But my people, us, we are alive right now, right here, right in front of you. You send us out there and that could change."

"I've given you safe harbor. My conscience is clear."

"This farm..." Rick pleaded as he sat down. "This farm is special. You've been shielded from what's been going on out there. Dale said you saw everything happen on the news. Well, it's been... It's been a long time since the cameras stopped rolling." Hershell stood and walked away and Rick rushed after him to continue his plea.

"The first time I saw a walker it was just half a body snapping at me from the ground. My inclination wasn't to kill it. But what the world is out there isn't what you saw on TV. It is much much worse and it changes you. Either into one of them or something a lot less than the person you were. Please do not... do not send us out there again."

"My wife's pregnant."

Hershell turned away from the window to look at Rick in shock. "That's either a gift here or a death sentence out there. If we were to stay we could help you with the work, with securing this place. We can survive together."

"Rick, I'm telling you we can't."

"You think about what you're doing."

"I've thought about it." Hershell yelled.

"Think about it."

"I've thought about it."

"Think about it again. We can't go out there." Rick said as he left the building. Hershell glanced up at Maggie, who turned away from her father.

"He's right ya know." Phoenix sighed, stepping round the doorframe.

"Miss Black. What do I owe the pleasure?" Hershell said quietly, standing and entering the kitchen. Phoenix followed slowly and looked at the old vet in quiet confusion. "Ah... The same as Rick no doubt."

"There's a great deal of shit I've done in the past. You and I both know it. But this...." She scoffed, following as the man left the building. "Why keep it secret? Ya could've told us from the get go"

"We all keep secrets do we not? You have yours.... You have them to keep you safe... From your group... from Rick and Shane... I did the same."

"Mr Greene we ain't gonna go in there guns akimbo! This is your land and we'd of respected your decision." She spoke quietly, figuring that yelling would do no good.

"Not all of you..." The girl nodded and sighed. "You are a woman of faith. I believe those people are sick and that God will deliver them into health again. Have you lost your faith? Do you not have any hope left at seeing the men you wish again?"

"Faith is a fragile thing these days..."

"My offer still stands, regardless of whether your group finds out your secret. This isn't up for discussion anymore. This is my land. Its been in my family for generations."

"Mr Greene.... There are dead men walking in your barn. And one way or another... This fucking shit is gonna end real badly."

"The same will happen if your group find out your secret. I'm asking you not to act so I don't have to Amelia..." Hershell said quietly, raising himself to his full height and staring the girl down.

"If that is a threat, think about your decision sir. Some things need to stay in the dark..." She said quietly before turning away.

"And some find glory in the light." Hershell said after her, returning to his work. Phoenix bowed her head and walked off slowly towards camp.

Neither noticed a figure step out of the shadows and fold their arms, shocked and a little confused about what they had just heard.

"You're a complete bastard ya know that right?"

Daryl glanced up at the feisty girl in front of him and scoffed. "Don't ignore me arsehole. I'll put ya on ya back and beat some sense into ya."

"Yea, like to see ya try. Better yet, fuck off away from me." He growled deeply, his eyes daring her to even lay a single finger on him.

"Dixon.... What you said to Carol was outta line! When someone is loosing hope like that... You're supposed to make them find it again. Not blow up at them and hurt yaself!"

"She's given up... Ain't nothin' gonna change her mind now." He sighed defeatedly. Phoenix crouched down in front of him and lifted his chin to look at her, ignoring his flinch. She smiled sadly at him before nodding slightly.

"Then maybe... Its up to you to find something to give her that hope again. Anything to give her that little glimmer of light in the dark." Her eyes flicked down at the dried flower near his feet before patting his knee and walking away.

Daryl stood and sighed, watching as she walked towards Beth, who nodded eagerly at her.

"Go get your cap. I'll wash it for you, okay?" Maggie said as she pulled dales hat off his head.

"Do you know what's going on?" T-Dog asked as he walked up to the porch.

"Where is everyone?" Andrea questioned as she walked beside T-Dog.

"You haven't seen Rick?" Glenn asked the pair.

"He went off with Hershel. We were supposed to leave a couple hours ago." Andrea replied softly.

"Yeah you were. What the hell?" Daryl said as he and Carol joined the group around the farm house stoop.

"Rick told us he was going out." Carol puffed quietly, slightly out of breath from trying to keep up with Daryl's long strides.

"Dammit. Ain't anybody taking this seriously? We got us a damn trail." Daryl snapped, waving his arm in the direction of where he'd found the doll a few days ago. "Oh, here we go."

Daryl walked up to Shane as the man walked towards the collective members of the group with the gun bat slung over his right shoulder. "What's all this?"

"You with me, man?" Shane asked, holding out a shot gun to the redneck. "Phoenix?"

"Yeah." Daryl replied, glancing at the Brit as she takes a gun out from the waistband of her pants and twirling it around her finger, as he took the offered shotgun. Shane nodded before turning to the rest of the group.

"Ya had that all this time?" Daryl asked, cocking his head at the girl, who smirks in reply.

"Time to grow up. You already got yours?" Shane said to Andrea over his shoulder as he passed by her.

"Yeah." She said back quickly "Where's Dale?"

"He's on his way."

"Thought we couldn't carry." T-Dog said confused as a handgun was placed into his palm.

"We can and we have to. Look, it was one thing sitting around here picking daisies when we thought this place was supposed to be safe. But now we know it ain't." Shane said pacing in front of the stunned group before turning to Glenn. "How about you, man? You gonna protect yours?" Glenn glanced at Maggie before taking the shotgun from Shane.

"That's it. Can you shoot?" Shane questioned the elder farmer's daughter.

"Can you stop? You do this, you hand out these gun, my dad will make you leave tonight." Maggie snapped, glaring at the angry man.

"We have to stay, Shane." Carl spoke up as he walked towards his angry uncle.

"What is this?" Lori queried as she exited the house and stomped towards the group.

"We ain't going anywhere, okay? Now look, Hershell, he's just gotta understand. Okay? He... Well, he's gonna have to. Now we need to find Sophia. Am I right?" Shane whispered as he kneeled down in front of Carl.

"Huh? Now I want you to take this. You take it, Carl, and you keep your mother safe. You do whatever it takes. You know how. Go on, take the gun and do it."

Lori pushed Carl behind her quickly and snarled down at the man for daring to drag her son into the madness.

"Rick said no guns. This is not your call. This is not your decision to make."

"Oh shit." T-Dog exclaimed, his gaze drawn to the edge of the forest and the sight of Jimmy taunting a walker being controlled by a leash. The group all turned and gasped.

"What is that? What is that?" Shane panted as he took off running towards the trio with walkers on poles got closer to the barn.

"Shane!" Lori yelled after him as she and the rest of the group followed him.

"What the hell are you doing?" He yelled bursting though the rusted gate.

"Shane, just back off." Rick yelled as he corralled the walker he was controlling away from Jimmy.

"Why do your people have guns?" Hershell snapped, his glare going to the Brit, who lowered her guns and slipped them back into their place.

"Are you kidding me? You see? You see what they're holding onto?" Shane gestured towards the walkers in disgust.

"I see who I'm holding onto." Hershell stated, his face a stony mask.

"No, man, you don't." Shane growled angrily, dodging the walkers outreaching fingers as Jimmy ducked away from the others.

"Shane, just let us do this and then we can talk."

"What you want to talk about, Rick? These things ain't sick! They're not people! They're dead! Ain't gonna feel nothing for them 'cause all they do, they kill! These things right here, they're the things that killed Amy. They killed Otis! They're gonna kill all of us!"

"Shane, shut up!" Rick yelled over the growls and hisses.

"Hey, Hershell man, let me ask you something." He asked as he pulled his gun from his waistband and checked the chamber. "Could a living breathing person, could they walk away from this?" Shane hissed before shooting the walker in the stomach. Phoenix flinched at the noise and glanced at the rattling chain as Shane pumped 3 shots into the chest of the walker.

"No! Stop it!" Rick snapped as he grit his teeth.

"That's three rounds in the chest! Could someone who's alive, could they just take that?! Why is it still coming?" The angry man shot again and again.

"That's its heart, its lungs. Why is it still coming?" Shane shot another round from his clip into the walker.

"Shane, enough."

"Yeah, you're right, man. That is enough." Shane took the final shot and ended the walker, Hershell dropped the leash and paled. "Enough risking our lives for a little girl who's gone!" Phoenix glanced away from the barn at Shane's words, causing T-Dog to give her a questioning look.

"Enough living next to a barn full of things that are trying to kill us!"

"Enough!" Rick snarled, his grip on the catch pole sliding slightly.

"Rick, it ain't like it was before! Now if y'all want to live, if you want to survive, you got to fight for it! I'm talking about fighting right here, right now."

Shane smashed open the barn doors and backed off quickly as a group of the undead stumbled out.

"Take the snare pole. Hershell, take the snare pole. Hershell, listen to me, man, please. Take it now. Hershell! Take it!" Rick pleaded as Hershell stared at the guns pointed towards his friends and family.

"No, Shane. Do not do this, brother."

"Wait! Don't do it!" Glenn yelled.

"Rick!" Lori shrieked.

"Please!"

Shane ignored everyone's yelling and broke the lock on the doors with a pick axe before throwing them open.

"Come on. Come on, we're out here." Shane taunted, backing away slowly from the barn doors.

"This is not the way!"

"Please!" Beth cried out as Patricia wrapped her arms around the girl.

"Get behind me." Lori whispered, shoving Carl behind her and trying to shield him.

"Come on."

The walkers scrambled and growled towards the group. Phoenix bowed her head as Daryl gave her a glance before raising his gun and taking aim. Tears fell silently down her cheeks as she knew what was about to happen.

Something she could have warned the group about.

"Maggie." Glenn whispered to the young woman, who was clutching her stunned father as tears flowed down her face too.

"It's okay." Maggie whispered and nodded at Glenn who raised his own shotgun.

"Stay back!" Rick yelled over the shots as Lori pulled Carl to the ground and hugged him tightly.

The group panted as the barn doors slowly creaked and a lone figure appeared, blinking at the sudden change in lighting.

"Sophia?" Carol sobbed, rushing towards the barn to her daughter before Daryl grabbed hold of her around the waist as she collapsed to the ground. "Sophia! Oh no. Sophia. Sophia. No!"

Lori grabbed onto Carl and pulled him tighter against her as her heart broke for the other mother of the group. Carl sobbed as he stared at his friend's corpse stumbled towards the group. Rick pulled his gun out slowly and aimed at the little girl's head. Silence over took the land as a single shit was heard.

"Don't watch." Daryl whispered to Carol as she sobbed.

"Sophia!" Carol wailed as Phoenix turned and ran before her body had even hit the ground.

#phoenixbwrites #fera ingris #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd fanfiction #twd daryl #twd #walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fanfic #walking saints #daryl x oc #daryl x phoenix #the walking dead daryl #boondock saints fanfiction #connor macmanus #boondock saints fanfic #walking saints fanfic #twd x bds

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fivekrystalpetals · 2 years ago

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So freaking this happened and

me immediately: his waist looks real huggable

*ahem* me: I was scared for no reason ofc they'd have a plan!

also me:

do you know how long I waited for an actual fight scene for Break??? It's been said several times that he is the strongest and best swordsman in the Pandora yet we have only two or three fights: one, with Cheshire which is overruled bc Cheshire was a chain and no match up against Break's Mad Hatter anyway,, and two, against Fang which lasted for too little and gave me more heart attacks bc idk which one of them is gonna die I couldn't even enjoy it properly but here..... I know he isn't gonna die bc Sharon and Shirley are here as his lucky charms so!!!! I am here with popcorn and screaming you go Break!!!!

(I am gonna put up the whole of Retrace 86/87 here and nobody can stop me)

So, I got my answer to the origins of the Mad Hatter. I assumed this might be the case, but the dimension was breaking apart while she was stating her wish so.... I didn't think it likely that she could have provided him with a chain at a time like that. Also, to think she gave him a 'destroying' chain to destroy herself, who is a creature of the Abyss </3

Shelley was such a sweet person (no, to be honest, all of the Rainsworth ladies are genuinely so sweet and caring,, I am sorry I had placed you ladies on my list of suspects as well in the beginning)

I wish we could have seen more of her, she must have made quite an impression on Break if it's her name he utters in a fatal situation;-;

Break, put this baby Sharon in your pocket for good luck :)

And now onto what I had been waiting all along--

--watching Break go all BAMF mode fjskjgkslla;me chanting: iwantthisanimatediwantthisanimatediwantthisanimatEDhfjsgjksl PLEASE I WANT THIS ANIMATED :(((

HE IS SO FAST OMG LOOK AT ALL THOSE ACTION LINES AJJGSKL

ok this was ruthlessly hot of him, he just chopped off a guy's head just like that not even bothering to look back at him ;-;

realizing how dangerous Break can get in situations like this-- he goes full Kevin Legnard mode

also this panel of Break is 🔥

hehehehe including my ship here because yay!! they are trying to kill each other!!! yay!!!!

the problem with shipping enemies-to-lovers is precisely this:

you are cheering for both sides of the conflict yet want neither one to die yet want both of them to win yet you know it's impossible and one is gonna die unless they ally for some reason but no reason exists and neither one relents yet--

in any case, can we talk about how smart Lottie is? (I had to go back and add this to my Lottie appreciation post because I was so impressed lol)

Had it not been for Shirley, Break might have lost here, died even,, because what she says is right. He is fighting but he has not at all healed from his previous injuries from his unnecessary fight against Fang (which, thanks to Vincent, got aggravated, seriously what's the sewer rat's problem?!),, so he is fighting for and with his life. Using his chain only adds to burden that his body can't take. lol, and so what a simple logic she uses-- just stay away from him by a certain distance, out of Mad Hatter's range and don't throw your chains against it either. He would self-destruct by himself ;-; (Break looks so annoyed here, he must have realized that her logic would work.)

Now...... I understand why everyone calls her the scariest lady in the Pandora omg the dangerous look in her eye (she has grown into a sort of mature beauty now compared to her young, childish and fresh beauty back then lol);

also, I love how his family doesn't treat his increasing disability as a handicap instead try to make use of whatever resource they have at hand to aid him regardless

He really killed all the Baskervilles except for Lottie, Lily and Doug who have Endgame-Stop-Glen-sama-Plot-Armor ig? (or...... no ha not possible right? I am getting too delululu and no I won't elaborate lol) poor those new Baskervilles,, they were only brought to be cannon fodder for Break's badass fight scene lmao

and then, we get Echo/Zwei appearing on scene with Ada as hostage and more at 10--

but I do have a complaint: I feel like Break knew/realized that Echo was Zwei? Had he let Oz and co. know of his suspicions at least (the way he did for Vincent) Uncle Oscar could have been alive....... ;-; or maybe, it's just my delusions ;-; Uncle Oscar should have been alive,, he should have the chance to be with the kids at the end ;-; at least he got to let Oz know his heartfelt wish and passed with a smile on his face so..... that's something? 😭😭

#pandora hearts #retrace lxxxvi #retrace lxxxvii #xerxes break #shelley rainsworth #shirley rainsworth #may-reads-ph #also slight #lottie x break #bc it's my super self-indulgent enemies to lovers ship >.<#yes this is partly no completely about break #i am not even sorry or ashamed #my break thirst was quenched with this chapter XD

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pysoch · 1 year ago

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hey chat do y'all ever feel like posting angst that didn't make the cut into your book?

Here's a chapter I had to yank from Scarlet Fever because I realized it revealed too much about the character, but I'm proud of how it turned out. It's short because it didn't take me too long in a re-read to realize I couldn't really let this go out without the precursor, and it's far too much to ingest in one chapter. While not a spoiler (removed names, places, events, etc), you might understand metaphors or phrases in future chapters a lot quicker/easier! Person who guesses which character this is gets a gold star I think!

Quick head of warning, this was written on a particularly rough day. Some of this had heavy topics which I censored due to both Tumblr's lack of warning and censorship, and instead is replaced by terms one might think is immature. Please respect the writing decision as I don't feel comfortable letting terms I used in vulgarity out on a public platform.

Enjoy, huge TW for angst and pain

============

I hate how humans always desire what they can't have because it's starting to drive me insane. I'm in a constant climb to reach something that at the last moment is pummeled to ash and leaving me a dark husk who steps down from the rocky wall I scaled, shifting to the next.

My feet bleed, my hands have fresh calluses, I'm congested in one nostril, and sand keeps falling into my eyes. I have no harness so I fall and hit my spine against the cold earth as the wind is knocked out of me. Instead of resting against a stone, or giving up entirely, I force myself to my feet and grasp the jutting slab to force myself upwards and shakily plant my heel on the one below me. It slips, and I face a moment where my cheek is grazed by the cliff's nails and gifts me a ruby-colored gash.

After the sun beats on my skin another two hours, three days, four weeks, five months, or six years, I hoist my leg to the edge and see the chalice holding water I've been beating myself to drink for however long my spirit can hold it. That length is forever. I am incapable of giving in or letting the scurrying memories of the only people important to me bear on my back. It's been nearly four years since I've smiled at something without having to make my muscles tense up and provide the correct response to social charades.

When I reach my dirty hands out to the silver cup embezzled with welcoming designs and handles to make it easy I hold it to my lips and, in the definition of insanity, expect a different outcome from the previous hundred attempts to hydrate the ever-longing thirst. When it touches my lips, I can hear the small ripples of the sweet liquid inside it splash against the sides as it shifts position before placing itself inside my mouth. Like a magical transformation, or metamorphosis going backwards, its angelic taste and promises catches a glimpse of what disgusting demon is chaining it to a slaved task of providing comfort, and shifts into coarse miniscule stones that crunch to settle between the cracks of my teeth and open wounds from my dry tongue.

I place the cup down and let the mix fall out of my mouth and sift through my fingers into a small pile below my knees and above my courage. Jumping down would kill me and provide what I've been striving for, but it's a fool who throws his life to his God's feet and begs a reason. So I tug myself up and forward, brushing off soot to act like I'm alive once again.

This next wall provides a change. The portion of my life where for even a half second, I had a harness holding me. Five minutes given to me where I was secure and wouldn't have another welt on my skin from toppling. When I inevitably failed and hastily accepted anger flooding into my fall, I wouldn't hit the rocks and instead would feel air flow through my thighs in a tight squeeze of leather as I started back again from where I had made a mistake. Belaying me is a hazel-eyed girl with dark hair that matched. Nothing else on her face was made out of hazy shapes, but I could clearly see the fingers that shook a vibrant purple trying to carry my weight. The only time in nearly twenty years I truly had a sense of security who I knew would be there, holding the rope. She was beside my routine for several lapsed moments.

It was the seven-hundredth and eighty-first wall (the sixty-second I had done with her) when I felt a sudden slack in my rope. I had a wavered sense and looked back. Instead of the snaking coil beneath her ankle as she fed the thick cord through her thumb and index, beside her was her own arm; outstretched and holding it loosely. I tilted my head to see a sheen across her cheeks in small lines as her other hand outstretched towards me. I grasped it and tugged her closer towards me to be met with a halting squeeze. She returned my favor, and I hit the wall again, hardly feeling my fingertips as they caught any edge they could. I released her. She gave me a long look that nearly put me to the bottom, before my mind filled with the silver chalice and instinct for survival. I turned back, another palm to stone and heel to sleet. When checking my rope, it was instead drooping beside my waist instead of hanging up and through the iron hold. The snug feeling of fabric against my waist slowly lightened, the rope I felt for dropping down. The thuds of mass hitting the ground never rang through my ears. A harsh tingle shook me as the tight woven threads against my hands were replaced with a small hold of sand. It fell to join it's family. To my side, in a direction backwards from me, the silhouette of a woman who knew every humiliation in my past, each blotch hiding from my persona, and inch of my skin sunk to a trembling air. As I recall the blurred visions we shared, I see flashes of purple against her pale complexion and black sagging beneath her eyes. The more she hoisted me, the harder it was for her body that strained and gave in to keep up. After watching me fall, get back up, and fail only to pursue the next for those several hours together, it only occured to me recently that perhaps she wasn't trying to join me, but allow me the option to join her. My pursuit of an empty dream was hurting her just the same as me, and repeating the cycle would've lead us both to our deaths. Her wisdom hid from me at the time, until she was a faint memory. Only then could I put the pieces together that I dropped to the ground and stared off where she had gone to for quite some time. I never saw her again.

Each climb was harder due to the obvious lack of my support from below, but even as another gash formed on my frail flesh, I couldn't even see the goal of the chalice. It had struck me that perhaps at the top I begged a different prize. I longed for the safety she gave me even if what I did caused the bridge in our relationship to burn and spin the ashes into mourning piles. It had invaded my thoughts so harshly that when I reached the top once more, I sat and stared off to ponder. Perhaps I forgot my life before I started this never-ending crescendo upwards. It seemed from birth I'd been placed in front of towers and expected to climb. What other thing in life could there be? Yet there was always her. Not another "option", but as the one that holds you even if it kills them. I missed love. I miss loving. I longed for looking back at her narrow eyes and perfect hair cascading in sweet strands over her shoulder. I desire to give the same safety to someone that I have received, despite the inevitable fact I'd given it away merely days prior. I wish to give that gift. Love. It consumed me so much that my tongue could hardly process the chalice reaching my jaw and distributing sweet nectar that stayed liquid down my throat, until the never-ending drought in my insides vanished in quenched ice.

I tossed it and swiped at the now non-existent sand like usually residing below the cup, greeted with air and a slight swoosh noise. When I leaped down and headed to the next, I looked at my hands that seemed to be tougher. The fresh wounds into white calluses, and cuts scabbed over in a pale sheet of new skin. They were rejuvenated, and I was made half again. When I put my toes onto the rock and reached my sore muscles towards a higher grip, I pushed off in a leap to the next solid area for my feet. The heat backed over me, and I glanced upwards at the glorious sun challenging my perseverance and heart for another day. Its glorious entrance was interrupted by a pitch shadow, standing in front of it almost as a mockery. I looked into its face, seeing what had shown its appearance over the edge from the very top. Hazel eyes stared me back."

#team fortress 2 #team fortress two #teamfortress #tf2 #headcanons #original story #writing #long reads #au #alternate universe

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