#is this a ficlet though idk

[emily-mooon]

I have this headcanon for how Jonathan got into the music he currently listens to and it’s low key wholesome.

I like to think that Hawkins has a local vinyl store that’s family owned. It’s mostly run by a dad and on weekends his teenage son helps out.

In 1979, Jonathan goes there to buy a new vinyl of whatever shit music his so called father listens to after Will scratched it. When he walks in, he hears this dark drawling sound coming from the speakers and immediately he is drawn to it.

The son of the owner takes notice of how intrigued Jonathan is with the music that he put on and decides that when he comes to the counter, he’ll tell them who it is.

When Jonathan does come, the owners son tells him that the bands name is Joy Division and hands him their album, Unknown Pleasures, on vinyl.

Jonathan, while happy that someone noticed his interest, explains to him that he doesn’t have his own record player. The owners son then asks if he has a cassette player and headphones to which he nods. He is then handed the cassette version of the it.

After that day, Jonathan became a regular visitor of the little shop and was introduced to many more bands that would shape him.

[setmeatopthepyre]

Pole [@118dailydrabble day 10] [bucktommy | 118 words]

so @sugarpenchant sent me this post and said "there's a bucktommy au in this somewhere I'm sure of it" and then we got to chatting about post-breakup tommy deciding to straight up run to the ends of the earth to distance himself, and, well...

-

It starts as a joke, is the thing.

More accurately, it starts with Lucy dragging him to a cocktail bar, and Tommy moping into his third Sidecar (“Please tell me that's some sort of gay army euphemism”) while he contemplates, for the millionth time, calling Evan.

“So.” Lucy covers his phone with a menu. “Holiday plans?”

“Does researching 'most remote places on earth to wallow' count?”

She sips her Old Fashioned thoughtfully. “Well, if you really wanna get out of cell range, my buddy says they always need pilots in Antarctica.”

It's a joke. No one spontaneously decides to spend the holidays at the South pole.

Two weeks later, his paperwork is filed and he's on his way.

[gayeddie-saved-me]

it’s a selfish thought and arthur knows it because merlin has spent so much time hiding a vital part of his existence, his very being, all because of arthur. so he presses it down into the deepest recesses of himself and focuses on doing everything he can to support merlin, to give merlin the world he deserves. a world where he is free.

but sometimes, when he’s alone in his room surrounded by his endless responsibilities, he will think to himself, i am nothing.

merlin and the old religion hold him as this once and future king, but no matter what they say, he can’t understand why they think any of this is about him. it was never him. everything he’d done, every accomplishment and fight he’d won had never been his to claim. he was a fraud. he was a lonely king with nothing to his name beyond the blood on his hands, the blood staining his every crevice.

he isn’t the once and future king. he doesn’t deserve any of the praise. he is the moon, a piece of rock in the sky that shines only because of the sun. without the sun, the moon is worthless. without the sun, no one would have ever looked at the moon twice.

arthur had never been proud of his mistakes and his inaction when it came to his father’s slaughter, but he had been proud of the things he had done to keep his kingdom and his people safe and healthy and happy. he has fought and fought and fought only to discover he had never even landed a punch. every knockout, every victory he had held up to hide the ugly nothingness of his true, empty self was never his to hold. with the discovery of merlin’s magic, any worthiness he thought he’d earned had slipped through his fingers like sand through a sieve.

merlin is beautiful and powerful. merlin is a god amongst men, a gift given to this world, given to arthur, and for what?

this prophecy for arthur was always about merlin. he carried the weight, he fought and fought and fought and he won, merlin was the one who had carried this kingdom on his back until they reached the safety of the golden era of the current day.

it’s a selfish thought, to be thinking of himself in relation to merlin’s magic when merlin has suffered every single day because of arthur. and yet, in those moments, he can’t help but wonder why he was born at all, why he was named savior of a group of people who would’ve never died if only he had stayed unmade, a whisper of nothingness in his mother’s womb.

his first breath caused a massacre, a genocide, and yet he was given an angel and a title and a prophecy of greatness he could never actually fulfill.

he would never tell merlin about these thoughts he had. merlin would end up feeling guilty somehow, would carry the weight of arthur’s worthlessness even more by taking on the deserved revulsion arthur had for himself.

no, he couldn’t tell merlin about this. merlin would tell him he was wrong, would try to talk him up and fix it. would use that endless kindness to tell arthur endless stories about his own importance. merlin would shine his sunshine on arthur until arthur forgot he was just a lump of rock. he wouldn’t rest until arthur loved himself, until arthur took all the credit for merlin’s own accomplishments again.

no, he would keep this to himself. he would give merlin the attention and love he deserves. this story isn’t actually about arthur pendragon. it never was.

[jessicas-pi]

The only sign of trouble Sabine had was some shouting from an alleyway before she was nearly knocked flat onto the pavement by a pair of boys rushing out into the street.

She'd managed a daring escape from her governess and had been hustling along, head whirling in thought, eager to get to the small coffee-house where her friends were meeting, when this near-collision happened. She staggered backwards, crashing back into a gentleman who caught her by her arms, steadying her, and then turned to berate the fleeting boys for knocking into a lady.

She stepped away from him, towards the alley, intrigued by what they might be running from, and found nothing in the alley but filth and a heap of rags. 

Then, the heap of rags moved.

Gradually, it formed itself into the shape of a ragged boy who had been curled into a ball, seemingly protecting something. He muttered words that would probably have been very foul, if they had been intelligible, and looked around, first down the far end of the alley, and then towards her.

His gaze lit upon her and froze.

She stared right back at him.

His face was smeared with blood.

It dribbled from a cut on his forehead and dripped from his nose. He really looked awful, and she only wondered for a moment why before her blood surged in anger. Those boys must have given him a sound beating.

Sabine stepped forwards, treading lightly through the grimy alley, and crouched down in front of him. She pulled out her handkerchief, offering it to him wordlessly.

He stared at her with wide eyes for a few seconds longer. It was a reaction she was rather used to. She knew she didn't look like most English girls—and not in a way that won her an abundance of admirers.

Except, she realized, as he continued to gaze at her in something that might have even been awe, maybe this time, it just did.

She couldn't say she wasn't flattered, but the staring was getting a little old.

"You're bleeding," she reminded him, holding the handkerchief out to him.

"I'm... Ezra..." he replied, the corner of his mouth twitching up towards a boyish grin. His accent was pronounced, and slightly nasal.

She raised an eyebrow, handkerchief still held out to him.

"I—I sell papers," he stammered, still staring at her. "Those boys—they wanted the money I made, but they didn't get it."

She waved the handkerchief at him a little.

"It's not much," he continued. "But—by gee, I held onto it."

She rolled her eyes and smacked the handkerchief against his red-smeared mouth, stopping up the blood.

"You're a bloody American," she observed with some amusement. "Aren't you?"

If possible, his eyes got wider. He likely wasn't used to high-class ladies using low language. If that was the case, then he ought to meet her friends. They'd give him a shock.

"Well—I guess I am American, and bloody, too." He laughed bewilderedly as he reached up, his fingers brushing against hers as he took the handkerchief from her. He lifted the handkerchief away from his face, glancing at it and then pressing it back to his face. "Golly, I hope you didn't do all this fancy stitching on your own, 'cause it's getting a bang-up dye job right now."

"I didn't—and you can keep it. I don't think I want it back anymore."

The boy looked at her with something like awe. "Gee. Thanks, miss."

She giggled, standing up and offering him her hand. He stood up without taking it, mumbling that he didn't want to get dirt on her nice gloves. 

He was a funny boy, and if she'd had time, she might have talked to him more, but Sabine was on a tight schedule. As it was, she would only have a chance to stop into the coffee-house for a moment to hear the news from Leia and Jyn.

"I must be going now," she said, nodding her head to him as she stepped backwards. "Stay out of trouble, now, paper-boy."

He blinked at her.

"But I—" he stammered. "I don't—know—your name?"

She grinned. If he didn’t know who she was, she wasn’t going to tell him.

"You've got my monogram,” she said, gesturing to the handkerchief as she skipped backwards. “Figure it out!"

Sabine turned, darting across the street. If she hurried, she would get to the coffee-house before Leia finished expressing her opinion of members of Parliament, and those were always worth hearing.

When she reached the other side, she glanced backwards. The boy was standing at the opening of the alley, the handkerchief clutched in his hand as he stared at her. When he saw her looking back, he raised his other hand and gave her a little shy wave.

Sabine grinned and waved back, momentarily caught up by a rash impulse to dash back across the street and invite him along. Americans were rather revolutionary, weren't they? He'd get along well with the girls.

And the girls would be absolutely delighted to learn about my trans-Atlantic admirer, she added mentally. Leia could be a merciless tease when she felt like it, and Jyn would probably jump at the chance for a bit of revenge over Sabine's delighted reaction to meeting her friend.

No... she'd better not risk it.

Shame, though. She rather thought she'd have liked to see more of that boy.

[fizzigigsimmer]

Christmas is dom Billy season. 😉

[shessoft]

okay so i have a jeep wrangler right and its a thing among each other to wave when we pass by it's literally called the Jeep Wave and in the beginning i was like 'this is culty' and people make having a jeep their entire personality which is still true but honestly when i don't get a wave back i'm like 'well excuse tf outta me then'

Also duck duck jeep guys it’s a whole little culture it’s wild

anyway Regina George (2024) drives a jeep wrangler...(I linked pictures so you can get the whole vibe)

And when she first gets it she doesn’t realize she’s being waved at until Karen points it out one day. She thinks it’s weird and lame. Like “why do I have to acknowledge these losers?” She starts waving back when she’s alone in her car but she'd never admit it.

Eventually she starts initiating the wave out of habit and when the girls give her amused glances she says “whatever it’s just a reflex.”

Karen tries to buy her one of those fake hands to put on her dash but she shuts that down immediately because “gross Karen that’s fucking stupid.”

Suddenly she’s getting road rage when she thinks someone intentionally doesn’t wave back despite Gretchen’s very valid point. “Regina, its dark and rainy, they probably can’t see you over your high beams.” She just complains that she can't see them either but she still waved.

Another time the girls tell her all about the history of the ‘jeep wave’ and that there is a hierarchy according to their intense google search. Regina ignores them as she flips off the driver of a blue jeep instead, mumbling “bitch” under her breath.

Karen buys her a wave decal for her mirror. She lets her put it on.

——

Much to Regina’s chagrin Karen learns what ducking is. “I saw Aaron and his friends covering their goalies jeep in them! So I looked it up and it this whole game-“

“Ugh Karen, no.”

“But it’s so cute, Gina look!” She’s cradling a yellow rubber duck in her hands, dressed in pink and wearing heart sunglasses, in an attempt to coax Regina into letting her duck her jeep.

“It’s very cute, babe, but you’re not putting that on my car. Also, I think you’re supposed to do it secretly…” she trails off when she sees Karen’s mouth drop open the slightest bit.

“Wait, you know about the ducks?” Her surprised expression makes Regina chuckle.

“Yes, Kare I know about the ducks. Why don’t you keep it? It’s too cutesy for me.”

“Oh, okay.”

A week goes by and she starts finding different ducks in various places on her jeep, while Karen insists it’s not her. She just smiles and throws them in her bag trying not to draw attention to it. She still thinks it’s lame but it makes Karen happy. After a year or so Karen stops ducking her jeep all together, because she just forgets about their little game but Regina is fine with it. She still has a tower of ducks in her room wearing ridiculous outfits.

But one morning at the start of senior year she finds a little surprise perched on her driver side mirror. It's a little duck, this time it’s all pink and wearing bunny ears. She feels her eyes sting with the threat of tears when she catches herself smiling. This one she puts on her dashboard for all to see.

She regrets it in the end because now the ducks have come back tenfold. She really has no where to put them but Karen, and now even Janis, are having way too much fun with it. So she keeps her mouth shut. Until one day when she starts to find mini ducks, not just in her jeep but in her house, her locker, honestly anywhere they could think of she finds a mini duck. There are hundreds and she knows this was Janis’ doing. It had to be. She keeps quiet though, slowly collecting them until she has an absurd amount. She’s sure she’ll find more but she easily has almost two hundred collected so she gives them to Janis. She had one of the girls on the robotics team rig a gift box so they would fly everywhere when said box was opened. Janis falling off her seat at lunch made it all worth it. Hearing the girl curse her under her breath while trying to save face as Karen cracked up was the icing on the cake.

—-

Regina also has mirror decals (also gifted by Karen). On her visor mirror it says hello gorgeous. (Or any of these. Honestly there are so many options.) Her rearview mirror says buckle up bitches. And the passenger mirror says passenger princess. For Karen.

Gretchen obviously gets the whole backseat to herself and she controls the aux cord.

Janis gets her this for the back window.

Y'all there are things called easter eggs please Janis would put one on the windshield and see how long it takes Regina to notice.

@erikahenningsen tagging a stranger person because reasons

[vidalinav]

Cassian sucks in a breath at the very look of her, but he holds his arms tighter to his chest.

He won't run to her and hold her like he wants. He won't let his arms be her blanket and he won't gather her to his chest so his heart might be her pillow. She won't rest comfortably where he thinks is safest.

When has she ever been safest with him?

All he has is empty words, empty promises, and maybe his heart is empty too and that's why she won't go to him. If Nesta Archeron is good at one thing, it's spotting a coward when she sees one, and Cassian sleeps with the dogs... any place but where she needs him.

And now, her face is as pale as death, all white and moonlit and once again he's failed her. Her cheeks are flushed red and his fingers itch to run along the bridge of her nose and see if he can't feel how warm she is even as she shivers beneath her throws. But what good would that do when she's so small and fragile, when she's always been too much for this world?

"She's been passed out cold since late last evening, but we didn't know where she lived so we've kept her up here."

"We gave her more blankets, but she kept kicking them off..."

"And we tried to give her soup, but she couldn't keep anything down... she didn't seem to like us feeding her."

That doesn't surprise Cassian in the least. It seems fitting for this female who's brows scrunch up at the mere sound of his voice. As if she finds him distasteful even in sleep.

[james-sunshine-potter]

All the many things and quirks of Steve Harrington:

A list comprised by Eddie Munson.

> He can’t sleep in the dark. He has to have at least a lamp on before going to bed. He nor I are sure what that stems from. (It bugged me at first I can’t lie, but we tried one night to keep all lights off… and Steve didn’t sleep at all, he just laid there awake for 12 hours. TWELVE FUCKING HOURS AND THEN HE WENT TO WORK ON NO SLEEP! it’s safe to say we kept the lamp on after that…)

> He doesn’t like it when the sun is in his eyes. He carries his sunglasses everywhere and will get annoyed when he forgets them in the car.

> He can only eat one thing on his plate at a time. Like if he’s got chicken, salad and chips, he’ll eat the chips in one go, then the chicken and then the salad. Things can’t mixed nor touch.

> He likes it when I stroke his hair whilst he falls asleep. He doesn’t even realise I do this, as he goes on and on about how he falls asleep better when sleeping with me. But it’s because I have learnt how to make him relaxed. (I also really like his hair. It’s so soft, like ridiculously soft. It’s meant to be petted, sue me).

> He opens his mouth when he thinks. Some days I want to stick my finger in his mouth when he does that to see what he will do but I never do (I will one day).

> He’ll talk to old people on the street. But only if they start the conversation, obviously. God, old people love him. He opens doors for old lady’s and compliments their hair and fashion. He’s very polite.

> When he is uncomfortable, he’ll play with my rings. We once had a sit down conversation with his parents (don’t ask, it was horrible) but the entire time, Steve held my hand in his lap and played with my rings (still on my fingers) until my skin was sore. (I don’t mind).

> He has to sleep with the door closed. He physically can’t sleep with the door open. Like physically can’t. Or even be in his bedroom, or mine, without the door closed. (He doesn’t feel secure otherwise, which knowing what goes down in this town, i completely get).

> He exclusively wears boxers. Calvin Klein ones to be specific. When he stretched or reached up for something, you could see the waist band peak out the top. Wears boxer shorts (loose fitting ones you know) to sleep in.

> He zones out a lot more than he thinks he does. He says he doesn’t do it that often, but he just can’t bloody remember it! He’s zoned out through entire conversations and movies. (Thankfully he’s never done it behind the wheel…).

> He watches fights he’s not involved like it’s a tennis match.

> He hums whilst brushing his teeth. (Typically whatever is stuck in his head at the time).

> He slightly rocks when he trying to focus on something. (I noticed this when he was trying to focus on a movie we were watching, but he kept getting distracted).

> He squints, even when he wears his glasses (Which I have to bully him to do).

> He picks at the skin around his nails when nervous. I have physically hold his hand to stop him. (Which, obviously, I don’t mind. But man, you should see hims fingernails they’re gross…).

> He pees like clockwork. He gets up at the say time in the night to pee. I can tell when he’s properly exhausted if he sleeps through it. (It’s 3am by the way).

> He doesn’t have nosebleeds often, but when they happen, oh do they happen. Blood gets everywhere, like lots of blood where it’s concerning. He went through an entire box of tissues and ruined a top once. He nearly fainted once (like wobbly steps, foggy eyes, went white as fuck… scary as shit).

> He can’t listen to something and count or read at the same time. If he needs to count something and has the radio on, he’ll turn it off, count out aloud and then turn it back on. If I show him something, I can’t talk until he finishes reading it or otherwise he won’t take it in. (I’m totally the same though).

[klaissance]

indulgent established klance long-distance boyfriends coalition paladins/BOM keith reunion event GO:

keith gets to the dinner early

he had to ask kolivan to put him on the list as one of the BOM agents going and if that dude ever laughed at anything keith would swear he was laughing at him when he uninvited somebody else to put keith on the list

it's this gorgeous bigass hall with lovely vaulted ceilings and the biggest longest table keith has ever seen

aproned aliens are in set-up mode, scurrying around setting utensils and plates and namecards and chairs all around this table

keith has his mask up and everything and he nods respectfully at some of the staff as he starts to walk the length of the table

it's been too long since he saw the team he knows that and they know it too

he knows they miss him, knows it in his bones that they miss him at least some fragment as much as he aches for them (which is so much all the time)

pidge hacked a touchpad to let it transmit through the signal jammer outfitted at the BOM base so he does get to message and call home sometimes but tbh he's not on-base very often before he's jetting off to the next crazy mission halfway across the galaxy

anyway he's in this hall scanning the namecards and letting his mind wander while he waits for the guests--but mostly his former team--to show up

he finds his own card next to kolivan's, only it just says "blade of marmora guest" anonymous and replaceable, just like usual

allura is set to be seated at the head of the table with the other important people and key speakers

keith smiles despite himself at the thought of allura pacing the halls of the castleship this past week, running through versions of speeches for anyone who will listen

the smile turns into an ache when he thinks of lance, perched on the kitchen counter, legs swinging, or draped across the lounge couch, head tipped off the edge, listening and humming appraisingly at all the right moments

turning those warm brown eyes to the ceiling and pretending to think hard on it when allura asks him if he thinks she's ready

"of course princess" he'd say, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently

"I think you were born ready"

because lance has always been good at that, at making you feel like the most capable person in the Universe

halfway down the opposite side of this grandiose table, keith finds what he hadn't known he'd been looking for: four name placards right in a row, each labeled with a name and "Paladin of Voltron"

takashi shirogane, pidge holt, hunk garrett, and lance mcclain

keith frowns sourly at the next name, some alien duke or duchess or whatever the fuck, somebody important who has just won the diplomacy dinner lottery by being offered the seat next to the blue paladin

he looks across the table from here to his own seat, looming positively miles away across and down this long ass mcfreaking table

who made this chart anyway???

keith is still grumping about it as people begin to show up and he shrinks a little into himself, scanning the room for those familiar faces, the anticipation buzzing under his skin

he's so lost in the looking that he forgets himself and gets totally ambushed by a voice right up against his ear

"Getting on just as socially as usual, I see"

he whirls ready to FIGHT but it's allura !!! and the relief and joy at seeing her in person for the first time in multiple space-months is such whiplash that he pitches straight into her open arms and holds tight

when he recovers he takes down the mask and squirms awkwardly

allura is gentle and kind, knows he hates the diplomacy part, knows he's only here because he misses all of them, one of them in particular...

they do small talk for a bit, allura growing worse and worse at hiding her amusement as keith continues to turn and stare at the door with increasing frequency

her eyes are sparkling the way they do when she gossips and she asks him point blank "so, you must be excited to see your boyfriend again"

keith's mind goes blank "n-no" yknow like a liar

she's downright snickering at him and he still can't resist scanning the room

she throws him a bone, tells him the other paladins are running late coming back from the parade but will arrive soon

keith is like coolcoolcool no doubt no doubt but really cannot stop staring at the door and feeling like he might throw up and is his hair okay he didn't really think about this before he showed up, hasn't even seen it in actually days because he's had the suit on, and the suit is DUMB what the fUcK--

they get approached by other diplomats from various coalition planets and allura turns on the schmooze

keith checks his touchpad--there are three messages from lance

"SORRY BABE RUNNIGN LATE"

"c u so SOON :3 <33333333"

"*RUNNING"

" :D "

[rogueddie]

continuing Enter Sandman a little as a little celebration for one year 🎉

Steve has always considered himself brave. Especially after fighting interdimensional monsters and helping save the world. The idea that anything could scare him after all of that? Ridiculous.

But, standing in front of a mirror, he feels terrified. He's so anxious that he's sure that he's going to puke.

"You look great," Robin says, coming up behind him.

She's wearing a baby blue dress with a blazer on top, matching his three-piece suit. Not only is her outfit tailored, it's custom made- some big designer that owed Eddie a favor.

"I don't feel great," Steve mumbles. He tugs at the hem of his blazer. "We should have gone for traditional black. This is too much. What if Eddie-"

"Eddie is the one who insisted on color!" Robin reminds him, gently smacking his arm. "He said it's supposed to be a day for both of you, right? Or do you not trust him anymore?"

"Of course I trust him! But I want... I need this to work."

"It will. You look great, everything is ready, it's exactly how both of you want. It's going to be perfect." She grabs his shoulders, gently shaking him. "I will make sure it's perfect- if that means dragging you out by your ear then, damn it, I will."

Steve laughs, gently batting her off him. "Alright, alright, I get it!"

"Do you? Because we don't have long left, we need to get a move on!"

"Yeah, alright," he raises an eyebrow at her, nudging her. "Well, come on then, we don't have all day!"

She throws his hands up, pretending to be annoyed- it's ruined by how her face immediately softens, curling an arm around his. "Come on loverboy, the alter won't wait forever."

The yard is just as beautiful as Steve hoped it would be. El had taken over the organization, insisting that Steve and Eddie can't see it before the big day (the same way she insisted they couldn't see each other the night before).

Steve knew she would do an amazing job, but he's still blown away.

The new place the Byers got is bigger than their previous home in Hawkins- the back yard isn't much bigger though. They had managed to make it work, even with such little space.

Eddie stands at their little make-shift alter, Jeff nudging him when Steve steps out.

He looks beautiful. His suit is a dark blue, near black- but with the sun behind him, illuminating him, it's the perfect shade. His hair is half up in messy braids- Maxs work.

"You ready?" Steves mom asks. She looks awkward, most likely stressed with how harsh Steves father had reacted, but she's there. She's trying.

"Yeah," Steve says. His eyes are glued to Eddie.

"Come on," she laughs, tugging his arm out of Robins grip. "Go ahead, Robbie. I've got him."

Robin gives her a two finger salute.

The music starts up, a second before El skips up beside Robin. She hand her one of the baskets she has, full of white petals.

It's surreal, walking up the aisle. He's surprised that it's not being on this end that's throwing him off- he's been more than happy to be the one to walk up the aisle, and actually doing so isn't changing that.

No, it's that he's actually getting married. He's finally getting his happy ending and it's to someone he loves. To someone who loves him.

He feels like he's underwater, stuck in a dream- he's relieved that they agreed with El about doing the 'usual' vows, not a personal version or speech, when he finds himself repeating the vows Hopper on autopilot.

Robin gives his hand a squeeze when she gives him one of the rings.

"I love you," he can't help but whisper. It's worth it, to see Eddies smile get so big and bright.

"I love you too," he whispers back, as he slides Steves ring on.

Hopper clears his throat, giving them both pointed looks- something that has the crowd tittering. He lifts the little notebook, continuing to read out the vows.

He pauses, at the last line, looking up and grabbing Steves shoulder. His voice is a little choked when he continues; "is it my privelage to pronounce you husband and husband." He jerks his head towards Eddie. "Kiss your man."

Steve manages to hold his laughter in, just long enough to kiss Eddie. Luckily, Eddie also bursts into laughter when they pull apart.

Dustins cheering is the loudest.

Eddie pulls him close to his side with a hand on his waist, their friends swarming them with love and congratulations. He leans close, so Steve can hear him over the noise; "is it everything you dreamed of?"

"Better."

[fearandhatred]

i have one of those word prompts left to do but i am blanking omg

[damianosismyking]

So you have an au about damen being abusive with laurent ?????

Please let me know more?? Any hcs or thoughts or anything pls

The capri fandom needs some dark aus fr

~🦌🌺

hello my darling!

I've been gone so long that I have no idea when you sent this and I'm deeply sorry for that!

I came up with the idea for an AU in which Damen's abusive way back in 2019/2020 (2021?) and to say I was a different person altogether back then is an understatement. I also haven't re-read the books in a long while so I can't say I recall everything I had imagined for this fic to begin with BUT!, I've got some fuzzy thoughts stored in the back of my mind that may satisfy some of the crave for Dark Damianos (a concept deeply slept on in my honest opinion but with how much people like to hate on him for free, it's best if we keep it sleeping lol).

DISCLAIMER: in my very private opinion, Damen has a natural darkness to his character that I find appealing (or would be appealing if I wasn't a coward) to explore. Those are the lenses through which I approach the abusive patterns he could come to develop in a relationship with an already emotionally/psychologically vulnerable Laurent. And also in my very private opinion, Laurent is a vulnerable character (for all reasons we as a fandom dwelled on to the point of exhaustion, but, most of all, in relation to how he sees and thinks of Damen — in terms not only of admiration but almost adoration, just as he did with his brother).

We all rememeber the scene at the end (?) of PG when Laurent is stepping on Damen's toes by saying bad things regarding his family and how Damen loses his temper and hits Laurent hard enough to draw blood. The guards step in to arrest Damen for hurting the prince and Damen takes full blame for doing it without showing a single bit of remorse whatsoever. Laurent is the one to talk his guards down from arresting Damen by pinning the blame of being assaulted on himself and that is it.

This idea (of an AU that never came to be) was forged mostly on the side of Damen's character that has a tendency to jump believe he is always right in the assessments he makes and proceed to never question the truth behind his own reasoning. And on the side of Laurent's character that always blames himself for every bad thing that has ever happened to him despite his own helplessness, and nurtures an unhealthy need for a role model to hold on to — once his brother, now his lover.

I'm going to leave all my thoughts for this AU bellow the cut, in case some people may find the matter too upsetting to read about. Trigger warnings for domestic, physical and psychological abuse, obviously! Proceed at your own accord and don't come whinning later🫰

so putting two and two together:

Damen is prone to angry outbursts or just violence in general. We see in more than one occasion that it doesn't take much for his 'bad side' to come out, which is a characteristic a lot of aggressors in this very patriarcal society we live in also showcase. And as their universe is ALSO incredibly patriarcal, this would check out.

As aforementioned, one of the most significative intances of Damen's violence is the day (after he had already slept with Laurent, after he admitted to himself he was in love with Laurent) where he he baits into Laurent's provocations and hits him.

Laurent's edge, I personally believe, though attenuated as it may be by the end of the cicle of abuse he endured all the way from his late childhood throughout his adolescence, will continue to be in place. It was wired into him as a survival mechanisms and old habits die hard. Whenever he is overwhelmed or any of his emotions slip from his iron-cast grip, he will likely spit fire and try and hurt whoever is within his reach.

Honeymoon phase being over, let's say the kingdoms were in fact merged (not going to get into any of that). Let's say Damen is the king of Vere as much as Laurent is the king of Akielos. Let's say their troups, their guards, palace servants — they are all unbiased and answer to both Laurent and Damen as their true kings equally.

Let's say Damen and Laurent continue to get at each other's throats. Lets's say they still got plenty to disagree upon and that their personalities continue to make them butt heads. Let's say their grudges, though they have agreed to leave the past be in the past, hold and come up again. An underlying resentment inate to their love. There's a lot of tension that I can see surrounding L/D's relationship. If you don't believe that it's fine, if you don't see it, that's more than okay. But I'm asking you to bear with me here.

They are having a heated argument in their palace about something that wasn't (shouldn't be) personal, but all of a sudden is. Damen says something that offsets a chain reaction in Laurent and he becomes a boy in selfdefense mode resorting to the good old habit of pushing Damen's weak spots just for the pleasure of making him angry and miserable. Damen has had a long day, he is weary, he is fed-up with all the kyroi, all the councelors making demands and telling him how to do his job. Laurent says the wrong thing at the wrong time and a moment later he is on the floor, with his hand on his cheek touching the burning spot where Damen slapped him. He bit his tongue in the impact and he can feel the blood in his mouth which he swallows.

There are no guards that come in this time, because they know better than to step into their king's quarrels. Damen tells himself it was Laurent who pushed him too far, he didn't mean to do it. Laurent agrees — Damen would never have done that if Laurent himself hadn't asked for it. Damen was good. He's only ever been good. He doesn't do anything without a good reason. Laurent is the one who fucks things up and pushes people too far. They make up.

Next time isn't that different. Nerves were high for a thousand different reasons. Laurent maybe got up from the wrong side of the bed. They argue. Damen pisses him off so he goes on to piss him off in return — just to give him a taste of what that feels like. In the back of his mind he remembers what happened last time they argued but he brushes it off as a mistake. Damen wouldn't dare to make the same mistake twice.

Then Damen does. And just like the other time Laurent loses his footing from the strength of the blow. His eyes tear from the pain but they don't fall. Damen is fumming over him, telling him how Laurent pushes him over the edge. Damen, who is such a just, charming, fair king. A much better king than Laurent is, with his head in place at all times in a way Laurent's own never is. If he lost his temper, it was because he was forced into it.

Laurent is the one who went too far again; Damen simply reacted to it. He stands and tells Damen he was wrong for saying the things he said. He shouldn't have. Damen agrees; Laurent shouldn't have. They make up.

Every time Damen is forced to loose his temper with Laurent he get angrier with Laurent and becomes a little wilder. Laurent should not make him keep doing it! He doesn't mean to do it! When the anger subdues, after they make love, in the morning after, Damen shows Laurent the tokens of the love he still has for him — a new mare of an excellent breed for Laurent's private stables, a new imported book he would like for his personal library, a new delicacy their cooks learns to make as sweet as a human can handle just the way Laurent likes it.

Damen is a good lover. Most of the time. If only Laurent stopped bringing out his bad side.

Laurent understands how every time Damen hits him it's his own fault. He tries to stop himself from causing their arguments but he can't. He always ends up saying the wrong thing, he always disappoints Damen somehow and though he can keep his stance straight and his face void, deep down he's terrified he will eventually drive Damen away.

After the loss of his entire family, after the death of Auguste, of living so many years under the sadistic regime of his uncle, Damen is everything Laurent has. And Laurent, warped as he is by nature, tainted and wrong and bad at his very core, doesn't deserve him. He knows he doesn't deserve Damen, who is so honorable, so good a leader, so righteous and mighty. But he wants Damen and he wants him to stay. He wants to be good for him and for Damen to think he is good.

So when the slapping evolves into punching, Laurent searches his own words, his own actions for where the fault lies. And always he finds it. The exact word he said in a meeting with their kiroi and councelors that undermined Damen's authority. The exact moment he stopped to speak with an ill-intentioned courtier who flirted with him and he must have unintentionally flirted back. The provokation implied in a comment he thought was innocuous. And the fact Damen only found more and more of reasons to be dissatisfied with Laurent, despite him becoming evermore self-aware and trying so hard, so much of the time, to please Damen, meant nothing more than the fact that Laurent was a man full of flaws. It wasn't on Damen.

They both agree Damen's assessment and his morals could never be wrong. He is too good and honest a man for that. Laurent is causing all of it.

The oldest members of their guards notice the slow, steady shift. Those that used to compose the old Veretian prince's guard are worried. They whisper among themselves when they see a new bruise blooming in their king's fair skin or hear the shouts coming from inside the royal chambers. But no one dares to raise a voice against king Damianos. Jord or Lazar (or whichever of the prince's guards you like best) goes to Laurent to raise their concerns and ask if everything is all right between him and Exalted. If there is anything Laurent needs. Anything at all. They will stand by him come what will. But Laurent berates them and tells them to keep their noses out of royal business.

Damen is approached by Nikandros and inquired about it when one day Damen unintentionally leaves Laurent with a black eye. Damen finds that is the perfect opportunity to lament about all the ways Laurent has been driving him insane and making him miserable. That he is getting worse with time where Damen had hoped he would have settled and his temperament improved. That years after the events they lived through, he keeps holding Damen accountable for things that should be left in the past. That Damen doesn't blame Laurent for killing Kastor, or torturing him in Vere anymore, so why should Laurent still resent him for Auguste.

Nikandros understands. He feels sorry for Damen, that Laurent makes his life so difficult. He has witnessed their quarrels before, had seen the way Laurent evokes Auguste's name as a dagger to dig into Damen's heart.

Then it becomes common knowledge all around their court: Laurent is as unbearable and hard to reconcile with as he'd ever been, prideful and resentful and cruel. And Damen is the poor man who has to handle him atop a whole kingdom he has to rule. There is no soul in their kingdom that doesn't feel bad for Damen's situation.

What no one seems to notice is that Laurent has taken to flinch whenever Damen lifts his hand. That he tenses when he raises his voice. That he is much more succint and careful with his words whenever Damen is around, because he doesn't want to upset him.

All they notice is Laurent's worsening moods. His renewed bouts of broodiness and anger. That he takes anything and everything out on everyone — the servants, the guards, officials, nobles of the court, the walls and the furniture. Nothing seems to please him anymore. Everything sets off his rage. Which is something else Damen has taken to punish him for, in the privacy of their chambers.

Laurent never cries. Not when Damen tell him how difficult he is, how impossible he makes to love him. Not when he sees the several shades of new and healing bruises all over his body, not when he gulps mouthfuls of his own blood. Laurent hasn't cried since he was thirteen. But he gets more and more hopeless each day that passes and he is proven again no good man could ever truly love him because nothing good and pure remains so in his presence.

Laurent always brings out the worse in people, no matter how he tries to get things right.

But he keeps on trying. Because maybe one day he can. And maybe Damen will see there is good left in him to love even though he makes his life hard and harder every day. And maybe one day Damen will love him easily.

Because all he really wants is to be worth it of Damen's love.

And that's all Damen wants too. He already loves Laurent so much. He would never, ever hurt him again if only Laurent would stop provoking him into it.

[non-un-topo]

Little Light - tog ficlet

Something I felt like writing but didn’t know what to do with. A little scene inspired by an old fic of mine, Dahlia. A bonus scene, if you will.

--

Somewhere outside these old wood walls, an owl calls the morning forth. A gentle if not calming sound to Andromache, but to tiny brand new ears it is unknown and frightening.

The babe emits a discontented little squeal, and as Andromache leans away from the wall to see into the makeshift bassinet — an armoire drawer, placed on the floor between a bedroll and Andromache’s watchful place at the wall — the tiny thing grunts and attempts to kick her swaddled legs. A little lip pouts, trembles, then her gummy mouth opens with grumpy staccato cries.

There’s a shift in the darkness on the bedroll just beside the drawer. There is enough pre-dawn light pouring in from a half-boarded window for Andromache to see Yusuf poke his head up from behind Nicolò’s shoulder, then quickly lift himself on an elbow as he comes out of sleep to register the baby’s distress.

Andromache’s hand is on the swaddled baby’s stomach, just rubbing very gently as Yusuf carefully crawls over Nicolò and comes forward. The child’s newborn cries sound almost like little angry coughs, increasing in volume as Andromache’s attempts to calm her do virtually nothing. She’s so small, so new. In her mind, Andromache is going through the list of remedies to calm her down: Is she hungry? Is she cold? Does she need a change? Was she simply startled by the owl? There are no easy answers, just a crying baby wiggling in tattered fabrics, all they have for her.

Yusuf is on it, though. Has been since that first horrific day that brought the tiny thing to them. He squats in front of the drawer, and Andromache removes her hand as Yusuf very carefully slides a hand behind the baby’s head and neck and begins to free her from her swaddle.

The moment her arms are free, they shoot up next to her head — some reflex Andromache has noticed, and Yusuf coos at the sight of it. Andromache watches the soft look in his eyes with unease, but she’s then drawn to the shift of Nicolò as the baby’s cries wake him too.

Yusuf shushes the babe, and there’s a moment of uncertainty on his face like he’s having similar thoughts to Andromache, similar anxieties, before he gets both hands below her tiny arms, fingers stretched out behind her neck and head to support her, and lifts her from the drawer. As he does so she scrunches up into a little ball, hand-stitched nappy crumpling up as her knees bend, and her pink fists bracket her face as she grunts.

Andromache watches in silence as Yusuf settles the baby against his shoulder, fingers feather-light and safe on the back of her head where her wispy hair gathers at the base of her skull. She adjusts a little, rubbing her nose into Yusuf’s shirt, as Yusuf pulls open the back of her nappy to check her.

Nicolò is there next to them then, more alert and awake than Yusuf whose eyelids are drooping. Andromache can see all the thoughts in Nicolò’s head play out just by the slight crease in his brow as he watches the baby’s face. He raises a hand, sets is back to the floor, and although Andromache had warned them both about the dangers of becoming attached to the child, she does not want the poor thing to suffer while three capable adults can comfort her. She blinks permissively at Nicolò but he doesn’t need the permission from her, only from himself.

Yusuf is bouncing the baby slightly against his shoulder as he shushes her little noises. He turns his head to see the longing on Nicolò’s face and nods sleepily at him. As Nicolò reaches out to stroke a thin curl on the top of the baby’s head, she begins to squeal again and soon unravels into hiccuping little cries. With mild alarm, Yusuf adjusts her so her face is not pressed into his clothes.

“Let me?” whispers Nicolò, hands out and ready. Yusuf nods, stifling a yawn, and very carefully passes the little grumpy ball over to Nicolò, who lays her over his forearm, cupping her bottom and scrunched up feet in his large hand. Yusuf releases her head last in the crook of Nicolò’s elbow, and her fists fly up again as she settles back with another round of staccato cries. With that done, Yusuf immediately stands to rifle through their packs, likely in search of some goat’s milk they’ve saved.

Finding sustenance for the child has been exhausting and certainly a battle, but Andromache has seen too many children starve to let this one go hungry. She will be fed every chance they get, and she will be warm, and when they are able they will pass her into loving hands who will be able to house her and love her and help her grow tall and strong.

But for now, Andromache only sits and watches as Nicolò rubs the pad of his thumb up the space between the child’s peach-fuzz brows, a little trick she’d taught him that may calm her down and put her to sleep but does not seem to be working at the moment. The baby’s mouth is still wide open and trembling as she cries and so, supporting her with both arms, Nicolò stands with an exaggerated groan and begins to bob her just slightly.

“Alright, piccola,” he says, turning away as he begins to pace around a little, humming some low made-up tune on the spot.

Yusuf stands at his side then, with the jar of milk and the cloth they use to soak it in so the baby can suckle, and Andromache lets herself relax, lets her back touch the wall again as she just watches them together, the pink-faced baby emitting little punched-out cries between them. She’s quieting down, though, as Nicolò bobs her like the sea. Yusuf stands by with the cloth, peering curiously at her little face.

Nicolò makes a brave move then. With one shared look with Yusuf, he blinks down at the child and leans down to ever-so-gently press his lips to her head. He stays there even after the little kiss, and Andromache can hear him hushing her softly as he continues to bounce her.

She’s stopped crying. As Nicolò draws back, Andromache can see that her eyes are wide open, gazing up at Yusuf and Nicolò in wonder. They smile down at her, and something lodges itself in Andromache’s throat. Almost subconsciously, her hand closes around the pendant against her chest.

Yusuf senses her unease, of course he does, because he looks over at her and beckons her over with a jerk of his head and an outstretched hand. She goes willingly, if a little stiffly, and although she swears in her mind that they will not be keeping this child it is nice to see the men smiling in victory and adoration at her little face.

“Looks like she just wanted to be held,” Yusuf whispers.

Andromache might think something about the fact that the first hands to ever touch this baby were Nicolò’s. She might think about the fact that Yusuf’s soft voice had been the one to calm her cries on that first night. She might remember the way her tiny body felt so warm in her arms the morning the child’s mother left this earth, when the ground still trembled with aftershocks and somewhere in the distance the ocean watched Andromache’s back.

She says none of this. Instead, she joins them in the middle of the room as it slowly fills with early morning light. The broken three of them, and the fragile brand new fourth.

They have not named her yet. Andromache does not dare. But she will be called Dahlia, after the flowers her mother sold in a little shop north of the hills of Campania, where the winds smell of oleander and the olive trees face the sunrise.

[cambion-companion]

I think I may need to create a pinned post just for a Raphael fic masterlist, they're getting so numerous.

Oooh and a place to have my fic recs too 👀

[that-angry-noldo]

desperately want to write something tma for the soul but i just have zero ideas that prove to be writeable

[martarkiraayanaminewaccount]

my drabble. From an anime movie, "Kai Doh Maru". Written by me in 2016. Linking here for myself for my own nostalgia's sake.