#it’s on the heavy side but I can cut some weight. I made this thing about a year ago and I’ve improved quite a bit since then

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: put your hand on my heart

pairing: micheal townsend x reader

synopsis: you know you’re panicking but you can’t stop it and nothing is helping. the last person you want to see you like this turns out to be your saviour

warnings: panic attack, overwhelming anxiety, dark thoughts

a/n: thanks for reading 🤍🤍

taglist: @inmyheaddd @midiosaamor @lyrakanefanatic @aleatorio1234 @maybe-dj124 @book-nerd-emi @maybxlle @foreverwinter22 @sweetreveriee @hermesenthusiast @shattered-glass-roses @gandergaal @sheisntyou @arias-archive @lila-77 @downrightbooks

Please, please, please. Not again. Not this again. I stumble into the bathroom making sure the door shuts behind me, hastily trying to reach a source of water. My finger shake as I turn on the bathroom tap, they can barely grasp the metal. I wait for the cold water to run before splashing my face three times. It’s meant to be a shock tactic, it’s meant to pull me together, it’s meant to help, but it isn’t doing what it’s meant to, it isn’t doing anything. It never does anything.

I try to swallow but it feels like I’ve forgotten how. It feels like my trachea is slowly constricting, the walls on either side slowly closing in creating a claustrophobe’s nightmare. My throat aches as my mouth fills with saliva that I’m desperate to get rid of. I touch my neck, my fingers scraping against the skin. I want to pry it open. Maybe then I’ll be able to breathe, be able to swallow.

I glance up at myself in the mirror and don’t recognise the girl staring back at me. Her eyes are rimmed with thick black smears, her lips are dry and cracked, there are red streaks of art winding down her neck and her face is a sickly pale colour. I’m but living in the shell of body that used to be mine. The things that made me myself are long gone, a ghost of a whisper living somewhere deep within my veins. I don’t know what parasite has infiltrated my body, all I know is I want it out. I want it gone.

But some things you can never kill, so long as they live in your mind, you’ll never truly be rid of them.

Panic wraps bony fingers around my ankles and yanks me into murky waters, Fear holds my head under and makes sure I can’t scream for help. Is this how you felt mum? Is this how you felt when they drowned you? My lungs burn, scream, beg but I already know I won’t ever get to grace them with oxygen again. My hands and feet are bound with thick rope that cuts deep into my flesh. They tied you up too mum. Why? Did you even fight it? I glance at my captors with pleading eyes, they only laugh. Amused by the emotions that fed them running riot through my soul. Did you look at them like me mum? We always had the same eyes, that’s what everyone said. Did they laugh at you too mum?

I feel my body grow weak, I watch as the world spins and I grow dizzy. I’m lost in a state between life and death, beneath this ocean of panic. My body is still trying to fight for survival even though I want to give up. You never wanted to give up, did you mum? But you had to, they forced you to. Panic gives me one last gift, placing something heavy on my chest. It crushes my rib cage but there’s nothing left in me to cry out. No one would hear anyway, I was underwater. No one heard you, mum. I didn’t hear you either. The weight pushes me down further and further from the surface and slowly, slowly it all grows black. Is this what you saw mum? When your body sunk to the bottom? Were you plunged into the darkness the same way I am?

I’m gasping and spluttering. My chest is in agony, red hot pain prickles over my torso. I want to rip my skin off, claw every inch away with my nails. I throw my sweatshirt over my head so the cotton of my shirt was the only thing touching my upper body. I look back to the stranger in the mirror and prod my face with unfamiliar fingers. The veins under my skin throb, almost like my pulse is so fast it might burst them altogether. Part of me hopes they might, at least I���d be rid of these feelings.

My heart thumps loudly through my ears, each boom more demeaning than the last. It feels like the organ pulsating out of my chest each time it beats. A torturous, monotonous thunderstorm that I can’t avoid.

“I don’t like the thunder,” I tremble in my mother’s arms, clinging to the soft fabric of her shirt as if my life depends on it.

“It can’t hurt you little one,” she whispers, stroking my hair with her tender touch, “but don’t fret, you’re safe, I’ve got you, it’s okay, I’m here.”

I don’t like thunderstorms. I never have. But my mother’s arms aren’t here to be my refuge, all I have are these four bathroom walls.

I try and will myself to cry but there are no tears. My face isn’t damp and my eyes don’t water. They refuse, my mind too stubborn to give me an outlet for my pain. I should be crying, I know I should, it’s unnatural not to, it’s not normal.

But I’m not normal.

I feel the dreaded panic attack me again. It’s like a million tiny bullets are being fired at my body all at once. I can’t avoid a single one, I’m stood in no man’s land. And yet despite being shot so many times, I don’t seem to be able to die. Only writhe in my own agony.

My breathing quickens still, which by now I’d thought might be medically impossible. I wish for Sloane to be here to give me a statistic about breathing or wallabies, I wish for Lia to tell me the lie that I would be okay a thousand times over, I wish for Cassie to hold me until I stop shaking looking at me with her kind eyes, I wish for Dean to help me understand why I’m like this and I wish for Micheal to never, ever see me like this.

My wishes don’t come true. Wishes usually don’t for girls like me.

I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have control of my own body, of my own mind, thoughts and feelings. They’re constantly hijacked by a stronger power. A power that comes dressed in black hood and carries weapons of destruction. Though he doesn’t always use them, not straight away. He presents them first, the fear of the threat. Then at the moment of his choosing - the middle of the night, when I’m out shopping, the early morning, in the middle of a case - he would use them.

I have become a prisoner to the man in my mind.

He remembers everything. My mother. He knows all. She was kind and smart and funny and passionate and bold. The details I wanted to forget. Her cold dead body, hauled from the bottom of a lake. Blue skin, closed eyes, hair plastered to her forehead. The things I’d left in the past. She used to tell me I could do anything, be anything. That I was something. That I was special. Brighter than the stars. All that I’d blocked out. The killers that I couldn’t find, that I’d failed to find.

Another overbearing wave of panic crashes into me and my legs begin to feel unsure of themselves adopting an unnatural wobble. Sure I might fall, I sink to the floor in a helpless heap of heavy breathing and blurred thoughts. The cold tiles that press against the back of my thighs are the only thing to remind me that I can feel.

I need five things. What can I see? What can I touch? What can I hear? What can I smell? What can I taste?

I pry my eyes back open. I can see the bathroom door, it’s white with a golden handle. Two towels hang on a hook from the back of it. They’ve been recently used and are still a little damp. The smile on my mum’s face.

I can touch the fabric of my shirt. I play with it between my fingers. It’s soft, it’s smooth, it can’t hurt me. Her fingers weaving a braid through my hair.

I can hear my heart. No, I have to hear past it. I strain my ears. Talking, I can hear my friends talking in the room next door. Sloane, Cassie, Lia, Dean and Michael. I can hear Sloane’s voice most immediately, then Lia’s. The words are blurred, a soup of sound, too overwhelmed by the pounding in my chest. The hum of her sweet song, the one she wrote just for my name.

I can smell bleach. It’s strong and sterile. The bathroom has been recently cleaned. Rose water and buttermilk. She always smelt of rose water and buttermilk. As long as I could remember.

I can taste nothing. My throat is dry, my lips are dry, my tongue is so dry it’s stuck to the roof of my mouth. The honey sweet syrupy liquid she often gave me before I slept.

I lean back further into the wall and close my eyes again. Is it working? Is it helping? I’ve listed the five things, my task is done. Why do I still feel the same? I shouldn’t still feel the same. It’s not working, it never works, I don’t know why this time I thought it might. I’m an idiot. I always have been.

“y/n? Are you in there?”

I know that voice and I know I don’t want him anywhere near the door. I know I’ve forgotten to lock it and I can’t move from the position I’m in. I know I need to tell him I’m fine, that it’s okay. I know that I should then explain I need Lia to get me a tampon to scare him away.

But I can’t speak, I can’t answer him. When I try I end up gasping for air like a fish out of water. I grip the side of the sink, my knuckles going white, trying to hoist myself up. He can’t see me like this, out of everyone it can’t be him. The moment I get myself to stand, my legs give way and I fall back to the floor. They’re too weak to support me anymore.

I’m too weak.

I land with a crash, sending a shooting pain up my back. I wince and make some sort of strangled sound, a scream but with no breath to make it sound like a scream. Immediately he bursts in, uninvited in classic Micheal style. Though he might be the emotion reader of the two of us, I see the worry on his face, through his eyes. I try to glare at him but can’t even muster that. I know there’s no getting out of this now, the moment he lays eyes on me he knows exactly how I feel. Even if I were Lia I don’t believe there’d be any lie good enough to cover up my situation.

“Woah, woah, woah,” he rushes, dropping to his knees immediately, “hey, it’s okay, I’m here.”

“It’s okay, I’m here.”

My mother’s words echo through my mind. His hand settles on my thigh. I don’t need you here’ I wanted to scream. I need Sloane, Lia, Cassie, Dean, Judd, heck even Briggs just anyone but him. He shouldn’t know that this is the real me, that this is the kind of relationship he is really getting into.

He sees it. He sees my fear, my desperation, my panic, my worry, my pain, my anger. He sees it all in technicolour.

Micheal takes my face between to soft palms, “breathe with me, sweetheart,” he says very slowly, “I need you to breathe with me.”

I can’t even talk. I try to reply, but I physically can’t.

“Don’t try to talk,” he tells me gently, “it’s not going to help you. I need you to try and breathe with me.”

I can barely hear him over the sound of my heart raging through my ears yet manage to shake my head vigorously. I need to explain to him that it won’t work, that it never works.

“Try,” he murmurs, understanding, “with me. In… and out…”

Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth. Nothing overtly complicated. Yet it feels like the most difficult task I’ve ever had to do in my life.

“In…” he guides me, steadily, “…and out.”

One. I do it once.

My breathing is still rapid, I am panting like a dog but I did it. Once. He sits down beside me, interlocking his hand into mine. A constant, a rock, he’s telling me he isn’t leaving. His back is up against the cool tiled wall. Gently he puts his hands on my hips. I don’t shy away from his touch, I don’t flinch, I don’t slap him away. I want his hands on me. I want him to distract me.

He pulls me between his legs. I lean on him pressing my back up against his firm chest. I need to feel something, someone, anyone. I need to know that I’m not alone. I want his lips to transport me somewhere else, I want his hands to make me forget everything. I tilt my head so ours eyes meet. I plead silently. I know he can read what I want, what I need. I know he can see it all displayed on my face.

“You have to get your heart rate and breathing back to normal,” he says, “a distraction won’t help that.”

“Need,” I choke, through loud gulps of air.

He presses a kiss to my temple, “breathe, my love, you’re safe, I’ve got you.”

“You’re safe, I’ve got you.”

I see my mum’s face. I roughly grab onto his legs, clawing at the material of his trousers, digging my fingernails in, like some sort of scared animal. I feel his hands on my waist as my chest heaves up and down, still uncontrollable. The untameable beast in my brain still a torrent of darkness.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” he repeats, his voice so smooth, so soothing. I want to believe him, “focus on me…”

I do. I’m focusing on his breath I can feel tickling the back of my neck and his outstretched legs I can see in front of me. I’m focussing on the shade of blue the sweatshirt is and how he smells of that fancy cologne he insists on buying. I’m focussing on the tingling sensation his lips let behind on my temple and the warmth of his body against mine.

“My voice…”

It’s low and even. Steady and constant. The words he says are sweet and soothing and kind. He wants to help me. He cares enough. They’re said softly, gently, tenderly, calmly. He wants me to know I’m safe. He wants to fight the man in my head as much as I do.

“My touch…”

His fingers are delicately wrapped around my waist, but one hand is drawing slow, light circles on my stomach. I feel the shape spiralling in and then back out again. The muscles in his upper arms are against the muscles of my upper arms, they brush together. His heart is beating a little faster than usual against my back.

I think about Micheal. I focus on what he tells me to. Each time I take in oxygen it gets the slightest bit easier. I inhale and I exhale. He waits and he listens and he draws circles on my belly. Sometimes he talks and sometimes he stays silent. But we stay like this until my breathing is only a little worse than normal. The breaths are still short and jagged but they’re less of a gasp, less of a prayer for air.

“You’re okay,” he repeats, “I’ve got you, you’re safe, I’m here.”

I twist my neck to meet his eyes. He looks like he’s in pain. I never meant to cause him pain.

“I’ve got you. Can you feel me?” he whispers, “I’ve got you in my arms. That means you’re safe.”

Safe. Would I ever really be safe when my biggest enemy lived in my own mind?

“I… need… touch…” I tell him, through little breaths.

I haven’t heard the man in my head since Micheal got here. I know this will help. I know I need it. He can make things go away, he can help me, he can keep me safe. He’s got me in his arms. That means I’m safe.

“Okay,” he whispers.

His hand slowly moves from the tight grip on my waist to the bottom of my shirt. It slips under the material, slowly trailing up the bare skin of my stomach. His fingertips skim over my bra and find their way to just below my collarbone on the left side on my chest. He flattens his hand against my heart, pressing down firmly. It’s warm in contrast to the coolness of my skin.

“Breathe again love,” Micheal says in my ear, his voice in the back of his throat, “breathe for me.”

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Do it again. Do it again. Do it again. It’s getting easier. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Do it again. It’s getting easier. It’s getting easier.

I can feel him, only him. Micheal Alexander Thomas Townsend. My heart thumps against his palm. I close my eyes and rest my head back onto him. I feel it, as he presses the lightest of kisses onto my face, first my forehead, my nose, then my lips. Him, it’s all him. He can take this away, this darkness, this sickness, this disease in my mind. He can make it leave.

After what feels like a while, I’m somewhat what I was before. I can’t say things are back to normal because I am not normal. But I can breathe again, my chest doesn’t hurt, my heart isn’t the only thing I can hear and the man in my head has left. For now.

I realise for the first time how Micheal has seen me. This isn’t the me he’s used to. I take his hand from my shirt and move away from his touch. I stand up shakily and he’s quick to follow, ready to catch me should I fall. I lean against the sink, breathing deeply in and out. I can’t rely on him,I can’t afford to. The last person I relied on was my mother and look where that got me.

“You weren’t meant to see that,” I say, my back still towards him. I can’t bear to look him in the eye, not even for a second.

“It’s not a crime to panic,” he tells me slowly, there’s something tentative in his tone.

I turn around to face him, “yes. It is.”

I’m no emotion reader but something in his face looks scared. I had been taught long ago that I had to stay in control. That if anyone saw me out of control, unnatural, disobedient to the requirements set, that I would be less of a person. A nothing in this world. I’m not going to let this make me nothing. Not after I’d been something for so long.

Something to my mother. Something at school. Something to Briggs and his colleagues. Something to the Naturals program. Something to the friends I’d made here. Something… something to Micheal.

“I’m strong Micheal,” I say trying to steady my shaky voice, “I’m strong, I don’t break,” I falter as tears fill my eyes, I haven’t cried in so long, “I’m not like this, it’s not me.”

I meet his eyes again. He can see all of it, the emotions I show him and even the ones I’m holding back. I’m like a naked body in a room full of mirrors.

“Oh sweetheart,” he says, reaching out to take me in his arms once more.

And as much as I want to, crave to, yearn to, I don’t. I jerk away from his quickly, hitting my hip on the corner of the sink. The porcelain sends a sharp jolt of pain through my body. There will be a bruise tomorrow. He immediately backs away, a concern I’m not used to seeing rippling through his features. He could hide it if he wanted but he’s choosing to show me. He’s showing me he cares.

“Don’t pity me Micheal,” I try to snap but instead my voice strains and instead sounds like I’m in pain, “please.”

‘I’m not pitying you’ the unspoken words hang in the air but never reach his lips.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks instead.

“I don’t know,” I whisper, fumbling over my words, “I don’t know.”

“Come here,” he says, opening his arms again. This time not reaching out for me, this time letting me choose to come towards him.

And I do.

I fall into his arms and melt into his touch. When I feel him around me, everything falls silent, the noise, the stress, the expectation. It’s only him and me. Him and me.

“You are still strong, even after breaking,” he says into my ear, such power in his words but gentleness in his voice, “because you haven’t broken completely, you’re still here,” he murmurs, “and that’s the strongest thing someone can ever do.”

There isn’t any words to reply and he knows that. I let him hold me for a long while before finally, finally I let myself cry.

ahhhh this is my first naturals fic so I’m lowkey nervous… i try and avoid y/n at all costs but I felt like it was sort of needed here. anyways i hoped you liked it and let me know if you want to be on the taglist :))

the natural’s masterlist

[mmgceramics]

I need to make some more of these plate/bowls.

[bunny-jpeg]

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ i like my men older - simon riley♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

you knew that your friends from school raised an eyebrow when you told them that you were dating a man almost double your age. you were in your twenties, while this 'simon' guy was close to fifty. you told them that he was an army man who had a gooey center for you.

your friends could see the upgrade in your laptop and the new knapsack with a logo that proclaimed it was expensive. the small chain around your neck with a 's' on it that you toyed with when they asked questions about him.

you looked happy, healthier even! you weren't eating minute meals and surviving off of black coffee. there was a little roundness to your cheeks now and you looked more alive. a glow to you that wasn't that while you trudged through your graduate program. so honestly, how could they complain?

if you had a glow to you, it was because you were often fucked out. most women your age through that dating an older man would mean having to go slow. be patient about technical difficulties regarding their cocks. that was what you expected from a man that old. especially one with aches and pains like simon. your poor si, he had been in the military his entire life. barely had the touch of a woman during that time! poor guy! of course you'll teach him all the ways a woman should please a man. the first time you ran your tongue on the underside of his cock he cam all over your head, and while you whined. it made you crazy hot. fucking simon was like fucking a live wire. he hadn't slowed down with age. he fucked like a stallion in breeding season. and he loved when he pulled his heavy cock into you. you once told him that he could be a cervix breaker. and he simply said, "well, if i break it... i can't breed it." which made you go slack jaw for a moment before he continued to rut up against you. you didn't expect a man of his age to have a breeding kink.

you practically begged your doctor to give you birth control, because he was not buying condoms. "don't fit in 'em, lovie." he said as he patted his clothed cock when you started dating. you knew that was impossible, condoms could fit a lot of things and while simon was fairly big. he could fit in a condom. but, no. when you tried to put them on yourself, he simply took it off, tossed it to the side and pinned you under his heavy weight. legs in the air as he rutted against you like a hungry animal.

he was so much bigger than you. wide shoulders, strong thighs and a bit of a gut to keep you folded under him. there was a masculine heft to him. he was strong, picking you up was easy to him even when you tried to tell him your weight. one time he gripped you by the waist with one arm and moved you out of the way. you kicked and squeaked as you were moved. but to simon it was easy as lifting heavy equipment. but that softness to some of his muscles really got you hot all over. it didn't help that part of your role as his girlfriend was to make sure that your man was fed. you cooked him meals and he over devoured in your sweet dessert. he loved you in an apron. all domestic and sweet for him. you were real wifey material. could easily be cooking meals for him and the kids in a few years. you can have a graduate degree and a few riley babies. "look good cookin' for me, darlin'. know how to make a proper meal for your man." you wouldn't admit but his words excited you.

simon can be a little... chauvinistic. it was just his age. while he respected female colleagues in the military and was beyond happy that you were getting your degree. he'd do things for you that you could clearly do on your own. like when you tried to fix the leaky tap in your flat. or when you try to carry all the groceries inside. yes, darling, you're a strong woman. but let him take over. take care of you. that was what a man did right? he'll cut the onions for you and try to fix your buggy wi-fi connection. he's pay for dinner every time and even get you dessert after. he'd wipe your face clear of the sweet treat you'd have. "don't ask her anything too difficult, johnny. she doesn't need to be thinkin' too hard." he once said with his hands over your ears and glared at his teammate. which only made the scotsman laugh. simon didn't mind if he had to take over. he'd never pull the rug out from under you, even when you were under him. you looked prettier under him, letting him take charge of your fucking. he took care of his girl, even when you whined and told him you were capable. there was no need to whine. simon needed to take care of his much smaller, much weaker baby girl. no need to break a nail trying to do stuff that simon could easily do for you.

even with the grey in his blond hair, he still kept up to you. there were times that you were too exhausted from day-to-day that you let simon rut between your thighs until he covered your round ass with his hot cum. you'd whimper which would turn into a yelp when he easily slipped his heavy cock into your sweet pussy. where it belonged. he fucked you heavily as his cum coated your behind, even trailing down your sloped back as you had your head in the covers.

"don't spill a drop off that pretty ass, baby girl. or else i'd might have to mark you again." thank god you liked your men older. <3

[queenimmadolla]

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

next ┊ 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary: After a series of unfortunate events in your life, and lonelier than ever, you often turn to a dead guy and his tombstone for comfort. Never in your wildest, fucked up dreams did you imagine he’d turn to you for the same thing, but you find yourself hiding a living corpse, bringing him further to life, reaping some justice, and cutting off a lot of body parts all while trying to fit in and falling in love.

a/n: Part One is here! Just want to say thank you to my friends for hearing me rant and rave about Lisa Frankenstein for weeks now, though I’ve been unbearable with this concept in my head. This will be the longest chapter, just to establish some stuff, but we’ll get to the slaying! Hope you love Undead!Zombie!Eddie as much as I do. Happy reading! (p.s.,there will be some romantic smut in a later part)

Chapter warnings: a bit steve harrington x reader, some eddie munson x other female, death of a family member, brief description of SA (bordered with RED DIVIDERS if you’d like to skip), mistreatment of Reader, suicidal ideation (reader just has dark humor), implied murder, very campy, very cunty.

THEN, 1986.

  “Where you head’n too so in a hurry, boy?” Wayne Munson asked, sat on the couch with a mug of steaming hot coffee in one hand and the television remote in the other as he watched his nephew bounce around the trailer, grabbing all of the the items he let haphazardly around. 

  Wayne always told him to pick up his things, but like the rambunctious boy he was, there was no breaking out of his messy habits.

  “I got people to see, pops. Things to do. Trouble to ‘cause, cops to anger, you know the drill.” Eddie didn’t even need to turn around to know his uncle was scowling but he was proven correct when he turned to throw his father figure a shit eating grin over his shoulder, “Kidding, old man. Mom had me baptized when I was a baby, remember? I can do no wrong, like Achilles.” 

  “Wha’?”

  “Ugh, dad. If I have to explain the joke, it ruins it. I’ll be back by dinner, alright?”

  Wayne fixed him with a pointed look, “You best be on your best behavior, you hear me?”

  “Always.” Eddie gave a mock salute before dipping out the front door, still grinning as he tossed the keys of the van and caught them midair. 

  While he wasn’t necessarily going to cause trouble, he certainly would be providing the fun grass, powder and pills that were often behind it. Eddie knew Wayne was aware of what he did, had implied so when talking about how he knew Eddie was a good kid, just living in the wrong circumstances sometimes. Always said he wanted nothing but the best for his boy and for Eddie to realize he was meant for more than what this particular town forced on him. 

  Made Eddie’s chest tight, but seeing things like the broken patio board—Eddie had accidentally stomped through it after seeing a spider—reinforced Eddie’s belief that he’d much rather help out any way he could than let his uncle bear the financial weight of providing for him. 

  The van roared to life, after sputtering for a good seven seconds, and Eddie revved the engine a little. As he let her warm up, something in the side mirror caught his attention. 

  Someone. 

  Sheila. His neighbor in the trailer across the street. She was hauling a box to a car, looked rather heavy and Eddie would have dropped everything to scramble over and help her, had it not been for Mr.Brawn at her side. 

  Eddie watched as the guy, who stole the girl he was in love with right out of his arms, grabbed the box. The two lovers exchanged words which ended with them laughing at something as she followed him to the car.

  He slid the box into the packed car as she climbed into the passenger seat, and before Eddie knew it, he was watching her drive away, right out of his life forever.

  Eddie hadn’t even realized he was clutching his steering wheel so tight, his knuckles were straining against the skin, hot tears pooling at his waterline but he refused to let them fall. He’d shed more than enough tears over her, over what could have been.

  They started off so promising; throwing flirty waves from their bedroom windows, occasionally at school, before she approached him for weed. After that, came the whirlwind romance and Eddie hadn’t considered himself a romantic before—hadn’t had a whole lot of opportunities to make that discovery but he was so fucking romantic. A big sap. And he wasn’t ashamed of it. 

  Until she’d graduated, and he hadn’t. Again. Turns out, not trying at academics all year and then aiming to ace finals wasn’t enough. 

  Suddenly, all the bullshit naive plans they had to run away somewhere far from Hawkins weren’t possible. At least, Sheila couldn’t with Eddie. 

  He lost her to a guy in another band, had made the mistake of taking a piss after he and Corroded Coffin performed to their tiny ass crowd, and had come back to see her talking to the keyboardist of the band that had gone on before them. She looked entranced, leaning forward to hang on to whatever the fuck he was saying. When Eddie had gone over to ask her if she was ready to head out, fully prepared to tuck her under his arm and way from the keyboardist, she’d insisted and told him to his face, in front of his apparent competition, that she was gonna stick around a little longer and he should head out without her.

  He’d spent the entire night pacing in front of his window, glancing out of it every five minutes and every time he heard a pair of wheels turn onto the dirt road. Eddie got his confirmation when his car happened to be one of them. He’d watched, heart splintering, as the keyboardist got out of the car and walked around to open her door for her before they disappeared into her trailer. Eddie knew her dad worked nights. Knew what she and that musician were doing and he’d thrown up the entire contents of his stomach at the imagery before passing out.

  Eddie woke up to Sheila hovering above him and framed by the glow of the bathroom light like some angel. She’d dumped him right there and left the spare key he’d trusted her with on the table.

  And now, she was living her dream with someone else while Eddie got to stick around this shitty town with these people who could barely stand him for no reason (and yeah, okay, maybe he’d poke their buttons). In truth, while he was a little heartbroken over her, it was the fact that she still got her happy ending that hurt the most.

  The girls around Hawkins might have been interested in maybe hooking up with him, but they weren’t interested in being Eddie’s girl. Weren’t interested in falling stupid in love with him, making plans to start a life together. Didn’t want him in their plans.

  Eddie Munson was lonely. And it sucked.

  With a heavy sigh, he cranked on the radio, fingers twisting the volume dial up to the most obnoxious level before shifting the gear to drive.

  “It’ll get better, Munson. Love ain’t no stranger.” He mumbled, sucking on his teeth and pulling out on the road.

  If he had known then where it would lead him, where the night would take him, he would have at least hugged his uncle. It would be the last time he saw him, and it would be the last time Wayne Munson saw his nephew alive.

  Three days later, he’d be identifying and weeping over his boy’s body in the morgue after reporting Eddie missing when he didn’t come home.

  NOW, 1989

  “Where are you going? It’s almost time for breakfast.” Chrissy called out, head poking out from her bedroom as she watched you race down the hall.

  “Not hungry! I’ll be back soon!” You called over your shoulder, the large sheet of craft paper wrinkling in your hand as you took the stairs two at a time before bounding down the short entryway.

  You’d almost crossed the foyer and then slammed yourself back against the wall as you saw Laura, Chrissy’s mom, fiddling with something at the table. She had the radio on, some garbage self help tape spewing nonsense to her, and that condescending smile on her face.

  Yeah, you’d be avoiding her, lest you wish to be verbally and eloquently belittled. How Chrissy came out of her toxic womb to be such a good person, you’d never understand. 

  When Laura crossed into the kitchen, you sprinted for the door, fumbling a little with the knob in your urgency, but once you got it open, you were out, running across the walkway and the fencing around the house until you were in the woods behind it.

  Only then did you feel safe, the trees a welcome reprieve from your living situation, the magnifying glass this new town had you under, and from the world in general.

  You’d come from a small town before Hawkins, so you were used to small town living. But these people were so judgemental. You hadn’t even grabbed a box from the moving van before your neighbors were casting you snide looks, noses turning up and backs to you as they watered their yard and lounged about.

  Four months later, nothing had changed. If anything, they were more open with their disdain for you, commenting on your demeanor (and you were a cool fucking person), outfits, hair, body. It was annoying. They were annoying. EVERYTHING was annoying. 

  You didn’t even want to be there but you had no real choice. You’d graduated high school a couple of years ago and despite the popular teenage notion that you’d simply pack up your things, go to college and be successful at whatever career you wanted, life did not happen like the movies. The freedom you’d been promised by your own delusions never came. That bitch came with a hefty price tag and you weren’t exactly jumping into a safe of gold coins like Scrooge McDuck with your minimum wage job. 

  You’d gotten into several schools of your choice, but scholarships wouldn’t be nearly enough to cover it, and you’d literally have to sell your entire body to science if you wanted to be able to afford the loans you were being offered, since their interest rates were higher than the standard human beings’ lifespan. 

  So, living with the ‘rents was checked off on your list of things you didn’t want to continue doing past your high school graduation. And hey—you were only 19 years-old! You were still young! Just save up a few years, and maybe one day you’d be able to think about taking a loan. You had time. What could possibly go wrong to throw your plans off?

  Your mother was murdered.

  Yeah, that was a bummer. Could’ve been worse, you supposed. You could have died with her, when your home had been broken into, and sometimes you wish you had. Alas, you were still breathing, albeit extremely traumatized. But only good ol’ mom was six feet in the ground, in an entirely different town, because your father had also moved on a mere few months after her death, with the worst woman to leave flaming footprints on the earth’s crust, and they’d eloped after like six dates before moving you to a town where you knew no one.

  Thinking about it actually made you sick and feel a little delusional. 

  The only real good thing about your entire soap opera of a year was the community college you’d been able to enroll in. You had no real idea what you wanted to do in life, had no real drive for career paths, but you were doing something, and that something kept the she-devil that was your stepmother off your back. Most of the time. Some of the time. She couldn’t say you were a deadbeat yet.

  Chrissy, your sweet to a definitive and insensitive fault step-sister had pushed you into going with her for registration. Convinced you it was the perfect way to make some friends. It was hard to say no to Chrissy, she had a way with people and could make the meekest soul feel like they were capable of anything and everything. She could always see the best in people, and she was outgoing. Your time in Hawkins had been brief, but you’d easily gathered Chrissy was popular, a former cheerleader (and she’d successfully tried out for the community college team) and beloved by all. While part of you felt a little jealous at her confidence, you admired her more. She was never intentionally mean to you, either. She made the occasional comment, but it seemed like Chrissy had more so a filter problem, rather than spitting anything out with sugar coated hostility like her mother. Chrissy was...nice. After everything you've been through, you could use a little nice in your life.

  And sometimes nice was also the woods behind your house, as it led to the Hawkins’ Cemetery. 

  Morbid, sure, but you couldn’t help yourself. After a particularly nasty encounter with Laura the first week of your Hawkins sentence, and feeling lonelier than you’d ever felt before, you’d gone for a walk, tears decorating your face with wet trails as you tried to physically hold yourself together, arms wrapped around yourself. 

  You’d arrived at the cemetery, and because you couldn’t pay your mother a visit, you decided the only decent thing to do was visit other lonely souls.

  You’d stopped to pay your respects to just about every tombstone and plaque, but one in particular caught your attention.

  Tucked away in a corner and separate from the other graves, under a weeping willow, was the most damaged tombstone of them all. Parts of it were broken off, a lot of the information pertaining to the individual underneath it was seemingly grated off. You had no idea who it was, the only remaining legible letters were MUN and you figured it was he simply because you’d taken some paper to the tombstone for etching and ran a black crayon over it. You’d been able to make out the word ‘he’ on the paper and deduced it had once read may he rest in peace. 

  The state of his tombstone surprised you, given how recent the date of death was. While his birth date had also been worn away, the year of death—1986–had been left. It was 1989. No way his grave should’ve looked like that.

  Apparently, even the groundskeeper avoided his part of the cemetery. The grass around his grave was overgrown, and pitiful. So, you’d gone home, grabbed the lawn mower, and pushed it all the way over. You’d ended up disgusting, covered in grass, dirt and sweating like a cheater on a Sunday morning, but his grave was looking better. You’d taken to caring for his grave after that. A bunch of your trinkets and things you'd seen that you immediately thought he’d like surrounded him now and you’d even planted some bluebells. 

  He also made surprisingly good conversation, even though he never talked to you. His presence, while mostly imaginary to you, was comforting. 

  So, during any free time you had, you were sat against his tombstone, chatting about your day, life, whatever you wanted. Felt like he was always listening, no matter the subject and it was really lovely to be heard.

  When you arrived at the cemetery, it was practically vacant, with just the red headed girl you normally saw. You didn’t see her all the time, she was just one of the faces you saw the most, and that was only a handful of occasions. For the most part, Hawkins didn’t seem keen on remembering the dead. 

  “Hope you haven’t been lonely without me,” You greeted as you approached his tombstone, ducking under a few low hanging willow branches that still brushed over you anyways. You’d have to ‘borrow’ Laura’s shears soon, the willow tree was hauntingly beautiful around his grave, but you wanted its branches and leaves to frame his grave, not conceal it, “I missed you.”

  It was a little odd, but you did. 

  When you weren’t at his grave, you were thinking about him, trying to put a face to MUN, wondering what his life had been like. Did he have any loved ones? What had his interests been? How had he died? Had he felt as lonely as you did?

  “I know, I know.” You settled onto the grass in front of his tombstone, securing the craft paper to his tombstone with some masking tape, “I was just here last night.” You imagined he would say.

  “I just can’t stay away from you. You have a very intriguing aura: I can’t see it because you’re dead, and that makes me want to know you more.” You pulled a black crayon from your pocket and went about scribbling on the paper, over where you knew MUN would be etched in stone, “I’ve said it a million times, and you’ve probably turned over in your coffin repeatedly because of it, but you’re the only one who understands me. And you’re the only one here that I care about—probably in the whole world actually, except maybe Chrissy but I know her friends think I’m weird, and I don’t want to drag her down with me.”

  Once the letters appeared on the paper, you sprawled out STER and you dropped the crayon to produce a pretty hot pink marker from your pocket instead, signing your name with a little heart to go with it just above the last name you’d crafted for him.

  The odds of this dude being a Munster were slim to none, but you thought it was fitting for someone who lived in a cemetery.

  You sat back on your haunches to admire it, it was a cute piece. Would look nice on your wall and whenever you missed him and found yourself longing to be near his grave, all you’d have to do is turn on your side and you'd be able to see part of him. 

  You ripped the paper off his tombstone, and weighed it down on the grass with a rock. With that out of the way, you gave him your full attention, shuffling until your head and shoulder were leaning against the stone, “Would you wanna be dragged down with me? Be seen with me? I’m somewhat of a pariah around here. Did you have better luck when you were still kicking?”

  You figured with how fucked up his tombstone had been, probably not. You imagined he’d confirm it, too. Just out right say, ‘Nah, these assholes hated me.’

  “Yeah, looks like we’re two peas in a pod.” Then you glanced down, fingers, twirling the blades of grass over his grave, “Or, you know. Casket.”

  You let silence fall over you, broken only by the chirping of birds in surrounding trees.

  “Goddamit, why do you have to be dead?” Your eyelids fluttered close, and instead of the cold stone, you imagined your head pressed against a warm chest, rising and falling with breaths, and a heartbeat thumping strong below your ear, pushing blood throughout his body. Imagined he was alive, arms slipping around you, firm and strong to hold you together so you didn't have to anymore.

  But he wasn’t, and you were reminded when the groundskeeper shouted, “HEY!”

  You shot up, glancing around until you saw him by the entrance with a leaf blower, “YOU AWAKE?”

  What kind of a dumbass question was that? Sure, it had looked like you were asleep but you were clearly alert now.

  “YEAH!” You shrieked back to be heard, and he went back to not caring. 

  “He can see me leaning against your tombstone, but he can’t see overgrown grass, weeds, rocks, or your grave in general when I’m not here. Men, always so selective, amirite?”

  You glanced at the stone, half expecting it to respond. “Eh, what do you know, you’re just a man, too.” You reached your arm back, knuckles trailing over MUN.

  “Despite you mouthing off to me most of the time, I brought you something.” You reached into your other pocket and pulled out a necklace, lined with black pearls and a cross pendant. It had been your mother’s. While she had a pension for religion, it wasn’t something you thought about. Dying, sure, but whatever afterlife? Not so much. Felt wrong, sometimes, to carry it around with you—felt like you were disrespecting her a little bit to not believe what she did, even though she had no qualms with it when she was alive. So, you figured why not trust it with the other important person in your life?

  “Pretty, huh? It was my mom’s. She’s dead, like you. You wouldn’t happen to have seen her around, would you?” You joked, fingers stroking over the pearls. There was no risk in leaving them with your dead friend, people avoided him and you had a feeling even grave robbers wouldn’t dare step near the willow, so they’d probably be with him for the rest of eternity, “I want you to have them, take care of them for me.”

  You placed the necklace over the peak of his tombstone, smiling when they didn’t fall from their place, “Mm, you look good in them. Better than I do, I’m not big on pearls. More of a silver jewelry kind of girl. I could do gold and diamonds, though, only for a wedding ring.”

  You held your arm out, admiring your ring hand void of any actual rings, “Nothing too gaudy, of course. That’s what my earrings are for.” 

  Your eyes trailed from your outstretched fingers, to your wrist, and the watch decorating it. The time made you heave a heavy sigh, “I gotta go. Chrissy’s dragging me to a party tonight, so I’ve got to mentally prepare for that. You’ll think of me while I’m away, won’t you?”

  Trailing a finger down the stone, you leaned forward to press your lips to it in a sweet kiss. 

  “I’ll be back soon, and this time I won’t forget my book of sonnets. I know how much you love the cynical poems I force on you.”

  And though you announced your departure, you found it hard to leave him, like you always did. It took all you had to gather your crayon, marker, and your new poster (and you kept dropping all three to have an excuse to linger) and leave the cemetery behind, glancing back impulsively every couple of steps until it was no longer in view, and the moment it wasn’t you wanted to drop everything and run back to him.

  You had to remind yourself he was a stranger, who didn’t care for you, rotting in the ground. And it sucked. 

  “I don’t wanna go.” You announced, staring into the bathroom mirror you shared with Chrissy. You’d just finished your makeup, eyes heavily lined, and lashes coated an electric blue that made your eyes pop. You were always a little heavy handed with your makeup, you figured the whole point of it was to use it as you wanted. Your hair had been manipulated to hell and back, but regardless of what you did, you were unsatisfied with the girl staring back at you, “I’ll just stay home.”

  “Not on my watch!” Chrissy declared, reaching in front of you for her pink lipstick. The bathroom counter was littered with your combined beauty products, “This is the first major rager of the year, the perfect social gathering. You need to meet people, sissy.” 

  You scowled at the idea, “I have met people.”

  Chrissy tubed the lipstick bullet, rubbing her lips together as she gave you a concerned side-eye, “People who like you, sissy.”

  Ouch, there’s that brutal honesty.

  “It’s not good for you to be on your own all the time,” She set the lipstick down so she could place a dainty hand on your shoulder, big blue eyes focused on you, “I worry about you. Daddy and mom worry about you. Your doctor worries about you. You need to get out more.” Chrissy stressed, pink lips pulling into a reassuring smile before she went back to focusing on the mirror and her makeup.

  You let out a heavy sigh, mulling her words over. Definitely could have been phrased better, but Chrissy was right. You were currently the town recluse, and occupying your room and the town cemetery wouldn’t change that. 

  “That blush isn’t the right shade for you, sissy.” Chrissy broke you from your thoughts and your eyes drifted back over to your reflection, the girl looking so unsure and right back at you, “You really have to accentuate your features, compliment them, because you’re already beautiful.” 

  Didn’t feel like it.

  Your expression must have given your inner thoughts away because Chrissy turned to you again, practically bouncing, “Wait a minute, you could use my tanning bed!”

  You deadpanned at the mention of the ridiculous full on salon tanning bed that Chrissy owned. There was a dedicated mini garage in the backyard for it, next to the pool, and complete with neon lights, her beauty pageant trophies and sashes as well as her cheer trophies. The PG&E bill was always through the roof for the Tan Shack alone, and you still had no idea how Laura could afford it.

  “No, Chrissy I-I don’t think that would work on me. At all.”

  Chrissy waved off your concerns, “It’s not about the tan, or even if you can tan. It’s the experience. When I lay in that tanning bed, with those little goggles on my eyes and I can hear the buzzing, I feel myself blooming. Regardless of whether or not my skin actually tans,” It didn’t. Chrissy burned but she somehow still looked good, “I feel amazing about myself.”

  “Are you sure that’s not cancer?”

  “You’re so funny!” Chrissy laughed even though you were being serious, “Sissy, every girl deserves to feel beautiful. If I can provide you with an experience that might raise those confidence levels that are dragging across a nail-covered floor right now, why wouldn’t I?”

  Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to decipher if that was a compliment or not, but you didn’t have long to mull it over before Chrissy was framing your face with her hands. 

  “And I can. Please, let me do this.”

  You groaned, long and drawn out and awkward, before squeezing your eyes shut and slowly nodding your head. She squealed, clapped her hands together and dragged you out of the bathroom.

  After explaining how it all worked, Chrissy bid you a cheerful goodbye and left you to your own devices so she could finish getting ready for the night ahead of you both.

  You’d selected your tan level, positive you wouldn’t see any real results but maybe the ‘experience’ would benefit you and shed your fuzzy slippers and robe, leaving you in some boy shorts and a tank top as you tried to settle yourself in the tanning bed. The dip was awkward, and you couldn’t get a good grasp on the top of the tanning bed since it was meant to only open and close rather than stay in position so grasping onto it for balance as you lowered yourself in led to you conking yourself on the head with a noticeable bonk.

  You hissed in pain, rubbing the sore area as you clambered the rest to the way in. Once you’d stretched your legs out, lowered the top, maneuvered the goggles over your face and waited for the magic to happen as you were surrounded by neon blue lights.

  You heard the buzzing as the tanning bed started up. The magic happened alright. The entire tanning bed shocked you, and you shrieked as you felt the intense electric current ripple throughout your body, sparking every single pore in the worst way possible.

“I’m so sorry you got electrocuted, sissy.”

  Chrissy broke the silence as you sulked in the passenger seat, your hair a little bigger than normal and not a result of styling. After getting all five senses shocked out of you, you’d come out with a hairdo that would not usually be up to par with you, and some serious case of static electricity. You’d tried to gently press your hair down and when you saw a literal spark in it, you decided to just leave it alone.

  Your step-sister had been apologizing since.

  “It’s alright. I survived.” And you wanted to forget about it. 

  You could see Chrissy glancing nervously at you from the corner of your eye as she drove you to the party location.

  “So…how are you liking Hawkins Community, so far?” She asked, thankfully changing the subject. 

  “It’s fine. The campus looks relatively the same as the community college I toured in my old town. Classes are decent.” Pitiful. The classes were so boring and straight out of the book, but it cost you a fraction of a fraction of what you’d have to pay to attend a university. 

  Chrissy lips turned up in a mischievous smile and you internally groaned, fully expecting her next question.

  “See any cute boys?” And then, as an afterthought, “Or…girls?” Then she took her eyes off the road again, squinting at you as if she was trying to assess something, “Or…..anyone?” 

  You betrayed yourself, eyes darting to the window before they were back on her and she perked up in the driver’s seat. 

  “Okay, spill.”

  Your heart started thumping wildly in your chest as one particular guy came to mind, but you hadn’t thought about him too much. Hadn’t allowed yourself to entertain the idea of a romance with him. That’s how people got their hopes up and letdown.

  “Sissy! Sissy, come on. You have to tell me. I’m your only friend!” 

  This time, you could tell she was joking, even though she did have merit. You bit your lip as she ribbed you a bit more, the corners of your lips tugging up into a smile. 

  “Okay, okay!” Your hands flew to cover your face, embarrassed, shy and a little giddy all at once to actually be admitting you had a crush. 

  “Steve Harrington.”

  “STEVE HARRINGTON?” She repeated, incredulous and you shushed her even though it was only you two in the car.

  “Sissy, that’s so unexpected! I haven’t really seen him since high school but I didn’t think he’d be your type.” Chrissy admitted with a shrug of her shoulders.

  “He works in the library.” You sighed out, recalling your brief interactions with him when checking out a couple of books. He’d been kind, made a couple of humorous comments about the titles, and always tried to meet your avoidant gaze, which meant he was being nice to you. Coaxing you out of your shell. You actually didn't have much trouble interacting with people, you were more abrasive than you ever were shy, Steve was just a little too easy on the eyes. Made you forget how to talk, and on occasion, walk. It was embarrassing, “Always makes those cute displays with recommendations.”

  “Good for him,” She commented, sounding impressed. “I didn’t really know he was intellectual. Wasn’t, the last I heard. Had a big reputation in high school, seemed kind of mean and everyone called him King Steve.”

  You frowned, feeling the need to protect him, “Didn’t they call you the Queen of Hawkins High?”

  “Yeah, but only to make me seem pretentious.” 

  You raised your eyebrows, glancing away. Chrissy was kind, but sometimes, she could be pretentious.

  “And anyways, I’m not a student at Hawkins High anymore, so they can’t call me that. Maybe Steve really did change. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard much about him since he struck out with a series of girls. Maybe he took a good look at himself and decided a change was needed.” You could feel her eyes on you again. 

  “Does he flirt with you?”

  “No.”

  “See him flirt with any girls?”

  “Nope.”

  “Does he still make his hair all big and poofy?”

  “Looks more voluminous than poofy.”

  Chrissy hummed, “An improvement. Is he all beret wearing and drinking coffee now?”

  You tried to recall ever seeing him in a hat, let alone a beret, “No, I don’t think so. If anything, he’s introspective.”

  “He’s on the spectrum?”

  Your smile waned when you realized she was asking a legitimate question, “Oh. No. That’s—that’s not what that means. I just meant he’s thinking about what he does; how he acts, how he behaves.”

  It got quiet for a few moments.

  ”Well,” Chrissy broke the silence once more, “He might be there tonight. I’m not sure if they’re still friends, but Tommy Hagan is hosting tonight, and once upon a time, they were inseparable.”

  You made a sound of acknowledgment, upper lip twitching in disgust. You knew Tommy, saw him around campus. He was a big jerk, you’d witnessed him throw some guy’s backpack in the trash and pour his drink on it. You wish you’d known it was his party you were going to in advance. Tommy was a nasty piece of work, so his friend group was the same. Out of all of them, though, Carol got on your nerves the most. 

  She didn’t pay you a whole lot of attention, but when you were walking in with Chrissy—and this is Chrissy, so she acknowledged everyone—and she said hi, Carol would just look you up and down before pursing her big mouth like she’d sucked on something sour. One day, you’d like to give her your fist to suck on.

  ”Patrick McKinney is bringing three kegs and I heard Reefer Rick is bringing his whole inventory.”

  “Reefer Rick?”

  “Yeah, he’s the local drug dealer now. I mean, he’s always been but he used to have somebody sell for him while he supplied, but he died.”

  Your eyes widened while your pupils dilated, mind conjuring up some image of a poor dude being murdered for drugs and then the supplier just taking over, not fearful at all of meeting the same fate, “He died?”

  Chrissy nodded her head, looking thoughtful, “Yeah, Eddie Munson.”

  Munson.

  You sat up in your seat, fully alert and invested in the conversation now, “Eddie Munson? Is he buried under the willow tree in the cemetery?”

  You stared at Chrissy, willing her to think faster as she squinted and pursed her lips, “I think Tina mentioned something about someone peeing on a tree over there, so I think so.”

  Your mouth dropped open, expression utterly horrified that someone could do that, “That’s beastly, what the fuck?”

  “I know,” Chrissy sighed with a shake of her head. “I didn't know him all that much, bought some weed off of him a couple of times and he seemed a little scary—appearance and mannerism wise—but he seemed nice when you had to interact with him. He didn’t deserve that.”

  “How did he die?” You asked, voice small and heart shrinking. You didn’t like where this was going. Didn’t like it one bit.

  “Well, the official determination, if I remember right, was like a drug deal gone bad or something, but no one really believes it. He was known to have weed on him, kept the harder stuff somewhere else. Everyone knows he was murdered. They did a number on him, it was all everyone could talk about because Sydney Porter couldn’t even get her dad—he worked at the station—to show her pictures. He told her they messed Eddie up bad. People here really didn’t like him. No one knows who did it though.”

  You sunk back into your seat, mind troubled and stomach turning. This whole time, you'd been tending to and caring for the grave of a murdered guy, taken from this world simply because people didn’t like him. He must have been so lonely. So scared. And they killed him.

  Chrissy was wrong. People in this town knew who killed him, because one of them, or some of them, had to have been his murderers.

  Your fingers curled into tight fists, painted nails digging into the flesh of your palms. Chrissy noticed the change in your demeanor.

  “Oh, sissy. You’re such an empath. Don’t be so sad, I know it’s a horrible story, but he’s resting now. In peace.”

  “No, he’s not. They fucked up his tombstone. He can’t even be dead in peace.” You huffed, furious on his behalf.

  “How do you know?” Chrissy asked, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow. 

  “I go there a lot, it’s nice. Quiet. A little creepy, but that adds to its charm, makes it relatively peaceful. I’ve been visiting all the graves, but I was drawn to him the most. Etched his tombstone. He’s my favorite.”

  Despite the horrors you’d learned, the thought of Mun—Eddie, still brought a wistful smile to your lips. Maybe your presence was enough to settle him, bring him a little bit of peace this town and the people in it refused to give him.

  “H-He’s your favorite…?”

  “Yeah. I feel this….connection with him. From the very first time I visited. Now, I leave him gifts, flowers, pretty stones, poems I wrote, a book of sonnets I stole from the library.”

  “You….should talk to your doctor about this, Sissy. That’s really weird. That’s really weird, sissy.”

  You fought to not roll your eyes. As much as you cared about Chrissy, and knew she cared about you, she didn’t understand you. 

  “Well, since people ruined his grave, I thought it might be nice to clean it up and make sure he’s not forgotten.” You snapped, “It’s not like I call him my boyfriend or anything.”

  Chrissy eyed you skeptically, “Well, then that’s nice of you, I guess. Just don’t go around telling everybody about that, or you’ll be known as the Ghost Whisperer.”

  “He hasn’t talked back to me yet.”

  Chrissy laughed, and freed one hand off the wheel to lightly slap your arm, “See, now that’s funny. If you do tell anyone, end it with that joke. You’ll be a riot.”

  You smirked, staring out the front windshield. You’d let her think it was a joke. For now.

  You made a sound of displeasure as Chrissy pulled into a clear space on the grass and parked. She jumped out to dance over to her friends, some wine coolers cradled in a plastic bag she clutched.

  You allowed yourself a full minute to stew in your misery before getting out of the car and following after her. As you neared her group, you quickly realized that was a bad idea. 

  “Oh my GOD! Vickie, you fixed your teeth! They look so good. I wasn’t gonna say anything because I thought you were happy with the overcrowding, but now that you fixed it, I can’t look away!”

  Yeesh. You beelined away from them and wandered around the crowded front lawn, dodging rowdy friend groups and couples until you spotted a cooler.

  Maybe a drink would calm you down.

  You squatted down and popped the lid, digging around the ice but all you spotted were Pepsi and Squirt cans.

  “The liquid fun is inside.” A guy’s voice came from behind you and you rolled your eyes. You were so not in the mood to be hit on right now. 

  “What?” You asked, tone bored, but you didn’t want to make him seem helpful so you grabbed a Squirt.

  “Alcohol. He keeps it inside.”

  You slammed the cooler shut and popped the tab of the can, rising to your feet, “Yeah, I figured that mu—shhhh.”

  Oh, shit. 

  Steve Harrington was standing before you, eyes alight with mirth as he smirked down at you.

  You swallowed hard, hoping to god your tongue hadn’t gone down with the movement. See? Here you went getting all stupid around him.

  ”Funny seeing you here.”

  You laughed nervously, “Yeah. I—uh, mhm.” You forced yourself to take a drink of your soda to keep from making an even bigger fool of yourself.

  “Sorry if it’s weird of me to just walk up to you. I was chilling on the side of the house and thought I saw you, but I’m a little nearsighted and I didn’t bring my glasses.”

  You pulled the can away from your mouth as your brain registered the lack of metal frames on the bridge of his nose. He looked handsome with and without them, that wasn’t fair. It was still throwing you off. 

  “It’s—It’s okay. Uhm, no harm done.” You shrugged your shoulders, hoping it looked cool and not as stiff as you felt. You even added in a smile with some teeth for a little razzle dazzle.

  “I actually came over here to tell you your books are significantly overdue.” Steve deadpanned, tongue playing with his canine tooth as he scrutinized you and you shrunk, smile falling from your face. You had got to get better at following up on your due dates.

  “Oh.”

  He scoffed, face breaking out into a grin as his shoulders shook with his chuckles “I’m kidding.”

  OH, THANK FUCK. 

  “Oh,” And then, because every god probably hates you, you started snorting with laughter. You cut that shit quick, clearing your throat as you took another sip of your beverage.

  “So,” Steve took a step closer to you, “Are you enjoying─”

  “Hey!” Carol stepped right up to Steve, practically leaning all over him as her ruby red lips spread into a seductive smile, eyes lidded and no doubt a few drinks in with a drink for Steve in her hand. For the billionth time that night, you rolled your eyes, trying not to gag at how desperate she was. You knew Tommy had recently dumped her, the entire town knew and now she was clearly trying to get into Steve’s pants, “I found the keg.”

  She could eat shit, his pants were yours.

  “Oh, Thank you.” Came Steve’s bleak reply and part of you thought he might have actually wanted to talk to just you. Now, you were really annoyed she’d interrupted.

  “Hey, Carol.”

  Carol looked surprised that you’d even dare speak to her, raising her eyebrows, “Hey. Hi— sorry, how do we know each other?”

  “You’re my lab partner.” You were unimpressed, you expected her to be a better mean girl. 

  “Yay me.” The smile she directed at you was anything but friendly, reminding you of the one Laura would make after you did something in public she didn’t like, but she couldn’t yell at you until you were home. Carol swirled the liquid in her cup around, head tilting as she offered it to you, “You wanna sip, partner?”

  “Carol.” Steve warned and she tutted, flicking her wrist.

  “You’re right, I don’t know why I assumed she partied.”

  “I’ll take a beer,” You could handle alcohol, had cleared your mother’s wine cabinet after she was murdered, so this would be no big deal.

  Carol looked annoyed but handed you the cup, and to make sure you wouldn’t gag and vomit, you threw it back, throat opening as you swallowed the liquid as fast as you could to refuse it as much time on your taste buds as possible.

  When you lowered the cup, you realized you’d made a mistake and glanced into it at the small amount left behind, watching as the ground in your peripheral view began to shift.

  Steve seemed to realize something was wrong, quickly taking your cup and ingesting what was left. His suspicions were confirmed and he spat it out on the grass before scowling at Carol, “PCP? Really, Carol? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the hell would you give that to her!?”

  “Oopsie.”

  But it was too late for you. You dropped the soda can in your other hand and lifted your hands to your face, watching the lines around your palms and fingers begin to move, swirling around and you backed away from them, watching as everything around you began to come undone.

  “Hey!” You heard a voice next to you and someone started rubbing your back, you hadn’t even realized you were crouching. You craned your head up to see Chrissy and you frowned. Her voice was so different, distorted. She sounded more like your dad than Chrissy. 

  Her face was both far away and right in front of you, you reached a hand out to test the theory, see if it really was close. Chrissy caught your wrist, frowning at the state you were falling into.

  Chrissy started asking you questions, about what you’d taken, what you drank but her voice was too loud for you, and the purple behind her head was distracting. Still, you nodded your head.

  At your confirmation, Chrissy’s frown intensified and she helped you to the ground before darting over to chew Steve and Carol out.

  You couldn’t stay on the grass for long, the blades of it stabbing you and sending pain shooting up your palms and into your bones so you crawled some distance away before you managed to push yourself up and stumble towards the house. It was hard.

  Everything was moving. You heard a loud sound and glanced around wildly until you were staring up at the sky, mouth dropping open to see green clouds and lightning. 

  You had to get away, the need to escape, be safe was urgent but it felt like the closer you got to the front door, the farther away it went. Your breathing was heavy and panicked as you kept stumbling forward, arm outstretched and finally you reached it.

  You yanked it open and nearly fell inside, tripping over your feet until you hit the back of the couch and used it to sink to the floor.

  You heard your name being called and lifted your head, eyes crazed as you tried to find the source. Fred Benson approached you, the skinny boy squatting to be eye level with you.

  “You okay?” He asked and you reached forward, grasping his face in your hand and squeezing to make sure he was a real person.

  “You.” Was all you said, booping his nose but still suspicious of him. Was he real?

  “Uh, yeah. It’s me. It’s Fred, we sit next to each other in ASL class.”

  He looked like Fred. You still didn’t believe he was human, squinting as your hands grasped at the back of the couch.

  “You don’t look so good,” Fred pushed the frame of his glasses up his nose, brows furrowed in concern, “Let's find somewhere for you to sit down for a minute. Or maybe a while. Man, what did you drink?”

  He stood up, offering you a hand and you took it but didn’t pull yourself up. Fred heaved with all his might and managed to get you on your feet but he realized just walking you wouldn’t be enough, and so did you because you draped yourself over him, one arm over his scrawny shoulders.

  Fred cursed under his breath but held your weight, leading you out of the populated living room and you watched a couple furiously make out on the couch cushions as you passed.

  “I hate parties. I don’t know why I came—well, actually I do. I never got invited to these in high school, so I guess I’m living out my fantasy now. In all honesty, I’d much rather be watching Weird Science. So far tonight, I’ve seen three cheerleaders throw up and a baby being conceived.”

  “Uh huh,” Was all you could get out, watching people swirl past you like shooting stars.

  “Would you count that as escaping the teen pregnancy statistic? I know they’re out of high school, but we’re all still pretty young.” He commented as he led you up the stairs. You tripped several times and almost sent him flying down them but the two of you managed to make it. 

  Fred was heaving by the time you'd shouldered him into the hallway wall, his face and hands clammy.

  ”Good god, how did I pass P.E.?” The two of you paused there until he regained his breath while you plastered yourself against the wall, cheek pressed to it and hands stroking over the wallpaper. Eventually, Fred peeled you off of it and kept moving until he could find a place to put you.

  “You like movies right? Got any favorite directors? Or favorite films?”

  “Wall.”

  “Huh? Oh, you’re just admiring the wallpaper.”

  “Great Wall of China.”

  Fred positioned you against the wall, looking a little annoyed. You didn’t care, could only focus on the framed photo of the Great Wall of China directly across from you.

  “Oh.” Was all he said when he spotted it. “Stay right here.”

  Then he disappeared and you watched as the painting came to life, and the stones of the wall began moving, rippling. You didn’t even know stones could move like that but now it made so much more sense. 

  Fred appeared again, tugging you along into an empty room. You spotted a trash can and nearly threw Fred into the bedroom wall as you dove for it, retching everything out of your stomach. You could hear Fred gagging, but he was decent enough to make sure your hair stayed out of your way. When you were done, he helped sit you up on the bed, and nearly collapsed next to you.

  ”We did it,” he cheered with no real gusto. And you sat there, still feeling the earth orbiting. It was the most odd sensation, you could feel a spot on your brain pulsing, like a migraine but it felt so euphoric to close your eyes.

  “Here,” They snapped right back open and you glanced to your side to see Fred offering you a handkerchief. Of course Fred Benson carried around a handkerchief. How amusing. 

  “Thank you,” You gave the three versions of him you could see right then a smile and used the handkerchief to wipe your mouth, eyelids fluttering close just as the sound of thunder filled the room, and a flashing of lightning accompanied it.

  “Huh, a rainless thunderstorm, looks like the angels are bowling.” You heard him muse next to you.

  And it brought another smile to your face, “My mom used to say that.”

  At the mention of her, your brain conjured up all the happy feelings and memories of her, huddled on your couch, in your old home watching black and white horror films. They didn’t scare her, so she could tolerate them. You missed her. She made you feel so light, so seen, so—no.

  Something was wrong. Something felt very, very wrong.

  Your smile faded and you felt your belly sink as you opened your eyes.

  “Does that feel good?”

  You didn’t want to, but you looked down to see Fred’s hand on your breast. Your breathing picked up and Fred let go of you to grab your wrist and force you to touch his crotch, “Well don’t just sit there, help me out. Finish what you started.” 

  Anger filled you and you yanked your hand away, “No.”

  Fred opened his mouth as you got up, rushing away from him and stumbling back out the way you remembered while he yelled at you.

  You had to get out, had to get away. Had to be safe, feel safe. You banged against walls as you went, desperate to get out of the house, away from Fred, from everyone, and to safety. That was your only concern as the drug really hit you.

  All you could remember was seeing colors, hearing and feeling the wind against your sweaty skin, leaves blowing with it and gusting around you.

  You had no idea how you escaped the mad house, how long you’d even been walking or how you actually got there, but you found yourself in front of the cemetery, a flash of lightning illuminating the gate.

  To anyone else, a cemetery would have been the worst place to find themselves on a night like this, but you’d already been to hell so you trudged forward, feet taking you to him. Even in your drugged state, you were able to find your way to Eddie. Always would be.

  Your knees dug into the grass as you collapsed in front of his tombstone, fingers reaching forward to trace over MUN and 1986 before your body curled around the large stone, hugging yourself to it. Electric blue tears slipped down your cheeks, staining them with your mascara.

  “I wish I was with you.” You whispered, hating everything, hating this town, hating the people, hating Fred Benson, hating Carol, hating Laura Cunningham, hating how your mom wasn’t alive, hating how the one person you’d unknowingly sought for comfort was someone you’d never met before who was six feet under the ground. And you hated how you weren’t down there.

  You laid there, hugging his tombstone for hours under the thunder and lightning as the PCP slowly left your system.

  When you were able to stand up on your own, you gave the tombstone another kiss, rested your forehead against it and quietly thanked him for helping you find your way home before you left, following the path you’d made during all of your visits.

  The house was quiet when you got in, and Chrissy’s car hadn’t been parked in the driveway when you’d walked up so you figured she was still at the party. Sluggishly, you made your way up the stairs, falling into your shared bathroom. Your hand searched the wall, struggling to find the switch. Once your fingertips made contact with it, you flipped it and squinted as the room was flooded with the warm light. It was still too much for your eyes but you kept it on and walked towards the mirror

  The girl looking back at you was not the same one you’d last seen in it. This girl had blue smudged all around her eyes, faint trails of it over her cheeks and a rats nest for hair. Her eyes burned, not from the light, but from a fury within. 

  She was stuck in a life she didn’t want to live and couldn’t do anything about. As a large strike of lightning flashed from the window positioned at the back of the bathroom, towards the back of the house, you decided to put her out of her misery, picking up a blow dryer and smashing it against your reflection with a yell.

  You stood there, chest heaving as you stared at the broken reflection. Then you tossed the blow dryer onto the counter, and went to bed.

  Your dreams were much more pleasant than your reality, eyelids fluttering open to the ceiling of your old bedroom. A glance to your side confirmed your mother’s photo was at your bedside, next to your alarm clock on your old bedside table.

  “Well?” Her photo asked, shooting you that gorgeous smile of hers, “What are you waiting for? Go get him.”

  Your confusion was momentary, your mother raised her chin in a direction and you knew what would happen, you were giddy for it as you looked down to see yourself wrapped in the most beautiful wedding gown you’d ever seen.

  You rose from the bed into a sitting position, picking up the bouquet on the pillow next to you. Your dresser mirror was directly across from your bed and you took a moment to admire the beautiful girl staring back at you. Where you last remember seeing trails of tears were diamonds, glittering against your skin. Her eyes sparkled with a joy you’d never known. You bid her one last smile as you turned your head to the figure sitting on the edge of your bed, dark curls cascading down his neck, past broad shoulders with his back to you. 

  His right arm was out, palm up.

  He was waiting for you.

  You shifted until you were on the edge of your bed next to him, staring straight forward just as he was.

  Without looking, you knew exactly where his hand was, and you placed your left one over it, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. Slowly, the two of you leaned towards each other, until your head was on his shoulder and his cheek was pressed against the top of your head, his fingers curling around your hand to ground you. You sighed, all the tension and weight of the world leaving you.

  “Sissy. . .”

  “Sissy…”

  “SISSY!”

  You groaned as Chrissy shook you awake, eyes prying through all the mascara that had crusted over your eyes. It took a couple of blinks until you regained your clear vision, gaze locking on Chrissy leaning over you. Her face was clean of any makeup, skin glowing and hair wrapped up in rollers.

  She’d gotten home later than you and had still been able to look perfect. 

  What the hell?

  “You better get up, sissy. My mom’s losing it over the bathroom mirror.”

  You were confused for a second until you remembered smashing it with a blow dryer last night—or this morning. Well, it definitely would have broken at the sight of you now, anyways. 

  You frowned but made no move to get up so Chrissy tugged your blanket off of you, giggling when the both of you realized you had your hand in your underwear. Hastily, you yanked it out, and threw the blankets back over yourself.

  “It’s okay, Sissy. Everyone does it. It’s natural.”

  “Oh my god…”

  “So, what happened last night to bring this on?” She wiggled her eyebrows and you stared at her for a second. Part of you wanted to yell at her, berate her for letting you stumble around while high on a drug you’d never taken before, the other half knew in Chrissy’s World, it was all rainbows and sunshine—at least, it had been since she’d forced her mother to respect her boundaries. Chrissy didn’t expect the worst in anyone, didn't expect anyone to take advantage of you and certainly didn't expect you to wind up walking to the cemetery and then home on a bad trip. No, in Chrissy’s World, you’d probably spent the night flirting with someone, probably Steve, maybe fooled around in his car before he drove you home.

  You didn’t see it necessary to shatter her world so you groaned instead, the full force of your migraine hitting you now that you were out of sleep’s clutches, and covered your hands with your face.

  “Ooh, your knees…”

  You glanced down to see what she was staring at and sure enough, your knees were scratched up from kneeling at Eddie’s grave, but in Chrissy’s World…

  “I fell.” Was the only excuse you could come up with and Chrissy smirked.

  “Me, too.” Her eyelid dropped in a wink just as Laura yelled upstairs for you, so, begrudgingly, you wrapped yourself in your robe and headed downstairs to receive your punishment.

  Just as you suspected, Laura had attacked you with allegations—that were true for once, you had smashed the bathroom mirror—and your dad looked like he could care less.

  “You know,” She stated, fixing you with those unnaturally blue eyes of hers, “Your dad wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. See the good in you, but I knew. I’m an Intuitive Person, you know. An IP. They’ve got seminars for people like me.”

  Your mind flashed to How to Handle a Narcissist. 

  “Laura…” Your dad warned and Laura inhaled sharply, displeased that your dad was sticking up for you. For once. 

  “Did you know there was a tornado last night? It hailed. Wind blew the fence over. The yard is covered in debris, and now I have to focus on repairing the bathroom, too. I don’t think that’s fair.” She huffed and Chrissy spoke up from her place on the couch.

  “It was a tornado watch, mom. Not a real tornado.”

  “Actually, Chris, the weather was downright crazy last night. I mean, it was really something, I saw green lightning. Big balls of it in the sky.”

  You and Chrissy shared secret smiles at hearing your dad talk about big balls.

  “Love muffin, could you swap out being a weatherman for being a father, right now?” Laura gritted out through her chemically whitened teeth.

  “It’s a Meteorologist,” You mumbled and her head snapped over to glare at you before she was speaking to your father again.

  “Honey, your daughter is a vandal. She’s got a taste for vandalism, and she is deliberately vandalizing and destroying property. First, it was my collection of Precious Moments figurines─”

  “That was an accident, you didn’t wrap them in bubble wrap and I dropped the box when I tripped over the front steps.”

  “Mother,” Chrissy chided, hands crossing over her robe. “Be. Nice.”

  “I am being nice,” Laura hissed, glare never leaving you, “But I refuse to coddle her. She’s headed straight to the nut house with this behavior.”

  You frowned, wiping away some of the dried mascara under your eye, “Can you say that if you’re a Psych Nurse?”

  Laura had the decency to look embarrassed before whacking your father’s arm. He sighed, putting his newspaper down, “Sweetheart─”

  You clocked the twitch in Laura’s eyelid at the affectionate name your father used to refer to you.

  “─You’re gonna clean your bathroom, alright? Sweep up all that glass.”

  ”And?” Laura pushed, still staring at you.

  “And…..um. Pay for the mirror, I guess.” Laura turned her nose up, hurmphing. 

  “That’s fine, can I get ready for work now?”

  Your dad nodded and Laura looked like she wanted to protest but you turned your back to her and made your way upstairs, hesitating at the top when your fathered turned the volume of the TV back on and you heard the news reporter reporting from the cemetery, talking about a grave, under a tree, that had been struck by lightning. 

  You wondered if it had been Eddie’s. There’s no way you’d be able to check today, you’d get home from work too late, so you’d have to check tomorrow.

  You tried to stay busy during your shift at the local tailor’s. You didn’t really have a passion for it, but you were relatively good with a needle and thread. With the magnifier headlamp, you were practically unstoppable, altering coats, dresses, blouses, shirts, all with minimal finger injuries—though luminol on some of these clothing items would no doubt reveal traces of your blood.

  But hey—you now knew what it meant to work so hard you put your blood into something and you always had band-aids on you, in case anyone needed one.

  You were so invested in your work, you hadn’t heard the bell above the door chime when it was pushed open, and didn’t notice Steve leaning against the counter, watching you work until he cleared his throat.

  You jumped, head swinging around to see your crush smiling at you and you raised the magnifying glass portion of the head lamp off your face, feeling embarrassed that he’d seen you with the headgear on in the first place.

  “Hey! I didn’t know you worked here.”

  You let out some nervous laughter, mind racing for ways to make this seem cool but you came up short. “Yeah, I—employed.”

  “I can see that,” He chuckled, amused by your lack of verbal sparring.

  You didn’t know what to say after that so you stared, fingers twisting and pulling the thread you’d been working with, desperate for him to say something or get out.

  “Oh! Uh, I heard you guys also get rid of stains? I’ve got this one on my pan─”

  “THAT WE DO!” 

  You sighed, eyes slipping shut as your moron of a boss came bursting out of the office.

  “What can we do for you, Harrington?” Murray asked, leaning against the counter, causing Steve to lean back, smile now less than thrilled.

  “Murray…I forgot you worked here.” Steve said it in a voice that made you think he would have avoided the shop had he known who it was that was currently in charge of running it.

  “Yup, got me this sweet little gig. And no radios.” He gestured around to the shop, void of any technology save for the cash register—and he made sure it was never him operating it, “Would like to see the government try to control me now.”

  “Right, I just came here to drop off my pants, spilled something on—well, it doesn’t really matter, I just spilled something on them.” Steve placed the folded pair of pants on the counter and Murray immediately unfolded them, searching through the fabric until he found the stain by his crotch. To both your horror and Steve’s, he lifted the strained fabric to his nose, sniffing deep.

  “Mm. White wine?”

  It took Steve a moment to find his voice and close his jaw, “Crush. The soda.”

  “Same thing. We’ll get this right out, my man.”

  You and Steve shared one more look of disbelief before he slowly backed away, the bell above the door sounding as he left.

  “He’s a nice guy,” Murray commented and you shrugged your shoulders, wanting this conversation to be over, “I’m surprised you know him, little loser.”

  You shot him a glare.

  “Oh, c’mon, lets not pretend you’ve got an active social life—if I call you in for a shift, you’re available. Nothing wrong with being a loser. I was one throughout high school and look at me now. Who got the last laugh?”

  You were positive the look of pain on your face should have told Murray that anyone other than him got the last laugh. He was a forty something year old, afraid of technology, convinced the government was watching him, who tried to befriend teenagers. 

  You’d have to kill yourself if you were anything like him.

  When he disappeared back into the office, because of course you’d have to get rid of that stain for Steve, you snatched the pair of pants off the counter. Glancing around to make sure there weren’t any eyes on you, you pressed them to the side of your face, imagining yourself hugging Steve instead of the pants. They smelled like him. It was bliss.

  Then your eyes snapped open.

  Oh, god. You were a loser.

  After your shift, you’d gone straight home. Normally, you’d stop to grab a bite or something, you still had to pay for the mirror you broke so fast food was off the table for a couple of weeks, but on your dining room table when you walked into the house.

  A pizza box. Your stomach growled as you imagined the slice of cheese waiting for you.

  “Is there any left?” You asked, already making a beeline for it.

  “Should be a slice left,” Your dad mused and as you tossed the top of it open, all you wanted to do was maybe beat him with it.

  There, on the parchment liner of the pizza box, was the skinniest and tiniest slice of pizza to ever be cut. Not even the width of two of your fingers.

  “Want me to order another one, sweetheart?” Your dad asked and Laura immediately inserted herself into the conversation. 

  “She can eat it, love muffin. Besides, we’ve got vegetables in the fridge if she’s still not full.”

  “I said we should have ordered two, but my mom had a coupon she wanted to use.” Chrissy didn’t sound impressed.

  “Yes, we got a free soda!”

  Chrissy ignored her mom, “Sissy, we’re going to the movies! You could get something there, they sell pizza and nachos, right?”

  You knew she was trying to find a solution for you, but your bullshit meter for the day had already been capped. You didn’t want movie theater pizza or concessions, you wanted a  reasonable slice of this pizza, not some scrap your step-mother had saved you. It was obvious she was implying that she, your dad and Chrissy were the perfect sized family and you were simply an afterthought. Unwelcome.

  “Yeah, I’m passing on the movie.”

  Before you could stomp upstairs, Chrissy caught your hand.

  “Sissy, please? We’ve got to bond as a family, it’s crucial. If it takes two, how can I do it as one?” She pulled you into her side.

  “Really, Chrissy, I’m super tired.”

  “You’re tired?” Laura asked, incredulous. Here we go again.

  “All you do is work with a sewing machine for hours like some old spinster, I can hardly imagine that being tiring, but my Chrissy just got back from a five hour long cheer practice. They were throwing her around like raggedy ann and she stuck every landing.” 

  “Mom, stop.” Chrissy blushed, but you could see how proud she was of herself, “I’m sure Sissy pokes herself with those needles all the time, and it hurts, I’ve been prodded myself during all of my custom fittings.”

  “I have finger calluses so I don’t even bleed anymore,” You begrudgingly admitted, “I can take it.”

  “I bet you can.”

  After they’d left for the movies, you’d gone upstairs, showered, put on your comfiest pajamas and fuzziest slippers, you grabbed a bowl of chips and set yourself up in front of the TV to watch Dawn of the Dead. You had to give props to all these zombie actors, you couldn’t imagine having to act out being one of the walking undead, imagined it felt pretty stupid but the paycheck and experience must have been cool.

  You popped another chip into your mouth just as someone knocked on the front door. As you placed the bowl of chips on the table to get up, the knocking got louder, more aggressive and you hesitated, fear beginning to swell up inside of you.

  Maybe if you ignored it, they’d go away.

  You turned your attention back to the tv, picking up the remote to lower the volume and hopefully hide your presence in the house. 

  Then, much to your horror, you heard the distinct sound of a pained, gurgling groan. It sounded very similar to the ones you’d heard the zombies making on your tv, but this one was louder. 

  And it was coming from outside your front door.

  You crouched, duckwalking to the foyer where one of the house phones was placed. You’d just picked it up from the receiver when a shadow from the living room window caught your eye. You barely had time to turn your head when something came crashing through it, breaking the glass and yanking the curtains from the rod.

  Shocked, the phone slipped from your hands, banging against the hardwood floor of the foyer and you let out a scream at the same time as the person on your TV, running away from the figure invading your home. 

  You made it to the dinning room. Literally scrambling across the table to put an obstacle between you and the stranger—no, creature. Tall, caked in mud, leaves and stems, it resembled the Swamp Thing. It grunted, groans low and reverberating off the walls.

  “Uuuhhhnng…”

  This couldn’t be happening to you, you couldn’t die like this!!!! It was supposed to be by your hand or nothing!

  ”STAY AWAY FROM ME!” You shrieked, picking up the decorative plates from the table to throw at the creature. You nailed it a couple of times, watching it stumble as the fine china shattered against it. When you ran out of plates, you bolted from the dinning room, screaming as you scrambled up the stairs, and lost one of your slippers in the process but to hell with it! You had to get out of there. Hopefully, one of your neighbors heard your shrieks of terror and called the police.

  You peaked over the railing at the top of the stairs, to see the creature analyzing your slipper. While it was distracted, you locked yourself in your room and made your way to your bedroom window, pulling it open.

  “Okay, okay. I can do this, no big deal. Stunt actors do it all the time.” You climbed outside of your window, body nearly convulsing as you almost slipped down the roof, “Nonononono.”

  You tried to grip onto a couple of shingles but they gave away, slipping right off the house to shatter against the concrete walkway and you realized Laura had no fucking idea what she was doing when it came to house repairs, the dumb bitch had just laid the shingles out without securing them.

  “OH MY GOD-I’M GONNA DIE! HELP!”

  Your body slipped further down the roofing, until you were forced to grab the gutter, gagging when your fingers squelched against whatever was in it. You dangled a good six feet off the ground, and while it wasn’t exactly a ten story fall, with your luck, you’d land on your head and break your neck.

  Whimpering, you tried to pull yourself back up the roof, but it was no use. You had nothing stable to grab onto as you yanked yet another shingle clean off. You glared at it and muttered a goddammit before tossing it somewhere behind you as you went back to hanging on for dear life. 

  “Oh, no.” You mumbled, terrified as your fingertips began to lose their grip, wet with the mystery sludge from the gutter. “No, NO!” 

  You lost your grip, plummeting down but you didn’t meet the concrete. No, the Creature broke your fall and you were now face to face with it. The pressure of you landing on it, made it spit up into your face, green sludge, and you gasped before breaking out into screams again.

  Pushing yourself up and off of it as you ran around your front yard, nearly blind. You were not opening your eyes to let that bacteria infested swamp slime, water, whatever the hell it was, into your eyeballs. 

  You could hear the Creature stomping around behind you as you bobbed and weaved, could feel his presence and you could not believe you were actually gonna die fighting off a swamp monster in your front yard while blinded—in clear and plain view for your neighbors to see, by the way, and unbeknownst to you, an elderly couple was watching you, not even a little concerned about your well being or the creature chasing you around.

  “Stop it!”

  “Leave me alone!”

  “Go away, I’m just a girl!”

  The timed sprinklers went off and you were soon assaulted with them as well. With just about all your senses done for, and the sprinklers washing the guck away from your face, you made a run for the house, slamming your back against the door and locking it behind you.

  Your chest was heaving, wet body pumping with adrenaline as the back of your head thumped against the door. You weren’t done yet. That creature was still out there!!!

  You dove for the phone on the ground, hanging by its springy cord and shouted out hopefully loud enough for it to hear, “I’m calling the police, so if you don’t want your ass riddled with bullets, I’d suggest you leave! They shoot before asking questions!”

  You frantically dialed 911 but there was no ringing, instead, you could still hear buttons being pressed on the other line.

  Bleak, and accepting your fate, you put the phone back on the receiver, and turned towards the living room, where the other phone was located. 

  On the chair, next to where the table the phone normaly rested on, was The Creature. 

  You grabbed one of the lamps, ready to use it as a weapon but it didn’t attack you, just turned the phone receiver this way and that, as if admiring it. 

  Despite your fear, you took a reluctant step forward, casting the creature in the glow of the lamp you clutched and for like the billionth time that night, you gasped.

  The sprinklers had washed some of the filth off of it, too. Before, its head had been caked in a mud helmet, but now, you could actually see it’s head. It had long, disgustingly dirty curls, and wore a leather jacket, jeans and tennis shoes, all covered in grime.

  When it craned its head up to look at you, you readied the lamp, poised to throw it at it—him. It was a guy. Big brown eyes, stared up at you and he made no move to attack.

  Slowly, you lowered the lamp, and crouched down a few feet away.

  His attention returned to the phone—shoe shaped—in his hands and shakily, with stiff limbs, he put it back on the receiver.

  “It’s…It’s cool looking, right? The-The shoe phone.” 

  He glanced over at you and then the phone again as you mumbled out an explanation, 

“Our neighbor in our old town cheated on his wife and she threw all his stuff out the window at him and my dad snatched the phone.”

  “Merrrruhhhhh.” He moaned out, picking up your slipper and offering it to you. When you just stared, he dropped it and you moved the lamp to the side, crossing your legs.

  “I’ve never seen a zombie before.” You marveled, then squinted, “You are a zombie, right? An undead?”

  It took him an entire minute to choppily raise his shoulders, you realized he was shrugging. Or trying to. Every movement he made was choppy. Reminded you of how stop motion was made, except his scenes weren’t being played fast enough to have fluid movements.

  He tried to get up and promptly slipped, accidentally elbowing the mini sound system at his side. It turned on, Sinead O’Connor’s Drink Before the War playing. You’d been the last to use it.

  You watched as his head tilted in interest as Sinead began to croon out lyrics.

  “Do you like music? This is Sinead O’Connor. She makes music that heals souls.”

  He raised his wrist to his chest and you inhaled sharply as you realized he was missing the hand on it.

  “Uhm, no—I don’t think she healed your soul. I meant like, figuratively. Her music makes people feel.” You placed your hands on your own chest, trying to convey your meaning, “She’s one of my favorites.”

  A surprisingly comforting silence fell over the two of you—though he sometimes made his quiet dead guy gross sounds—as you stared at him, taking in the green-gray tint of his skin beneath the dirt all over him, cheeks sunken in. You had a feeling if you touched his skin, it’d be hard, maybe waxy and it was a bit unnerving how human his eyes were, but duh! Of course they were, he was a human. Just. A dead one. At least he wasn’t a skeleton.

  Man, Hollywood wasn’t too far off with their interpretation.

  “C’mon,” You stood up, eyes taking in the state of your home and all the dirt the two of you had dragged in, “I gotta hide you, new dead friend.”

[merthosus]

Birthday Cake

Summary: After your fingers slip and you drop Grace Cake, your boyfriend yells at you and takes his anger out on you. After you had scraped up the cake, you were on your way out to your car. But someone was already waiting for you with a new cake in their hand.

This Story is inspired by this Tic Tok: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGeTPh561/

“You don’t need to apologize for his behavior”

Tentatively, you looked around for your boyfriend to see if he had seen it. But before you could even turn your head in his direction, you felt his hand on your cheek. You recoiled and sat on the floor in front of him. No one had noticed, everyone was watching Grace trying to smash the piñata. You now felt like the piñata too, only less colorful. However, you were very glad that the attention of the others wasn't on you at the moment.

“How can you be so useless?” he asked you as he took a few steps towards you. The loud children's music drowned out his shouting in the crowd. With every step he took towards you, you slipped back a little, until at some point you felt the wall behind you. That he reacted like this was nothing new to you. You knew he had an anger problem, but you always tried to look on the bright side. He just didn't want you to fail. Several nights went by as he knelt at your feet and cried. He said he'd never do it again and you couldn't help but look into his tear-filled eyes and believe him.

“Get another one! Everyone will hate you. How can you be so stupid and clumsy?” he yells at you. Before you even realized it, tears were streaming down your cheek. "The whole evening is ruined because of you!", he yells. Your heart was arching, like someone took it out, squeezed it and rammed it in again.

The sting of his words cut deeper than you could have ever imagined. You had felt small before, but now you felt insignificant, like a shadow of yourself, barely holding onto the edges of who you used to be. The tears kept coming, unbidden, each one a silent cry for help that you knew would go unanswered. You had seen this side of him before, the anger, the cruelty, but each time it reared its head, it still managed to catch you off guard, leaving you defenseless and hollowed out.

You wanted to say something, anything, to defend yourself, to make him see that it was just an accident, that you hadn’t meant to mess things up. But the words were trapped in your throat, choked off by the fear and the heartbreak. The only thing that came out was a small "I am sorry". “Get up!”, he hissed, his voice low and venomous. “Get up and go get another one. Fix this!”. Your legs felt like they were made of lead, too heavy to move, but you forced yourself to stand, your body shaking as you did. You wanted to disappear, to melt into the wall and never have to face him again, but you knew that wasn’t an option. Not now, not ever. You had learned long ago that running from his anger only made it worse.

As you stumbled toward your car, your keys jingling in your trembling hand, you felt the weight of everything crashing down on you. The second your hand touched the handle, you collapsed, all the fear, frustration, and oppression pouring out of you. You were no stranger to this feeling, after bottling it all up, it always found a way to break free. But this had never happened in public before. Usually, it was in the privacy of your bed, next to him, the very source of your pain.

Your sobs were quiet but intense, shaking your entire body. "Everything alright?" A soft voice suddenly pulled you out of your thoughts, startling you. You looked up, wiping at your tear-streaked face in a futile attempt to hide the evidence of your breakdown.

“Five?” Your voice was barely more than a whisper, cracked and raw. “I… I’m fine. I just...” You tried to smile, but it wavered, crumbling under the weight of everything you were trying to hold back. Your fingers are still clutching the keys in your hand to stop them from rattling constantly, but your mounting trembling made that an unfinishable task. “I saw it,” he says without batting an eyelid.

Five’s eyes were steady and serious as he looked at you, not buying your attempt to downplay what had happened. His voice was soft but firm, cutting through the pretense you had tried to maintain. “I saw it,” he repeated without batting an eyelid, his gaze piercing through the façade you’d constructed. You looked away, feeling a rush of shame and helplessness. The truth was too raw, too vulnerable to confront head on. “I’m sorry,” you murmured, the words feeling inadequate and hollow. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

Five stepped closer, his presence a steadying force amidst your chaos. He walks closer to you, his expression a mix of concern and resolve. “You don’t need to apologize for his behavior,” he said, his voice gentle but unwavering. “You’re not at fault here. You deserve to be treated with respect, not anger and blame.” You could hardly process his words through the fog of your distress, but something about his unflinching support made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t been in a long time. For the first time, someone was standing up for you, not just against your boyfriend, but for your own sense of self-worth.

As Five reached out, his hand brushed away the tears on your cheek with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the cruelty you’d just experienced. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, and it brought a fresh wave of tears to your eyes, not just from sadness, but from a kind of relief you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel. Your breath hitched as you looked up at him, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of hope and fear. The vulnerability you felt was overwhelming, but Five’s gaze was soft, reassuring, and unwavering. “You’re not alone,” he said softly. “I’m here. And I care.”

Five’s words wrapped around you like a warm blanket in the midst of a storm. The compassion in his eyes, so genuine and unwavering, offered a refuge from the harshness you had just endured. The tears you had been holding back continued to fall, but now they were mingled with the relief of someone truly understanding your pain.

He gently cupped your face in his hands, his touch surprisingly soothing. You leaned into his palms, finding comfort in his proximity. His thumb brushed away the remnants of your tears, and his gaze never wavered from yours. The intensity of his eyes made it clear that he wasn’t just offering sympathy, he was offering support, something you desperately needed.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice quivering. The gratitude in your heart was immense, but words seemed inadequate. Five simply nodded, his expression softening even more. Without another word, he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was both tender and reassuring. The kiss was gentle at first, a sweet promise of understanding and care. But as you both sank into the moment, the kiss deepened, fueled by the raw emotions that had been building up inside you. His lips moved against yours with a gentle urgency, as if trying to convey all the feelings that words couldn’t express. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you and the warmth of his embrace.

You responded with equal fervor, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer. The kiss became more fervent, an exploration of comfort and connection that transcended the pain you had just experienced. It was a moment of shared solace, a physical manifestation of the support he had offered with his words. Eventually, the kiss softened, but neither of you wanted to let go. Five’s arms wrapped around you, holding you securely as you rested your forehead against his.

But both of you, so tangled in the moment, didn't see the two eyes, sharply watching you two.

Thanks for reading love :)

[daisymbin]

faint hearts - joshua hong

warnings: hospital, blood mention. mention of undernourished & stress. if i missed anything please let me know!

pairings: hong joshua x reader

genre: slight angst

wc: 1.2k

a/n: this is briefly proofread so if there's some mistakes, please forgive me! I'll fix it later

check out my masterlist! // shua's m.list

“i just don’t understand why you can’t see my side of things,” you shouted, voice cracking under the weight of your frustration. joshua’s eyes were dark, his arms crossed over his chest as he stood in the kitchen. the argument had started small, about something inconsequential, but had spiraled out of control, fueled by all the unsaid grievances and pent-up resentment.

“maybe because you’re not listening to me either,” he snapped back. “you always think you’re right, and it’s exhausting.”

your heart sank, his words cutting deep. “i’m exhausting?” you whispered, eyes stinging with tears. “so, what, joshua? am i just too much for you?”

joshua rubbed his temples, a sign that he was nearing his breaking point. “that’s not what i meant,” he groaned, but the damage was done. you felt your resolve shatter, the anger giving way to pure hurt.

“i can’t keep doing this, joshua,” you’d finally said, your voice shaking as you grabbed your coat. the finality in your tone made his stomach twist, but his pride and anger kept him from stopping you. he watched as you slammed the door behind you, leaving a heavy silence in your wake.

instead of confronting the suffocating emptiness, joshua sank onto the couch, his head in his hands. guilt and regret clawed at him, but he didn’t chase after you. he convinced himself you needed space, that maybe he did too.

meanwhile, you found yourself at chan’s doorstep. he opened the door, eyes widening in surprise, but the easy smile he gave you was warm, comforting. “hey, you,” he greeted, noticing the strain in your expression but choosing not to comment on it. “no dinner plans?” he asked lightly.

you forced a smile, trying to keep the shakiness from your voice. “no plans. thought i’d come and cook something,” you replied, desperately needing something to distract yourself from the storm still raging inside you.

chan welcomed you in, and soon you found yourself in his kitchen, ingredients scattered on the counter. cooking usually calmed you, but today, your hands were unsteady, your mind clouded with everything you hadn’t said to joshua.

by some force of an accident, the knife slipped. pain shot through your hand, and you let out a sharp gasp. “fuck,” you murmured as blood welled up from the cut, dripping onto the counter. chan turned around immediately, his eyes widening in alarm. “oh my god, are you okay?” he rushed to your side, guiding you toward the bathroom. “come on, we need to clean that up.”

“i… i can do it,” you stammered, pulling away from him. the sight of blood mixed with the overwhelming stress made your head spin. you felt tears burning at the back of your eyes, the weight of everything crashing down on you.

chan frowned, concern etched on his face. “are you sure? you don’t look—”

“i just need a minute,” you insisted, stumbling into the bathroom and locking the door behind you. you pressed your back against the door, your heart pounding as your vision blurred. the stress, the fight, the blood—all of it was too much. your knees gave out, and darkness swept over you.

chan waited outside the bathroom, anxiety growing with each passing second. when too much time had passed, he knocked. “hey, are you okay?” there was no response, and panic gripped him. “y/n!” he called again, his voice rising.

when he finally pushed the door open, the sight of you crumpled on the bathroom floor made panic coarse through his blood. his hands shook as he pulled out his phone, immediately dialing joshua’s number without a second thought. “pick up, pick up,” he muttered desperately, his voice cracking when joshua answered.

“chan?” joshua’s voice sounded wary, still carrying the remnants of their fight.

“y/n,” chan interrupted, voice tight with fear. “she’s passed out, and there’s blood, joshua. you need to get here. now. I don't know what to do.” 

joshua’s world seemed to tilt on its axis, “call the damn ambulance!”, he didn’t remember grabbing his keys or sprinting to chan’s place, only the icy fear coursing through his veins. when he arrived, his heart nearly stopped at the sight of you as his blood ran cold. still unconscious, with chan anxiously hovering over you.

“darling,” joshua breathed, dropping to his knees beside you. his hands trembled as he carefully gathered you into his arms. “god, this is all my fault” he whispered, tears blurring his vision.

the rush to the hospital felt endless. joshua held you close, every second a torment as he imagined the worst. his mind replayed your argument over and over, regret slicing through him with each memory. how had he let it get this bad?

in the hospital, joshua’s heart pounded as he waited for the doctor. chan sat beside him, guilt written all over his face. “she’ll be okay, right?” chan whispered, but joshua didn’t have an answer. he was barely holding himself together.

when the doctor finally came out, joshua stood up so fast he nearly stumbled. “she’s okay,” the doctor said, his voice calm but serious. “she fainted from stress, anxiety, and exhaustion. she’s also undernourished. she needs rest and proper care.”

joshua’s legs nearly gave out, relief and guilt mixing in a painful wave. how had he let you suffer so much without realizing it?

when he was allowed to see you, he felt his breath catch at how fragile you looked in the hospital bed. he sank into the chair beside you, his hands trembling as he reached for yours. “darling,” he whispered, voice breaking. tears spilled down his cheeks, and he didn’t bother wiping them away.

you slowly opened your eyes, taking in his tear-streaked face. “hey, dont cry, its okay. im okay,” you murmured, your voice still weak.

“it’s not okay,” joshua choked out, his voice thick with emotion. “none of this is okay. i should’ve noticed how much you were hurting. i should’ve paid more attention. i should’ve been there.” his shoulders shook, the guilt and regret overwhelming him. “i’m so sorry.”

you reached up with a trembling hand, gently cupping his cheek. your thumb brushed away his tears, your touch soft despite the exhaustion in your eyes. “joshua,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “it’s okay.”

he shook his head, more tears spilling over. “no, it’s not,” he insisted, his voice cracking. “i shouldn’t have let it get this bad. i shouldn’t have let you feel so alone. i failed you.”

your eyes softened, even as more tears filled them. “then you can just…start now,” you whispered, your thumb tracing the curve of his cheek. “stop saying sorry and just…be here.”

joshua’s breath caught, and he gripped your hand tighter. “i will,” he promised, his voice raw. “i’ll be here. i’ll be better. i swear.”

you managed a small, tired smile, your thumb still gently brushing away his tears. “that’s all i need,” you said softly, and though things still felt fragile, the way he held onto your hand felt like a promise—a promise to be there, to try, and to never let things get this broken again.

[radio-fmm]

Dear Luffy… what?!

Luffy x fem!reader

1.6k words, fluff confession, gendered terms such as ‘woman’

!This is a part 2! Sanji found your love letter to Luffy and now everyone knows you like your Captain

Pt.1 | Masterlist

It had been a week since Sanji had found your letter, and somehow things got worse. Everyone on the ship knew about your crush by now, everyone except from the one that should be more concerned about it. The strawhats lived for gossip

Every glance, smile and compliment you’d share with your Captain as you both usually did, was accompanied with giggles, teases and whispers from your crewmates, making you nervous to even breath near Luffy in fear they’ll say something out of place loud enough for him to notice

Even your time alone was disturbed by them trying to convince you to confess to the clueless strawhat boy

“I’m sure he likes you too!”, “It’s not that big of a deal”, “Just go and tell him already!”

As encouraging they were being, it didn’t simmer your nerves, it made them grow bigger and bigger turning you into an anxious mess

Of course your time with Luffy was cut short thanks to your noisy friends; the fun games, fondness and entertaining conversations you’d used to share with him long gone, replaced with you just sulking around the ship and hiding from everyone

Soon enough they’ll either forget or lose interest in the matter

Right?

At this reate, Franky should install a loud very incorrect buzzer on the ship

All of this horrendous energy was getting to you, not only were you feeling frustrated and hopeless; since no longer getting your daily dose of Luffy, your lack of sunlight had your patience running alarmingly low. Consequently, you were feisty. No one could approach, look, ask, or even talk to you without your reaction being blown so out of proportion that it ended on you screaming at them

Today’s victim? Zoro

“Can you move your weights for a sec? I need to mop”

“Can’t” he answered quickly, grunting as he flexed his arms mid push up

“Just put them aside real quick” you were keeping your calm, already growing annoyed

“Do it yourself woman”

Uh oh

Zoro genuinely didn’t mean to sound so condescending and rude, usually you knew this was just the way he talked to everyone, you just had too much going on. The argument got so heated that it had the whole ship witnessing the whole ordeal around both, like a street fight club. You were red, cheeks puffed and up on your tip toes screaming at the swordsman like he couldn’t just cut you in half any moment now

“Can’t you just be nice for one second?!”- heads immediately turn- “Can you stop being a total jerk?!”- eyes widened- “Grow some brains first and I’ll consider it”- gasps bounce around the deck- “What about growing some balls and confess to Luffy already?”

Silence

Deafening silence doesn’t even begin to describe this silence. It’s a heavy one, laced with panic, regret and fear.

Your heart beats loud and then drops to your stomach, suddenly feeling nauseous as a hand flies to your mouth. Zoro’s eyebrows jump and sweats profusely

He fucked up

All eyes on you then on the Captain, who’s face you can’t even turn to look at right now, only focused on the embarrassment that was choking you. Embarrassing, so fucking embarrassing. The most dreaded emotion, you hated it to the core, you most rather Zoro cut your chest and throw you out into the open ocean of the Grand Line before feeling this

It’s been a while and no one has dared to speak. A giggle then breaks the freezing moment, melting it completely in its warmth as it slowly builds into joyful laughter

“Good one Zoro!” Luffy comments and it somehow feels like a punch to the gut, even if it’s just him being honest

Nami then curses at her Captain, manicured hand pushing him in pure disbelief

“What? It’s not like I didn’t know”

Silence. Everyone is surprised you haven’t fainted by now

Ussop then joins the navigators side “What? You knew this whole time?”

Finally, with all the remaining strength in your body you turn, slowly, eyes meeting as you drown in too many emotions flowing inside of you

“Hehe yeah!” The Captain smiles, ever so sweetly and you actually taste your breakfast in your mouth

You turn to Zoro, helpless

“I’m sorry” he mutters, genuinely ashamed

But you don’t answer, the only sound being heard being your boots stomping on the hard wood of The Sunny as you leave, tears peeking, and then, a door being slammed

It’s been a while since you had sobbed like this. You didn’t even knew why you were even crying anymore, the last week had been hell for you. You felt bad for snapping at Zoro and being a total ass to the whole crew; you felt so stupid for crying at something that could be resolved by talking and you hated yourself for not giving yourself grace

Because it’s ok to feel too much

It was comical how different you were from Luffy in that sense. Yes you were confident, adventurous and a loyal friend, but you were also reserved, shy and very sensitive. Your Captain was actually very emotionally intelligent, he knew exactly how to identify his emotions and navigate them, but you? It felt like being pushed into the sea without a motive or direction

You were too tender for a pirate, but again, there’s no shame in that

After a deserved lengthy crying session, you wiped yours tears and allowed yourself to take a big breath in. Suddenly, it didn’t felt as bad anymore. You opened your bedroom door and decided to go and wash your face to clear up to then apologize for exploding like you did. Again, embarrassment creeped up on you but you shrugged it off

It’s ok to feel. You reminded yourself on the mirror before leaving

The deck of The Sunny was weirdly quiet, no sign of anyone relaxing or in light conversation. Quickly you notice the familiar strawhat of your Captain and can’t help but smile a little, you had missed him this last week

“Hey Luf” you greet sweetly making him turn, a trace of a scowl leaving his features now replaced by worry, his arms shoot up unexpectedly and wrap around you before pushing you into a big hug, he speaks your name in almost relief making your heart skip a beat

“Oh I was so worried about you!, are you still mad?” His worry makes you feel guilty

“I was never mad at you Luf, or actually anyone… I was just really stressed out” you explain as you slowly melt into his embrace, warmness spreading trough your tired limbs as you feel a smile forming on Luffy’s lips

“I scolded them” your eyes wide slightly and your eyebrows jump

“Really?”

“Usopp told me what was going on and it just wasn’t ok” he tenses, as if the memory of it all makes him uncomfortable

A gentle sigh lefts your lips, leaving the tight hug you were enveloped in to face the man before you

“Thank you Luffy, but I also messed up, I shouldn’t have snapped like that” he shakes his head

“It’s understandable, you were under so much stress didn’t you?”. His understanding was something so foreign to you, his emotional maturity showing, butterflies in your belly going wild

He pulls another smile out of you before he pulls you in once again almost crushing you, it almost felt apologetic

But there was still, the elephant in the room

“So… you knew” it’s all you can muster up to say. Luffy then lets you go completely making a slight pout appear on your face at the motion. He looks a little bashful? you can’t really tell because it’s an emotion you had never related to him before

He scratches the back of his neck “Yeah… you always spend time with me and treat me differently than everyone else, and you make my heart beat so fast! It was obvious”

You don’t really know how to feel about his statement, you were obvious yet he just accepted it?. Your face becomes redish by the moment, feeling embarrassed but a different kind of embarrassed, thus one didn’t made you feel terrible

“Why didn’t you say anything?” your hands drop to play with the hem of your shirt as you waited expectantly, repeating his small hint of reciprocity in your head as comfort at the moment

“Because you never acknowledged it and I didn’t wanna push ya’”

Of course

Suddenly you feel a giggle bubble in your stomach and it hits Luffy’s ears, making him smile widely

“You’re such an idiot” your hands cover your face, the warmth of your cheeks engulfing them

“Also thought I’d pass out if I said a thing, you make me nervous” Luffy thought if he kept confessing this kind of stuff, you would keep laughing, and he adores when you do

“What?!”- you are a fit of giggles at this point. “Me? making you? nervous?!”

You both laugh, and it’s just so endearing, the moment so sugary sweet you fear you’ll have a toothache. Suddenly you are being pulled again, this time by your arms making your soft lips land on top of Luffy’s pillowy ones. You yelp in surprise but immediately ease into it, fitting in his frame like you were meant to be after all

Your tooth aches

Your Captain then looks at your puppy eyes and grins “Wanted to do that for a while now”

After a much needed kissing session to soothe you. Luffy made everyone on the ship apologize to you, one by one (except for Chopper, he never dared tease you) before making it known how much he really really loved you

Like it wasn’t obvious enough

tag list: @guinea-pig16 @cosywinterevenings @angieslove06 @rafis03

Ty for the love on the first part 🥹

[choccorin]

lovers quarrel

tags. hurt / comfort, sakura haruka x gn!reader

you've been ignoring sakura because of the argument you both had two days ago. he missed out on your date, again. this is the third time this happened in your relationship of 5 months, sure, it wasn't a big deal but for you it is.

the two of you are busy students, he's busy at furin and you're busy with your school works. you can rarely hangout these days due to it being exam season, both of your schedules were packed.

you were so excited that day, you waited at the cafe you both planned to meet at but after two hours, he still didn't show up. you tried calling him, no answer, you tried contacting his friends, also no response. you went home after waiting for three hours, you felt embarrassed because the staff kept checking up on you, so you just left.

you understand that he has things to take care of back at furin but can't he make some time for you, even just a day? you're both still new to relationships, in fact, this is your and his first relationship. you start doubting yourself if getting into one was a good idea, you love him — you're sure of that. and he loves you too, but can the both of you maintain a relationship with little to no experience?

these questions cloud your mind while you're walking back to your apartment, you halt when you see him outside, standing and looking down, he's drenched in the rain. what is he doing here, you ask yourself. don't tell me he's walked here, in this weather?!

“sakura .. ” you call out to him

he lifts his head and looks at you, his eyes are glimmering with hope. he looks tired, the dark circles forming under his eyes say so. are you the reason for them?

you hesitantly walk towards him, “why did you walk here while it's raining? idiot.” you mumble that last word, looking away from his gaze.

“ah, s-sorry.. i was in a hurry to talk to you.. ” his voice is trembling — he sounds like he's about to burst into tears.

you sigh, “ get in first. ”, you unlock your door, letting him in.

“i'll bring a towel, wait here. ”

“(y/n), can we please talk? .. please.” he's pleading you, you've never heard him like this before.

you stop walking, only glancing at him from behind since you're still upset with him.

“fine, talk.” your voice sounds cold and sakura doesn't like that.

“listen. i .. ”, he breathes in, “i'm sorry. i didn't mean to bail on you, it was just that a lot of things happened like a gang was threatening to hurt the town an-”

“just forget it, what's done is done.”

“but i-”

“there's no point in apologizing, sakura!” you wince, that came out harsher than you expected.

the silence in the room felt like a heavy weight crushing you, almost suffocating. both of you were just standing there — waiting for the other person to speak up, but there was nothing. only the sound of the rain .. and sniffles.

he's crying.

you turn around to face him, he's looking down but you can tell he's crying his heart out. his shoulders and hands were trembling, you felt guilty yelling at him.

“haruka, i'm sorry! i was just upset and-” you scramble your words, trying to explain your side to make him stop crying but he cuts you off.

“no. you're right, there's point in apologizing. it's my fault for missing another date and i .. i know i mess up a lot but just please, please don't leave me.” he holds your hands, tears streaming down his face, “i can't go on without you, you've made me the happiest guy in the world in just a few months and-”

you pull him into you, hugging him as tightly and gently as you can, “i'm not leaving you, you idiot. why would you think that.. ”, your voice is shaking, you were crying now too.

he hugs you back, “please don't let me go .. ” sakura mumbles against your neck, hugging you tighter — afraid that you'll let him go.

you kiss his forehead, holding him tighter against you — not caring about his drenched clothes, “i won't hakura, i promise. ”.

both of you stay like this for a couple of minutes, melting in each others hold. but your mind snaps out of it when you feel your clothes getting wet, you wipe your tears away. telling him that he needs to change or else he'll catch a cold, you full him into your bathroom, ignoring his protests, and leave him there to get new clothes, a t-shirt and short that the left at your place just in case.

you tell him that once he gets changed, both of you will talk properly and fix this, even if you two have little to no experience in relationships.

n. this is so bad but i needed to get something off my mind so here's this.

t. @kyoghurts, hi again, i hope u don't mind me posting another sakura fic >_<

[moonstruckme]

Hi!! Could you do a Bodyguard!James Potter x reader where he is guarding her during a high profile event and something happens? With a bit of angst to fluff? If you’re comfortable of course! I hope you have a wonderful day, i’m new to your page and ADORED your bodyguard james. <3

Thanks for requesting lovely <3

cw: guns, shooting

bodyguard!James x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You shift your stance a bit and have to bite down on a whimper. 

“I’m going to have to throw these shoes out after this,” you mutter to James. “I’m pretty sure there’s blood pooling around my toes.” 

“You wanna take them off?” he murmurs back, lips barely moving as he keeps his face in a mask of businesslike impassivity. 

You sigh. “I wish.” 

“You could. Just step out of them, no one’s looking over here.” 

It’s true. Every camera in the chamber is pointed to where your mom stands on the podium, her right hand raised as she takes her oath. As much as you hate coming to these things, you can’t ignore the kernel of pride shining behind your sternum. She’s waited so long for this day, dealt with so much opposition, and now she’s finally going to be able to enact some real change. You can keep up appearances for her. 

“I’d better not risk it,” you tell James. “With my luck, the second I do—” 

You’re on the ground before you even register the sound of glass shattering. James’ grip on your shoulder is harsh, almost painful, but the noise that follows has enough adrenaline spiking your bloodstream to forget about that. The loud, rapid popping of gunfire fills the chamber. 

James’ hand moves to clasp around your elbow, but you tear away from him, headed in the opposite direction. The podium is empty. Where’s your mom? Did they get her already? Is she hurt? Did she—

You’re not fast enough to outpace James, definitely not limping around in your heels, and he gets an arm around your waist, hauling you away from the center aisle. You can’t tell where the gunfire is coming from—who has the guns?—but he pushes your head down before you can look. A low buzzing burrows into your ears. You try again to go to where you last saw your mom, but James yanks you back to his side, a cutting “Stop” hissing past his lips. Any other time, a tone like that would have you stilling like a frightened bunny, but you know he’s not the danger here. 

When you don’t listen, he lifts you off the ground. The crowd is swarming, frantic and disorganized, but James maneuvers through it expertly, running down the hall until he finds an unlocked door. The bathroom door swings open for you, and James sets you down quickly, locking it before you have a second to recover. 

You lunge for the door anyway, only for twin bands to wrap around your middle. They pin your arms to your sides and press you securely to James’ front. 

“Stop. Stop it.” His tone is as hard as his grip, dispassionate to your struggling. “You cannot fight me when you’re in danger, understand?” 

“They’re not here for me,” you plead. Your voice is scratchy with desperation. 

“No, but I am. I’m here for you.” His hold tightens, but now it’s less a restraint than a comfort. You can feel his heavy breaths tickling past your ear. “Your mom has her own detail, okay? She made it out before we did, they probably have her somewhere safe.” 

Now you can hear your breathing too. Short, stilted pants that wheeze in and out of you. You think you might be shaking. 

“That’s enough,” James says gently, starting to lower you both to the ground. Your knees give easily, relinquishing your weight to his hold until he settles you both on the tiled floor. “That’s enough, alright? Can I let you go now?” 

You’re not sure you want him to anymore, but you nod. He slips out from behind you, checking the lock on the bathroom door and then removing his gun from the holster at his hip. The sight of it makes your trembling worsen. He checks something with it while murmuring to the people on the other end of his earpiece, convoluted jargon you’ve long since ceased paying attention to. 

“She’s fine,” he says after a minute. “Your mom. They got her into an office, and now we’re all just waiting for security to clear the building before we can go.” 

You drop your head to your knees, relief like a tidal wave washing over you. You hear James’ footsteps move back toward you before his big hand lands on your head. It smooths down your hair as he squats next to you. When you glance at his gun balanced on his knee, he catches the look. 

“I have to keep this out for now,” he says, looking you in your eyes like he’s making a promise, “but the safety’s staying on unless someone tries to come in here. Okay?” 

“Yeah.” You nod, still trying to get your breathing under control. 

James strokes your head again, his touch weighty and reassuring. The noise outside of the bathroom seems to be lessening, but you’re not sure how much sound is blocked by the door. There could be shooting still happening just past it, people hurt or dying in the halls. 

“I’m sorry for fighting you so hard,” you say quietly. 

James blows out a breath. “I get it,” he admits. “In those situations, it’s natural to freak out and head toward the person you want to keep safe.” He flashes you a little smile. “I’m lucky it’s already my job to do that.” You grimace back, but his expression grows serious again when he says, “You just have to keep your head, though, you know? The whole reason you and your mom have protection is to make sure someone else is already looking out for you. You don’t need to worry about her, you just need to trust me.” 

You look at him. His body is still taut, ready for a fight if one comes to him, but his expression is gentle. It’s easy to forget it’s his job to take care of you when he seems to do it so naturally. Caring emanates from James like it’s the core component of his soul. 

“I do trust you,” you tell him. 

His mouth slants, expression unbearably fond. “I know, sweetheart. We’ll work on those instincts, okay? I get that it’s not an easy adjustment to make.” 

“Have you ever had to do that? Run away from the person you cared about the most?” 

He shakes his head. “Like I said, I’m lucky. I always get to run towards you.”

[vivipoery]

Just like her.

including: angst. teeth rotting fluff with mentions of insecurities. fem!reader. soft spoken!blade. mentions of kafka.

a/n: this is my first semi serious work but i was feeling the angst and needed to write abt it. anyw hope u like it and feel free to share ur thoughts w me id appreciate it lots!!!!

Blade is a very cold person.

You knew this the moment you met yet that didn't stop your crush on him to stop blooming. You always stuck by his side despite the hardships.

Someone else has also stuck by his side, never leaving him alone to your dismay.

Kafka. The beautiful stellaron hunter and Blade's favorite colleague.

"Let's go, Bladie" She would whisper to him with a honeyed tone and he would comply quietly.

You, on the other hand, was threatened once you accidently let a "Bladie" slip from your lips and it hurt.

That only fueled the comparisons between yourself and Kafka. She was a mature and mysterious woman with an alluring aura. You were just a pawn in Elio's script, a silly girl with her heart on her sleeve.

Thoughts of her and Blade clouded your mind, she had everything you didn't have and it made your heart burn with jealousy. Oh how you wished you were Kafka.

"Are you listening to me?" Blade's sharp tone cut through your foggy mind forcing your attention back on him.

"Sorry, what were you saying?"

"You need to go fetch some supplies for Elio."

"Alright" your gaze fell to the ground, suppressing back a sigh.

"I'm driving" He stated. Another question hung heavy on your tongue yet you were afraid of saying it out loud.

Afraid of appearing weak and insecure.

"Let's go" He rushed you, making your thoughts die down as you followed him to his car without another word.

After gracefully getting into his car, you waited to see if someone else was joining you but to your surprise it was just you and Blade.

"Is Kafka not joining us this time?"

"Hm?"

You bit your lip anxiously, the metallic taste of blood seeping into your mouth.

"Never mind." You mumbled as the car engine roared to life. Blade snickered and started driving.

You leaned your weight against the door, the side of your head resting against the window as you looked out into the beautiful night sky.

Your thoughts started drifiting back to Kafka. She was never really mean to you, she helped you settle in when Elio found you.

She was never really the evil woman they made her out to be, she was kind to you. The guilt of having such negative thoughts about her was suffocating you, your heart felt stuck in your throat.

"What got you so quiet today?" Blade's voice pulling out of your thoughts once again.

"Nothing"

"You're usually so loud."

"I'm sorry" You said with a weak voice.

"What are you apologizing for?" he stopped at a red light giving him a good opportunity to turn and look at you, crimson orbs boring into your figure and you can feel the burn of his stare.

"A few things" Turning around to face him with glassy eyes, trying your best to hold back your tears.

"Care to give an example?"

"I'm sorry for liking you." He would say he's surprised but he saw the fond gazes directed at him, the sweet smiles and your blushing cheeks. He wasn't a dumbass.

Blade remained quiet.

"I'm sorry I could never be like her."

"Who are you talking about?" He asked, his usual sharp tone becoming a little softer.

You almost choked on your words. You were not brave enough to say her name to him, to show him the insecure side of you.

Shaking your head, you giggled softly and wiped your tears.

"Forget it."

The stellaron hunter remained quiet the entire ride, his eyes focused on the road and you went back to looking out the window as if nothing happened.

You arrived at your destination shortly after but before you could think about getting out of the car Blade's warm hands gripped your wrists.

Looking up at him with confusion, you tilted your head.

"Tell me." He spoke so softly to you, your heart rate picking up.

"Tell you what?" Your voice barely above a whisper, he got closer to you.

"Who's bothering you"

"N-No one really, I was being silly." Your heart was racing, you can feel the warmth radiating off his body from how close he got to you.

"Don't lie to me." Your eyes dropping to look at your shoes.

"Look at me" He added, his hands moving to your cheeks forcing you to look at him.

You felt as if your heart was about to burst from your chest.

"You" The word slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

"Me?" His grip tightened and you couldn't stop yourself anymore.

"Stupid boy, making me so sad. Why do you have to treat her differently? Why are my feelings not enough for you? I could never compete with her and you know this."

Your words came straight from your heart and they were soon followed by salty tears, soaking your cheeks and his hands.

Blade was at a loss for words. He really didn't know what to say or how to comfort you.

"She gets to call you Bladie, hold your hands and play with your hair whenever she pleases. She is the perfect one for you. Why can't I be her?"

He knew who you were talking about. No one else calls him Bladie but Kafka.

You wanted to push him away, yell at him and call him out even more but you were taken aback when Blade leaned in and placed a soft kiss against your lips.

At first you were a little stiff, taken aback but then you leaned into his touch and kissing him back.

He broke off the kiss, his crimson eyes once again holding your gaze.

"Tsk. Silly girl."

"Blade-"

"Listen to me. Why are you comparing yourself to her?"

"Because of the way you treat me and her." You said with a shaky voice.

"Does she help me after mission? Does she take care of my wounds and bandages? Does she get to comb and braid my hair out of boredom? Does she get to hold my hand out in missions?"

You were left speechless.

"You are the warmth I constantly seek. You are my anchor" The way he kept speaking softly to you made you tear up once again.

"I'm sorry" He leaned towards you, resting his forehead against your own.

"I like you too" You gasped.

"Blade-" Your hands coming up to rest against his own who were still cupping your cheeks warmly.

"Will you be mine?"

"Yes. Always has been"

© banner by cafekitsune

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

Hello! I hope your day is going well.

I wanted to ask if you could do something with the 141 boys and könig with a fem reader who is an absolute cuddle bug when they're exhausted? Bonus points if you can make it plus size and short reader. Thank you so much ❤❤❤

Thanks for this request! Hope this is what you were looking for. I did some basic cuddling headcannons with this, too!!🙂

141 + König With Reader Who is a Major Cuddlebug

Warnings: fluff, minor swearing

Simon Ghost Riley-

You latch onto this man like no other when you're tired

It's like a full 30-minute process for him to actually get out of bed in the morning

Lowkey loves when you cuddle him, not that he'd ever admit that out loud

Man becomes PUTTY in your hands when you lay on his back, rubbing soft circles into his shoulder blades

Simon usually sleeps on his back, with you curled into his side, head laying on his chest

"No, don't get up. Tell them you're too busy to go in today." You groaned, throwing your head into your husbands shoulder.

"Can't love, you know that." Simon chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

The two of you laid like that for a few more minutes, the only sounds that filled the room was your soft breathing. Simon lived for quiet moments like these. He loved nothing more than holding you in his arms, nothing else in the world mattering, just the two of you in that moment.

He started to slowly get up, causing you to huff loudly in frustration, throwing your leg around his midsection, effectively trapping him. "I won't let you go."

"That so?" Simon raised a brow but gave into your pleas, wrapping his arms around you, softly squeezing the flesh of your belly. "Needy little thing, aren't you."

You let out a whine, moving your face to his neck, pressing a soft kiss to the flesh there. "Don't hear you complaining."

"Never." He said, pulling you closer. Needless to say, he was late to work that day.

John Soap MacTavish-

You both are HUGE cuddle bugs

There's rarely a time when you aren't attached at the hip when you're home together

The two of you practically sleep on top of each other in bed

Always find excuses to touch each other. Whether it be on the couch, cooking dinner, driving or sleeping, you two always have some part of your bodies touching

Adores laying on top of you, loves the fact that his body literally dwarves yours

Literally will smother you with affection if you ask

"Sweets, I'm home." Johnny called out as he walked through the front door.

He peeked around the room, eyes landing on your sleeping frame on the couch. A small smile formed on his lips as he closed the door quietly.

He made his way over to you, peppering light kisses all over your face. "Hey, baby. I'm home."

You stirred, eyes blinking the sleep away as you turned to look at him. "Mmm, Johnny."

He chuckled at your state and allowed you to pull him on top of you. "Sleepy, bug?"

You nodded your head as Johnny relaxed his weight on you and sighed deeply at the feeling of him against you.

"Why don't we head on upstairs? I'll-." Johnny started, only to be cut off by a protesting whine from you, and your arms pulling him closer. "Ookay, here it is then."

He let out a soft laugh and nuzzled his face into your neck as he kicked his shoes off. He reached to the back of the couch and pulled out a blanket, laying it over the two of you as he flipped over to his side so you were flush against him, your face pressed firmly to his shoulder.

He pressed a loving kiss to your hair and wrapped himself tightly around you, and felt your arms do the same. The two of you fell asleep minutes later, not waking up until the next morning.

John Price-

100% touch starved, so loves when you want to cuddle

He loves it when you stroke his hair when his head rests against your chest

This man screams BIG SPOON. He loves holding you close and feeling you against him

Also, he's totally okay with you lying on top of him and eases any worries you may have about being too heavy

Loves to squeeze your love handles when cuddling. Drives him mad

"Yes. Yes, sir, that's what was in the report." Price spoke into his phone. He'd been on the phone for the better part of two hours, and you were growing rather tired, desperate for affection from your husband.

Price had stopped his pacing and sat down in his chair, giving you ample opportunity to run over and throw yourself in his lap.

He quickly muted the conference call and looked down at you with a smirk. "And just what do you think you're doing?"

"Getting much deserved affection?" You questioned, moving to nuzzle your face in his neck.

You exhaled deeply, breathing in his scent as your eyelids started to droop. You felt his arm wrap around your back to support you.

"Shouldn't be much longer, sweetheart, we'll go up to bed soon." He cooed, leaning his head against yours.

It wasn't long before you passed out in his arms, soft snores emitting from your lips. Price chuckled to himself before disconnecting the call and moving to stand with you in his arms.

He moved to the bedroom, setting you down gently when he felt your hands pulling him down with you. "Don't go."

"Just gotta get some sleepwear, babe." He said softly. You didn't relent, however, as your grip only tightened.

Price gave a defeated sigh, a smile making its way to his lips. He knew there was no use in fighting you and spent the night sleeping in his work clothes, with you safe in his arms.

Kyle Gaz Garrick-

100% the type of boyfriend to have you wrapped in his arms while gaming/watching tv

Totally little spoon in bed

Your legs always curl around his midsection as you cuddle him from behind

Loves to cuddle you, but always blushes when you initiate it

Adores how small you are compared to him, loves to cocoon you when cuddling

You were watching your boyfriend game with his friends late one night on the couch, when you felt yourself dozing off slightly.

You looked over to see Kyle staring at the TV screen in concentration and slowly crawled over to him. He looked at you with a warm smile before opening his arms to you. You sat on his lap, crossing your legs around his midsection and resting your head on his shoulder.

"Tired love?" He asked.

You nodded wordlessly, and nuzzled your head against his neck.

He pressed a kiss to your brow before returning to the game, his arms wrapping around your torso to grab his controller once more. Kyle would occasionally rub soothing circles in your back when he'd die in his game or would take a small break. The two of you stayed like that for nearly 40 minutes before he felt the deep rise and fall of your chest, telling him you'd fallen asleep.

As he didn't want to accidentally wake you up, he turned off the TV, setting his controller aside. He moved up as gently as he could and carried your sleeping form to the bedroom.

Laying you in bed, he was quick to strip his hoodie and pants and join you. He pulled you into him and sighed deeply. It wasn't long before he himself fell asleep, listening to the sounds of your breathing.

König-

You love (and so does he) the fact that you can climb this man like a koala bear

You love clinging to any part of his body that you can, arms, torso, legs, you name it.

König has a size kink, so he loves it when his body dwarves over your tiny one, makes him feel like he's protecting you (also gets him mildly horny)

Loves to grab at your flesh, especially if you have a little extra (insists there's just more to love)

He gets nervous to fall asleep while cuddling you. He's scared he'll roll over and crush you in his sleep because you're so small. So he often puts some space in between you, but one of his limbs is always touching you.

So incredibly gentle when touching you in any way, his touches were always feather like

"Have I ever told you how handsome you are?" You asked, watching as your boyfriend König dried himself off from the shower.

He walked into the bedroom with a small smile, red littering his cheeks. "Thank you, Maus."

"Mmhmm. Very handsome." You repeated, your sleepiness starting to overtake your voice.

König came to press a kiss to your forehead before moving back to put on his sweatpants.

"C'mere." You stretched your hands out in a childlike motion, making grabbing hands at your lover.

König chuckled at your antics, and threw the towel on the ground before making his way to you.

"Lay on top of me." You demanded, as a sleepy smile made its way to your lips.

"M..maus, I'll crush you." König stuttered out, his eyes widening at your request.

"No, you won't. 'S okay." You gave him a reassuring nod.

He hesitated a moment before giving into your wishes. He gently laid himself on top of your tiny frame, a small giggle bubbling from him as he heard you sigh deeply in content.

"So big Kö, it's nice." You mumbled into his chest. König felt his cheeks burn at your words once more. He rolled over in one fluid motion so that now you were lying on top of him.

"I love you, Maus." He whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. You gave a soft whine as sleep overtook you, and buried your head into his chest.

König smiled down at you, wrapping his arms around you tightly. He was exhausted himself but wanted to stay awake just a bit longer, to relish in this moment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Thanks, as always, for reading!❤️❤️❤️ (also don't know why gaz is always gaming in my blurbs😅😭)

[ghouljams]

Aphrodite!reader bringing Hephaestus!Nikto little scraps of metal or full on weapons/armor pieces she liked the metal that it used or thought he would find interesting to forge with.

Aphrodite!Reader asking Nikto if he would ever tell her what he was doing with specific steps in his forging because she just wants to hear his voice

Nikto building a different seat for reader to rest in but still having her little stool available for when she wants to come closer. Not that he understands why.

Reader bringing a drink or pitcher of some cold beverage for Nikto and him also being confused again as to why she’s doing these things. Obviously she’s sharing because she would feel bad if she didn’t and not because she knows that said beverage is his favorite or one that he enjoys.

you’ve definitely won me over (expected) (once again) (as usual) with this au. i am appreciative.

Someone on one of my posts about them mentioned it was fitting for the "god of passion to marry the god of invention." And it made me remember that quote that's like "I loved her to the point of invention" and yeah, good stuff.

It's not like you don't have things to do. You are a god, after all, you have duties to attend to, people to bless and all that. You have battlefields to walk through, soldiers that swear on their love's life, that beg to see them one more time, that take the rage of loss and channel it into power. You have weddings and births, deaths and funerals, first steps, reunions, first and last loves to look over. You have artists to watch, to stare entranced as they paint their muse, their passion seeping into every brushstroke, every strike of their hammed.

You pluck iron shavings off the floor and hum to yourself as you go. You pull arrowheads from broken ribcages. First teeth fall into your hands. Hair from a pet gone too soon. Lace from a wedding dress, notes off pages of music, stone chunks, paint chips, love letters half finished. You collect it all and shuffle through it as you sit outside your husband's forge. You don't have your stool out here, so you content yourself with standing. You shift your weight onto your other foot when one starts to ache.

You think he would like the nails, the arrowhead, the iron shavings, things he can melt down. He has better metal you're sure, but you don't know what to give your husband when you hardly know him. Does he even like his work? Is the forge something he's relegated to and not something he's passionate about. You love Love, you're the god of it, you find passion exhilarating, inspiring, transmogrifying. Nikto must feel the same about his work.

It's well into the night by the time the forge door swings open, your husband running a scarred hand through matted hair, tugging his mask off to reveal a crisp line of soot across his nose and cheeks. The black mark is matched only by the cacophony of white lines that strike like lightning over his skin, pulling his lips into a snarl and puckering his cheek. He freezes when he sees you. His eye twitches.

There's a large part of you that feels silly offering up your treasures. There's a small part of you that stares wide eyed at your husband, at the spectacular carnage that cuts his handsome features, and wishes he didn't slip his mask back on. So you offer him your metals, your scraps of love with nowhere to go.

"This is trash," He tells you, his voice muffled and distorted by the cylinders on either side of his mask, as he hands you a jewel, "we don't want it."

He turns, with your offering, and shuts the door to the forge behind him again. You can hear the heavy *thunk* of the lock sliding back into place.

Your bed is cold.

[moonselune]

origin companions + halsin with a durge reader who's scared of hurting them? :3

Aweeeeeeeee yeee I love me some hurt/comfort

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

You found yourself lying next to Karlach one quiet night in camp, the usual contentment you felt in her presence haunted by a gnawing fear you could no longer ignore. Your hand rested on hers, calloused from years of battle yet infinitely gentle as she held you close. But even her warmth couldn’t quell the dark, twisting urges that had been growing inside you, lingering at the edges of your mind like shadows waiting to pounce.

As Karlach’s breathing slowed into a soft rhythm, you could feel the tension within yourself mounting, your fingers twitching in your lap as you struggled to keep the darkness at bay. The more time you spent with her, the more desperately you wanted to stay by her side, but the very core of you, the blood that coursed through your veins, pulsed with the hunger for violence—a birthright you couldn’t escape.

Finally, with a resigned sigh, you sat up, unable to bear the silence any longer. Karlach stirred, her eyes opening to find you gazing off into the distance, lost in thought.

“What’s on your mind, love?” she murmured, voice tender as she reached up to cup your cheek, her thumb grazing softly along your skin.

You closed your eyes, leaning into her touch, feeling her strength and warmth, wishing you could be whole enough to deserve it.

“Karlach,” you whispered, feeling the weight of the words build up in your throat, thick and heavy. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something I’ve tried to keep hidden.”

She sat up, her attention fully on you, brows knitted with concern.

“You can tell me anything,” she reassured you, her hand squeezing yours as if she could somehow tether you to her strength. “Whatever it is, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

But that’s exactly what terrified you. You opened your mouth, hesitating, afraid that once you voiced it, it would become real, a truth you couldn’t unburden from yourself. But the worry in her gaze and the trust she’d placed in you made it impossible to keep hiding.

“I’m scared, Karlach,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Scared that one day, all this darkness inside me… that I might lose control and—” The words faltered, and you swallowed, forcing them out. “That I might hurt you.”

Karlach’s expression softened, and she placed a steadying hand on your shoulder, grounding you in her calm.

“Darling,” she said, her voice a quiet balm against your fraying nerves. “We’ve faced hell and back together, quite literally. And I’ve seen what’s in here.” She placed a hand over your heart, her gaze fierce and unwavering. “And I know it’s a good heart. Better than most.”

Her words stirred something in you, but the fear remained.

“There’s a part of me that wants to give in,” you said, struggling to keep your voice even. “A part that whispers how easy it would be to let go, to let the bloodlust take over… You wouldn’t be safe from that, Karlach. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to stop it.”

Karlach’s hand moved from your shoulder to your cheek, guiding your gaze back to hers. Her eyes, so full of fire and compassion, searched yours, unwavering.

“Listen to me,” she said firmly, her tone gentle but unyielding. “You are stronger than whatever darkness is inside you. I’ve seen that strength in every fight, in every choice you’ve made. You’re not your blood, love. You’re you.”

Her words cut through the dread tightening in your chest, and you felt something break inside, like a wound you hadn’t realized was there finally being tended. But as her fingers traced reassuring patterns against your skin, you couldn’t help but voice the other fear that had been haunting you.

“I don’t want to put you in danger,” you admitted, voice thick. “The idea of being close to you, of letting myself love you completely—it terrifies me.”

Karlach smiled, a sad, beautiful thing that held no trace of fear. “If you push me away, I’ll still be in danger. Out there, fighting, facing whatever madness this world throws at us. But if I’m by your side, at least I know who I’m fighting for. Who I’m protecting. And who’s protecting me.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond, too afraid that any answer would break this fragile moment. But Karlach didn’t need words. She pulled you into her embrace, her warmth surrounding you, her fingers tracing soothing circles along your back as she held you close.

“Promise me something,” she murmured into your hair, her voice a steady anchor. “When the darkness feels too heavy, when the blood feels like it’s pulling you down—come to me. Let me help shoulder it. Don’t carry it alone.”

Her words settled over you like a shield, the terror slowly easing under the weight of her trust. You nodded, unable to speak, letting yourself melt into her hold, feeling the burden lighten just enough to breathe.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The moonlight cast a pale glow over the camp, deepening the shadows of the trees around you as the night grew quiet and still. You sat by the fire, watching its embers flicker, your mind a tangle of thoughts and emotions too knotted to untangle alone. Tonight, you couldn’t shake the growing, gnawing worry that tightened its grip on your chest. The violent urges within—the dark whispers that surfaced when you were cornered, angry, or simply still too long—felt closer than ever, and the very thought of losing control with Minthara nearby made you shiver.

It was a rare vulnerability, one you hadn’t planned to let show, but Minthara was sharp. When she finally settled down beside you, her piercing gaze fixed on you, she noticed the tension in your shoulders, the distant look in your eyes.

“What’s the matter with you?” she asked, brow furrowing with a hint of impatience. She wasn’t one for sugarcoating her concern.

You hesitated, not sure if you could put into words the fear that had been clawing its way up from somewhere dark within you. The silence stretched until you finally forced yourself to speak, voice barely above a whisper.

“I… worry, Minthara,” you began, and she raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced by your tone alone.

“Worry?” she scoffed, leaning back with a half-smirk. “What are you, mortal?”

But you held her gaze, your own look unyielding, and she gradually registered the seriousness etched into your face.

“I’m worried I might hurt you,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “These urges, this… darkness inside me—sometimes I feel it would be so easy to lose myself to it.”

Minthara stilled, the humor gone from her eyes. She narrowed her gaze, searching your face.

“You think you’re dangerous to me?” She sounded half-amused, half-intrigued, as though the thought were a new challenge rather than a cause for alarm. “I know you’re dangerous, but to me?” She shook her head dismissively, as though the idea were ridiculous.

“No, Minthara. I mean it,” you said, your voice firmer this time. “What if it’s stronger than me one day? What if it’s stronger than… than us?”

There was a pause as the weight of your confession settled between you. For a moment, Minthara’s hardened expression softened, only a flicker, before her fierce eyes met yours again.

“If it’s any consolation,” she said, voice lowered to a dangerous murmur, “I’d kill you long before you laid a hand on me in malice.”

You let out a shaky breath, and though her words were grim, you knew they were a promise—one she’d keep if it ever came to it. There was comfort in her unflinching resolve, in the certainty that Minthara would not hesitate to cut you down if you became a danger to her. But it was still hard to believe she’d understand the battle raging within you.

Minthara held your face firmly in her hands, forcing you to look her directly in the eye.

“I’ve faced darker things than you, and I chose you,” she said, her voice quiet yet fierce. “You aren’t the only one who knows the dark, and you’re certainly not the only one who knows how to control it.”

Her touch steadied you, a calming balm against the tempest you felt within. You took a deep, shuddering breath, grounding yourself in the solidity of her hands against your skin.

“You’ll have to trust that I know what I’m doing,” she said with an air of finality, almost daring you to argue. And you knew she meant it: she would see through whatever lay ahead, by your side or against you if need be. But you could feel the strength in her assurance, the way her words wove around you like armor, and the whisper of your own doubts grew a little quieter.

Still, Minthara didn’t pull away. She stayed close, her gaze intense as she searched your face.

“I don’t need you to hide what you are from me,” she murmured. “Only a coward would. And you…” She leaned forward, brushing her lips softly against your cheek, a rare tenderness in the gesture. “You’re no coward.”

Her confidence filled a quiet part of you, a place that only Minthara could reach. And for the first time that night, you found yourself almost able to believe that maybe her blood would not decorate your hands.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

The night was quiet and still, save for the distant rustle of leaves and the crackling of the campfire. Its warm light flickered over Lae'zel's sharp features as she rested beside you, eyes half-closed, her usual intense demeanor softened by a rare, momentary relaxation. But your mind was restless, weighed down by shadows you could barely voice.

You watched her, feeling the gentle pull of affection—and something darker. That gnawing, dark urge was a reminder of your bloodline, a whisper at the back of your mind that seemed to grow louder with every passing day. Each time you felt the pull of the violent, savage instincts that Bhaal had woven into you, you fought to suppress them. But tonight, the struggle felt heavier, too close to the surface. You could feel a deep-seated fear forming in your chest: the fear that one day, you wouldn’t be able to contain it. And if that day came, would you be able to keep her safe?

Finally, you couldn’t bear it any longer. The words slipped out, breaking the silence between you, quieter than you’d intended. "Lae'zel… I need to tell you something."

She looked up, the piercing gaze of her amber eyes meeting yours. Even in this vulnerable moment, there was no judgment in her expression—only curiosity, perhaps the smallest hint of concern.

"Speak then," she replied, her voice firm but encouraging.

You hesitated, unsure where to start, then took a deep breath, staring into the campfire’s flickering flames as you began.

"Sometimes, I feel this… darkness inside me. A hunger for violence that runs deeper than mere anger. It’s been part of me since I was born, and most days, I can hold it back. But with you, Lae'zel…” You paused, words catching in your throat. “I worry I might lose control. And I couldn't bear it if I… if I hurt you."

For a moment, there was silence. She studied you, her expression unreadable, and you began to fear the worst—that she might recoil or mock your weakness. But then, she spoke, her voice surprisingly gentle, though edged with her usual sharpness.

"Do you think I am some delicate flower, trembling at the thought of a little bloodshed?" she said, almost scoffing. “Or do you think I have not already noticed the darkness in you?” She shook her head slightly, her gaze steady and unafraid.

“It’s not that,” you stammered, struggling to make her understand. “You may be a warrior, fierce and unbreakable. But this is different. This isn’t sparring or combat—it’s… primal, uncontrollable. If I ever lost myself fully, it wouldn’t matter who was in front of me. I’d be nothing but a tool for death.”

Lae'zel’s eyes narrowed, but she did not pull away. Instead, she leaned closer, placing a strong, calloused hand on your arm, grounding you.

“You listen to me,” she said, her voice low, unwavering. “You fear harming me because of this ‘darkness,’ yes? Yet you know this about yourself. You fight it even now, holding back when others would simply give in.” She paused, her hand tightening around your arm. “But you must understand something about me as well. I am no stranger to violence. I have walked among enemies all my life, and I have bested warriors twice my size. I am no frail creature, and I am not afraid of you.”

Her words sent a jolt through you, her confidence in you both humbling and terrifying. She didn’t understand fully—not yet.

“But what if one day… I’m not me anymore?” you asked, your voice breaking slightly. “What if all that’s left is Bhaal’s influence?”

She smirked at that, and a strange fire sparked in her gaze. “

Then you will know that I would face you without hesitation. I would be ready, blade in hand, to meet whatever you became and bring you to heel.” There was a fierce pride in her words, and though her response was blunt, it was laced with a loyalty that softened your fear, at least for now.

Lae'zel pulled you closer, her grip firm, and rested her forehead against yours, the gesture as intimate as any words she could have spoken.

“Do not insult me by assuming I am weak enough to be afraid of you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

With that, the tension you’d been carrying in your chest began to ease. Lae'zel would never see you as a threat; she would face you if she had to, but not with fear. Only resolve. Only love.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

The moon hung low, casting silver light over the camp, as the others drifted into their tents or found their places by the fire for the night. You sat on a boulder near the edge of the clearing, staring into the surrounding darkness. The shadows felt more alive than they should, twisting and coiling, whispering at the edges of your thoughts. You clenched your fists, trying to still the trembling in your hands.

The violent urges had been growing stronger lately. A restlessness clawed at your soul, begging to be let out, and it terrified you. Your bloodline—Bhaal’s taint—felt like a curse you could no longer contain. You thought of Shadowheart, her quiet strength and sharp wit, the way her voice softened when she spoke to you alone. You loved her with a ferocity that frightened you, and it was that love that made everything worse. If you ever lost control, what would stop you from hurting her?

You didn’t hear her approach until she was standing beside you. Shadowheart had a way of moving silently, as if she were part of the shadows themselves. She sat next to you, her presence grounding but still leaving you on edge.

“You’ve been distant,” she said softly, her gaze studying your profile. “I know something’s troubling you. I can see it.”

You couldn’t meet her eyes, staring instead at the ground.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, but the lie tasted bitter on your tongue.

Shadowheart wasn’t fooled. She reached out, her hand brushing yours.

“You’re not fine,” she said, a quiet insistence in her voice. “I can feel it. Please… talk to me.”

Her gentle concern was enough to break the fragile wall you’d built around your emotions. You exhaled shakily, your voice trembling as you spoke.

“Shadowheart, I… I don’t know if I can do this. Every day, it gets harder to keep it all in check. The bloodlust, the urges—they’re stronger than ever. It’s like there’s something inside me, clawing to get out. And I’m terrified of what will happen if I can’t stop it.”

She watched you intently, her expression unreadable, and you pressed on, the words pouring out now.

“You’re everything to me, Shadowheart. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. And that’s what makes it worse. What if one day, I lose control? What if I hurt you? I couldn’t live with myself if that happened.”

The silence that followed felt unbearable. You risked a glance at her, expecting—dreading—judgment or fear in her eyes. But instead, there was understanding, and something even deeper. Shadowheart took your hand in hers, intertwining your fingers.

“You think I haven’t seen what you struggle with?” she asked quietly. “I’ve seen the way you fight it, the way you hold yourself back, even when everything in you screams to let go. That takes strength most people couldn’t dream of.”

You tried to pull your hand away, shaking your head. “Strength only lasts so long. One slip is all it takes.”

She held on tighter, refusing to let you retreat into yourself. “Then I’ll be there to stop you. I’ve been in darkness before—I know what it’s like to fight something that feels bigger than you. You’re not alone in this, and you don’t have to carry it by yourself.”

Her words struck a chord deep within you, a mixture of hope and guilt threatening to overwhelm you. “But what if—what if you’re not enough? What if one day, I…”

Shadowheart placed a finger to your lips, silencing you. “Stop. Listen to me. If I were afraid of you, I wouldn’t be here. You’re not defined by the darkness in you, no matter what your bloodline says. You’re more than that. And if you lose your way, I’ll be there to pull you back. Always.”

The certainty in her voice was enough to break something inside you. Tears welled up, unbidden, and you quickly wiped them away, ashamed of your weakness. But Shadowheart cupped your face in her hands, forcing you to meet her gaze.

“It’s okay to feel this way,” she said softly. “It’s okay to lean on someone else. You’ve been carrying this burden alone for too long.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe her. You leaned into her touch, letting her warmth chase away the cold that had taken root in your chest.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Shadowheart pulled you into an embrace, her arms strong and steady around you.

“We’ll face this together,” she murmured against your hair. “You don’t have to fight alone anymore.”

And in that moment, with her holding you as if she’d never let go, the weight on your soul felt just a little bit lighter.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

The camp was still, cloaked in the soft, silvery light of the moon. Most of your companions were asleep, save for the faint sounds of someone shifting in their tent or the occasional crackle of the dying fire. You sat apart from the others, your hands trembling slightly as you stared into the flames, the warmth doing little to chase away the cold knot of fear in your chest.

You had been feeling it for weeks now—this creeping, gnawing sensation at the edges of your mind. It wasn’t just anger or frustration. It was something deeper, darker. The whispers of your lineage clawed at your resolve, a constant reminder of the bloodline you couldn’t escape. Being Bhaalspawn wasn’t just a title; it was a curse, a tether to violence and death. And it was becoming harder to ignore.

The thought of hurting someone—hurting her—gnawed at your mind like a sickness. Jaheira, with her calm strength and unwavering compassion, had become your anchor, your light in this shadowed existence. But what if the darkness inside you grew too strong? What if you slipped? What if, in a moment of weakness, she got caught in the storm of your own making?

The thought alone made you sick.

You didn’t realize how tightly you were gripping your hands until you heard a voice behind you. “You’ve been brooding for hours now. Even I can’t meditate with the weight of it pressing on the air.”

You turned to see Jaheira stepping toward you, her expression unreadable. In the dim light, her silver-streaked hair glimmered, and her green eyes seemed to pierce straight through you. She was dressed for rest, her usual armor replaced by simpler clothing, though she still carried the air of a warrior—always poised, always ready.

“Jaheira,” you said, your voice catching slightly. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I—”

She waved a hand, cutting you off as she settled beside you on the ground. “Enough of that. What is it, truly? You’ve been distant. Distracted. I’ve faced enough troubled souls in my time to recognize one sitting before me now.”

You hesitated, the words heavy on your tongue. But this was Jaheira. If anyone deserved the truth, it was her.

“I’m scared,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “Not for me. For you.”

Her brow furrowed slightly, but she said nothing, letting you continue.

“I feel it growing inside me,” you said, gesturing vaguely toward your chest. “The violence. The urges. The part of me that… that isn’t really me. I can control it most days, but lately…” You swallowed hard. “I’m terrified, Jaheira. What if one day I lose control? What if I hurt you? I couldn’t—”

Your voice broke, and you looked away, ashamed of the tears pricking at your eyes. Jaheira was silent for a long moment, and you braced yourself for her response. Would she push you away? See you as a threat? End you there and then?

Instead, she reached out and placed a hand on your knee, grounding you with her steady presence.

“Listen to me,” she said, her voice firm but kind. “I have faced Bhaalspawn before. Many of them. Some sought redemption; others embraced the darkness willingly. I have seen what your kind is capable of—both the good and the evil.”

Your stomach twisted at her words, but she tightened her grip, forcing you to meet her gaze.

“And you,” she continued, her green eyes blazing with conviction, “are not one of those who revel in chaos and blood. I see you fighting it, every day. I see the way you hold back, even when it would be easier to let go. That alone sets you apart.”

“But what if it’s not enough?” you asked, your voice raw. “What if I fail?”

Jaheira’s expression softened, and she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a gentle murmur.

“Then I will be here to remind you of who you are. To pull you back, if I must. And if it ever comes to it, if you truly lose yourself…” She paused, her hand brushing against yours. “I will stop you before you can hurt anyone else.”

The weight of her words settled over you, both reassuring and sobering. You knew Jaheira was not one to make empty promises. If she said she would stop you, she meant it. And in some strange way, that knowledge gave you a sense of peace.

“You’re not afraid of me?” you asked quietly, searching her face for any sign of hesitation.

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head.

“Afraid of you? Hardly. I’ve faced demons, dragons, and gods themselves. Do you truly think I’d falter in the face of one stubborn Bhaalspawn?” Her lips quirked into a wry smile. “You give yourself too much credit.”

Despite yourself, you let out a shaky laugh, the tension in your chest easing ever so slightly.

Jaheira’s smile softened, and she leaned forward, pressing her forehead gently against yours.

“You are stronger than you realize, my love,” she murmured. “And you are not alone in this. I will stand by you, no matter what comes. Do you understand?”

You nodded, unable to find the words to express the gratitude swelling in your chest. For the first time in weeks, the darkness within you seemed to quiet. It was still there, a part of you that would never fully go away. But with Jaheira by your side, it would at least lessen.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

The night was quiet, the campfire burning low as the stars shimmered above like scattered shards of broken glass. Gale sat across from you, absorbed in his spellbook, his brow furrowed in concentration as the flickering light played over his features. You watched him silently, your heart heavy with the weight of thoughts you could no longer suppress.

The darkness inside you had been growing louder—whispers of violence and chaos scratching at the edges of your mind. Being Bhaalspawn wasn’t just a cruel twist of fate; it was a constant shadow, an insidious force threatening to consume you. And tonight, the fear of it all was too much to bear.

Your hand trembled as you reached for the cup of tea beside you, but you barely managed a sip before setting it down, the bitter taste doing nothing to calm your nerves.

Gale noticed. He always noticed.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice gentle as he closed his book and leaned forward, concern etched across his face. “You’ve been quiet all evening. More so than usual.”

You hesitated, staring into the fire as if it could provide the answers you didn’t have. Finally, you spoke, your voice low and strained. “I need to tell you something, Gale. It’s… important.”

He straightened, his attention fully on you now, his worry deepening.

“Go on,” he urged softly, his tone as warm and steady as the firelight between you. You swallowed hard, trying to steady the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

“I’ve been… struggling. The darkness inside me, the urges… it’s been getting worse.” You glanced up at him, your eyes pleading for understanding. “I’m terrified that one day, I won’t be able to control it.”

Gale’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt, waiting patiently for you to continue.

“I’m scared, Gale,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “Scared of what I might do. Of who I might hurt.” Your gaze dropped to your hands, clenched tightly in your lap. “Of hurting you.”

For a moment, there was only silence, the crackling of the fire the only sound between you. You braced yourself for his reaction, for the possibility that he might recoil, that he might see you as a monster.

Instead, Gale reached across the space between you and took your hand in his, his touch warm and grounding.

“You’re scared because you care,” he said gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Because you love.”

You looked up at him, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“That doesn’t change what I am,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “It doesn’t change the danger I bring.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Gale agreed, his gaze steady and unflinching. “But it also doesn’t define you. You are more than your lineage, more than the darkness you carry.” He leaned closer, his voice soft but firm. “I’ve seen your strength, your kindness, your determination to do what’s right, even when it’s difficult. That is who you are.”

His words were like a balm, easing the ache in your chest, but the fear still lingered, a shadow that refused to dissipate.

“What if I fail?” you asked, your voice trembling. “What if one day, it’s not enough?”

Gale’s grip on your hand tightened, his eyes filled with unwavering resolve.

“Then I will stand by you. I will fight for you, my love. And if it ever comes to it, if you ever lose yourself…” He paused, his voice faltering for just a moment before he continued, “Then I will do whatever it takes to bring you back.”

The weight of his promise settled over you, both comforting and sobering. Gale wasn’t naive. He understood the risks, the danger. But he still chose to stay, to believe in you.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, and you looked away, ashamed of your vulnerability. But Gale reached out, gently cupping your face and turning you back to him.

“You don’t have to carry this alone,” he said, his voice a soothing murmur. “Let me share the burden. Let me be your anchor, your light when the darkness feels too heavy.”

The sincerity in his words, the love in his eyes—it was more than you felt you deserved. But it was exactly what you needed.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Gale smiled, a soft, bittersweet expression. “You’ll never have to find out,” he said simply.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

The night was eerily quiet, the campfire crackling softly as shadows danced across the surrounding trees. The rest of the party had already retired, their quiet snores or the occasional rustling of blankets filling the air. You, however, couldn’t bring yourself to sleep. Not tonight. Not with the turmoil twisting and clawing inside you like a living thing.

You sat by the fire, staring into its embers, your hands clenched so tightly around your knees that your knuckles had gone pale. The warmth of the flames couldn’t reach the chill in your chest, the fear that coiled there like a venomous snake.

You thought you were handling it. You thought you could keep it at bay—the dark, violent urges that came with being a child of Bhaal. But they were growing stronger, whispering in your mind, seeping into your dreams. And then there was Astarion.

Beautiful, sharp-tongued, and endlessly charming Astarion.

He was your light in this abyss, your anchor when the tides of your bloodline threatened to drown you. And that terrified you more than anything. What if one day you lost control? What if the darkness overtook you, and the person you hurt was him?

The thought was too much to bear.

“Brooding by the fire, are we?”

His voice, smooth as silk and tinged with amusement, broke the silence. You looked up to see Astarion approaching, his pale features illuminated by the firelight. He had that same easy grace, that effortless confidence, as he crouched down beside you.

But his eyes—those piercing red eyes—softened when they met yours. “Darling, you’ve been quieter than usual. And that’s saying something, given your quirk of blurting out how one day all will be ash and meat. What’s troubling you?”

You opened your mouth to deflect, to brush it off with some half-hearted excuse. But the weight of it all—the fear, the guilt, the constant battle within yourself—was too much. The dam broke.

“I’m scared, Astarion,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

His playful smirk faded, replaced by a look of genuine concern. “Scared of what?”

You hesitated, your hands trembling as you fidgeted with the edge of your cloak. “Of me. Of what I am. Of what I might do.”

Astarion tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharpening. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your hand, grounding you. “You’ll have to be more specific, love. I’m not following.”

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “I’m a Bhaalspawn, Astarion. Violence, bloodshed, and death are in my veins. Lately, it’s been harder to suppress. The urges… they’re getting louder.”

His brow furrowed, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he moved closer, his hand now fully enveloping yours.

“And I’m terrified that one day I won’t be able to stop it,” you continued, your voice cracking. “What if I lose control? What if I hurt you?”

Astarion was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, he let out a soft chuckle.

“Astarion, this isn’t funny,” you said, your frustration bubbling to the surface.

“No, it’s not,” he said, his tone serious despite the slight curve of his lips. “But the idea of you hurting me? Darling, that’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.”

Your brows knitted together in confusion. “You don’t understand—”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” he interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. “You’re battling demons—figurative ones, in this case—and you’re terrified of losing. But let me tell you something: I’ve spent centuries surrounded by true monsters, the kind who delighted in inflicting pain, who relished in their power over others. You? You are nothing like them.”

“But what if—”

He silenced you by cupping your face, his touch cool but steady. “Listen to me. You have more control than you think. The very fact that you’re worried about this, that you’re fighting so hard against it, proves that you’re stronger than whatever darkness is trying to claim you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but his unwavering gaze held you steady.

“And as for me,” he continued, his tone softening, “I’m not some fragile thing that will break at the first sign of trouble. I’ve survived worse than you can imagine. If you ever lose control, if the worst happens, I’ll stop you. I’ll pull you back. But I don’t believe it will ever come to that.”

You searched his eyes, finding nothing but sincerity and a quiet, fierce determination.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“And you won’t,” he said, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Because you’re stronger than this. Stronger than Bhaal, stronger than the urges, stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

The knot in your chest loosened ever so slightly, his words and his presence easing the storm inside you.

“Now,” he said, his playful smirk returning, “let’s go to bed before you spiral into another fit of unnecessary guilt. You need rest, and frankly, so do I. Being this sentimental is exhausting, you know.”

Despite everything, a small laugh escaped you, the tension breaking like the first rays of dawn after a long night. And as he led you back to the tent, his hand never leaving yours, you felt a flicker of hope. Of love, and the urges lurched in response - it made you smile.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

The moon hung high above the camp, its light spilling through the gaps in the trees and painting the world in shades of silver and shadow. Most of the group had retired for the night, the soft murmur of Gale's incantations and the crackling of the fire the only sounds breaking the stillness. You sat alone near the edge of camp, your hands trembling as they gripped your knees.

The pressure inside you had been building for weeks. Suppressing the violent urges that came with being Bhaalspawn was an exhausting battle, one fought every moment of every day. But tonight, it felt different. Heavier. Darker. The whispers at the edge of your mind were louder, tempting you with promises of release, of power, of blood.

And then there was Wyll.

Wyll, who had become your safe haven, your light in the dark. The thought of him—his warm smile, his gentle touch, his unwavering sense of justice—usually kept the worst of it at bay. But tonight, those same thoughts brought a new wave of fear crashing over you. What if you slipped? What if you hurt him? What if the monster in your blood lashed out at the one person who made you feel human?

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear Wyll approach until he spoke, his voice soft and filled with concern.

“Darling, what are you doing out here? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You looked up sharply, startled to see him standing before you, his silhouette framed by the moonlight. He was dressed casually, his usual armor replaced with a simple shirt and trousers, but he still carried that same regal air, like a knight from a storybook.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted, your voice hoarse. Wyll frowned, his dark eyes studying you intently.

“Something’s troubling you,” he said, kneeling beside you. “I can see it. Talk to me.”

You hesitated, your throat tightening as the words threatened to choke you. But this was Wyll. If anyone deserved the truth, it was him.

“I’m scared,” you finally said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Not of someone else. Of me.”

Wyll’s frown deepened, but he didn’t interrupt, waiting for you to continue.

“I feel it growing inside me,” you confessed, pressing a hand to your chest. “The violence. The bloodlust. The part of me that’s tied to Bhaal. Most days, I can keep it at bay, but lately… it’s been harder. I can’t stop thinking about what might happen if I lose control. What if—” Your voice broke, and you looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “What if I hurt you?”

Wyll was silent for a moment, and the fear in your chest tightened. But then he reached out, gently taking your hand in his.

“You won’t hurt me,” he said softly, his voice steady and sure.

“You don’t know that,” you whispered, shaking your head. “I don’t even know that.”

“I do know that,” Wyll said, his grip on your hand tightening. “Because I know you. You’re not defined by the blood in your veins or the darkness you fight. You’re defined by your choices, by the person you’ve chosen to be. And that person would never hurt me.”

“But what if I can’t control it?” you asked, your voice trembling. “What if one day it’s too much?”

Wyll’s expression softened, and he reached up to cup your face, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek.

“Then I’ll be here to pull you back,” he said. “I’ve fought devils and demons, faced horrors that would drive most people mad. Do you really think I’d falter in the face of this?”

His words brought a lump to your throat, and you struggled to hold back tears.

“I’m not as strong as you think I am,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wyll smiled, a warm, reassuring expression that seemed to chase away the shadows in your mind.

“You’re stronger than you know,” he said. “And you don’t have to face this alone. We’ll fight it together, just like we’ve faced everything else.”

For the first time that night, the weight on your chest began to ease. Wyll’s unwavering faith in you, his belief in your strength, was enough to quiet the whispers in your mind.

“You’re too good for me,” you said, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

Wyll chuckled, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “Nonsense. If anything, I’m the lucky one. Now, come on,” he said, pulling you to your feet. “Let’s get some rest. The night may be dark, but the dawn always comes.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

The camp was calm that evening, the embers of the fire casting a warm glow on the surrounding trees. The quiet murmurs of your companions settling in for the night mixed with the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze. You sat a distance away from them, perched on a rock at the edge of camp. The weight in your chest felt unbearable, like an anchor dragging you down, deeper into the murky abyss of your thoughts.

For weeks, you’d fought it—the growing darkness, the violent whispers of your lineage that clawed at the edges of your mind. As a Bhaalspawn, the pull toward destruction was an ever-present shadow, lurking just behind your every action, every thought. It was one thing to suppress those urges in battle, but here, in the stillness of camp, when you were surrounded by those you cared about most, the fear took on a sharper edge.

What if one day, the darkness won? What if you hurt someone? What if you hurt Halsin?

The thought alone made your stomach twist with dread. Halsin, with his boundless compassion and unshakable calm, was your anchor, the one thing that made you believe you could rise above the blood that coursed through your veins. He saw the good in you, even when you struggled to see it yourself. The thought of losing him—of being the reason he suffered—was too much to bear.

You heard his footsteps before you saw him, the gentle crunch of leaves beneath his boots a familiar sound that sent a flicker of warmth through your chest. You didn’t look up as he approached, but you felt his presence as he settled beside you on the rock, his broad frame a comforting silhouette against the night.

“You’ve been quiet,” Halsin said, his deep voice soft and laced with concern. “More so than usual. What troubles you, my heart?”

You swallowed hard, your hands twisting in your lap as you tried to find the words. For a moment, you considered brushing it off, telling him it was nothing. But this was Halsin. If anyone deserved the truth, it was him.

“I’m scared,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper. Halsin turned to look at you, his golden eyes studying your face with gentle patience.

“Of what?” he asked, though there was no judgment in his tone—only understanding. You hesitated, your throat tightening.

“Of myself,” you said at last. “Of what I might do. Of what I might become.”

Halsin’s brows furrowed slightly, but he remained silent, waiting for you to continue.

“I can feel it,” you said, gesturing vaguely to your chest. “This… darkness inside me. It’s always there, whispering, urging me toward violence. I can control it, for now, but… what if one day I can’t? What if I lose control, and I hurt someone? What if I hurt you?”

Your voice broke on the last word, and you looked away, ashamed of the tears that pricked at your eyes.

Halsin was silent for a moment, and you braced yourself for his response, your mind racing with worst-case scenarios. But then, to your surprise, he reached out and took your hands in his, his touch warm and grounding.

“Listen to me,” Halsin said, his voice steady and calm. “I have walked this world for many years, and I have seen both the best and the worst it has to offer. I know what it means to carry a heavy burden, to feel as though you are fighting a battle within yourself every day. But you are not defined by the blood in your veins or the whispers in your mind.”

You looked up at him, your breath hitching as you met his gaze. There was no fear in his eyes, no hesitation—only unwavering belief.

“You have a choice,” Halsin continued. “Every day, you choose to rise above the darkness. To fight it, even when it feels impossible. That is what makes you strong. That is what makes you you.”

“But what if it’s not enough?” you asked, your voice barely audible. “What if I fail?”

Halsin smiled softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Then I will be here to catch you. To remind you of who you are and the goodness you carry within you. And if the worst should ever come to pass…” He hesitated, his expression turning serious. “If you truly lose yourself, I will do what must be done to protect those you care about. But I do not believe it will come to that. You are stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

His words washed over you, easing the tightness in your chest ever so slightly.

“You’re not afraid of me?” you asked, your voice small.

Halsin shook his head. “Afraid of you? No, my heart. I am in awe of you. You face a battle every day that most cannot imagine, and yet you continue to fight. That is not something to fear—it is something to admire.”

The weight in your chest began to lift, replaced by a flicker of hope. Halsin’s faith in you was unshakable, and for the first time in weeks, you began to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could overcome this.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice thick with emotion.

Halsin leaned closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You are not alone in this,” he murmured. “And you never will be. Whatever comes, we will face it together.”

As he pulled you into his arms, the warmth of his embrace chased away the lingering shadows in your mind. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to feel at peace.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was a bit of a long one for y'all, I struggled slightly with some repetition, but i hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

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[synthetickitsune]

Full Stomach, Full Heart ✧ w.jh

Pairing: Wen Junhui x reader (gn) Genre: angst, hints of comfort Summary: What was the last thing you ate, actually? Yet better question would be when was the last time you ate a full, nutritious meal. You don’t think you can remember though. And you know Jun will hate to hear it. Word count: 2.2k Warnings: food struggles, mentions of reader not eating properly

You feel something’s wrong within the first hour after waking up. Deeply wrong, but you’re equally deep in denial, so you write it off as a side effect of getting up too early and immediately scrolling on your phone, so you go back to sleep. When you wake up again, you’re not really sure you slept at all. Somehow, though, the time has passed too quickly for you to just be spacing out in bed. You need to get up. 

The feeling is still there, a weight on your chest and your mind feels like it’s clouded by a thick fog. Your bones feel heavy. Just standing feels uncomfortable and draining. You get some water and crawl back into bed. A text from your boyfriend is waiting for you, wishing you a good morning and asking if you’ve eaten yet. Your stomach churns at the idea of eating, so you ignore the text in favor of more sleep. 

Only sleep just won’t come. Not for long anyway. It’s all brief flashes of unconsciousness that leave you disoriented and tired once you wake up. Switching between unsuccessful attempts of napping and mindless scrolling on your phone, with some spacing out on the side, time passes. You try to make yourself get up again and do something, try to guilt yourself into being productive, all without result. Nothing works, nothing feels right.

You can’t tell what’s wrong exactly, but somehow it feels like everything is. It makes you upset, most of all with yourself. There is nothing that needs to get done, however you can come up with a list of a hundred things that you could get done if only you dragged yourself out of bed. There’s no reason you should be like this, you tell yourself. It is what it is, you tell yourself next and close your eyes again.

Without your permission, time passes. It slips away from you, then forcefully reminds you of its existence when your phone starts to ring.

It’s Jun.

“Hey,” you whisper. You hope he heard over the commotion around him. Suddenly you realize you really hate people today. Staying in bed seems even more appealing. Nobody is going to bother you here.

“Are you alright?” Jun cuts straight to chase. His voice is kind but laced with worry. “You never responded to my text.”

Oh. Shit.

“Yeah, yeah, I guess I am,” you hesitate a little, “Just don’t feel too good.”

You can see the frown on his face when you close your eyes and focus on the brief pause. The background noise, the voices, get distant and quiet. Somewhere on the other end of the line, a door clicks shut.

“‘Not good’ as in…?” he asks and you sigh. Worrying your lip between your teeth, you regret being honest in the first place. Just a little. But then again if you haven’t told him, he’d drive himself crazy with worry and that’s the last thing he needs during practice.

“I just don’t feel much of anything,” you admit, “I’m just really tired. I don’t want to do anything, don’t wanna talk to anyone.”

He hums in sympathy. It makes something warm flicker in your chest. You can imagine the hug he’d give you if he was here - enveloping, like the world doesn’t exist, his hand cradling your head, the other on the small of your back pulling you close with just the perfect amount of force. He’d hold you until something made him let go, and then still kiss you and promise to be right back.

“I’m sorry I called,” he whispers, “I just got worried.”

“No, I don’t mind you,” you reassure him even as every word drains more energy out of your already exhausted body, “You don’t count.”

“Why thank you,” you hear the smile in his voice. It’s natural for you to smile as well without thinking, if only you had the energy too. Regret wells up in your chest, even though Jun won’t know about this little turmoil. “Have you eaten?”

Your heart pauses for a beat. The answer is clear, but what was the last thing you ate, actually? Probably just instant noodles or something like that. Better question would be when was the last time you ate a full, nutritious meal. You don’t think you can remember though. And you know Jun will hate to hear it.

“...no,” you admit quietly. You curl under the blanket. He might get disappointed and worried but he won’t yell at you, you know that, yet it still feels uncomfortable. The silence drags on and leaves you suspended in anxiety. You beg him to talk inside your head, to say anything - to snap at you, anything will do. Just not the silence.

“y/n, it’s so late…” he says and you know he’s not scolding you, that he’s as gentle as he can be, but it still sounds like you’re getting scolded.

“I know,” you murmur, “I’m not hungry though.”

It’s an understatement. The idea of eating itself makes your stomach churn. And maybe it’s hunger in disguise, maybe. Most likely. You know you should eat. Food feels repulsive, though.

“You need to eat,” he insists, quietly, still gentle. You can hear the change in his voice when he adds: “I’ve been busy a lot, huh?”

“Jun…” you shake your head, “It’s not your fault. I need to take care of myself.”

“I want to be there for you when you’re not feeling well,” there’s a moment where his voice gets higher. You can imagine the lightbulb appearing above his head and it makes you slightly concerned. “I’m gonna help.”

“Wait, no-”

“Shh, no arguing,” he shushes you. You can hear his voice get more distant. “I’ll order you some food. A lot of it. So you can choose.”

You whine.

“I don’t wanna see anyone. Please. I promise I’ll eat later, just not now,” you try to change his mind. It’s pointless, you’re well aware that Jun is the most stubborn when your wellbeing is concerned. The silence on the other end of the line, occasionally broken by tapping noises as your boyfriend’s fingers dance across the screen, tells you resistance is hopeless. Still you try.

“I don’t want to go anywhere to pick up the food. I won’t even go downstairs,” you warn him,

“I won’t pick up the phone if anyone calls. I won’t talk to anyone,” you sulk.

“Jun, please forget about it-”

“Will you cook?” he interrupts you, a slight edge to his voice. You shrivel under the blanket.

“No but-”

“Are there any leftovers you can heat up?”

“No, Jun-”

“Don’t ‘no Jun’ me,” he sighs, “I’m gonna figure this out, okay? Don’t worry.”

Before you can ask for an explanation, beg him to let it go, anything, he hangs up. You groan and pull at your hair. It’s pointless to argue with Jun, however, and although you’re frustrated you know you can trust him. So you return to numbly lying on bed.

It’s some time later that you’re woken up - from sleep or daydreaming, you have no idea - by a text. You frown and pick up the phone, already annoyed. Who dares to bother you now?

Joshua: hey i’m downstairs so don’t get creeped out when i come in with the food

Joshua: if you're awake

Joshua: if not - sorry! ><

…what?

You don’t have much time to process what’s happening before you hear the code being put in and the doors opening. You’re tempted to pretend you’re not home but also what the fuck is he doing here? Taking a quick look at Jun’s messy hoodie and sweats you’re wearing, you ultimately decide that it’s not your fault Joshua’s going to see you like this. He came in uninvited. So much for not talking to anyone. You get up and groggily walk out of the room and look for the intruder.

You find him in the kitchen… putting food containers on the table?

“Hey,” he greets you softly with a friendly smile without pausing his actions.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, confusion written all over your face. Your arms are wrapped around your body protectively. Joshua doesn’t even look at you as he meticulously takes everything out of the bag.

“That’s my line. You should be in bed” he chuckles. Finally he looks up and upon seeing you don’t get the situation at all, he shakes his head with a small laugh.

“Jun said you’re not feeling well,” he explains, “So he asked if anyone could bring you food while you rest. Are you okay to eat now or should I put it in the fridge?”

You stop yourself from screaming aloud. And sighing. And hitting your head against the wall.

“Thank you,” you say instead, “It really wasn’t necessary.”

“No problem,” Joshua smiles at you again, “So?”

“I’ll eat in a bit,” you decide, relaxing slightly. You don’t feel like eating if you’re being honest but you also think the nausea starting to kick in is caused by hunger at this point. You should make yourself eat. Somehow.

“Okay. Do you need anything else? Medicine, dessert?” he jokes and you roll your eyes at him even though the target should really be Junhui.  

“I’m fine, thank you,” you try to smile at him despite your irritated mood. You make a mental note to thank Joshua again and apologize later because he leaves as quickly as he came. You should also talk to your boyfriend about using his friends as couriers.

Speaking of which…

Your phone rings again the moment you sit down and angrily stab the utensil into the closest container. You really can’t be bothered to use dishes that you’d have to wash later.

You accept the call and put your boyfriend on speaker.

“Hi… Joshua texted me he dropped off the food?” Jun sounds timid, careful almost.

“Yeah, he did,” you play with the food without raising any to your lips, “I hope you paid him.”

“No, but I owe him one,” he chuckles, still tense, “You know how he is.”

You hum. You do. But that still doesn’t mean your boyfriend should take advantage of his friend’s kindness to bring you food when he’s too busy. It’s not like any of them ever have too much time on their hands to be doing this.

“I… I just thought it would be okay this way,” his voice softens, “That you could avoid social interaction but still get the food delivered. I told Shua to leave you alone.”

You hum again. Not that you mind talking to Jun, he’s always the only exception, but you’re tired. And hungry, yet the idea of picking up the food, chewing, swallowing just seems so exhausting.

“I’m sorry,” Jun’s voice drops into a whisper, “But you need to eat.”

“I know,” you murmur, “And thank you. It’s just I really don’t feel like it even though I’m so hungry right now.”

It’s quiet on the other side for a moment, and then you hear him talking away from the phone - asking Soonyoung for a short break. You can’t hear what the response is but the next thing you hear is the door closing and Jun’s fast steps.

“What happened?” you ask, smiling a little as you imagine your boyfriend speeding through the corridors.

“I’ll facetime you in a bit, yeah? We can eat together,” his voice is full of determination and confidence that you don’t share.

“You’re going to eat in the middle of practice?” your eyebrow raises on its own.

“...Yes.”

There’s another slight pause.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Sure,” you chuckle. You still haven’t found the will to take a bite. Sharing a meal with Jun sounds nice, though. It’s highly unlikely it’s actually going to help with the predicament you’re in but the idea really is nice.

“You don’t have to eat much, I won’t either,” he coaxes you softly. You hear more doors opening and closing. Then something that sounds like a fridge and him rummaging around. “Just eat something, yeah?”

“I’ll try,” you promise.

“I’ll turn on the camera now,” Jun warns while he, at least judging by the sound, puts the food in the microwave. 

You just admire his pretty face while he waits for the food to warm up and try to push down the nausea. It’s hunger, it must be. But it does nothing to help you feel like eating. Your boyfriend yaps on about his day so far, about the practice, whines a little about how hard the new choreo is. It’s soothing, comforting. Ultimately, though, it doesn’t help much.

New wave of guilt washes over you when he sits down with his food and looks at you hopefully. You need to eat. You really need to. If for no other reason, then at least so that he doesn’t worry and can fully focus on the practice.

Finally you force your hands to move, your lips to open and your jaws to chew the first bite. Jun’s bright smile feels much better than the food you swallow.

“There we go,” he whispers to himself, trying to bite back the smile as he digs into his own lunch. You hear it anyway.

You smile a little too as you fight against your head to share a meal with him.

[mythicmanuscripts]

I can't remember where you said it, but I remember you saying how Aemond likes the deep pressure feeling of you lying on top of him. I was wondering if you could write smth about that?? Like, I personally LOVE having someone lie on me, too. It's like the ultimate weighted blanket! I'd love to hear more thoughts on this, and maybe even with the roles reversed and him lying on you

Absolutely anon!! Absolutely!!

This is mostly just soft and SFW but since it mentions nakedness and some suggestive themes then I'll hide it under a cut just to be safe. Enjoy lads!

This is something I think Aemond would always have liked and sought out even before he fully knew what it was. When he was younger he used to wrap his blanket as tightly around himself as possible. Often that was the only way he could fall asleep.

That's also one of the reasons why he loves traveling with Vhagar so much. She always opens her wing out and stretches it over him while he sleeps, never moving until he wakes up. He always used to sleep so much better while traveling with her, and often he would willingly take longer routes home just to spend an extra night or two like that.

It's not really a desire he fully understood back then. He just knew that the feeling of something heavy or tight around him made him feel so much better, so much safer.

You first discover this a few weeks after you finally start cuddling regularly. One of Aemond's favourite cuddling positions is to lay cuddled up against you, resting his cheek on your chest and bending his legs to rest on top of yours. He especially loves it when you wrap an arm around his shoulder.

But sometimes it seemed like Aemond couldnt relax? He'd constantly be shuffling and nuzzling against you, pulling your arm tighter around him. You ask what he wants and honestly he's not even sure? He just knows he could be closer somehow, and he wants it.

The next time you're laying together, you come to bed after him and he's laying on his back. So you switch places with him and this time it's you cuddled against his chest. He pulls you closer, tighter and buries his nose into your hair, like he can't get you close enough.

You try to change positions and in doing so you accidentally end up nearly on top of him. Before you can even apologise he is already pulling you closer so your weight it on him. You try to get off, telling him that you must be squashing him but he won't hear it. He falls asleep so easily and in the morning when you bring it up all he can say is that he felt secure.

Of course now that you're armed with this information you lay on him much more often, sometimes he even asks for it. Maybe, since we all know how much he loves to be of service, you ask him if he would like to try reading to you while you lay like that?

He sits up against the headboard with you curled up in his lap. You let your body rest over his legs rather than try to avoid it. He loves it, always keeping a hand on your back.

At first he would only read you whatever you had suggested, and never suggested anything himself. But over time as he grows more comfortable with you and begins to show you all the different sides of himself, then he starts to read you history books? It becomes one of his favourite things to do.

I also think he would love that sort of pressure when not in the bedroom as well? Obviously far more toned down.

If you two are watching Aegon hold court then you tend to stand off to the side with Aemond. He leans against the wall and then pulls you closer, holding you against him and letting him hold up some of your weight. He wraps one of his arms around your waist and will often rest his head on your shoulder (especially because he can whisper things to you about how boring this is and how Aegon made the wrong decision and all his other complaints.)

[dognonsense]

Question...how do you make your patches? They seem so fuckin cool. I'm working on a vest and a jacket atm, and I'd like for them to be done by the time a pride fest rolls around next month.

Main technique I use for making patches nowadays is linocut. Its best suited for mass production of patches.

Make sure to remember your carving the mirror image so you have to flip all the text. Using tracing paper to flip the design is a good trick, as well as leaving graphite marks on side, then pressing that to the lino to leave the marks in the same spot. Another trick with pencil is to view what ur carving in negative space quickly, put a paper over your design and shade over it with pencil, darker marks will be where you haven't carved yet.

I use speedball fabric ink, it takes 1 week to set then will be fine to be washed. I have magenta, violet, turqouise, and white. They have a limited range of fabric colors at the store. I have seen gold and silver fabric paint for sale and I will investigate it one day.

I use a speedball roller, i find the smaller one to be better than the big one as I can be more precise and waste less ink.

I got a fancy handle for $40 but the screws fallen out so its broken now so just get some heavy books. I used to use a mug. Whats important is pushing your whole body weight into it.

I got a speedball carving tool with different heads I can swap out so I can cut into the lino at different deepness and widths. The heads are stored inside the tool since its hollow and has a screwable removable bottom. I use linocut or dollar store erasers for my carvings. Make sure to wash the ink off your linocuts after your done using them.

A thing to increase the lifespan of you're linocuts is to use wood glue, some cork or wood pieces, and glued the lino stamps onto them. I dont do that yet so my stamps fall appart from overuse sometime and because I cut way too deep into the lino since I hate chatter.

Chatter is the term for in linocutting when theres little messy lines and stuff. It makes the art more recognisably to be linocut. My work is very clean with no chatter which is why people don't notice its linocut usually. This is a stylistic choice, with diy styles having a lot of chatter can look really cool so experiment with leaving bits of extra uncarvered lino sticking out in ur stamp. I need to experiment and buy some more lino.

You can also use multiple linocut stamps together to make a patch. Some patches ive made have like 8 different stamps. Ive made a dog nonsense patch where each letter was their own eraser stamp. You can also use different colors between the different lino stamps on the same patch to add more color. An effect I like to do is first stamp it in color, then the next day I stamp it in white over the same spot but shifted to the right and down slightly. It makes the text have a cool border 3D effect I love doing.

If making a more detailed picture with colors, i reccomend hand painting patches. I use white fabric paint mixed with acrylics for color to get all the shades i need. Acrylic paint mixed with fabric softener works too.

If doing words and you dont want a unique font reccomend using letter stamps. If you want a unique font for that i recommend hand paint for individual or linocut for mass produce.

The positive of letter stamps is the font is neat and can be done quickly. I know from lending them to my roommate that they are very helpful if you have dyslexia and have trouble getting letters right.

A visual effect of the letter stamps is that have a nice boxy edge effect, its an imperfection that adds a personally touch to it. I have both lower and upper case stamps that I got from michaels. You can use a hair band or elastic to hold a bunch of letter stamps together to make a word stamp.

You can use other stamps than letters that you find at craft stores for example my racoon print is a craftstore stamp.

You can also find big plastic letter stencils at the dollar store that you can use to do lettering by filling in gaps with a sponge or or paintbrush. They make special paintbrushes just for using stencils.

You can also get plastic stencils in the shapes of things, i got some for children and use a horse stencil for my horse smoking weed patch. Easier than drawing a horse myself.

Another technique I use for more unique clean patches is gel plating. I haven't tried printing laserprint images with it as ive seen online a lot but I will try one day. What i personally do is use it to make imprints with chains and physical objects.

Another thing i use with gelplates are any stamps or linocuts that dont have words, or words ones that i fucked up with and forgot to mirror when carving. It flips mirror image twice with the gel plate so it goes back to being right again on the patch.

Another patch making technique is using foamboard cut into shapes glued onto cardboard. This is good for a quick test of a design and is very cheap to make. It will not hold under water so is more difficult to clean.