#maybe this is just the denial stage of grief

[ihni]

Billy Hargrove's 20th birthday

(Also on AO3)

Billy is having the worst day.

Actually, no. He’s had many days that were worse (most of them including his dad on a rampage), but he’s currently standing on the side of the road with his thumb out, trying to catch a ride back to Hawkins, in the end of March, in the rain, so excuse him for being a little dramatic.

Also it’s his birthday, so. Every inconvenience gets automatically amplified, for some reason.

But fine, it’s not the worst day he’s ever had, but it sure as hell isn’t good, either.

Billy’s turning twenty today, and he’s still stuck in Hawkins. Working two jobs to get by while trying to save up for the move back to California – because it will happen, it was just maybe a bit naïve of him to think that he’d be able to go right after graduation. But he’s out from under his dad’s roof, at least – moved out first thing after getting his diploma – and even if the small space he’s renting over Mrs. Richardson’s garage is seventy degrees of crappy, it’s his and his dad can’t touch him anymore, which makes it the best home Billy has ever had.

But best home or not, it gets terribly depressing to look at the same four walls all the time, at least when he’s not working or sleeping. (It’s not like he has much of a social life anymore, what with him working all the time and having been somewhat of an asshole back in school and also being entirely uninterested in maintaining his ladies’ man reputation now when he’s free of his dad’s fury.) So a couple of months ago, Billy decided that for his 20th birthday, he’d drive up to Indianapolis and have the best night of his life. He had done his research and found two venues that had bands playing that night that he wouldn’t mind listening to, so he would drive to the city, go to a concert, eat some good goddamn food and drink some good goddamn alcohol and maybe get goddamned laid, and he would treat himself to a night at a motel or cheap hotel and he’d have goddamn milkshake for breakfast because he was an adult and no one could stop him from doing that if he wanted to, and he would have the night of his goddamned life.

(It would also get him out of his tiny little apartment, because if he wasn’t home, then it wouldn’t be so noticeable that no one came to see him on his birthday. Perhaps no one would knock on his door to wish him a happy birthday, or perhaps someone would, but he wouldn’t know or care because he wouldn’t be home. Schrödinger’s birthday wishes.)

He’d been saving up for his little outing for almost four months, and looked forward to it for even longer.

He hadn’t even made it halfway. Thirty miles into his trip, the Camaro’s engine spluttered and started smoking, and that was that. After hitching a ride to the nearest house, a phone call to a nearby garage, and two hours of waiting by his broken-down Camaro for a tow, he finally got his baby to an open garage. There, a big guy with an even bigger belly rooted around in her engine for a while and declared her unfit for the road. Getting her working again would cost Billy everything he’d managed to save for this trip and more, and would take at least a week.

Hence why Billy was currently standing on the side of the road with his thumb out, trying to catch a ride back to Hawkins, in the end of March, in the rain.

On his goddamned birthday.

At this point, Billy has gone through the first four stages of grief – denial, anger, bargaining (the mechanic just raised an unimpressed eyebrow when he tried to haggle) and depression – and had now landed in acceptance. The day was a bust. His plans had fell through. He’d wanted a good thing, and instead as usual, he’d ended up worse than when he started. With the rain beating down on him and the cars splashing him when they passed, he was soaked through. Soaked through and cold and hungry and poor and one hundred percent over this whole day. He just wanted to get home to his crappy four walls and crawl into his lumpy bed and forget this whole failure of a pipe dream, because God forbid Billy Hargrove gets to have a good day!

Yes, he might still be a little dramatic. Sue him. (Actually don’t, he doesn’t have any money left.)

But it’s been a long day. He started early to get a head start on what he was hoping would be a night to remember, but most of the day has passed and it’s getting dark. Soon, no one will be able to see him here at the side of the road, and with the rain the risk of being hit by a car is just too big. He briefly considers knocking on the door of the first house he sees and ask to stay the night, but immediately discards the idea. No one would open the door for him anyway, the way he looks.

He has just resigned himself to the thought of walking all the way back to Hawkins – it’ll take all night and he’ll probably die of pneumonia in the near future, but at least he’ll be able to crash into bed at the end of it – when a pair of approaching headlights flash at him and he hears a car switching gears to slow down. He also hears music – good music – that is abruptly shut off when the car rolls to a stop next to him.

Three things dawn on him, one after the other:

The car is a van.

The van is not just any van, but the one belonging to local drug dealer Eddie Munson.

Eddie Munson is indeed the driver, turning on the little overhead light and motioning at Billy to get in.

It’s not like Billy dislikes Munson. He never bullied him when they went to school together, unlike so many others, because Billy knows the value of good weed and when he first showed up in Hawkins he correctly deduced that Munson would not sell the good weed to his bullies. He knows that Munson at least has a good taste in music, if a flair for the dramatics.

That doesn’t mean that Billy likes Munson. The guy was at the bottom of the totem pole back in school, and hanging out with him then would have been social suicide. Because Billy cared about those things back then.

Now? Now he just wants to get home. Fuck today.

“Need a ride, handsome?”

And it’s a jab somehow, Billy knows it. And if he wasn’t soaked to the bone and shivering, he would have answered something like ‘fuck you’ or ‘didn’t know you swing that way’ or even a sarcastic ‘no, I’m standing out here in the rain because my shower is broken, what’s it to you?’. But he’s weary and doesn’t have the energy for whatever would follow, so he just gives a tired nod.

A wrinkle appears between Munson’s eyebrows, like maybe Billy’s lack of answer is the worrying part.

“Well get in. You look like a drenched rat.”

Another thing that Billy on any other given day would have snapped out a reply to. Today, he just takes it. It’s probably true, anyway.

Climbing into the passenger seat of the van, he waits for Munson to comment on his drenched and haggard appearance or warn him to not get the seat wet (an impossibility, at this point), but instead the worried wrinkle on Munson’s forehead deepens.

“You okay, Hargrove?”

And what does Billy say to that? It’s not so bad, in comparison. Hell, it’s not even the worst birthday he’s ever had (birthdays in the Hargrove household were never a hit when Neil was home). He’s not nursing a cracked rib or a split lip or two broken fingers, his face is not bruised or tear-stained, and he doesn’t have to go to bed without dinner (although, the leftover takeout in his fridge was bordering on inedibility yesterday, and the only other thing he’s got in there are eggs and barbeque sauce, so what that dinner will be is anyone’s guess. He’s got bread. He can make an egg and barbeque sandwich). So in that sense,

“Yeah,” he rasps. “Peachy.”

“Right,” Munson says doubtfully and doesn’t drive. Doesn’t drive for a long time, until Billy tips his head to the side to look at him. Then he blurts out, “You’re not gonna die in my passenger seat, right? Because half the town already thinks I’m, like, killing babies in my free time.”

There’s so many things Billy could say to that. What slips out is, “I’m no baby.”

Munson’s eyes flick down to his broad chest where Billy’s wet jean jacket – which is way too cold for the end of March, what was he thinking? – covers his tight light grey Henley, and clears his throat. “Um,” he says. “Clearly.” And then he seems to shake it off and looks back up at Billy’s face, eyes wide. “I mean, you really don’t look too good, man. You sick or something? Or drunk? Here, let me turn up the heat –“

“I’m fine,” Billy says, just a hint of an edge to his voice, but he doesn’t say anything when Munson’s hand reaches out to turn up the heat. Instead he sinks back in the seat and closes his eyes as he gives a full-body shiver.

“Shit,” Munson says and still doesn’t drive away. Billy hears him turn in his seat and rummage around somewhere behind them. A few seconds later, something soft is tossed in Billy’s face. He opens his eyes and sees that a ratty towel has fallen into his lap, and when he looks up he sees Munson next to him, holding a soft-looking blanket. What?

“What?” Billy says, confused.

“Off with those wet clothes,” Munson demands, “you’ll catch your death.”

“What are you, a grandma?” Billy mutters, slowly regaining his ability to snark as the warm air is being blasted in his face. He puts the towel over his face and wipes it off, and then starts drying his hair with it. It’s not like he’s gonna make it look worse. “Why do you even have this?”

“We use them to pack up our instruments when we go to gigs,” Munson explains, motioning to the back of the van. Billy doesn’t turn around, too busy drying off. “We were in Indy last night, for a gig. I have the instruments in the back. The others drove back this morning.” A pause, then, “Um, I’m in a band.”

Billy knows that. He’s even seen them play once or twice, although he didn’t make himself known. They’re not half bad, actually, not that Billy plans to say it out loud. Instead he makes a noncommittal hum and reaches out for the blanket, glaring when Munson pulls it out of his reach.

“Hey, no,” Munson says, “Off with those wet clothes first.”

“First you’re picking me up from the side of the road and now you want me to strip,” Billy murmurs, but does what he’s told. Even if he’s still sitting in his wet jeans – and soaked-through denim is not fun – it’s a relief to at last get out of his wet jacket and shirt. He discards them in the footwell and puts the blanket – that Munson wordlessly hands him – around his shoulders, pulling it closed in the front. It’s a bit itchy and smells like mold and it probably makes him look like a homeless person, but at least it’s warm. He shivers again and looks pointedly between Munson (who is busy staring) and the windshield and the road ahead.

“Oh, right!” Munson says, snapping to life again. He turns off the overhead light and finally pulls off the side of the road, back into traffic.

Billy has had his license since he was sixteen, and he’s been driving for even longer than that, and before that he simply walked or skated or caught a ride with friends when he wanted to go somewhere. But he has vague childhood memories of riding in the backseat, his parents in the front, at night, during the rain. Of leaning his forehead against the cold glass, feeling the car’s vibrations around him, and looking out in the dark – the only light coming from houses they passed and the other cars’ headlights and their reflections on the wet asphalt. It’s calming, and strangely familiar, and he can feel his eyes flutter shut.

Of course, it doesn’t last.

“So, um,” comes Munson’s voice from beside him, breaking the relative silence. “What were you doing out here anyway?”

“Car broke down,” Billy says, keeping it short. Not having the energy to go into his plans for the day and the way they fell through.

“Oh. That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

A beat, then, “Were you coming down from Indy too, or …?” Seems like Munson doesn’t like the silence. Billy doesn’t get why he doesn’t just put the music back on. Can’t he see that Billy isn’t exactly in a chatty mood?

“Nope. I was heading there but …”

“But your car broke down?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm.”

And Billy thinks that’s gonna be the end of it. He leans his head on the window and closes his eyes. Listens to the rattling rumble of the engine (Billy’s no mechanic, but he thinks that the van may be heading in the direction of the Camaro, too), and tries not to think.

It doesn’t work. Munson is quiet for maybe a minute before he starts, “So what were you gonna do in Ind–?”

And Billy snaps.

“Listen, man, I’ve had a really bad day. I get that you’re just trying to make conversation but I’m cold and wet and I’m not getting to Indianapolis tonight, so I’ll miss the concert and my car is broken down in a garage thirty miles from home and she’ll be there for a week, and I’m pretty sure they ripped me off when they said how much it’s gonna cost to fix her up.” He takes a breath, trying to keep calm. “I’m grateful to you for driving me back, but like, I’m not exactly the best of company right now.”

To his credit, Munson just nods, eyes wide and ringed fingers gripping the wheel harder. “Got it. Sorry.”

And that’s not … That’s not what Billy wanted. Munson has nothing to apologize for, Billy’s just in a shitty mood. But before he can figure out a way to voice this, Munson has reached out and turned the music back on, quickly turning the volume down to something more resembling background noise.

Billy relaxes back in the seat and pulls the blanket closer around him. Looks out through the windshield, watching the wipers push off the rain and more water cover the glass between every swipe, looking out at the road ahead and the red lights of the nearest car, still far in front of them.

Without really knowing why, he says,

“I’m turning twenty today.”

He doesn’t say it very loudly and he regrets it as soon as the words are out of his mouth. Half-hopes that Munson wouldn’t have heard him. But of course he did.

“Really?” comes Munson’s voice, a hint of excitement. “Happy bir–“

“Don’t,” Billy says, and it comes too fast and sounds too hard. It’s not Munson’s fault. He drags a hand down his face and says, “Please” (to soften the blow), “don’t.” He swallows. Closes his eyes against the way they are burning, suddenly. “Just drive me home.”

No more words comes from Munson, and they drive on into the night.

~~~

Billy flinches awake a little while later, not even realizing that he’d fallen asleep. He rubs at his eyes and that’s when he realizes that he’s only wearing an itchy blanket on his upper body, which is when he remembers where he is and why.

He groans.

“We’re not back yet,” Munson says, voice subdued, and that’s when Billy realizes that they’ve stopped and that the music has been switched off. “I just gotta fill her up, and maybe get a few things. You can go back to sleep if you want.”

Billy’s face burns; that makes it sounds as if he’s a toddler who needs his sleep (never mind that his plans when he got home had been to just faceplant into his bed and preferably sleep for a week). To show that he will do no such thing, he sits up straighter and looks around.

They’ve stopped at a gas station. It’s brightly lit up in the dark of the night, artificial lights making Billy’s headache worsen when he squints out through the window. He knows he should go out there and offer to pay for at least some of the gas – that’s what a decent person would do – but Billy’s shirtless under the blanket. His jeans and shoes are damp and uncomfortable; he doesn’t really want to move right now. Besides, he’ll need every cent he has to pay the mechanic so he can get his baby back.

Still, he feels bad. And then he gets angry for feeling bad, because he has so much other shit to feel bad about right now and the last thing he needs is a guilt trip. Even if he’s guilt-tripping himself.

He groans again, leaning forward to rest his forehead on the dashboard to hide from the gas station lights and listening to Munson fiddling with the pump outside the car.

It’s a couple of minutes before the door to the driver’s side opens, and Munson climbs in. The door closes behind him, but Billy doesn’t look up, even as he hears Munson rip open something that crinkles. He waits for the sound of chewing, or for the car to start, but there’s nothing. Nothing for a long time.

Eventually, he turns his head to the side and opens his eyes. And there, right in front of his face is …

A muffin.

He sits up. Blinks.

In Munson’s lap is a four-pack of cheap chocolate chip muffins that he obviously just bought inside the gas station. The packaging has been torn open, and he’s holding one of them out to Billy.

“Happy birthday, man,” he says.

The muffin has a candle in it.

Or no, not a candle. It’s a blunt.

Billy barks out a laugh, and Eddie – whose face has been carefully open and neutral until now – visibly tries tampering down on a smile. He gives the muffin a little shake and raises his eyebrows until Billy’s hand sneaks out from under the blanket and takes it.

“Cute,” he says, voice low, as he gently picks out the blunt. He doesn’t have a pocket that isn’t wet, so he puts it down in his lap, on top of the blanket.

Munson starts the car without acknowledging the gift, but he grabs his own muffin as he starts the car and drives back out on the road, biting off the top of it while he drives one-handed.

The music turned back on when the car did, so they’re back to driving through the darkness to the sound of heavy metal. Billy picks at his muffin, and looks down to the little gift in his lap. The white of the rolled-up paper is visible against the dark brown of the blanket, even in the low light of the night. He thinks about the events of the day, and the plans that fell through, and about his car. He thinks about his place in Hawkins, and how no one has probably knocked on his door today even though they know where he lives. He thinks about his previous birthday, and how much they sucked.

Perhaps he should have known better than having such high expectations for today. Just because it’s his first birthday on his own doesn’t mean that everything will suddenly be perfect. It’s him, after all. He should have known to scale it down a bit.

A gas station cupcake, a blunt, and a friendly face. A warm car, a blanket and ‘happy birthday’.

A friend.

Billy’s eyes burn again, and he blinks and blinks and is grateful that the overhead lamp is off while they continue to drive without speaking. As they get back to Hawkins and Billy sees the hated ‘Welcome to Hawkins’s sign lit up by the van’s headlights, he clears his throat.

“Thank you.”

[madscientistenthusiast]

Nobody mourned Viktor, no one will ever know what truely happened that day, those who remember him as a good man are gone, Viktor, as the man he was, will be forgotten, his name will only ever be spoken in hushed whispers, by those who knew of him not as the machine he became, but of the man he used to be

[thedeadtravelfast]

Sauron killing Celebrimbor:

[spaeccadet]

MAYBE I WAS BORN FOR THE STAGE

[microwaving-tesilid-argente]

MAJOR S-CLASS HEROINE SPOILERS

@vnikat HSFJNEFKODDK DOMT'T CALL ME OUT LIKE THIS 😭😭😭

[visit-ba-sing-se]

Nooo for real this truly is it's own circle in research hell

me when i have to put proper citations: ugh this is so annoying who even cares what i do in the footnotes

me when i can't find a source because it hasn't been quoted correctly: i am going to track down the authors and they will answer to me. i will find out who caused this suffering. there will be blood.

[larrysblooming]

.

[nondelphic]

the five stages of grief: writer's edition

denial: "this draft is amazing. no need for edits. it’s practically perfect as is." you’re so confident that you close the document for the day, smiling like you’ve just discovered the next great american novel (or swedish, or british, whatever). plot hole? who is she?

anger: "why did i ever think this was good? this is garbage. i am garbage. my characters are flat, my dialogue is cringe, and my prose sounds like a robot swallowed a thesaurus and threw up on the page." rage-quit the doc and go aggressively scroll pinterest for "writing inspiration" that you will never use.

bargaining: "if i fix this one scene, the whole thing will click into place. i just need to write one more subplot, maybe five more chapters, a quick rewrite of the entire ending, and then it'll be fine. totally manageable." queue up 17 youtube videos on "how to fix your plot" that you play in the background while staring at your ceiling.

depression: "i will never finish this book. it’s doomed. i’m doomed. why do i even write? who let me have ideas?!" lay dramatically on your bed, considering taking up knitting or rock collecting instead. cry a little over how your characters deserve a better writer.

acceptance: "this is the best i can do right now, and that’s okay. i’ll take a break, come back with fresh eyes, and remember why i love this stupid, broken story." suddenly, your MC whispers something brilliant, and you're like wait… maybe i'm a genius after all.

and the cycle begins again. writing is a joy.

[rinnstars]

time capsule!

in which you hesitate on calling him on his 19th

itoshi sae x reader: angst w comfort, happy ending, long distance rs, birthday fic ish, not proof read + likes n reblogs are appreciated

its cowardly - its been 30 minutes and you’ve still yet to dare to press his contact. you turn to the other side of the bed, facing the walls - ironically maybe you are truly talking to a wall. you could scroll through the chats between you and itoshi sae and half of it would be one-sided conversations - whether that be you chatting about your day with no replies, good morning and good nights that are left unreciprocated, i love yous that are left with blue ticks.

time. time is cruel to you and sae you think - compared to the youthful and heart-pumping love you once shared of secret love whispers and letters in the classroom you were once familiar with just down the street of your house. you’ve changed a lot since the last time you saw him when he was just seventeen, coming back for the first time from overseas - you’ve cut your hair shorter than what he’s used to yet just enough for him to still comb through it as he’s always done in your memories, you’ve changed your fashion style, ironically more similar to his with his stylish sweaters, sunglasses you’ve bought with him at the thrift shop, shoes that reminds you of him, you’ve changed your room from the youthful polaroid filled room to a simple room walls clean of any identity or evidence of you. and youre sure time has been even more cruel - he’s changed since the last time you’ve met him - he’s grown a lot taller than the fourteen year old he was when he waved goodbye to you in the airport yet that eye full of affection still remained back then, he’s much more determined you think, no longer giving up after once or twice failures at. the claw machines you used to take him to during the weekends, and he’s much quieter than he used to be, even more stoic and colder than you’ve remembered the quiet lover that sits beside you during class. and you wonder how much more has he changed during these two years - you could guess though: even colder with lesser texts from him gradually day by day week by week until it’ll soon be too late, even quieter than you can get used to with little to no words to tell you anymore to fix this torn apart house of cards, and maybe this will be the year where he finally leaves.

grief is a natural process of life - death, lost passions, and torn-apart friendships. and you’re pretty sure youre at the acceptance stage of grieving over this fallen apart romance story. it was denial - making excuses for him when he stopped the daily greetings through texts and photos of new places he’s been, making excuses for him to your skeptical friends that has always been right to see without the tinted-rose glasses, making excuses for him so that just maybe he’ll come back. then it was anger: the one week you refused to text him or answer his calls although there wasn’t any to interact with in the first place - how could he abandon you like that? why can’t he care about this relationship just as much as i do? why is he being so selfish? why.. doesn’t he love me anymore - sadness. you’ve practically sobbed the next week or two away - has he fallen out of love? distance makes the heart grow fonder they say, but you think it has made itoshi sae forgot all about you, all about the memories you’ve shared, all about japan and the person he’s left behind. you hate the physical heartache you face as you look at photos of you and him from the past, hearing at the voice calls and voicemail he’s sent to you with that same familiar voice that seem to still make your heart flutter. you hate the physical memories of him that reminds you of him everywhere that makes your stomach churn - from the bus stop that you seem to always see the phantom of you and him sitting there just like before in that school uniform that hangs in your closet, from the sweater on your bed that still somehow smells like him that you’ve grown way too attached to, from the candy that’s sugary-sweet taste that burst in your mouth reminds you of eating the candy pack with him during lunch break on days too tired to walk down long stairs to get to the canteen. you hate the dreams of you and him - wearing the white cloth that covers your face walking down the aisle, wearing stupid matching christmas sweaters going down to eat dinner together just you and him, wearing that stupid paper rings that matches with his that youre sure is long gone in his pile of abandoned mess and trash in his life. yet youre persistent - you don’t think you’ve ever given up before, not for anything you wanted so desperately to stay - you work hard and get sort of good results so that you have something to share with him only to be met with a thumbs up reaction, you force yourself to desperately like just a little bit of his favourite drinks that burns under your tongue, even worse you’ve considered and calculated the amount of money and everything just to run over to spain to find him, to fix this torn-apart love story that youre so desperate to fulfill, to build back this house of cards that has long crumbled without you even noticing.

and now its 11:59. you know logically, you should at least give him a call, tell him happy birthday even if it goes to voice mail - because at the end of the day you love him, you can’t leave him the way he left you, and truly to the deepest part of your broken heart, you want his life to go right, you want him to achieve his dreams out there even if it’s without him, you want him to smile even if from a memory far too long for him to recount these days. and so you do, pressing that call button - but its selfish, deep. down perhaps you just want to hear his voice even if its prerecorded and laced with the same annoyance that pricks your heart slightly you try to says, perhaps you want it to hurt so you can stop lingering on this ghost of his and stop loving him when the ceiling of this house of cards have fallen and practically ripping apart at your heart and stomach, and perhaps you want to say one last farewell before you run away from this mess that you know deep down you’ve contributed to.

“hello?”

and yet its that stupidly sweet voice that replies back, one that makes your heart flutter, makes your ear turn pinkish red, makes your stomach burst with butterflies. oh youre sure its love, the same love that you’ve felt the first time you’ve held hands with him and felt electric coursed through your veins and verve’s, the same love you’ve felt when your lips melted perfectly into his like you were made for each other by the universe, the same love you’ve felt when he’s first made you that paper ring in the middle of science class before that match that changed the entirety of yours and sae’s life. and you think, if it means feeling this pumping of your heart as though youre on a rollercoaster, feeling this warmth that rises through your entire face, feeling the love from your legs through your head - you think its all worth it.

“happy birthday sae. i love you”

“… thanks. i love you too. i’m coming back tomorrow by the way, i’ll come over..?”

and just maybe, you can fix this house of cards with him. with him - not alone, but with him. and just maybe those phantoms of you and sae at that bus stop, on your bed in your bedroom, at yours and his favourite cafe wont be ghosts anymore.

[fallow-hollow]

five stages of grief

…ft! kabru x gn! oblivious! reader

…tags! pining, confession, kabru is a bit of a freak about this, oblivious reader, reader is an adventurer

…word count! 2671

…notes! spreading my kabruganda to the masses!!! kabru is my me so I very much enjoy writing him

denial

At first, Kabru was so convinced that there was something behind your happy-go-lucky exterior.

You were so skilled in the dungeon, able to make it down to floors that even he hadn’t traversed yet. So you must have a good grasp on tactics, not only in battle, but also when socializing! Yes, maybe you read people expertly when they’d respond in kind to your friendly behavior…..

During the stage where you’re acquainted but don’t know much about each other personally, he spends so long crafting theories about what’s going on inside your head.

His party members get sick of hearing about it halfway through the second week.

Once you meet again in person, he’s ecstatic to have an opportunity to take a closer look at your inner workings. His words and mannerisms are calm and purposeful, but there is a certain spark in his eyes, almost trying to illuminate your thoughts and feelings with its shine.

Over the course of the conversation, Kabru starts getting a bit confused at his lack of new findings about you. It takes you saying something particularly damning for him to finally reach the dreaded conclusion.

“I don’t usually run into you in places like this.”

Kabru had encountered you one evening after exiting his room and seeing you and a few party members at the bar. It was nothing short of a strike of luck, and most certainly not him deliberately staying home that evening because he’d overheard your plans to go out.

“Hm?” You perked up, looking at him with a blank expression that was quickly replaced with a kind smile. Even trying to look closely, he couldn’t find anything present in your face except for a simple joy.

He would approach you with long strides, placing one hand on the back of your chair as to be friendly and intimate, but not so intimate as to make you recoil from a touch. The wink he gave you was with the eye facing away from the others on the opposite side of the table, ensuring most of them wouldn’t notice his flirtatious gesture.

“Want me to buy you a drink?”

Immediately, you raised one hand in polite refusal, your smile turning into more of a sheepish one. “Oh, I don’t know if I’d be able to pay you back. I wasn’t going to splurge much tonight anyway….”

As you talked, Kabru pulled up a free chair and sat down, a gesture that cemented himself in the conversation and setting. He noticed when he sat down in the middle of conversation, it made people less likely to turn him away than if he were still standing.

“No, no.” when he shook his head, his dark curls did a swishing movement. Once he looked back at you, he gave a half-lidded smile, only a tinge sultry in hopes you’d pick up his hints. “Your company is more than enough payment for me.”

Your party could only stare on with absolute pity as you waved your previously raised hand dismissively, giving what Kabru could only assume was a reassuring nod. Why did you think he needed reassured….? What did you think he meant?

“It’s completely fine, no need to be polite! We’re beyond such niceties at this point, I’d say. After all, I consider us to be at least a little bit friends, right? You don’t need to buy me a drink just to hang out!”

For a brief period, Kabru felt as if his whole world was spinning around him, before then shattering at the unknowing sledgehammer of your words. These statements and mannerisms suggested something far more than just a passive rejection…… no, it was something much darker.

You truly were as dense as a brick wall.

anger

Kabru doesn’t always react….. too calmly when people defy his expectations.

He’s able to keep a smile on his face just fine, but on the inside he’s screaming.

What do you mean there isn’t more? Where’s the scheme? The ulterior motive? The familiar secrets he can unravel and use to his advantage? Is it so bad that he wants there to be more?????

I’ll be honest, the man experiences his fair number of homicidal thoughts about you. In a strangely romantic way!

You’ll be chatting away with him, each remark and flirtation absolutely flying over your head, and inside his mind he’s just going I should gut them right here and sort their bones and vitals by size if they won’t let me dissect them the mental way.

And then seconds later he’ll go haha what was that! Anyway yes tell me more about the cute bird you saw last week.

I think Kabru does a lot of journaling, so he has a fair number of notes about you. Sometimes they’re drawings of you with notes about your appearance and physical mannerisms, other times he writes more free form about his thoughts regarding you. When he gets particularly frustrated, the writing can became scratchy or heavy handed to the point that it’s unreadable or nearly tears the paper.

The silence and solitude of the night was briefly interrupted by Rin rolling over in her sleeping bag. She was just beyond the range of the firelight where Kabru was still writing, and he could only barely see the way she squinted at him through her own tiredness.

“What are you scribbling about so late at night?” The mage would try to start another sentence, but be cut off by a yawn. If she was trying to be intimidating, it certainly wasn’t working. “Go to bed, Kabru, or else you’ll wake up to being sprayed by an undine if I have anything to say about it.”

That was a rather unpleasant thought….. even if the threat wasn’t legitimate, Kabru recognized that he’d probably spent far more time writing than intended. It was embarrassingly easy to get distracted when it came to you….just another thing that irked him about you. Yes…..’irked’. That’s most certainly the word.

“I’ll wrap it up soon, sorry to disturb your sleep, Rin.” With a grumble, the girl rolled back over, leaving Kabru to glance at his notebook for just a brief moment more before closing it. The writing was near illegible, but he still knew the words by heart:

‘I wouldn’t mind if they were scared of me. Maybe, if they sat on the other end of my sword, trembling and wide-eyed like human prey, I’d get to see a truly untouched side of them.’

bargaining

After the shock and rage subsides, Kabru tries to make you realize his feelings through pretty much every method imaginable except for confessing.

It feels like the man always appears at your side, always claiming he ‘happened to be in the area’ or something similar. And you never even question it, infuriatingly for him.

Your party members often tell you that something is up with the guy, that he’s hanging around you a suspicious amount but never being fully transparent, but you’d feel so bad about being suspicious of him when he’s done nothing but inquire about you and even offer gifts on rare occasions!

Kabru isn’t exactly the richest of adventurers, so gifts or treating you isn’t a regular occasion, but it’s certainly something he resorts to as a last ditch effort to try and get you to realize that he’s interested in you romantically.

Once he even tried to offer you a flower, but you still didn’t take the hint.

When you saw the flower in Kabru’s hand that day, your first thought was being so flattered that he remembered your conversation about which ones you both liked.

“Oh, Kabru!” You exclaimed with pure joy, causing the man to become embarrassingly excited that perhaps you had finally noticed the meaning behind all his gestures. Were you finally moved and wowed by his considerate, perfectly planned gift.

Clapping your hands together, you would beam and say, “You liked my favorite flower so much that you wanted to get one for yourself?”

A fly could’ve soared down Kabru’s throat in the time of that pause, but you paid it no mind, instead eagerly awaiting his reply.

The look on Kabru’s face was a completely blank smile, his bright blue eyes seeming to have almost burned out like a pair of oil lamps. Then, as he regained his composure, those lights flickered back on again, albeit wavering slightly.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take it yourself? If you like it so much, I’d be happy to let you take it home.” Poor Kabru, he should have learned by now that hints have no effect against the impenetrable fortress that is your cluelessness.

Your grin was the nail in the coffin, letting him know you had something in your head that was absolutely not anything he could anticipate from anyone else. “But why not use it as some decoration? Your party members always talk about how sparse your room is, and it could even remind you of me when I’m away! Here—“

You ushered him closer, a hand now on the small of his back giving him sparks that teetered between pleasurable and painful. The free hand gestured to the plant he held so delicately, pointing out different features like the petals, stem, and so on. “I can even tell you some facts about it; that’ll help you enjoy it that much more deeply whenever you see it! And you’ll remember our conversation!”

The way you could be so resistant to his advances yet so sweet to him could be nothing short of torturous sometimes.

depression

For a while, something fairly rare happens to Kabru: he falls into a slump.

He spends a long time in the dungeon, slashing away at monsters as if it might help him clear his head. His teammates notice that he can get more aggressive in combat than usual, but never really ask him about it.

He also becomes more spacey during mealtimes, and while some peaceful silence is nice, having Kabru of all people be so uncharacteristically quiet for so long.

It comes to the point that something similar to an intervention happens one day after dinner.

“What’s up with you, Kabru?” Mickbell wasn’t one to beat around the bush, immediately starting his line of questioning while looking at his teammate, void of mischief or amusement. “You’ve been all broody and silent all week. Can’t just expect us to not ask about it.”

“What Mickbell said,” Kuro concurred almost immediately after.

The tallman did his best to blink away his tiredness and offer a more confident look that he usually used when trying to rally his team under an idea or calm them down. “I didn’t mean to make you guys worry that much about me. It’s just something I’ve been personally interested in, so it’s not something you guys need to worry about.”

“A personal problem?” Rin cocked a brow. “If I know anything about what interests you, it’s probably a person.”

“Haha, caught me red-handed like always.” He raised his hands in faux surrender, though Rin didn’t seem to be put at ease by the gesture, so he tacked on another statement. “I was surprisingly stumped on what tactics to use when talking to a certain person, it’s really got me thinking.” Averting his gaze to the side, he could almost conjure an image of your grinning face in the corner of his vision. “It’s pretty exciting, though, so I don’t mind.”

“Ugh, I knew it!” The half foot threw his head back in exasperation, causing Kuro to extend one arm behind him in case he fell. “It’s that brick-headed adventurer you’re getting all cozy with, isn’t it?! What, you thinking of starting a new party?”

While Mickbell was busy stomping his foot to punctuate his accusation, Holm merely hummed. The gnome usually stayed pretty impartial to matters like this, but that didn’t mean he could always resist throwing in a comment or two.

“I’d be stumped too if I thought about human interaction like a battlefield.” His tone of voice remained soft, but his words were still quite pointed. “You really have to be upfront about your feelings sometimes, you know that? At least, if Mick’s description can actually be trusted.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?!”

After those two broke down into petty squabbling, Kabru could merely try his best to mask his realization behind a tight-mouthed grin.

Holm was right, and he hated it more than anything.

acceptance

Okay, this is the part where Kabru actually bites the bullet and talks about his feelings. Truly a miracle of life.

Kabru can have a lot of trouble being fully vulnerable due to feeling like he’s losing control, so he does his best to maintain control over the rest of the outing. He arranges the time, location, even makes sure to get there first. It’s the most he can do to not feel completely helpless at the whims of his own fickle heart.

When you arrive, a new wave of nervousness hits him that’s almost like nothing before. Kabru has slain men without a second thought, and here he is resisting the urge to tremble because he has to tell his crush he likes them.

He starts off with small talk, sort of building up to his confession while also beating around the bush just a little. Asking you how you’ve been, if you’ve done anything noteworthy, if you’ve meet any new people…..

Eventually, Kabru decides that if he waits any longer, he may instinctually try to hide his intentions in the long strings of small talk he’s making, so he finally takes that leap.

He said your name, and your eyes flickered up to his face. Even if you were spacey at times, you never stared past him or through him whenever he was addressing you. It made him feel….strange. It was odd to feel truly perceived at times.

“Can I be….. terribly honest with you?” He cards his fingers through his curls and closes his eyes, and you couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly beautiful he looked.

“Of course,” you responded without thinking. Not like you ever needed to think twice about your appreciation for the man. More than that, really.

There was stillness, and all you could hear was Kabru’s deep inhale through his nose. He intended to phrase it more eloquently, he really did, but when he opened his eyes again and saw you waiting on his words with baited breath, there was this instinctive fear that maybe this would be his only chance. That you would walk away or disappear, leaving him with only the memory.

He didn’t want just a memory.

“I want you to know that I love you above all else.”

Your mouth hung agape like his had many times in response to your own remarks. Were it not for how shocked he was at his own words, he would have chuckled at how cute you look.

Before he could even scramble to elaborate on his uncharacteristically blunt comment, you blurted out in a similar fashion, voice slightly raised and head perked up,

“You really feel that way?!”

Faced with your blushing face, Kabru could only affirm the feelings that you promoted from somewhere deep within him. “Yes, I’d been trying to win you over for a long time, really.”

If you were flushed before, then now you were nothing short of flooded with embarrassment from ear to ear. Despite this, you were smiling, wobbly and sheepish. “I mean, it’s not like I’m shocked in a bad way or anything — I always thought you were really wonderful, too wonderful for me anyway. I really never thought you were pursuing me of all people!”

For the longest time, your denseness had given Kabru untold grief. Upon seeing you state it so plainly, however, he just couldn’t find it in his heart to be upset. Not when it was one of the things that made you so fascinating.

“I’d sort of figured as such, yeah.”

[alisonwritesimagines]

Stages of Grief ~Batkids Imagine~

Inspired by this comment from @martaellyimnotabot left on my AU If Bruce Cheated on Batmom:

I believe that the bat kids would be REALLY mad with Bruce, like "HOW COULD YOU CHEAT ON MOM???" Would be nice to see the bat kids reaction on it.

Summary: The kids go through the stages of grief when you leave Bruce and disappear without saying anything to anyone.

Author's Note: This is a part two and not canon to my Batmom series!

Part One

They were in shock at first on how you disappeared. They first checked your hometown but you were smart to not go there when you left the mansion. They checked the safe houses but found nothing. You had really done your research in disappearing away from the family. Especially from Bruce.

The kids sadly began to go through the stages of grief after a couple days of you gone.

First was stage number one. Denial.

“Mom wouldn’t just leave us,” Tim said to everyone as they were together. They had tried to find you again but no avail.

“You’re right. Maybe she’s just on some kind of vacation to get away,” Dick suggested.

“Unless someone kidnapped her,” Jason said, looking at the negative side of life.

“I can ensure you all that your mother has not been kidnapped,” Alfred said, interrupting their little meeting.

"Alfred? Where's mom then?" Cassandra asked him.

"I'm afraid I cannot disclose that with any of you. She is not ready to face you all just yet," Alfred said before leaving.

The second stage of grief came next. Anger.

“It’s all Bruce’s fault! How could he have cheated on mom?!” Jason yelled.

The batkids had just learned of why their mother left. Bruce had cheated on her with Selina who is pregnant with his baby. Dick was the one who found out when he spotted Selina with a bump.

“For once, can he just choose mom?” Jason asked angrily.

“Jason. We’ll find her. You need to calm down,” Tim said.

“Calm down?! She has always been there for us and he drove her away!” Jason yelled angrily.

“You don’t think we’re upset about this either?” Cassandra asked upset.

“You sure don’t act like it,” Jason jabbed.

“We’re all upset dumbass! You’re not the only one who looked up to her as a mom!”

“Fuck this! I’m going solo for a while,” Jason said as he walked off.

Bruce barely had any of the kids by his side during patrol. He was lucky to have one by him who followed orders.

After their anger had finally died down after two months, bargaining came next.

“Alfred. Please. We just need to know if she’s okay,” Stephanie asked him.

“I’m sorry. I was given strict orders from Miss Y/n to not say anything until she is ready.”

“Until she’s ready? Alfred please,” Tim begged.

“I’m sorry Master Tim. But what I can say is that she is safe and is doing well,” Alfred said.

There were few who quickly passed the anger, denial, and bargaining phase. The two being Dick and Damian who went into the depression phase quickly.

“I miss her,” Damian says to Dick.

He had never cried before. Damien was raised that crying was a sign of weakness. But you had told him otherwise and had told him that it’s okay to cry every once in a while. You told him that it was good to be sad sometimes.

“I know buddy.”

“Why would she leave us though? Did we do something wrong? I know father cheated on her but why punish us?” Damian asked with watery eyes.

“You heard what Alfred said. She just needs to be alone for a while. She’ll come back to us soon,” Dick comforted.

“I’m surprised you’re not as mad as Jason,” Damian said.

“I’ve know Bruce and mom longer. I’m just more sad that she can’t trust us to share where she is. But I know it’s because Bruce would’ve followed us over to her,” Dick tells him.

"Do you think she'll come back for us?" Damien asked.

"Soon. She'll come back to us soon."

Dick put an arm around Damien as he comforted him. Damien silently cried as he missed you. He wanted you to hug him and tell him that you were always going to be there for him no matter what.

After four months of you being gone, the kids had finally accepted the fact you were gone. That was until you had came back to the mansion and gave Bruce the papers for full custody over your unborn child and papers for divorce. Alfred gave your new address to the kids who rushed over afterwards.

“We missed you so much,” Cassandra tells you as she hugged you.

“I miss you all too. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you all. I needed to make sure I was in a secure and safe place before I could see you all again,” you explain.

“So we’re gonna have a new sibling soon?” Jason asked as he looked down at your bump.

“Yup. I found out after I left Bruce,” you tell them.

“I hope it’s a boy,” Damian said.

“I hope it’s a girl. We have enough boys here,” Cassandra said.

“Either way, I’m going to love my baby as much as I love you all,” you tell them.

"Please don't leave us like that again," Dick says as he hugged you as well.

"I'm sorry again. But I promise to tell you all everything that you need to know from now on," you tell them.

"That's all we ask. We love you mom and we don't want to lose you," Tim says.

"I'm sorry for worrying you kids. But now, you can visit me whenever you want," you tell them with a small smile.

"I can get a place close to here for you ma," Jason said.

"Whatever makes you comfortable. Hardly any crime here and everyone has been nice," you assure to them.

"It's a thirty minute drive from Gotham so I'll move somewhere in between so if you ever need us, we'll help you," Jason tells you.

"Thank you sweetie. I appreciate that," you say to him.

"What do you have planned now?"

"Well Bruce offered to give me alimony so I don't have to work. But I'm thinking of doing something to keep me busy," you tell the kids.

"Well if you need us at any point, call us and we'll drop everything for you," Tim says.

"Thank you," you say, smiling at them again.

[thatweirdthingoverthere]

I just had another weird thought about my fave spooky podcast and most recent hyperfixation.

The Five Seasons of The Magnus Archives Seem Thematically Parallel to the Stages of Grief.

Season 1, Denial - Jon feigns skepticism as he reads the statements and hides that he's scared of whatever monsters lurk in them

Season 2, Anger - Jon takes the offensive in that he begins to investigate Gertrude's death and starts spying on his coworkers in an increasingly antagonistic fashion. Everybody rightly gets very upset with Jon's behavior.

Season 3, Bargaining - Jon learns (part of) the truth; okay, how does he fix this? Look into the Stranger, save the world, maybe that will validate the fact he's becoming less human? What does he have to do to be safe?

Season 4, Depression - And I quote, "Boohoo, I'm so alone and a monster". He has lost a larger piece of his humanity and is going through the motions, nobody he can trust or talk to and sinking into the addiction of hunting victims.

Season 5, Acceptance - John has come into full power and, while he still doesn't like the fact that he does, he enjoys the perks of avatarism and being the harbinger of the change.

(If this observation has already been made I apologize but my late night thoughts need an outlet.)

[selfshippinglover2222]

Hazbin Boys And The Stage Of Grief They’re Stuck In

If their partner died…

Denial

Lucifer would be stuck in denial. He’s folding your clothes, washing your dishes. He’s cleaning your house and waiting for you to get home. He smiles as he does so, humming a tune. He refuses to aknowledge that you might be gone forever. No, you may be gone but you’ll reconstruct. You’ll come home, you have to. You promised you’d never leave him, never abandon him. And he trusts you won’t. So instead he cleans your things, tidies your house and waits to hear your sweet voice telling him your home.

Anger

Valentino would be stuck in anger. His floor of the tower covered in the blood of workers who happened to cross his path, the poor things torn limb from limb or shot up. He has a rage for the world now, for taking away his only light. He becomes even crueler, his work becoming more and more violent and snuff like as he descends deeper into rage. He gets into really violent bdsms with his workers, and is quick to give them a painful death. Without you he sees no reason for happiness.

Husk is also stuck in anger, his personality becoming more and more bitter as he snaps at anyone who tries to help him. He says cruel things and slaps any comforting touch away. He drowns himself in liquor and hopes maybe then he will forget your face. He hates the world for taking you from him, and it shows. He yells and screams, sometimes at his friends, other times at the memory of you. He’s always drunk off his ass now, never wanting to face the cruelness of hell without you by his side.

Bargaining

Alastor is stuck in bargaining, hoping if he kills enough people, if he sacrifices enough souls, then maybe you’ll be brought back to him. He uses all he can in order to try and bring back your soul, using his voodoo in order to try and bring you home. Sacrificing everything he can, his contracts, his own body, anything to bring you back. But you don’t come back, and he doesn’t know what else to do. If he kills enough people in your name, surely you’ll come home? Surely the heavens, or even another demon, will bring you home.

Vox is also stuck in bargaining. He throws himself into his work, into his plans to take over hell. If he wins, if he does control hell, then he can bring you back. If he does a good enough job, if he shows his strength then there will be no choice. You’ll be brought back to him, right? If he’s in charge, he can order it to be so. So he goes days without sleeping, days without eating and just fixates on his plans. He isolates himself from the other Vees, focused entirely on you, on footage, on recordings. If he tries hard enough…you’ll come home to him won’t you?

Depression

Angeldust is stuck in depression. When you die he finds he just can’t get out of bed, he can’t move. The world stills for him, and he doesn’t even find the will to eat. The only thing getting him out of bed is Fat Nuggets, and he doesn’t even find it to feed him. He finds himself to sad to even cry, just staring blankly at the ceiling for hours. He finds he had no hope with you gone. What’s the point now? What’s redemption without you by his side? His hands twitch with the need for a relapse, but your disappointed face keeps him away from it. But, really, what’s the point now?

[host-gone-gay]

TLDR; I thought I was a boy bec lil me didn't know basic biology apparently. Then realised later at age 12 that that's not the case and ignored it for a year until I got introduced to the LGBTQ+ community through the internet then denied the hell out of it until eventually, I came to terms with it and here we are :)

please reblog if you don’t mind! i would love as big a sample size as possible 🫶🫶

also I’m aware a-spec ppl can also be achillian or sapphic (I’m one myself) so just for the sake of the poll choose the one u realized first or feel most aligned with atm <3

[rafeandonlyrafe]

never truly gone

words: 2k

alternative universe where rafe was the one to fake his death instead of ward

warnings: funeral, discussions of death and grief, established relationship, murder confession (canon murder), implications of smut (no actual sex)

you are barely tuned in to the words being spoken at the funeral, lost in the haze of grief. dressed in the same outfit you wore for your one year anniversary with rafe. it was his favorite. was. the word hits you like a ton of bricks.

it didn't feel real for the longest time, part of it still doesn't, the feeling in your gut that your boyfriend isn't truly gone, but as you pick your head up and look around, you realize you have to get over the stage of denial.

“are you okay?” your mom whispers, reaching over to squeeze your hand. you rip it immediately out of her grip. of course you're not okay. who could be after their first love, their high school sweetheart, blew up?

“now is the time that we invite anyone who would like to say a few words up to the mic.” the pastor says, looking out into the crowd, members of rafes family having already spoken.

ward turns around to look at you. he invited you to sit in the front row when you first arrived, but you didn't want that kind of attention, your every reaction being scrutinized, if you’re crying too much, or not reacting enough.

“would you like to speak y/n?” 

you look at the crumpled, tear stained piece of paper with some words scribbled on it.

“i-i don't know if i can.” you admit. ward seemed so strong when he spoke, the same pillar of community he seems to be when speaking at town halls or midsummers.

“whatever you say, im sure rafe would appreciate it.”

you nod, take a deep breath, then stand. your mind seems to blur as you walk to the front, the pastor greeting you with a soft hug then leading you to the podium.

you clear your throat before looking down at the paper. 

“i never imagined a life without you. you were the first man i ever loved and i can't… i can't see myself ever having that same love again. we changed each other so much. we went from kids to young adults planning out their life together. i love you so much, rafe. i always will no matter how much time passes.” you vow.

your next words turn robotic, talking about the family he left behind, his accomplishments, things that don't actually matter to you but you know should be said. you recount the five years you were together, knowing someone is no doubt scoffing at how little it is, but it was your whole world.

you manage to hold in your sobs until you sit back down. you spend the rest of the funeral with your head down, unable to look at the pictures hung around the church.

-- 2 months later --

you let out a groan as you turn over in bed, not wanting to wake up, wanting to spend another day rotting under the covers.

“it's almost noon.” your mom says, peaking in to the door.

“yeah.” you say, sniffling as you see the photo on your nightstand when you go to look at your alarm clock. you can't bring yourself to move it, even if it makes you cry every time you see rafes smiling face. “i know.”

“maybe we could go out to dinner. or order some pizza? you need to eat, baby.” you know your mom is just looking out for you, but the thought of food makes you feel sick, eating at this point when your stomach truly needs it.

“yeah, maybe.” you pick your phone up off the nightstand and unplug it. “im gonna take a shower and get dressed.”

“that's good.” your mom says. “i love you, y/n.”

“love you too mama.” you pause for a beat when she doesn't shut your door. “thank you.”

you mom nods before exiting. you open up your phone to the gallery that causes you as much pain as it has joy, flicking through your final photos with rafe before sighing and getting up to shower with him fresh in your mind, determined to not forget a single thing about him.

--

you're about to go to sleep, pass out and hopefully not dream of anything. you went out for dinner like you promised your mom, trying to keep a brave face for her. she didn't even mention anything when you came back from an extended trip to the bathroom with tear stains on your cheeks and red eyes.

you grab your phone, swallowing harshly to stop yourself from crying again as you click on your messages, rafes contact still pinned to the top. 

you click on your messages. the last text was rafe saying he loved you. you never got to text him back, but you know he was aware of how much you loved him.

you scroll back for a bit, smiling at his jokes even with the tears in your eyes.

you lock your phone and place it on your chest, looking up at the glittering stars through your skylight. “i miss you so much, rafe. why'd you have to leave me?”

your phone vibrates. you almost ignore it, not caring who it could be from, you've practically ditched all your friends, hoping they won't hold it against you when you finally feel good enough to hang out again, if that time ever comes.

something in you makes you pause when you go to plug your phone in, makes you hesitate and open up the text.

baby, im so sorry. please meet me outside, im at your dock.

love, rafe

you frown at the text from the unknown number, considering ignoring the obvious prank as you fling off your covers, body now fueled with rafe, but when you look out the window, there is an unfamiliar boat tied to your dock.

you slip on your shoes, not really thinking of a plan as you head outside, rushing through the yard to find out whoever is playing tricks on you.

the moon barely lights your steps as you stomp down the wooden dock until you're close enough from the boat for them to hear you and far enough from your house to not wake up your mom.

“this isn't fucking funny!” you scream. “whoever is pranking me, you're fucked up!”

a figure steps out of the boat and onto your dock. it takes your eyes a second to adjust, to really take in what you're seeing, to know it's reality.

“n-no.” you take a staggering step back. “im-im seeing things.”

“it's really me, baby.” the word hits you like a bullet as you fall to your knees, not caring that they dig into the wood. “i can explain everything but-but can i touch you? ive missed you so goddamn much.”

“this isn't real. you're- you're dead. im dreaming.”

rafe moves closer, dropping to his knees as well and pulling you into a tight hug. it isn't until he touches you that you know that it's not a dream, hes real and warm against you.

“oh, god.” you begin to sob, clutching onto rafe, clambering closer to him, climbing onto his lap and hugging him so tightly it's like your bodies could become one.

“im so fucking sorry baby. i love you. i love you so much.”

“i love you.” you sob, pulling back to look rafe in the eye. “i-i love you and you can never leave me again.”

you'll demand answers later, but now you're just happy your initial gut instinct was right, your boyfriend is right here, alive and well.

“can i kiss you? you're probably pissed at me but-”

you don't wait for rafe to finishing, surging forward and smashing your lips against his, all the passion and feelings of the past two months without him, but also the past five years of love, put into your bodies as you kiss under the moonlight.

“baby-” rafe gasps after a minute. “i-i need to get back on the boat. just in case i’m seen. come with me.”

“okay.” you're not sure what it means, but you're not going to let rafe out of your sight.

rafe climbs onto the boat before helping you, hand carefully stroking over yours as he leads you into the cabin.

“did you tell anyone that i messaged you?” he asks, sitting down on the bed and pulling you to his side.

“no.” you shake your head. “my mom doesn't even know.”

“that's good.” rafe nods. “i faked my death.”

“i can tell.” you giggle, unable to keep away for much longer as you press your lips against his in a quick peck before curiosity has your tongue loosening. “how? why?”

“my dad planned it for me. the boat was rigged to explode and i went and suited up in scuba gear. the why…” rafe hesitates for a moment, and you can read every emotion on his face.

“just tell me.” you say. “you can't hurt me. you can't make me mad at you, not when i just got you back.”

“i killed sheriff peterkin.” rafe swallows harshly. “it was to protect my dad, but of course nobody would believe me.”

“i believe you.” you tell rafe, tucking your head into his neck. “that must have been so scary, but i know how you'd do anything to protect the people you love.”

“my dad didn't want me to tell you at all. i agreed to wait until after it happened, but it all moved so fast, and when i got to where i was supposed to hide out for a while, i realized i had no way of contacting you. i had to steal a phone and this boat and leave the safehouse.”

“what's the plan now then?” you ask.

“have you come back to the safehouse with me. it's in the caribbean, on a gorgeous island. i will provide everything you need, we won't have to hide there.”

“and what will i tell my family? tell everyone?”

“well, your mom loves me.” rafe smiles, knowing he's right. “i think we can trust her to keep the secret. as for everyone else… maybe you just need some time away from the outer banks after what happened. maybe some cousins in michigan or something?”

“whatever.” you shake your head. “i just need to be with you.”

-- one week later --

“when you said safe house…” you look around the mansion. “this is not what i was picturing.”

“the locals here think im a cousin of the cameron family. allows me to stay here without much suspicion. i do keep a low profile and stay out of touristy areas just in case, but we can do whatever you want here. the ocean is right outside our doorstep.”

“and money? do i need to get a job?” you've never worked before, having grown up wealthy, but you're willing to do anything to keep your life going with rafe, having told your mom who didn't believe you until rafe stepped into the room. she saw the spark in your eyes and recognized it as the same one in hers when she looked at your father, and her time was also cut short when he passed young.

she made you promise to call and to let her visit every couple months, just enough to not be suspicious.

“no.” rafe shakes his head. “my dad funnels me money. cash, so no one gets suspicious.”

“honestly, i could just stay forever in the house and in the backyard.” you laugh, wrapping your arms around rafes shoulders, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“my dad will figure something out eventually, i don't expect you to hide for the rest of your life.”

“okay.” you shrug. now that you're with rafe, you don't care. you're going to be happy no matter what after feeling the pain of losing him.

“there is one more room i want to show you…” rafe picks you up, your legs slotting around his waist like nothing ever happened. 

you laugh as you kiss his neck, knowing exactly where he's taking you.

sfw tags: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @ladyinbl00d @ethanthequeefqueen @drewsephrry

[pomefioredove]

If you still take req for the event (if not ignore 🙏), could we pls get "I can't stop thinking about you." With Sebek

RARE SEBEK REQUEST 🙏🙏🙏

summary: "I can't stop thinking about you" type of post: short fic characters: sebek additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

You are a problem.

Not because you're always getting yourself into trouble, not because of your poor temperament, not even because of that direbeast you carry around with you.

No. Sebek couldn't have cared less about all that.

If that's all it was, he could have tolerated you. What's one more bothersome human to him?

You would have been no different from the others.

If not for...

"Ah, young love," Lilia sighs. There's a dreamy current in the stream of his voice that makes Sebek stiffen.

"It is NOT... love,"

The elder fae chuckles. "Yes, I remember what that was like. Denial is the first stage, you know,"

"That's grief, father," Silver mutters, keeping his head down to avoid being dragged into the conversation.

"And what is grief if not love?"

"Again," Sebek is tense. "I am not interested in such things. I have already devoted my life and service to Malleus."

Silver and Lilia give each other a look.

"You know, Sebek, it's okay to have these kinds of thoughts. You're young! You have the rest of your life to guard Malleus. You should have some fun," Lilia says.

"Father is right. Maybe you'll loosen up a bit. You're too stressed,"

"YOU'RE NOT STRESSED ENOUGH!"

Lilia sighs that certain familiar sigh.

"I admire your focus, Sebek. If you really want to rid yourself of these feelings, the fastest way to do so is confessing. That way, you won't spend months toiling over them,"

Sebek's expression flips forthwith, and he beams. "Thank you for your wisdom!"

Silver raises an eyebrow, and Lilia dismisses him with a wave. It doesn't matter, anyway; Sebek takes his words to heart.

It's long past dark when he pounds on Ramshackle's door.

Nonetheless, you answer, bleary-eyed and sluggish, a thumb-sucking Grim tucked in your arms like an infant.

"Sebek?" you ask. "Is... everything alright? Are you okay? Did something happen to Malleus?"

Your words of concern are like an arrow through his heart. Worried for both him and his liege?

But also... worried for him...

He better get this over with fast.

"Malleus is well, do not worry about him. This concerns us,"

You stare in disbelief, as if you hadn't heard him right. "Us?"

"Did you mishear me? I am here because I cannot stop thinking about you!"

"...Oh!"

Oh?

"...Me?"

"Am I not speaking loud enough for you? I said, I CANNO-"

Your eyes widen. "No! No, I heard you! I'm just confused. What exactly does that mean?"

Sebek crosses his arms. Of course. Sigh...

"Lilia said I might overcome my feelings for you if I express them. So? What do you have to say for yourself?"

You blink. You're clearly still tired, he thinks, otherwise you would have understood, accepted his words, and been gone by now.

Right? Nothing more.

"Um... I don't know," you finally say. "Maybe I can come to training tomorrow?"

Hm. A strange response, but not an unwelcome one. Sebek grins.

"Finally taking up the offer? Of course. Anyone who spends time with Malleus should know the basics of combat,"

You hum, looking up at the sky behind him. "I wasn't really thinking about spending time with Malleus, but... okay. Tomorrow,"

"Tomorrow!"

And with that, he's gone, with a warm feeling in his chest that wasn't there before.

Lilia must have been right about confessing- he suddenly feels much better.