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the-daily-dreamer · 4 months ago

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The thing about the breakdown of the Rhaenicent relationship that is talked about but I think is still severely overlooked is the key role that both girls/women (specifically Rhaenyra) play in its destruction.

Because the fandom focuses in on this narrative that the relationship broke down solely because of the ambitions of men. And aside from that fueling the annoying idea that all women are inherently passive victims that suffer because men are ambitious and violent, it’s simply wrong.

While the catalyst was certainly Otto’s ambition and Viserys’s weakness (and perversion), Rhaenyra and Alicent’s relationship truly breaks down because of Rhaenyra’s entitlement, self-serving nature, and inability to see outside of herself and her experiences and Alicent’s (in my opinion reasonable) reactions toward this over time.

The beginning of the break down comes from Otto forcing Alicent to comfort the king and Viserys knowing his desire for her is wrong and forcing her to keep quiet about their visits until he decides to marry her without her prior knowledge or consent. And Rhaenyra (and the fandom) sees this as the ultimate betray against her by Alicent. Rhaenyra holds more resentment against Alicent for the engagement than she does against her father. Why is this? Some might say that it’s because she’s closer with Alicent and therefore would expect more from her than her father (whose relationship with her has been broken by the murder death of her mother). But I don’t think that’s fully the case.

While Rhaenyra having a higher expectation of Alicent may be a reason for her increased and unequal resentment, I think the main reason is that Rhaenyra cannot fathom Alicent could do this because she has never been in this position. Rhaenyra sees this as Alicent being complicit in the deceit and seduction because Rhaenyra would simply rebel. She can’t understand why Alicent wouldn’t simply say “no” to her father or betray the king for her. Rhaenyra’s world view is very blinded by her privilege. She simply thinks Alicent should and could defy her own father because…Rhaenyra has and will again. Rhaenyra is able to disobey her father and get away with it so why can’t Alicent? Ignoring the fact that a crown princess has vastly more power than the daughter of the hand, Viserys is a weak and compliant parent compared to Otto’s manipulative and stern nature. It’s easy for Rhaenyra to disobey because the consequences are either nonexistent or very mild. Alicent doesn’t have this luxury and privilege but Rhaenyra can’t conceive of it.

But also, Rhaenyra sees her father as…her dad. Not the king. Rhaenyra sees it as easy to defy him and his orders because he is her father first and her king second. But for Alicent that is the king. The most powerful man in the world. Defying him could have disastrous consequences for her and her father. But because Rhaenyra doesn’t force herself to see things from another’s perspective, she doesn’t see it as Alicent being beholden to the man who could (if he wanted to) ruin her family or kill her and her father but rather her friend not betraying her dad.

After this we see Alicent be the one to continuously try to extend an olive branch and support Rhaenyra behind the scenes. Asking for Rhaenyra to have the option to choose who she marries (a privilege and kindness Alicent, herself, and every other woman in this universe hasn’t had). Reaffirming Rhaenyra as the right choice for heir when Viserys is questioning his decisions. Defending Rhaenyra against rumors that would damage her reputation. And all Alicent gets in return is snark, anger, and lies (leading to Alicent’s isolation and suffering in court).

Which leads to event two that breaks the relationship: Rhaenyra’s entitled behavior and lying. Alicent spends a great deal of her time coinciding her husband in favor of Rhaenyra. But Rhaenyra, seeing herself as exceptional and above the rules, continuously acts out in ways that hurt her standing. Most especially with her decision to go out and try to sleep with daemon and then pushing Criston to sleep with her.

Alicent is the one to be transparent with Rhaenyra about the “rumor” to get her side. Something Viserys would simply not care enough to do. Rhaenyra, knowing her actions being confirmed would be disastrous, tells half truths to Alicent who is all too eager to believe and support her friend. Even worse, she uses the memory of her mother, something she knows Alicent holds incredibly sacred, to further convince Alicent that she’s telling the truth. And this decision by Rhaenyra to lie (over something she knows Alicent holds dear and has used multiple times to try to connect with her) to protect herself directly harms Alicent as her father and only ally in court is kicked out and ostracized. But that’s not Rhaenyra’s concern. While Alicent has given a lot of effort to protect and defend Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra is far too focused on her on wishes and desires to care about the impacts her choices have on anyone else.

And that’s why when Alicent finds out that it was a lie, a lie that got her father taken away from her, she goes full scorched earth and wears the green dress. Because she realizes that Rhaenyra will never stop being entitled and self-serving. She realizes that all this time and effort she has put into fixing things with Rhaenyra and defending her is completely one sided. Because Rhaenyra can only see things from her perspective and can only see things based on how she can benefit even to the detriment of others (herself, her father, Criston, etc.).

Then the final nail in the coffin is the birthing of bastards. At this point Alicent has had her eyes opened to how Rhaenyra will do as she pleases without considering the consequences (to herself and others) and then she watches Rhaenyra flagrantly birth obvious bastard after obvious bastard, pushing the children she was forced to have further and further down the line of succession behind kids who objectively should not have the throne. And it makes her bitter and jealous and as she should be. The fandom is too obsessed with marking Alicent as the reason the relationship was destroyed because she was unnecessarily jealous of poor Rhaenyra who was just so brave to do as she pleased!

But it’s a spit in the face to Alicent. That Alicent was pimped out and forced the have children with a man she didn’t love at the ripe old age of 15 hole Rhaenyra is free to take a lover and birth obvious bastards and get away with it. She has every right to be angry. Not because she thinks all women should be submissive and bend to patriarchy. Because she is watching how privileged Rhaenyra is before her very eyes while she was forced to suffer the way almost every other woman has.

While I acknowledge that Viserys and Otto are the catalyst for the breakdown of Rhaenyra and Alicent’s relationship. Rhaenyra’s flagrant disregard for others and her entitlement are what truly break the relationship until Alicent is no longer willing to be submissive and accepting of Rhaenyra’s behavior. And this in turn, causes her to make choices that service her and her children. The way Rhaenyra has always done and always will.

The breakdown of rhaenicent was always inevitable regardless of which men were involved. Because at their core, Rhaenyra would always put herself first and Alicent would always come to the realization she is no longer willing to be a doormat.

#this was so long #and idk if it makes sense #all I’m saying is that Rhaenyra and Alicent would always fall out #because Rhaenyra is incapable of seeing past herself #and eventually Alicent was always bound to get sick of the entitlement #house of the dragon #game of thrones #team green #anti team black #anti rhaenyra targaryen #anti rhaenyra #anti rhaenicent #alicent hightower #pro alicent hightower #alicent hightower defense squad

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thelifeofchuckmovie · 4 months ago

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When it comes to ending the world, Stephen King is a repeat offender. He has brought life as we know it to a brutal conclusion several times over the decades, usually highlighting the cruelty and desperation that erupts among the last to go. But his 2020 story “The Life of Chuck” uses doomsday to evoke some unlikely sentiments: Wistfulness. Gratitude. Even joy.

The idea of creating an apocalyptic version of It’s a Wonderful Life is what led filmmaker Mike Flanagan to call dibs on the rights to the novella more than four years ago. The breakdown of society, extinction-level natural disasters, and the disintegration of reality itself is explored through the lens of one relatively meek and mild accountant, played by Tom Hiddleston, whose memories and choices are mysteriously connected to these tribulations. Retirement posters congratulating him on “39 great years” pop up everywhere. But who is this guy? What job does he do (or did he used to do)? And why does it matter so much to the fate of the world? This apparent nobody named Chuck Krantz has lived larger than anyone thought possible.

Having explored King country before in 2017’s Gerald’s Game and 2019’s The Shining sequel Doctor Sleep, Flanagan got involved after reading an early copy of “Chuck” before it was published in the collection If It Bleeds. The Haunting of Hill House and Fall of the House of Usher creator produced the film independently, believing it might be too offbeat for risk-averse studios to greenlight. He even secured a waiver from the striking Hollywood guilds last year to move forward with the shoot while the rest of the industry was stuck in the work stoppage. Now he and Hiddleston are ready to reveal the finished version of The Life of Chuck as it heads to the upcoming Toronto International Film Festival, where it will screen for potential distributors.

Among the skeptics about this adaptation was King himself, according to Flanagan. “His initial responses to me were a little like, ‘Oh, okay. Yeah. If you think that’s a movie…,’” he says. “He did say several times that he thought it would be a challenge to get it supported through traditional means.”

King has now seen the finished movie and no longer has doubts. He described it to Vanity Fair as “a happiness machine.”

“Well, he’s written something very tender and very wise,” Hiddleston says. “I think there is a great wisdom in the soul of the story, which is that it takes courage to hold on to what is good in a world that feels like it’s falling apart.”

Flanagan hopes others see it that way too, although the overpowering dread that begins the story may be more immediately relatable. “I’ve heard it said that every generation feels a little like the world is ending at some point, [but] I still feel like it’s different for us,” the 46-year-old filmmaker says with a mordant laugh. “Institutions we took for granted as propping up our society are failing left and right. Our politics have degraded spectacularly. The sense that it’s breaking down, that the world is moving on, has been increasingly palpable. When I talk to my parents or members of older generations who have been through their own turbulent times, the thing that strikes me is that they’re like, ‘Oh yeah, this is really bad.’”

But…it’s not entirely bad. And that’s the underlying message of The Life of Chuck as its various mysteries play out. “There’s no sense of terror in the way that King drew it,” Flanagan says. “Even as the world feels as though it’s ending, people become introspective, they reach into their past for loves that have left their lives for one reason or another. Strangers engage in open and fearless communication.”

It’s an indie-film variation on the big-budget cataclysm story. “A disaster movie has people meeting the end while running from tidal waves, and this story has people sitting quietly holding hands looking at the stars,” Flanagan says.

The key to it all is Chuck himself, although he doesn’t turn up onscreen until the second segment of the three-act story, which plays out in reverse chronological order.

The beginning is actually the end, as the whole world circles the drain. Caught in this spiral is Chiwetel Ejiofor (12 Years a Slave), a school teacher trying to apply logic to the planet’s troubles; Karen Gillan (Guardians of the Galaxy) is his ex, a hospital worker determined to save everyone she can; Matthew Lillard (Scream) is a construction worker neighbor who finds zen amid the chaos; and Carl Lumbly (Alias), plays a funeral director who has dedicated his life to easing people through death.

The end of the movie is actually the beginning, showing young Chuck (Benjamin Pajak) when he was a boy being raised by his grandparents (Mia Sara of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and Mark Hamill). The insight of these two—coupled with the otherworldly revelations he finds in an eerie room tucked into the peak of their Victorian home—help him learn to seek out bright spots when life is marred by sorrow and darkness.

In elementary school, young Chuck discovers some important things about himself thanks to guidance from a brusque dance instructor (Samantha Sloyan), and a kindhearted English teacher, played by Kate Siegel, who gives the boy (not to mention the audience) some important information that serves as a code breaker for the story's more cosmic puzzles.

As for the middle of the film: It’s a dance number. That’s when Hiddleston steps in.

Compounding the peculiarity of The Life of Chuck is the question: Why is this song and dance sequence so important? The answer is for the movie to reveal, but it matters a lot. “The life of every human being is a constellation, as expressed in this film,” Hiddleston says. “There are certain moments which will burn most brightly as individual stars. Sometimes it feels like the world is going to hell in a handcart, and it’s full of pain and suffering, and it is—but there are moments of deep joy and deep connection.”

Hiddleston shows the audience this single moment in the life of a buttoned-up fellow who somehow controls the destiny of the world. It’s not necessarily the most important day in his life, but it’s a memorable one involving a street drummer (Taylor Gordon), a lovely stranger (played by Annalise Basso), and a fateful decision to cast aside caution and cut a rug. “It’s a reminder to do whatever it is that expresses whatever gives you that feeling of being alive,” Hiddleston says. “Whether it’s music or dancing or math or writing or creativity—do it. Do it now. Those moments are what you’ll remember.”

Flanagan considered casting a relative unknown as Chuck to “give the audience the experience of ‘Who the hell is this person?’” as the peculiar retirement signs begin to appear in the midst of the apocalypse. But he felt the promise of the Loki star would build more curiosity as the world falls apart. “You grow an enormous amount of anticipation to finally spend time with an actor like Tom, who can be a literal god in one story, and then an everyman in another,” Flanagan says.

A TikTok video of Hiddleston getting his groove on sealed the deal. “He had a completely unfiltered joy on his face,” Flanagan says. “He was a good dancer, but that wasn’t what struck me. I wasn’t amazed by the technique so much as the degree of happiness that was radiating off of him. The look on his face made me smile the same way I smiled reading that particular portion of the book.”

The resulting scene was created in a month-long collaboration between Flanagan, Hiddleston, Basso, choreographer Mandy Moore (So You Think You Can Dance, and La La Land), and Gordon, a real-life percussionist who performs under the name the Pocket Queen. “Taylor was there for all of the dance choreography. She wrote that piece of music for that performance. They built it together,” Flanagan says.

Hiddleston rattles off the lists of influences: “I had to learn in six weeks the full regime of any dance training. We did jazz, swing, salsa, cha-cha, the Charleston, bossa nova, polka, quickstep, samba. We were trying to tip our hat to anything that might have influenced Chuck. It might’ve had a bit of Gene Kelly or Fred and Ginger. Certainly moonwalking—Stephen King is very specific about the moonwalk.”

Precision was not the goal, exuberance was what they sought. “We need to always bear in mind that this man is an accountant. We needed this to be an earnest, escalating explosion of joy, and a remembrance of who he was,” Flanagan says. “It’s a chance to step back into the skin of his younger self, not caring that his feet are going to kill him the next day, not caring that he’s going to wake up with a horribly stiff neck.”

A surprising thing happened while shooting the scene over the course of several sweltering afternoons in the deep South. “I burned holes in my shoes,” Hiddleston says. “I was dancing out on the asphalt in Alabama, and by the time we’d finished, you could see my socks through the soles.”

The sequence begins awkwardly: Chuck is self-conscious as he first hears the busker’s rhythm while walking back from a banking conference. That feeling quickly gets shaken off. “Tom was very committed,” Flanagan says. “He was like, ‘If I look silly, that’s fine. As long as I look happy.’”

Flanagan remembers being in a bad place when he first discovered “The Life of Chuck.” Then again, everybody was.

His copy of the manuscript arrived in March 2020. “That was just as the world shut down for COVID,” he says. “We had been a week away from starting principal photography on Midnight Mass in Vancouver and had fled across the border before it closed to make it back to the States. We were hunkered down in our homes and had no idea if this was going to last for two weeks or if this was going to last forever.”

With everything halted as the lockdown set in, Flanagan had plenty of time to do nothing but read. The new King book seemed like the perfect escape. Except…

“The first third of ‘The Life of Chuck’ just rattled me,” he recalls. “There’s no way he wrote this before the world ground to this bizarre halt—but he did. And the feeling of anxiety, and uncertainty, and that everything was falling apart came roaring out at me. I wasn’t sure I could finish it. It just felt too close to the anxiety I was feeling.” But he kept turning the pages. “By the end of it, I was in tears, and incredibly uplifted, and convinced I’d read maybe the best thing that he’d written in a decade. I just was floored by the thing,” Flanagan says. “So I fired off an email to him right away saying how much I loved the story, how incredible I thought it was, how meaningful, and important, and how it had really tattooed itself on my heart and said, ‘It’s the movie I want to make so that it’ll exist in the world for my kids.’”

King’s response: Not so fast. Flanagan and his producing partner, Trevor Macy, had at that point secured the rights to King’s fantasy saga The Dark Tower through their company, Intrepid Pictures. The eight-book series is threaded throughout King’s other works, and adapting it was a massive undertaking that Flanagan is still working to make happen. Other filmmakers had either abandoned the project, were canceled midway through, or bombed miserably. The author didn’t want him to be distracted. “He doesn’t like to give the same filmmaker more than one thing, because it typically means one thing is not advancing at all,” Flanagan says. “He said, ‘Well, let’s focus on The Tower and I’ll try to keep this one available for you for later.’”

The quest to The Dark Tower remains a priority for Flanagan, but a number of disruptions to that epic undertaking led him to reapproach King last year about Chuck. Intrepid’s deal with Netflix, where they had created Hill House, The Haunting of Bly Manor, and other shows, had come to a close, and Intrepid signed a new development agreement with Amazon. That meant starting over on The Dark Tower. Meanwhile, the threat of a double-barreled strike by writers and actors was on the horizon, stalling nearly every major new project. The industry plunged into another production-halting lockdown, this time over contract impasses rather than a virus.

Since The Dark Tower was suddenly further off on the horizon, Flanagan saw a chance to make The Life of Chuck happen in the short term. “It’s so rare that I get to approach any project that just has not an ounce of cynicism to it. I just really believed in this thing,” he says. “But it was also clear that we would have an incredibly uphill battle bringing the story to any major studio. They would try to make it as familiar as possible, instead of leaning into what makes it so different.”

King gave Flanagan his blessing to proceed. “I was off like a shot,” the filmmaker says. “I think I turned in the draft to him before he got around to sending the formal agreement.”

For everyone involved, The Life of Chuck became a bright spot in an otherwise dismal time, which matches the theme of the film. “There is a profound optimism in this story,” Hiddleston says. “As the world is spinning off its axis, there are moments of magic.”

#the life of chuck #tom hiddleston #mark hamill #karen gillan #chiwetel ejiofor #jacob tremblay #kate siegel #mike flanagan #carl lumbly

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imsuperhungry · 2 months ago

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4 𝙖𝙢 (entry 005)

"𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨,

𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘢 𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨"

WARNINGS: Mild Yandere Themes, Cussing, Mentions Of Blood, Mental Breakdown, I made reader sound kinda weak here...

WORD COUNT: 2202

(11:34, ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀʙɪɴ)

You could hardly distinguish whether the violent shivering that seized your body stemmed from the merciless bite of the wind or the crushing weight of the news Ashley had just unleashed upon you. All that mattered now was the desperate journey back to the cabin—where, despite the unsettling truth that clung to you like a shadow, the familiar embrace of warmth would provide a fleeting, comforting illusion of safety

When Ashley and Chris told you about Josh’s death, it felt as though the world stopped in its tracks, a heavy silence pressing into the conversation. You struggled to process the crushing weight of the moment, unable to fully grasp the magnitude of your situation. Not only had you lost the two girls you had come to think of as sisters over the years, but now, you had lost your “brother” as well.

Ashley’s panicked rambling continued after she told you about Josh’s death, but you couldn’t bring yourself to listen. Your mind was too consumed with thoughts of him. Josh—he had lost both of his biological sisters, and now, he had died on the same mountain as them. The guilt that had already been gnawing at you from the prank gone wrong with Hannah now felt like a crushing weight, multiplying with every passing second. You cursed yourself for not somehow intervening, for not magically saving Josh, even though deep down, you knew there was nothing you could have done to prevent it.

What you didn’t know was that when Matt and Emily were also informed of the killer on the mountain, something strange settled deep in their chests. It was as though a switch had flipped in both of them, a primal instinct that surged in different ways. For Emily, the feeling was overpowering, like a compulsion she couldn’t fight—a desperate, almost obsessive drive to protect you from whatever danger loomed ahead. It took hold of her quickly, like a parasite, consuming her thoughts and actions. Her sole objective was clear: get you out, and damn everyone else.

Matt’s reaction, though similarly intense, was more complicated. Along with the protective instinct, there was an undercurrent of something darker—a twisted excitement. Of course, the deaths of your friends should have been a cause for grief, not something to feel exhilarated about, but Matt couldn’t suppress the feeling that protecting you, being your knight in shining armor, might somehow redeem him in ways he hadn’t fully admitted to himself. And as the realization sank in, an internal, wicked grin spread across his face.

Matt quickly wiped the grin from his face, the reality of the situation crashing down on him. There was no time to waste.

You snapped out of your trance and turned to Emily, suddenly aware of the tears streaming down your face. You hadn’t even noticed them until the cold liquid trickled down your neck, the weight of everything finally breaking through.

You gripped Emily's shoulders tightly, desperate to make her understand the urgency in your voice. "Em— we, fuck... we have to find the others!" Your words were strained, the weight of everything pressing down on you. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing anyone else. The weeks you’d spent in bed, drowning in grief over Hannah and Beth’s deaths, had already broken you. You couldn’t go through that again—couldn’t handle another loss, not like this.

She rolled her eyes as she placed her hands atop of yours. “Mike and Jess are off 69’ing each other, and only god knows where Sam is.”

Her words confused you. Where was the urgency? You turned to where Matt, Chris, and Ashley stood, expecting to see the same desperation on their faces, but to your bewilderment, none of them seemed particularly keen on finding the others. It was as though the gravity of the situation hadn’t quite sunk in for them, or worse—they simply didn't care.

“She might be in the lodge!” you said, turning back to Emily, your voice sharp with urgency.

You locked eyes with her, and for a moment, it felt like the weight of everything was there between you. God damn it, how could she say no?

She felt the familiar rush of guilt flood through her, remembering the dumb prank, the one that still haunted her. She remembered the frantic voicemail attempts, her calls going unanswered, and the sick feeling in her stomach as she drove to your house, only to find your phone left forgotten in another room, the tear stains on your walls and, most painfully, your face. It hit her like a punch to the gut. She knew why you were crying—everyone did. Ever since the police had announced the girls as missing, no one had heard from you for weeks.

And now, here you were, pleading with her to help, as if there was any other choice.

With reluctance, Emily finally nodded, agreeing to help. She could see the panic in your eyes, the raw desperation, and it tugged at something deep inside her. The sight of you in any kind of pain—whether mental or physical—made her stomach turn, like a sickness she couldn’t shake. She hated seeing you like this, hated that it was even happening.

“Fine…” she starts “Fine, you’re right, but if there really is some maniac running around killing people on this mountain, we need to get help.”

And just like that, a weight was lifted off your chest. The situation was still bleak, the darkness of it all hanging over you like a storm cloud, but something shifted. You knew searching for the others would be harrowing—nothing short of dreadful—but with Emily by your side, there was a sliver of hope, however small.

Matt, however, was still uncertain about the situation. While the "knight in shining armor" fantasy still played out vividly in his mind, a darker, more protective side of him gnawed at him. He hated the idea of you being in any form of danger—whether it was something as trivial as a tiny paper cut or something far worse, like searching for the others on a dark, freezing mountain with wild animals and a killer lurking nearby. His instincts screamed at him to keep you safe, to pull you away from it all, but he also knew he couldn’t let you go through this alone. Still, the conflict inside him was palpable, the desire to shield you fighting against his need to be the hero.

He grabbed your shoulder, his grip firm, and opened his mouth to speak. "Hey, don't you think—"

But before he could finish, Emily was quick to cut him off, her voice sharp and final. “Why are we still talking about this!? Let’s go!” she shouted, her frustration bubbling to the surface.

With that, the conversation was over. No more hesitation, no more arguments. Emily turned on her heel, and without waiting for a response, she started moving. Matt followed along with her, but you decided to stay with Chris and Ashley, figuring that since they had witnessed Josh’s death, their experience might push them to be more helpful—more driven to find the others. After everything that had happened, you needed people who would act, not just follow.

Both Matt and Emily walked down the hill, their figures slowly disappearing into the frigid night, swallowed up by the darkness. You stood frozen for a moment, staring after them, the cold biting at your skin as you watched their silhouettes fade away.

A knot formed in your chest, the uneasy feeling of being separated from them weighing heavily on your mind. You didn’t know where they were going, or what their next move was, and that uncertainty gnawed at you.

Praying to whoever might be listening—if anyone at all—you silently begged that they, along with the others, would make it through this night. That somehow, by the end of it all, everyone would be safe. The thought of losing anyone else was too much to bear, and you clung to that fragile hope, even as the dark woods around you seemed to close in, relentless and unforgiving.

You were suddenly twirled around, your body spun by a pair of hands gripping you from behind. They pushed you in the opposite direction, the unexpected force taking you off balance. You would’ve been taken completely by surprise, but then you heard Chris’s voice behind you, steady and firm, and felt Ashley beside you, her presence grounding you.

"Come on," Chris urged, his grip tightening as he gently pulled you along. "We can’t waste time.”

As you began the walk, you let them push you forward, your body moving like a ragdoll, limp and heavy with sorrow. Each step felt like dragging yourself through thick mud, your mind weighed down by the thought of Josh. Josh, oh, Josh. Just being on his property—the place that had once felt like a second home—was enough to make your chest tighten with grief. It was all too much. You wanted to scream, to wail like a toddler who had been torn from something they loved, to let the tears flow freely, but you couldn’t. Not here. Not now.

You walked in silence with Chris and Ashley until you reached the cabin, each step heavy, each breath colder than the last. The familiar sight of the place only deepened the ache in your chest. The second the door creaked open, you didn’t hesitate. You darted inside, your feet carrying you up the stairs before Chris or Ashley could say a word.

Without a thought, you made a beeline for the bathroom—the one you last remembered Sam entering for her bath. The door was ajar, the space still smelling faintly of soap and steam, though the warmth that had once filled it was now long gone.

You stood there for a moment, taking in the empty room, the silence settling around you like a suffocating weight. The bathtub, still wet from Sam’s last use, felt like a dagger driven deep into your chest.

You pulled yourself together, your breath shaky, and sauntered out of the bathroom, moving aimlessly through the cabin. You passed by the guest rooms, pausing at the second bathroom, and then forced yourself into Hannah and Beth’s rooms. You’d sworn to yourself that you wouldn’t enter either of them tonight—not after everything.

Hannah’s room was eerily untouched, her belongings scattered in the same way they had been before the prank. Beth’s room, though, was different. The bed was unmade, the scent of her perfume still faint in the air, and it all felt so painfully real.

Sam was gone.

It became too much for your body to handle. The suffocating grief, the weight of all the loss, had exhausted you in a way you couldn’t describe—a new, unfamiliar kind of emptiness that left you hollowed out, barely able to breathe. Sam, Josh, Hannah, Beth... The names echoed in your mind like a cruel chant, and somewhere deep inside, you almost wished you could be next. Just to escape this endless cycle of pain.

Before you could stop yourself, your knees buckled, and you collapsed onto the ground, the cool wood pressing against your skin as your sobs wracked through your body. You couldn’t hold it back anymore. Your chest heaved with each scratchy, ragged breath, the sound raw and broken. The sobs were too deep to stifle, too powerful to suppress. Your body shook uncontrollably, every tear that spilled feeling like a new weight added to the crushing burden you already carried.

There was no way to escape it. No way to stop. The grief, the guilt, the overwhelming sense of loss—it consumed you. It was all you could do to let the tears flow, to let the sobs shake you to your core, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the pain would eventually start to fade. But deep down, you knew it wouldn’t. Not anytime soon.

Josh’s gaze flickered through the screens, his feet propped up on the table beside the sprawling array of monitors. He watched as you began your slow descent into despair, each moment an agonizing unraveling of the person he once knew. You were like a delicate flower wilting under the relentless weight of sorrow, sobbing on the unforgiving, rough-hewn wooden floor. The sight twisted in Josh’s gut, a bitter pang of helplessness striking every chord in his body.

Faking his death had clearly left its mark on you, and in a twisted, perverse way, that fact brought him a strange sense of satisfaction. It was obvious how deeply you cared for him—your breakdown over his “death” spoke volumes—and knowing that his own feelings were returned brought him a happiness nothing else could match.

Yet, even amidst the happiness, a shadow of sadness lingered. He couldn’t bear to see you like this—none of the others who had once filled the cabin could. To him, you were his little bumblebee, and you deserved nothing less than joy, far from the weight of any negative emotions.

He reached out to you through the screen, his hand moving gently as if to stroke your hair—a fragile attempt to comfort your trembling, tear-streaked form sprawled across the floor.

“Just wait, petal, I'll be back soon.”

#mike munroe #yandere until dawn #until dawn x reader #untildawn #until dawn #emily #jessica riley #matthew taylor #josh washington #yandere #yandere x you #yandere harem #yandere x reader #yanderes

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ddarker-dreams · 5 days ago

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omg i love your yandere giorno series!! I was wondering if you could write a little thing where giorno witnesses his darling having a lowkey mental breakdown/epiphany because she realizes she’s in love with him? sorta like expanding on the little moments in the other fics where reader questions her feelings for him. and she just confesses to him that it’s so hard to accept what he’s done but she can’t help but love him

i'd recently been wanting to expand on the scarlet ribbons yandere bad endings and this meshes well with a christmas-y idea i had 👁👁

This time of year packs your schedule to the brim.

Being the wife of Don Giovanna comes with its unique obligations, which you once stumbled through with the naïveté of a newborn doe. Time and difficult lessons sanded away your inexperience. These trials weren't unlike those he'd undergone since ousting Diavolo, reality proving itself a stubborn foe against youthful idealism.

After what felt like ages apart, he reunites with you in the evening, where he notes some unusual behavior.

For starters, you're eerily silent. While he's no stranger to you giving him the cold shoulder, it's never without reason, like when he restricts your travel for citing security concerns. He can't recall doing anything to earn your ire. If anything, you'd been uncharacteristically amicable recently, regarding him as a collaborator rather than your warden.

Natale was almost like an armistice. You get to engage in charitable pursuits, while he oversees their seedy underbelly. Ultimately, everything is about business, image, and prestige. He doesn't insult your intelligence by pretending otherwise.

It's when you (and your conspicuous Stand) sneak a glance his way for the third time that he speaks up.

"Is something troubling you?"

He could whittle away at your defenses over an extensive campaign, but, feeling the day's exhaustion weigh him down, he opts for a direct approach. You consider him, your Stand peering over your shoulder with suspicious eyes.

"... Your meeting went long," you comment.

He nods, sensing that you're getting at something. When you refuse to elaborate, he offers to show his hand.

"There were some mild disagreements," Giorno replies. "They've been put to rest."

"If what I suggested is causing tension—"

You cut yourself off when he sits beside you on the loveseat, leaving little room between your persons. It's an unusual line for him to cross. He rarely infringes upon your physical space, owing to a courteous code of conduct that you struggled to comprehend. He thinks you want him to be terrible; a cartoonish villain that you could pour all your energy into resisting.

"I'll see it through," he reassures, the tenderness in his voice reserved solely for your ears. "I think the scholarship program is an admirable idea. The funds are there, it's simply a matter of ironing out the details."

You shuffle around. "It's not a lucrative venture."

"That's inconsequential."

"I'm sure your Capos feel otherwise."

"They can be shortsighted," Giorno argues. "And they don't have the final say — I do."

"That's..." you trail off, gnawing your bottom lip, "Why are you so...?"

Giorno, realizing that he's approaching the heart of the issue, can't let this chance go. He sees you contemplating retreat, as you cross your arms over your chest and squeeze your lips shut. If he were a fully benevolent man, he'd grant you your reprieve. Maybe he'll come to regret pushing you too far. Nonetheless, you are his vice, and even he can't always suppress his selfish yearning.

"So...?" he encourages, nearly crooning the word.

You shake your head. "I never know how to feel about you. Hating you used to come easy, now it's just... pointless. Impossible. I don't know. Sometimes, I think I might even lo—"

Aghast, you slap your hand over your mouth, cutting yourself off.

For his part, Giorno wasn't expecting such a vulnerable admission to nearly slip out. Not wanting to push his luck, he leans back, allowing you some space. You appear to be in deep thought. Your Stand has since dissipated, leaving you truly alone.

It's then that he recalls one of the final requests Bucciarati made of him:

"Please ensure her safety and happiness in my stead."

In the years that have followed, the latter has proven trickier than the former.

His hand finds yours. You jump, snapping your head in his direction, shock rippling across your countenance. He responds by giving your hand a firm squeeze. You don't reciprocate, nor do you pull away. Instead, you stare at where your bodies are joined, almost in a trance.

Giorno feels the cool band of your wedding ring flush against his skin. You made efforts in the past to be rid of it, though his Stand's ability ensured it'd always find its way back to you. He wonders at what point you decided to abandon that little rebellion.

Perhaps the revelations surfacing tonight have something to do with it.

Eventually, you exhale a shaky breath. "All this planning has me worn out. I'm not thinking straight. So please... forget I said anything."

And because he cares for you above all else, he nods, prolonging the farce you've both been cast the leads in.

#yandere giorno x reader #jjba x reader #yandere x reader #my stuff #scarlet ribbons #answered #Anonymous

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queermania · 2 years ago

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I desperately want to talk about how Sam being played by Jared unintentionally made him so much more interesting because Jared sucks as an actor

SCREAM A;LSDJFJKASFD YES LET'S TALK ABOUT IT

i am very conflicted about what i think was supposed to be happening in the early seasons regarding a lot of different aspects of the show but i do at the very least think sam was supposed to be the pov character and i think the audience was supposed to identify and sympathize with him.

unfortunately, jared.

BUT! jared's inability to be super sincere makes sam so much more interesting. like, you can sympathize with sam's story. his mom died seemingly because of him. his girlfriend died seemingly because of him. he wants revenge. he wants a normal life. he doesn't know what he wants. everything sucks. it's all very sympathetic. he's mad at his brother. he hates his dad. but actually he loves him. he's trying to relate to these victims.

but like. jared looks constipated whenever he tries to relate to the victims aslkdfjasdk; so it just kind of seems like sympathy is an action sam performs because that's what Normal(tm) people do and that is, to be perfectly honest, so much more interesting than sam who is actually just so full of sympathy and compassion.

like, sam has learned social rules and social rules dictate that when someone's loved one dies, they deserve sympathy. so he provides it, however awkwardly. (and he gets mad when dean doesn't adequately perform Sympathy because he doesn't understand that it's not a performance for dean. dean either feels it or he doesn't and then acts accordingly. and dean doesn't understand that sam is performing it and they have communication breakdowns over this and it's very crunchy if you choose to view the show this way).

i feel like this also plays into sam always having a look of mild contemplation/constipation when, for example, cas dies, vs dean who looks like the entire world is crumbling to pieces right before his eyes.

and it makes sam seem like a much angrier person than he probably is intended to be. there's always a boiling tension simmering just under the surface because jared [redacted] [redacted] [redacted].

and because jared is actually pretty good at physical comedy, it also makes sam such a snarky annoying little brother.

and it makes sam seem kind of like he's given up in the later seasons because jared has somehow both checked out and gotten better at acting? there is more nuance to his performance when he does decide to pay attention to what's going on. sam seems to have more emotions than just anger. but also... so much of the time sam is like an empty husk just existing in a room.

so yeah. basically i agree. a different actor might have made sam a lot more likable but god how boring would that be?

#replies #anonymous #sw

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 9 days ago

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The Arcana Drabbles: Storm Traditions

~ written for the @vesuviaweekly prompt "snuggle weather" - enjoy some found family platonic fluff! ~

-- written so that reader does not have to be romantically involved with Asra to be considered part of the family --

"Watching the storm?"

The change in view is drastic enough to give you mild whiplash. Outside, torrents of rain are battering the cobblestones as the canal rushes by. Inside, Aisha is offering you a shawl to drape around your shoulders while Salim sets a fresh pot of tea next to the incense burner on the low table. She smiles as you accept the warmth.

"Asra was like that as a child, too. Always observing every new detail. We used to say that he would memorize the stars if he let him stay out late enough."

Salim laughs from the tea table. "Some things never change. Did you see him in the marketplace yesterday? I thought he was about to dismantle that poor new merchant's cart!"

You can't help but smile. Watching their family slowly knit back together has been a highlight of the last year. That said, this is perhaps the second or third time you've been with the older couple without Asra present, and you're a little unsure of where you fit in without that connection. There's a brief pause bordering on awkward where they share a look with each other before Salim breaks the silence.

"I'm so glad you decided to come over today and spend some time with us. Do you have a tradition of watching storms when they come in?"

You shrug. "I'm ... not sure. I might have picked that up from Asra when ... well, you know."

"Ah."

Another awkward pause. Salim scratches at his stubble sheepishly as Aisha gives him a look that says "seriously?". You pull the shawl tighter and scoot towards the tea table with a smile.

"It's okay, really. I don't mind talking about it."

"Oh, we shouldn't have brought it up -"

"In that case, where's your family?"

It's slightly hilarious to watch the breakdown in how synced they usually are. They both give each other wide-eyed "what was that??" looks, Salim absentmindedly passing you a cup of tea as Aisha sets a plate of treats down. You wrap your hands around the warm glass and shrug.

"I'm not sure. Asra knew about my aunt, but it's only been safe for him to tell me more about the past in the last year. Everyone else has been helping me search for clues - Nadia let me look at the city ledgers and census and Julian and Portia have been asking the ship crews that come in - but it's taking a while."

"If there's anything we can do -" Aisha begins,

"Yes! Anything at all -" Salim adds,

"Let us know."

You sip your tea and nod. "Thank you, I will."

"And ..." This time, it's Aisha who risks taking a relational step forward. "If you find yourself in need of a mother or father to talk to ..."

"Oh," Salim straightens, "Yes - not that we'd try to replace anybody -"

"- of course not." Aisha affirms. "But ... please, as much as you're comfortable with it. We'd love to be your family too."

You don't expect the sentiment to hit something so deep inside you, but it's hard not to tear up for a second. You nod.

"I'd like that. ... thank you."

They both light up. Aisha moves to a corner and picks out an old book from their shelf. "In that case, may we introduce you to one of our stormy weather traditions?"

Salim claps his hands, clearly caught up in the new idea. "I'll go get the powder!"

"What's the tradition?"

"May I join you?"

"Sure." You scoot to the middle of the couch. Aisha curls up next to you, tucking her feet in and showing you the cover of the elaborate story book in her lap.

"We used to do this whenever it rained. We'd all snuggle together under blankets and read stories, while we played with the pictures."

Salim reappears with a heavy quilt thrown over one shoulder and a pouch in his hand. He pulls out a pinch of sparkly powder and tosses it into the air before approaching the sofa. "May I?"

You nod and he sits down on your other side. The quilt gets spread across your laps and you find yourself cozily situated between two people absolutely delighted to dote on you.

"Now then," Aisha opens the book and passes it across your lap to Salim, "I think we should start with the one about the seesaw."

He adjusts his glasses and peers through them down at the page with a fond smile. "This one's a favorite. Ahem -"

Aisha raises her hand and the powder floating around the room seems to come alive with a subtle lavender glow. An image of a child and their parent appears, walking hand-in-hand across a grassy, hilly plain. Salim begins to read.

"Once upon a time, a giant built a playground for their little one. There was a slide, a swing set, a sand pit, and most importantly, a seesaw."

Above you, the images move and transform as the story unfolds. The storm lies forgotten behind you, Salim's voice drowning out the thunder, and Aisha's pictures lighting up the overcast room. The blanket and tea fill you with warmth. You fall into a drowsy, happy state, safe with the loving couple giving you a long-lost feeling of home.

#vesuvia weekly #snuggle weather #ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana drabble #the arcana fanfic #the arcana imagine #aisha the arcana #salim the arcana #aisha alnazar #salim alnazar

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stanfanfiction · 1 year ago

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Taste of You - Ken x fem! reader - PART SIX.FIVE

Six is my lucky number so hopefully you all enjoy the new only-exists-for-smut .5 🫠🫠🫠 sorry this took forever. I kept wanting to end it on a story-building note but couldn’t ever settle on one that I liked, so it is what it is for now.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY / sex toys / bondage / fingering / p! In v! / oral f! & m! Receiving / multiple orgasms / it’s a .5 chapter it literally exists solely for the sake of smut so have fun besties / super jealous Ken / rough sex / possessive / spanking / pet names (baby girl) (good girl) / praise / edging / overstim / exhaustion

Ooooohhhhh no no no no….

It was the first day of your Fall flex term class. You still had your normal Fall/Winter full time classes happening but you had decided to sign up for the new four-week course as well, since the professor was a favorite author of yours and you didn’t want to miss out on the opportunity to learn from her.

Ken had been with you most of the day. His job at the bubble tea shop was fascinating to him and he asked if he come come to campus with you to explain how magical his first day of work was because he felt being stuck at home would be too boring.

You got to your classroom and turned to Ken. “Alright, you can go hang at the library or something, it’s right next to this building and I’ll come get you when class is over.”

Your new professor heard you as she was walking down the hallway to the classroom herself.

“Oh, he can hang out in class, I don’t mind,” she smiled. “It’s a huge classroom so I’m sure one of seats towards the top back corners will be available if you wanted to stay.”

You wanted to ponder this invite for a moment but Ken had already smiled back and was walking in front of you into the classroom. He was able to have a seat towards the back like the professor had suggested, and he settled in to see what a day in class looked like.

The classroom was one of those giant theater-like seating arenas and echoed a decent amount anytime anyone was talking, so it was definitely echo-y today as students filed in and began sitting down and visiting with their new classmates around them.

The clock was about to hit what was the start time for class when a last person walked into the room and you suddenly regretted choosing a seat towards the front, only because maaayybbee he somehow wouldn’t notice who you were and then Ken wouldn’t have a nervous breakdown of finding out who this guy was. Because of course Ken is attending a class…with you in it…and your ex Dave was now walking over to the professor as she handed him some papers.

The professor introduced herself to the class and motioned towards Dave, who sat near the front of the room as well, and told everyone he would be her TA for the semester.

“Don’t notice me,” you pleaded in your head. You weren’t worried about him, oh no. Dave was honestly a super cool guy and even though your relationship had mostly focused on having fun and sex, you had both parted ways awhile ago on good terms and you hadn’t even considered that he probably still attended school here, as, if you remembered correctly, he would probably be graduating either later this year or early next year. It made sense why he was here, but what was going to not make sense was probably how jealous Ken would get if he found out that this Dave was the Dave he had already had a mild breakdown over.

“Holy….y/n?” He did notice, fuck.

You smiled and greeted him softly, knowing Ken could easily see everything but hearing might be a different matte- oh wait no, the room echoed.

“It’s so good to see you again!”

“You, too! I forgot you hadn’t graduated yet so seeing you is a surprise,” you said cheerily.

“A good surprise, right?” He chuckled and winked.

“For sure.”

He handed you a piece of paper. “This is today’s sign-in sheet. Can you start it and then pass it around?”

“Of course.” You took the paper from his hand and began scribbling your name down.

“Hey, this guy won’t stop looking at you.”

You looked at Dave then looked over your shoulder. Yep, of course Ken had noticed.

“Yeah, uh, that’s my boyfriend. He gets kinda fixated on something at times.”

“Like you?”

“That’s…accurate.”

Dave laughed. “I love it. He looks fun. I wish I could pull pink off as well as he does.”

You laughed a little then and smiled at Ken before turning your attention back to the sheet and passed it once you had finished writing your name and email.

Your phone vibrated against your hip and you pulled the phone from your pocket, already knowing who it would be. You had bought him a phone last week and he wasn’t usually on it very much but he was most definitely going to be using it during class now….

“Do you know him?” (Ken)

“Yes. Old friend. Just saying hi.” (You)

“Old fiend named Dave.” (Ken)

“Old friend, not fiend.” (You)

“Same Dave that I know about?” (Ken)

“And this is important because..?” (You)

“Because you’ll be in a class with him for three days each week for the next month.” (Ken)

“Yeah that’s how class works, Ken.” (You)

“I don’t like it.” (Ken)

“You don’t have to.” (You)

“What if he wants to study together?” (Ken)

“He won’t. That’s not how TA / student relationships work.” (You)

“But he still goes to class here? So he would want to study for another class.” (Ken)

“Baby I gotta put my phone away, they’re not really allowed to be active on during class. Don’t worry. You know I love you.” (You)

“Come sit with me, at least.” (Ken)

You had already silenced your phone and put it in your book bag before the last text got sent so you could focus on the lecture. Ken knew you hadn’t seen the last text and tried to keep his internal anxiety at bay.

He wished this awful man from your previous affairs wasn’t sitting in class, distracting every fiber of his being, because the lecture actually sounded interesting, especially since the teacher kept referencing a book called “Black Beauty,” which was apparently about a horse. Ken would have to ask you about it later, and definitely check it out of the library.

Ken noticed every little thing Dave did, as apparently the TA sat at the front of the class as well close to the teacher’s desk and facing the class. Ken set his jaw when he saw Dave subtly glance your way multiple times, and most definitely watched the one time Dave’s gaze focused just a *little * too long in your direction. Ken knew from personal experience was it looked like to fuck someone with your eyes.

Class wasn’t *that* long but felt like an eternity for Ken. The moment the professor dismissed everyone, he was by your side, picking up your book bag for you and holding you close to him by your waist.

“Hey baby. Did you like the lecture?” You asked, genuinely wanting to know since you had assumed he would have loved it, but were also attempting a distraction as you two were walking out of the room. You intentionally didn’t bid the professor or Dave goodbye, simply leaving the class like everyone else.

You cursed under your breath when Dave caught up with the two of you right as you were about to exit.

“Hey, man, I’m Dave.” He flashed a million-dollar smile and extended his hand at Ken. Thankfully Ken had become a little better at hiding his emotions due consistent socialization between your friends and working at the boba tea shop, but he could only keep his disdain for this man hidden so much.

Ken shook his hand but his blue eyes glanced at you, wanting to see your reaction to Dave standing so close.

“I have to get to my next class,” you said nonchalantly. “See ya next time.”

Dave nodded. “I look forward to it.”

You walked briskly out the door, knowing Ken would follow because he wasn’t about to release his grip on your waits, and the two of you exited the building into the day’s sunshine.

“I don’t like him,” Ken repeated.

“I know, baby. Listen,” you sat on a bench and Ken sat beside you, his leg pressing into yours. “I know this stresses you out, and that’s okay, but you can’t hold this over me.”

Ken’s eyes met yours, and you could tell he was trying so hard to maintain his anxious composure, to make sure you were happy with him.

You took his face in your hands. “I love you. I don’t care about Dave. I haven’t in a really long time. These flex term classes are short, but they’re intense. I have to be in every class and studying is going to take up a lot of my time, so I need you to understand nothing is going to happen between me and Dave.”

Ken nodded, but you could tell it was as if he felt like you had verbally slapped him in the face. You knew he needed more validation than you might be able to offer him for awhile, and despite how much that made you sad, you were also trying to set a boundary so the fact that you were attending this class wouldn’t be something that stressed *both* of you out every day.

“I don’t think that *he* is thinking that way,” Ken said, trying to hide the jerkiness in his voice.

“That’s not my problem to worry about. I won’t let him do anything to me.”

Ken seemed almost sheepish in his reply, as if knowing he shouldn’t say it but he couldn’t stop himself. “You promise?”

“More than anything.”

Ken’s shoulders relaxed a little, and he nodded. “Okay.”

You gave him a chaste kiss before taking your book bag from him. “I gotta get to my next class. I’ll see you at home, alright?”

He smiled and nodded as you walked away, and you felt irritated that he didn’t have work today. At least that probably would have helped distract and maybe even calm him.

Your phone rang right as you were about to enter an elevator.

“Hey, Ken.”

“Do you want anything from the store?”

“I’m good, thanks though.”

Ken’s chest grew tight again when he heard a now-familiar voice in the background of your phone.

“Hey, hold the door!” Dave called out.

“Don’t hold the door for him.” Ken had a lightning bolt of anxiety rip through him.

“Ken, it’s fine. I love you.”

“Don’t hang up, please.”

You had dropped your phone back into your book bag before hearing his last words, but unfortunately, your finger hadn’t tapped the End Call button hard enough, so the phone call remained on. The conversation was muffled, but not muffled enough to where Ken couldn’t make out every word.

“Sup.”

“I honesty don’t miss hearing you saying that,” you said lighting in a joking manner.

“Ahh!” Dave made a dramatic show of gripping his heart with his hand. “That hurt.”

“Knock it off, Dave.” Your voice remained light. He wished you had sneered instead.

“So how long you been with blondie? He legit gives off vibes that you captured him on the beach.”

“Is he a student here?”

“No, but we live together.”

“Ah, cool! I heard awhile back from Amber that you had moved off-campus.”

“Amber would be correct.”

“So, you two, uh, doing well?” Dave leaned into the elevator wall, shoulders hunching a little, trying to look relaxed.

“Very.”

“Cool, cool. Just asking.” There was a long silence until, “If you ever, like, need anything -“

“Thanks, Dave, I’ll let you know.” Ken knew you had smiled at him. He knew the sound of your voice when you did. Fuck, if only he hadn’t left campus and knew what building you were in.

Ken heard the sound of shuffling and he held his breath as he heard Dave’s next words.

“You look, like, really fucking good, y/n.”

“Dave -“

“You have just a little, uh, strand of hair -“

“I got it, thanks.”

“I could get it for you -“

“I’m good.”

“Fine,” Dave relented, and the elevator bell dinged, indicating you had reached your floor. Right before the doors opened, however, “You’re not planning on regulating that pretty pussy of yours to beach guy forever, right?”

For whatever reason, the phone call cut off then. Ken stood on the sidewalk, frozen.

He sat at home on the sofa that sat in the living room, facing the front door, willing you to walk in early despite knowing you never missed a class and that you were never home before 6:30 on Tuesdays.

He knew he shouldn’t but he had called you multiple times, every call going to voicemail. He knew you never answered during class, but fuck it, he had lost his will to care today. Sitting in the silence of the empty house only fueled his imagination.

The call cutting off because you had noticed it was still on, and Dave touching you in the elevator. You deciding to miss classes for the first time in your life to have him fuck you in his dorm room, doing whatever the hell Amber had subtly referred to. You laughing about him, for whatever reason, with Dave as the two of you lay in a naked, tangled heap.

The front door finally opened, Ken having lost track of time as he had stared at it, lost in his thoughts that had become more and more upsetting as the seconds ticked by. His attention was drawn back sharply as he heard the door close, and he realized he had been gripping both of his thighs tightly with his hands.

He must have looked as unhappy as he felt because your face immediately became concerned upon seeing him.

“Hey, Ken, are you okay?”

He was on you in a moment, rage tearing through him. “What did he do to you?”

You legitimately looked completely confused, having no idea he had heard the call, and also having zero guilt about anything having happening during the day.

“What are you talking about?”

“Dave. What. Did. He. Do. To. You.”

“What…how would he have done anything to me?”

“I heard you. And him. Your phone didn’t hang up.”

Ohhh. “If you heard it then you know nothing happened.”

“It hung up when he mentioned your hair.”

“He didn’t touch me.”

“Promise?”

“Goddammit, Ken, I don’t have to promise.”

“He tried, though. He wanted to touch you. He wants you to leave me.”

“I mean, yeah, that’s fair. That doesn’t mean- “

Ken picked you up roughly, wrapping your legs around his waist and holding your ass as he slammed your back into the door. “Mine.”

You whimpered as his teeth sank into your neck. You always internally battled on whether you should be firm with him and tell him to grow up or if you should encourage this behavior, and somehow the middle ground always won, at least for now.

“Ken, we’ve been over this,” you said, your own moan cutting you off as he sucked hard on your skin, bucking his hard clothed budge into into your panty covered core. You really needed to stop wearing short skirts so often.

“Mine,” he growled again, storming into the bedroom, throwing you onto the bed. He pulled his shirt over his head, his chest flexing and puffed out.

“I fucking know, Ken,” you threw back at him before your back arched and you cried out, Ken having pushed your legs open and brought his hand down to spank your pussy. You saw stars as he did it again and you writhed underneath him as he pressed his hands into your hips, holding you down.

“Ken,” you whimpered again as he snuck two fingers under your panties, rubbing them back and forth firmly.

“You’re already so wet,” he panted, eyes on fire. “Were you this wet in the elevator?”

You visibly rolled your eyes but shut them tightly when his hand came down on your core again. You gripped his forearms in your hands when he dipped two fingers into your opening with ease, and you moaned loudly as he pushed them roughly deeper into you, immediately curling them into your special spot.

“Are you thinking about him right now?” He seethed, and you shook your head, unable to verbally reply through your moans, your head swimming with how sudden all of these sensations were.

“You’re only thinking about me?” He persisted.

“Yes,” you managed to squeak, his fingers quickening their pace.

“You’ll only think about me?”

You cried out loudly when he leaned over to wrap his hand around your throat as his hips leaned against his own fingers buried inside you, thrusting them into his hand so he could easily finger-fuck you harder.

“I asked you a question.”

“Yes, Ken,” you choked out, your body already nearing shudders.

“You’ll prove it to me, then.”

Your legs began to shake a little, your walls clenching around his fingers. He could tell you were about to reach your peak.

“How long can you hold out on me? To prove you’ll only think about me because you’re so exhausted from begging for your release, staring in my eyes, knowing every single touch is coming only from me?” He pulled his fingers out of you then, and your eyes shot open, your body in shock from being suddenly ravaged to being denied its release.

“Oh, fuck, Ken.” Your head fell back into the mattress, already frustrated beyond belief. “Please, please -“

“Good girl. We’re off to a strong start.”

He flipped you over onto your stomach, pulling your legs to hang over the bed so you were bent over for him. His hand came up between your legs to spank you again and the sharp sensation on your clit had you instinctively close your legs, your back arching as his other hand down your lower back down.

“Keep them open for me,” Ken warned, a shudder running through you at his tone.

You slowly began to do as he said when he nudged his legs between yours, opening them for him and keeping them open by planting his feet firmly on the ground.

His hand snapped up to meet your clit again and you gripped the sheets tightly as it came back for a third time, your legs beginning to tremble.

Ken had his plan - exhaust you, give you the most amazing orgasms of your life, maybe you wouldn’t want to go to class tomorrow, even though me know you would go. So, make sure every time you moved even the slightest movement that you’d feel him - make you sore, but just the right amount to where you’d try not to squirm in public but maybe you’d get wet from remembering how good he could make you feel.

You felt his hand that was holding you down remove itself from your back and he kneeled between your shaking legs, pulling your panties aside. You cried out loudly, your body in awe, as he pressed his full tongue into your clit, the warmth traveling all through your core.

Oh, fuck, you didn’t know anything could feel like this. Your nerves being so violently stimulated beforehand Made you be about to feel absolutely everything as his lips wrapped around your bud and sucked gently. He moaned into you when he heard the high pitched noise you made, very pleased with himself, and he gently held your hips as his tongue ravaged you.

“Holy fuck…Yes…aahhh…yes, Ken…oh…thank you, Ken…”

You could have cried when he pulled back, kissing up your spine then flipping you onto your back again.

You weren’t used to actually being edged. You had only experienced it once with, of all people, Dave. It had been fun but also absolutely mentally and physically exhausted you, and right now you were insanely frustrated, especially after feeling whatever that was.

“You should just let me come,” You huffed, looking Ken right in the eye as he brought the ties out from the drawer, his muscles clenching.

“Mmmm, maybe later.” He ripped your clothes off except your panties before grabbing one of your arms, deciding to tie you up differently tonight. Instead of tying your wrists together, tied your single wrist to the far side of the headboard. He straddled you as he reached for your other one and began wrapping the tie around -

“By not giving me my orgasm, you’re only encouraging me to think of Dave.” If he wanted to play jealousy games, fine. You’d fuel them then.

Ken gave you a dangerous look, his eyes darkening, waiting in silence for you to explain.

“So tie me up, edge me, then. Have your fun.”

“You know I’m waiting for you to finish that thought.”

“Mmmhmmm.” You tried not to grin up at him.

“So,” he slammed your wrist onto the bed above your head, lowering his face to hover above yours, “fucking finish it.”

You sighed with intention. “It’s just that, nobody has ever edged me before. Except Dave.”

You don’t think you could have explained the energy that washed over Ken in that moment if you tried. But you had won. If he was going to keep struggling with jealousy towards you, then you would make it work in your favor instead of stressing you out…at least for now. Ken was already too far gone when you’d come through the door to calm, so, hey…seeing what he’d cooked up in his mind wouldn’t hurt anyone, right?

You felt your arm being jerked upward as it was securely fastened to the opposite side of the headboard, and you wanted to protest for the fun of it but you were actually tied up to where you couldn’t move your upper body, save for being able to lift your head.

“Looks like I have a little more work to do than I had originally thought,” Ken spat as he knotted the remaining ties around your ankles, also securing them to the foot of the bed so you were splayed out naked for him, unable to move.

“You better make this worth it,” You sighed again as if bored. “I’m supposed to be studying -“

You were cut off as you moaned loudly, Ken pulling the strip of your panties covering your heat to the side as his mouth clamped onto your clit, sucking hard. Ken’s mind was a rush of anger, of passion, of - goddammit, would this stupid fear of you leaving him actually ever leave him - and all he could see in his mind’s eye was Dave doing this to you, holding you hostage in your own bed, tasting your juices, feeling your perfect skin and muscles under his tongue, taking in your scent as you moaned and squealed and attempted to writhe despite your restraints.

He was so easily lost in you. He thought of untying you then, wanting to feel your hands in his hair, feeling the different tugs when he hit different areas of pleasure, holding your hips up to him in an almost bruising grip. But no, he had to remember his plans for you for now.

He felt dizzy as he licked thick stripes up and down, your vocal reactions becoming louder, and he lost track of time when he began to tongue fuck you, getting into a rhythm that was making you feel crazy as you got lost in the pleasure as well.

He pulled back only enough to speak, his lips still brushing against your folds. “Tell me how good I make you feel, y/n.” He dove back in immediately, desperate to hear your voice as he consumed you - it made him feel so warm and so hard, your breathy, often barely coherent words soothing his anxiety, making him get lost in you even more.

You didn’t reply, at least not with words. Your moaning continued for a moment then paused with another frustration huff from you when he pulled back again.

“Tell me how good I make you feel,” he commanded a little louder. Maybe you hadn’t heard him the first time.

You remained silent other than your breathing, which you were working to calm down.

“Tell me how good I make you feel,” he said for the third time, his voice betraying his anxiety when the last word ended on a note that sounded like a question.

He stood up when you kept quiet, leaning over you. “Y/n.”

You looked at him. “Yes, Ken?”

“Why won’t you say it?”

“Why won’t you stop being jealous over things that don’t matter?”

He hardened again then. “They matter to me.”

You stared up at him.

“You’re still thinking about Dave?”

“It’s honestly hard not to when you won’t stop talking about him, Ken.”

He growled. He couldn’t argue with that logic but he hated you pointing it out. He got off you and went back to the drawer and pulled out something you couldn’t see. He walked back to lean himself over you again, holding himself up with his forearm alongside your head.

“Fine, but I’m going to replace your memory of him denying your release with my own.”

You cried out loudly, your body shaking when you felt a strong sensation suddenly being shoved into your panties and pushed onto your clit. Ken held the vibrator on you, watching your reactions, loving how quickly you got lost in them, at how surprising overwhelmed you seem to become within the first few moments.

“You like this?” He breathed.

You couldn’t form words and answered with a string of noises instead, your head thrown back into the mattress as all of your limbs strained desperately against their bounds. Still leaning over you, Ken kissed your exposed throat, sucking ever so gently. He just wanted you to feel him around you.

He knew your orgasm was coming simply by the way in which your breathing was quickening and removed the toy from your panties, the buzzing noise filling your ears and mixing with the white noise swimming inside of them.

“Ken, please,” You started, your voice already sounding raw. He set the toy down on the bed beside you, not bothering to turn it off, so his hand could travel up your waist to your breasts as he kneaded one in his hand and began sucking on the other. Your body seemed to almost relax a little, thankful for the pleasure after having it taken away again.

“Remember when I said you’d have to beg me?” He mumbled around your hardening nipple, swirling his wet tongue around it.

You whined.

“That doesn’t sound like begging.”

“I shouldn’t have to beg for what’s rightfully mine,” you whimpered as his teeth sunk into your tender skin, pulling on the nipple ever so slightly.

Ohh. This was a new mood coming from you, but he loved it.

“Have it your way, then.” He watched you as he inserted the vibrator in your underwear again and you cried out, your entire body doing a delicious shudder, and he got up to straddle your waist. Your panties were snug enough to hold the vibrator against you so he could let go.

“You’re going to beg me, baby girl,” he said as he planted his hands above your head and slowly lowered his cock into your mouth. You moaned loudly, your arms and legs pulling against the restraints as best as they could as he slowly fucked himself into your mouth, watching the way your wet lips wrapped around him as you struggled with the pleasure the vibrator was giving you, tears beginning to form in your eyes.

Fuck, he loved you.

He felt himself grow impossibly harder as he watched his clock disappear into your mouth again and again, your loud moans and tiny screams from the vibrator vibrating themselves around his member, and he shuddered. Your eyes flicked up to meet his and he melted, his hand reaching down to wrap in your hair not to hold you still but just to touch you.

He knew you were close again when those high pitched noises started emanating from your throat, and he pulled himself out of your mouth and removed the vibrator from your panties.

You screamed in frustration.

“Why?” You wailed.

“Because I’m not finished with you yet.”

Ken tore the area off your panties apart that covered your opening with his hands and you jumped, surprised. He left the top part intact though, and you cursed loudly, knowing why.

When he sunk his fingers back into you, you wanted to do whatever he wanted just to make sure he kept them there. Maybe you could hide your orgasm approaching…

Your body jerked in the minor ways that it could due to your restraints and Ken watched you, memorizing every way you twitched and moaned.

“Look at me, baby girl,” he cooed, and you did as he asked. “Such a good girl for me.”

“Please, Ken, please let me come this time.” Your voice was a little hoarse again.

“You know how to make that happen.”

“I’m begging, please, please.”

“That’s hardly begging at all.” He slowed his fingers down just enough to where they were caressing inside you, and once again somehow you felt every little movement. Your body felt like it was singing at the immense pleasure washing through you, and your head became so overwhelmed with it that you became completely lost, eyes closed, mumbling and moaning softly as Ken watched you. He’d have to remember to do this to you again, you seemed in absolute bliss.

He had planned to edge you further again with this one but now struggled with the idea. He didn’t know you’d react this beautifully to this, and fuck, you were a perfect angel splayed out so willingly for him, and your body has already taken so much…

Ken fingered your through your orgasm, your body shocked with the fact that it was finally being allowed its climax, and you cried a little as the best orgasm of your life overtook every fiber of your being.

His name escaped your lips in a gorgeous, exhausted whisper during the last few moments of your pleasure, and Ken’s heart danced.

He pulled his fingers out of you softly, your body limp, and climbed on top of you. He kissed you deeply, the back of his knuckled grazing your cheek bone.

“Thank you, Ken,” your words were swallowed by his lips.

“We’re not done yet.” His tongue dipped into your mouth and languishingly explored.

“I’m so tired, Ken.” Your voice cracked as he pulled away just long enough for you to catch a breath before consuming your lips again.

“Good. That’s how I want you to feel.”

“You went sex toy shopping?” Your giggle faltered as soon as it began, head resting itself on Ken’s as his mouth found your neck.

“Mmmhmmm. Which reminds me…”

“Oh, please, please, I can’t-“ You couldn’t form words again after the first few seconds of the vibrator being placed inside your panties again.

“Say my name.” You felt Ken’s hands reach between the two of you to unzip his pants.

“Ken,” you mewled.

“Again, y/n.”

“Ken,” your voice sounded on the edge of tears again.

“One more time.”

You screamed his name as he bottomed out into you with a single thrust, him holding his hips fully against yours without moving for a moment, groaning into your shoulder at how amazing you felt already clenching and spasming around his cock so so damn tightly from the sensations of the vibrator.

“Ohhhh, y/n.” He purred into your neck, remaining still within you, feeling as if you could push him over the edge just like this.

“Need…to…breathe…”

He kissed away a single tear as it rolled down your face. He pulled out the vibrator again, keeping his cock deep inside you.

You thanked him, gasping for air. “It’s…. it’s so much.”

“Mmmhmmm.” He nuzzled his nose into your hair.

How far could he push it? What was your cutoff point?

He pulled himself out of you then slowly thrust back in again, a strangled noise escaping your throat. He did it again, and again, maintaining this slower pace.

“You’re doing so well, y/n. My good girl takes me so well.”

Your lower lip trembled and he took it between his lips, sucking gently as his hips slowly picked up their pace. You made little kitten noises with every thrust, Ken’s head swimming with them.

“Need….it’s…too…”

Your mouth opened into a silent scream when you felt the vibrator placed back onto your clit, Ken’s hips still bucking into you.

“You’re going to be fine. Just a little bit longer,” He soothed. He reached up to untie one of your restraints, your arm falling onto the bed, and he intertwined his fingers with your own. He knew you were definitely nearing what you could take because your grip was almost non-existent, just barely closing around his hand.

“I’ve got you,” he breathed into your ear. “I’ll give you what you want if you-“

“Please.” Your blissed out, weary voice was barely a whisper.

“Good girl.”

“Please, please let me come, Ken.”

You climaxed just then, Ken forcing himself to not let his own happen as you tightened so effortlessly around him, calling out his name over and over.

You felt barely coherent as Ken untied you, your eyes closed, feeling your limbs one by one being returned to you. The vibrator was removed and turned off and Ken took off the remainder of the fabric that had once been your underwear.

You felt Ken wrap his arms around you gently, still on top of you, hips still nestled between your legs.

He kissed you deeply as he sunk his cock into you once more, your body shivering with cold sweat.

“Just one more time, y/n.”

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@skeletonea

@sunpuffsstuff

@maxcsworld

@michaelslover

@m21-k

@uncle-eggy

@heyareyoulistening

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#ryan gosling #ken #barbie movie #ken barbie #ken doll #ken smut #ken x reader #ken x reader smut #fanfiction #ryan gosling fanfic #beach ken #ken fanfic #fanfic #smut fanfiction

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covid-safer-hotties · 2 months ago

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preserved in our archive

By Jason Gale

Hi, it’s Jason in Melbourne. Almost five years after Covid‑19 broke out, scientists are still unraveling its pathological modus operandi. Before I get into that...

Toxic blood effects Clotting disorders in Covid patients were spotted by researchers in China in early 2020, but the true extent of the risk only became clear when even patients with mild respiratory symptoms began experiencing strokes.

At first, doctors suspected these clots might result from a “cytokine storm” — an intense immune response releasing a surge of inflammation-signaling proteins. Others noted that the virus could directly damage blood vessel linings.

But Katerina Akassoglou, a neurovascular brain immunologist at the Gladstone Institutes and UC San Francisco, wasn’t convinced that the virus itself wasn’t a cause.

Navigating social distancing requirements that complicated lab work, Akassoglou and her collaborators conducted a series of experiments in mice to explore the pernicious role of the coronavirus’s spike protein.

They discovered that beyond serving as the virus’s “key” to enter cells, spike binds with a blood clotting factor called fibrinogen, creating structurally abnormal, inflammation-promoting clumps of fibrin — the insoluble material that forms the mesh-like structures essential for wound healing.

High levels of these abnormal clots not only push the body’s clotting system into overdrive, increasing clot formation and inflammation, but also suppress natural killer cells — the immune system’s virus-clearing soldiers.

When this damaging cycle occurs alongside a breakdown in the protective layer of cells around the brain’s blood vessels, toxins and bloodborne proteins, including fibrin, can seep into the body’s most vital organ. Once there, these substances activate microglia — the brain’s immune cells —which begin attacking healthy brain cells, contributing to the neurological symptoms of long Covid.

Akassoglou had been studying this damaging cascade for decades in patients with Alzheimer’s disease and multiple sclerosis. Still, until SARS-CoV-2 came along, she had no idea it could be triggered by a viral infection.

“For some reason, this virus has evolved to interfere with the coagulation system in a way that other viruses do not,” she told me. Fibrin’s role in driving toxic inflammation is common in many diseases, but “in the presence of spike, it gets a lot worse.”

In experiments with mice lacking fibrinogen, Covid leads to much less inflammation, and the infection clears faster. “Studies suggest that if you deplete fibrin, inflammation improves, no matter what initially triggers it.”

Although Akassoglou’s focus has been on the brain, she’s hopeful this research will be expanded to understand the effects on the heart, liver, kidneys, and gastrointestinal tract.

In the meantime, she’s developing a way to halt this damaging reaction. A first-in-class antibody treatment designed to specifically block fibrin’s toxic effects entered early-stage patient studies in May, with no reported safety concerns so far.

Results are expected next year and could lead to more advanced clinical trials to test the immunotherapy’s potential to treat not only long Covid but also other serious diseases like multiple sclerosis and Alzheimer’s.

#long covid #covid 19 #pandemic #covid #mask up #public health #wear a respirator #still coviding #wear a mask #coronavirus #sars cov 2 #covid conscious #covid is airborne

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headcanons-n-shit · 1 year ago

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Hello

Your newest post reminded me i had an idea. The bois comforting wol who is having a nervous brakedown from all the stress. Bonus Ardbert.

I really like your stories. Especially the angsty ones.

(TAZ The Breakdown plays in the background)

(Mild shadowbringers spoilers)

Thancred literally (accidentally but still) disassociated so hard from the stress that he gave up his body to the bad guy for a bit. If anyone gets what youre going through, its probably going to be him. Hes not going to waste his time on empty platitudes: hes going to get you a glass of water, a warm blanket, and a hot meal, and let you cry it out on his shoulder for as long as you need to.

(And if that still doesnt help, well. Sex is still on the table. Its rarely a good idea, but hes all out of those.)

Urianger is probably breaking down with you lets be real. Every future my mans has ever read has included world-ending catastrophe, and, sure, youve thwarted it every time (usually with his help) but. What if this time you dont? What if this time you fail???? Its an unreasonable amount of stress for one man to be carrying. He probably does a fantastic amount of fantasy weed to cope and still all it takes is seeing you break down for him to also start blubber-crying.

Graha seems kind of detached and distant at first. "Shower water food" he commands you, in the voice of Lynas grandfather the Crystal Exarch, firm and uncompromising and impossible to disobey, and you might miss the way his voice and smile are strained. The way his hands clench and unclench at his sides. Hes never regretted turning back time to help you save two worlds, but. Its times like this that he wonders if he shouldnt try again to give you a happier ending.

Estinien is a firm hand on your shoulder, a steady shoulder to lean on, because he gets it. The feeling of being trapped in your own body, puppetted by powers so much greater than you can imagine, almost greater than you can comprehend... Youre breaking down for the both of you, honestly, because hes spent so long training the iron discipline to resist nidhoggs influence that he doesnt know how to anymore. This is. Cathartic. For the both of you tbh.

Aymeric wishes in this moment, more than anything, that he could just. Just be with you. Out on your journeys, giving you support by your side instead of from a distance. And he knows, he knows, that the support he gives you is important, that his ability to move nations in your favor has helped far more than any single sword at your side ever would. But he bears the weight of a nation while you bear the weight of a star, and that just. Doesnt seem fair to him.

Haurchefant knows that theres some things that hot chocolate cant fix but. Its a good starting place if nothing else. Something warm and sweet right now couldnt hurt, neither would a soft blanket and a roaring fire. He'll sit with you, bundled up together, and just listen if thats what you need. Or he can talk-- he has plenty of embarrassing stories about Artoirel that he hasnt shared yet. Either way, he'll happily help you wipe your tears away when youre done, and then drop a delicate kiss on your forehead.

Stand tall, he says. A smile better suits a hero.

Sidurgu is surprisingly good at this. Or, maybe not so surprising? Rielle is very mature for her age, but shes still a child. He probably does this whole song and dance every other week. And you feel a little bit like a child, the way he bullies you into the shower and then bundles you up in blankets and pushes food at you, but. Beneath the gruff words and scowl you can tell hes worried. Frustrated. This is exactly the kind of injustice that as a dark knight he swore he would fight, but hes just one man, there isnt much he can do about the desolation of the star. But he also needs you to know that he'll always be in your corner. Whether in this little way or if you need him to help you kill a god, he'll always come when you call.

BONUS

Ardbert has never felt so helpless in his life. He cant touch you, cant be a shoulder you can cry on. He cant even fetch you a glass of water. All he can do is stand there and watch as you break apart in your bed in the Pendants, and its. Its torture, worse than anything any ascian could ever conceive.

Still. He does what he can. And if all he can do is sit at your bedside, his hand hovering half-through yours in a mockery of touch while he tells you stories of his adventures, or friendship and triumph and happier times, well. Its the least he can do.

#ff14 #ff14 headcanons #thancred waters #wolcred #urianger augurelt #wolianger #graha tia #grahawol #estinien varlineau #estinien wyrmblood #wolstinien #aymeric de borel #wolmeric #haurchefant greystone #haurchewol #sidurgu orl #sidwol #ff14 ardbert #wolbert

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c-u-c-koo-4-40k · 7 days ago

Text

12 Angry Space Marines or Lullaby's No Good Very Bad Only a Little Good Day - Part 1

First! A big thanks to @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan for helping write this beast of a piece. And to @sleepyfan-blog, @kit-williams and @egrets-not-regrets for use of their various characters.

Previous Chapter Here!

Next Chapter Under Construction Heeeere!

First in the entire series Here

Warning: Talks of violence, a very sore throat, threat of torture near mental breakdown and some mildly sexual talk.

Tags! I Hope you all enjoy!: @kit-williams @sleepyfan-blog @egrets-not-regrets @felinisnoctis @bispecsual

@passionofthesith @beckyninja @bleedingichorhearts @barn-anon @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@jaghatai-khock @virozero @angronsjewelbeetle

Summary:

Lullaby awakens alone, and injured. After everything that has happened the thing they want the least is to be alone. But try as they might they can't seem to get a message through to their loved ones. Meanwhile, the Scouts and the veteran Apothecaries get ready to take a vote on the fate of Stormbreaker, who they now must consider allowing to live if his survival truly is intertwined with Lullaby's.

You feel yourself drifting, swirling in patterns of darkness then back to mild lucidity only to be pulled under again. The same cycle repeats. Voices loud and quiet- demanding- requesting, questioning.

“SHUT UP!” “Fucking LOW BRED WITCH WHORE GOTHIC CURSING GOTHIC cursing-””Who is this Really!?” “The first psycher of the Baseline populace.” … “Their vitals are normal…at they need now is rest…” “I will take them to bed..”

There was the feeling of being swaddled in dark, familiar smelling blankets. The feeling of cool lips pressing to your cheeks and mouth. “I will return soon my darling…”

“..no….please, st…ay…” You tried to reach out but your fingers barely moved. You weren't even sure your throat was making words. You were so tired…so Tired…So Tired…

Khopesh cooed, brushing his hand softly against your cheek as you fight the force pulling you down. He thinks you look cute, while you feel about to cry.

“Shhhhh, rest now,” He purrs, bringing his face down so he can nuzzle you, he presses another kiss to your lips. You feel momentarily soothed by the purrs rumbling in his chest as it presses to yours.

“..s..t..ay…” Your lips move a little at least, but Khopesh seems to think you're just trying to kiss him back.

“When I return…I will give you my Full Attention.” He chuckles, allowing himself to indulge for a moment; he presses his tongue softly past your lips. Another kiss, just a small but intimate taste, he tells himself, just to tide him over until his lingering business with the Grey Knight is decided.

You don't mind the kiss, but you mind what it means as he pulls away. But it's too late, you're already sinking ...

sinking…

A feeling like humming electricity, an overcharge, Grasping so hard onto Jophiel…followed by a scream so sharp it burned like-

M O L T E N G O L D

“HUAh! -ACK COUGH cOuGH!” You bolted upright gasping, hacking and coughing as your throat burned. Your eyes could barely parse the darkness but, you knew the bed your were sitting (coughing hacking dying??) At least…

Water, fucking hell I need water!

The typical water bottle you kept at the bedside was pretty much empty. You hobbled down from the bed, feeling along the way until your hand wrapped around a familiar handle.

You pulled open the door to the Astarte grade mini fridge, grabbed a hydration ration and chugged it. The too cold liquid hurt as it touched your inflamed throat but the relief to your thirst powered you through it.

Finally the ration was half empty and you pulled off, sucking in air which further irritated your pipes. Lord above what the Hell had you Done to yourself?? Your throat hurts- and the cold makes it harder to drink and you cough, which hurts.

Then the memories caught up with you properly. Ah right. A Bastard in Silver, a battle, your frie-

HOLY SHIT WHAT HAPPENED TO EVERYONE?!

They were all standing at the end, surely they're fine surely, Please Please PLEASE BE OKAY DON'T BE HURT DONT BE DEAD GO-

BREATHE DAMMIT!

You slapped yourself trying to get your mind in order. You glanced around the room that now at least had some Minor illumination from the fridge light. And a dizzying combo of relief and excitement runs through you as you spot your bag hanging where you normally put it when visiting.

You're glad you can leave the fridge door propped as you scramble over to your bag and dig through it. There are things that you need to make sure you still have your mind going through the list as you grab each item.

Keys, Wallet (not your goal but you're glad it's there), Charger, Hairbrus- PHONE!

Oh thank the lord above! You think, as you frantically open it.

Missed calls and texts from your parents…Shit.

Okay okay Breathe, B R E A T H E, Your fingers tremble as you open the messages.

‘Hey Lullybird, just checking in. When are you going to be home?’

45 minutes after the first message.

‘Lully can you answer the phone??’

‘Bear, please pick up.’

15 minutes after that.

‘I'm starting to get worried! If you don't pick up your phone I'm going to drive to come find you!’

‘Your mother means it Bear, please answer.’

‘LULLY!’

5 Minutes Later

‘Hey Hun! Khopesh texted to let us know you had too much fun at the picnic yesterday and passed out. So that's why you weren't answering your phone.’

Oh thank God, your Mom and Dad aren't making a panicked rush to the base. And they don't know about your near death experience. So that's two problems off your shoulders at least.

And if Khopesh could text them that means he's safe. You feel even more relief flooding your system and uncoiling the Awful tension you'd been feeling.

At least partly, you still didn't know the fate of the Primaris Marines.

‘Next time please text Before you fall asleep after having too much fun!’

‘Yeah, just because you're Bear doesn't mean you get to hibernate for 6 months and not answer your phone.’

You smiled and rolled your eyes. You decided to type a quick response.

‘Sorry to worry ya'll, I promise next time I'll text you Before I party myself into passing out. You text. ‘I'm okay, the partying hard also left me pretty tired even now, so I'm gonna chill at the base for a while longer. I should be home later today. I also want to check up on the new friends I made yesterday.’

A response was sent quickly from your mother.

‘Turkey Butt…but I'm glad you're okay. See you later.’

‘Love you Bear Bear, see you later.’

You typed back. ‘Love you Both! See you soon.’

Okay…now to the main issue. You wanted to find the Primaris Marines. Sure if any were badly injured they'd be getting care from Anrir and Hura. Cedric was a fantastic apothecary in his own right but…

Gurgle…

Okay, one of the main issues, even if the Primaris were fine you Wanted to see them. Maybe it was a disconnect in your brain but sometimes you felt the need to see things to be certain of them.

Like clicking the door lock of your car three times instead of one. Or double checking the stove was off.

G U R G L e….

Seems your stomach was doing its own double checking; so you'd need to see to that too. You rub your stomach a little, sheepish with how loudly your stomach complained.

Khopesh should have some non-perishable snacks around. He always kept a supply. A memory of your beloved menace floats into your mind.

‘Just incase there's a shortage. I have lived through them before by the skin of my teeth when I was small. I got thin enough to see my ribs, luckily there was always at least a few rats and bugs running around…and a few corpses here and there. They didn't taste very good but Eh, more reason to be prepared!’

Hearing him say this so cheerfully and matter of fact practically broke your heart. It was part of the reason you wanted to make sure your cake was perfect. You want to make sure that he doesn’t have to worry about starvation.

He deserved the best you could give after that kind of life.

And that Silver Bastard R U I N E D it!

You feel your skin prickle with rage, a familiar rumbling grows in your ears as your muscles tense and your jaw twitches.

Bz-zt Zt!

You're startled from your seething when the fridge light flickers violently with a sharp electric sound. Then it returns to normal as if nothing happened.

That…was weird… A bizarre thought comes to your mind, especially given what happened yesterday. Did…you do that?

If your powers could pour out of you as a scream, or travel through Jophiel like a ground rod, who's to say they can't affect electronics? It's all energy at the end of the day, particles traveling on waves or through conduits, and those waves being able to enhance or weaken each other….

Bringing up these topics to Anrir is third on your list, you decide. Food, Check on the Primaris boys, tell Anrir about science wizard shit. Karlsor did say that sometimes imagination, or lack thereof could be a limiter on psyker abilities.

You're still dressed in your clothes from yesterday, save your shoes but those are easy to locate. You sling your bag on your back, finish the hydration ration, and open the cupboard beside the fridge where the snacks are kept-

There are no snacks….What!?

You feel around in the darkness, thinking perhaps they're just pushed back only for your hand to brush against something papery.

You pick up the slip of paper, and read it by the light of the fridge, and your half charged phone.

This is what you get when you take things that don't belong to you Fuckface! Stop stealing my fucking sunglasses, and you can have your food back.

Sincerely, Karlsor

P.S. Fuck You

Followed by a crass doodle of Karlsor sticking his tongue out and flipping the bird. You facepalmed with a groan.

Dammit Karlsor, Of all the times to pull a dumb shit Prank!

Oh well you wanted to leave this room anyway, guess you're doing it on an empty stoma-

The door handle wiggles a bit, but doesn't turn. You jostle it again hoping it was a fluke…but the movement (or lack thereof) stays the same.

You must be fucking Joking!? A frustrated wordless shriek/growl builds up in your injured throat, as you fruitlessly shake the handle of the electronic door lock.

Okay new plan. You whip out your phone, and start texting.

But as you try to send your messages of ‘Why am I locked in here?’ And ‘The fuck is this??’ with a picture of the food note, followed by ‘Hey Claude, Khopesh locked me in his room can you help me get out?’, And finally ‘Your Gremlins have done a fucking mischief please help!’ To Khopesh, Karlsor, Claude and Anrir respectively…you feel a bit of that prior anxiety creeping back in.

None of the messages send properly. You try resending, deleting and rewriting, closing the message app and trying again, restarting your phone even! But every time the messages seem to hit a brick wall.

What the Hell!? Your parents miles away from the base could get your messages, but four people Inside the base couldn't!?

Something wasn't right.

You turn back to the door.

You don't know what is happening, but you can't stay here. But how are you going to open the door?

Your mind drifts back to the moment with the light in the fridge…maybe? You kneel so you're eye level with the lock. You feel along it with your fingertips. Perhaps… you could try to do something?

You can't see things the way you did yesterday, but as you pull on your power, you notice the faintest…shimmer slide across the lock. As if your mycelium was invisible except for that nearly imperceptible visual feedback.

And based on what happened yesterday it was pretty much confirmed that only You and others using warp sight could actually see them, even when boosted to near maximum power. You had heard that sometimes pushing past your limits- or near enough can help with a break through, but that doing such things could be dangerous if not properly watched over and the person cared for during and after it happening.

You remember the Silver Space Marine's murderous rage. How it'd felt not just to See the intention on his face, but actually Feel how he wanted to destroy you. The glare you could feel through the blue visor had been chilling.

The anger…the Malice, you stopped yourself, feeling nausea bubble in your empty gut, you needed to focus on the task at hand.

You aren't certain how much to push, but you knew how to give a zap so… You remember what Karlsor said about Visualizing what you want your roots to do. Feel them reaching out- extending along a path.

Bzzt-ZAP! The lock clicks, and you swiftly turn the handle, and step out into the hallway.

The Night lord Hallway. The hallways of the base designed for Night Lords, likely by Night Lords, even if they might not have built it…perfect. The darkness and the twisted architecture here hadn't frightened you for a while, but then again…you'd always come here with Khopesh.

But other Night lords had human companions! You have an uneasy, sinking feeling in your stomach. You shake your head a little bit. Surely you'd be fine just…just follow what Claude said, when you'd asked about the faint green lines that trailed along the floors of these areas.

‘Those are for navigation, see how they have arrow shapes cut into them. Follow those, and you can get back to the communal base areas.’ Claude helpfully pointed out- showing you the navigation lines. ‘The green was chosen as it could be seen- even by baselines in the more dimly lit areas of the base- without being considered ‘garish’... Also a word of advice? Do. Not. Run. In this area of the base.’

Follow the green lines and arrows. Okay, you can do this. You Can Do This.

You take your first steps and wince at the sound of your own shoes as they pad across the floor into the dark. Shifting your bag, and holding it tighter to yourself.

You'll be fine. You'll be fine. You chant to yourself.

You also firmly (try to) ignore the feeling that you were being watched. You don’t see anyone or hear anyone- but you have experience. You will see or hear your watchers precisely when they want to be seen or heard, and not a moment more.

…

Meanwhile in a meeting room on the upper floors of the Base, Anrir and Hura had gathered their Scoutlings for a meeting. Some of them are standing, others are sitting. Once they are all seated the oldest of the gathered marines speaks up.

“I suppose you would all like an answer as to why I've asked you all to come here?” Anrir posits, folding his hands together as he sits at the table. The other seats are occupied by Hura, Cedric, Ramiel, Nanael, Olly (and his rock), Claude, Jophiel, Kerubiel, Thressl, Karlsor, and Khopesh.

“Give us some credit, old man -Oof!” Kerubiel mutters snidely only to be elbowed by Thressl.

Thressl shakes his head when Kerubiel shot him a glare, snark and sass at this point in time would be a dumb idea. The Dark Angel smacks him back, but doesn’t speak for the moment. Things were tense- and they just found out a big secret. Who knows what Anrir or Hura might do to them with knowledge of something like this.

“We can make an educated Guess, it's to do with the Grey Knight correct?” Cedric answers to which both Anrir and Hura nod.

“Indeed, we will need to decide what his fate shall be for his ahem … transgressions.” Hura explains.

“There are a number of factors to consider, namely the benefits and consequences of either keeping him alive, or…”

“Killing him, Slowly…” Khopesh says with a grin that is equal parts gleeful anticipation and frustrated Rage. His claw-like nails were on their way to digging trenches into the table.

“Khopesh do not damage the base's property.” Anrir commands sternly. “Here, dig into this, not the table or your skin.” Anrir tosses an astarte grade stress toy to his…exuberant son who catches it easily, and begins squeezing and digging his claws into it as he'd been doing with the table.

But his focus doesn’t waiver as he addresses his father. “I care not for the bureaucracy of keeping him alive, or his benefit as a psycher. He has committed an unforgivable act. Incurred an unpayable debt for what he did to our Claude, our Scouts and my Lullaby! Allow me to extract his Meager value from his dying screams in retribution! I will even keep his body usable for you.” He promises, switching to Nostraman so the others wouldn't understand that part. “Please father, allow me this. I crave-No! I Must make him Beg for the mercy of the grave-!”

Claude has been learning Nostraman, and caught his words, he keeps his face neutral- at least Khopesh remembers that waste not, want not includes making sure that organs and other useful pieces can still be harvested, if the Silver Bastard is killed.

Anrir holds up one ancient yet unmarred hand to stop his son from continuing. “A compelling argument my son, but it is not only you he has wronged. The Scouts deserve their chance to speak on these matters as well, given they were the ones most hurt by his actions.”

Khopesh huffs, but doesn't argue, simply responding with a, “Yes father.” To which Anrir nods approvingly, then addresses the other Scouts.

“Khopesh has given a good example as to why I've brought you all here. I encourage you all to speak freely, One at a time of course.” He explains, then gestures to the room. “This room is shielded, no transmission can go In or Out, your words will only be known to those in this room.”

Hura picks up the conversation. “We shall be taking a vote on the fate of the Grey Knight. You will each get a chance to speak your vote, and if you deem it necessary, elaborate upon it.”

Now Thressl scoffs a bit. “I don't think we need a whole meeting fer this? Let's just gut the Bastard an’ be done with it! I'm sure all of us have got better things to do than sit here.” The Space Wolf insists.

Claude shifts uncomfortably in his seat as he speaks up. “I…don't think we should be so hasty.”

This actually causes some confusion, the others in the room turning to the adopted Night lord. While he did not want to be merciful- Jophiel’s words- the vision he had made him… reluctant to kill the bastard outright. For not at least.

“Claudy?” Khopesh asks, uncertain and maybe just slightly mildly frustrated, why his little brother who had been so full of righteous fury suddenly seems so much more subdued.

Claude took a deep breath, “Before we take the vote…there's something you all should know.” He states, standing and gesturing to Jophiel to do the same. “Go ahead,” He says, placing a comforting hand on the Blood Angel's shoulder.

Jophiel also takes a steadying breath, his wings flex and settle with his nerves before he addresses the room. “I…had a vision…after I helped Lullaby ground the overflow of power they experienced.”

“I saw many possibilities; things that might already be, or haven't been yet, or may never be. The uncertainty is…frightening but the clearest of the images was thus.” Jophiel explains. “A monstrous being of gold, awakes from its slumber, it stirs at the ripples that flow outward from the melody. It hungers for b-blood…” Jophiel stammers a bit, but grounds himself with Claude's hand. “It awakens to Strangle the Melody in the cradle, to make it silent once more…”

“And the worst of outcomes are more likely…if Silver tarnishes into rust…”

The room is mostly silent, the Scouts seem confused by Jophiel's riddle speak…all except for Claude, Khopesh and Karlsor. Karlsor starts swearing under his breath while Khopesh's grip on the stress toy had increased with every word Jophiel spoke until-

POP!

The scoutlings look upon the Night Lord who appears like he's about to pop himself. Still gripping the destroyed item in his fist. Ah- visions are always complicated- and sometimes true, sometimes untrue, sometimes only partially true. But could they take the risk of discarding Jophie’s visions?

No one moves.

At last Anrir clears his throat. “That was the Second reason for the shielded room…I'm afraid your recent incident with the Grey Knight isn't the only…event of consequence we will need to discuss as we take this vote.”

“Tell me…have any of you Scouts ever heard of a being known as, A Custodes?”

…

Walk, just keep walking, just follow the lines on the floor.

Walk, do not run, running activates the prey drive and you're Dead.

Walk, keep your head up to not look weak, but not so far up as to imply arrogance.

Your thoughts swirl around, and around. The feeling of being watched had only increased as you'd followed the green lines. You had to tamp down on the urge to bolt (walkdontrunpreydrivedead), and even more so on the urge to use your powers.

Would they do you much good in this situation?? A zap could help but then you'd have to be touching whoever was looking at you, and they might be a psycher so then they might realize it wasn't just static electricity-

You feel your heart pick up speed with excitement as you see the doorway you knew would lead you out of this place. Away from the eyes of those with unknown intentions.

Walk Do-Not-Run

And you're close. You grasp the handle to the door and start to pull.

“Leaving so soon?”

The gasping scream you would've made is smothered by your sore throat as your other hand is snatched up in an unfightable hold. You're pulled up and back from the door, then swung around roughly till the movement stops and you can gain your bearings.

A deep navy blue ceremite clad hand is holding your arm, leaving you dangling like a child holding a teddy by the arm, only your toes are touching the floor. You glance back to see a short haired Nightlord with criss crossing facial scars grinning and chuckling in a way that makes your stomach ice over.

You look forward and see two more shapes come into focus from the darkness. Two more Nightlords, one has his helmet on, the other looks…almost stately in appearance with well groomed stark white hair, and seemingly unblemished skin.

“My my Myyyy, it seems you're even more…homely in appearance up close.” The white haired Nightlord purrs, going as far to pinch your Nose between his gauntleted fingers!

He was actually pinching with a decent amount of force, enough to sting. And as he shifted his grip it actually felt like he might try to break it, before tutting at the pained whines you tried to hold back. “Oh come now Pet, don't take it so personally…homely can be Charming after all…in its own way.” He chuckled, releasing your nose, and straightening his posture.

“They Are Cute! Tiiiiiny and fragile,” The Night lord holding you up purrs sickeningly, bringing his face next to yours so you're forced to inhale his breathe, you try not to breathe in so much. “Whatcha wanna do with ‘em Faust?”

Faust hums, and drums his fingers on his chin fucking casually. “Well…there are just so many options. But I Think I know what I want to do First…” He states, and brings his hand to your face again. This time he snatches your cheeks into a little too tight hold, forcing you to look him in the black, eyes.

“A question…Why were you such a Rude little human?” You blinked, clearly confused but Faust did elaborate. “I Know you felt us watching, yet you didn't run. You denied us our Chase. And then you have the nerve to not even Scream, when dear Mephis snatched you up? You're either incredibly Dense or Incredibly Stupid.”

Didn't those mean the same thing??? But Faust went on “So tell me, What is going through your empty little head?”

You were flabbergasted, but before you could even attempt to open your mouth, the other Nightlord who hadn't spoken once finally sighed. He sounded bored and exasperated. “Really Faust?”

“SHUT UP CHIROP!” Faust's voice turning from posh yet sadistic to full on snarling bile actually startles you…though maybe not just you if the twitch you felt from Mephis was anything to go by. Chirop seems to hesitate, before glancing away. Faust turns his attention back to you, and the stately gentlemen act comes back over him. “Well? We're waiting…”

You're not even sure what's trying to come out of your mouth, maybe a Huh? Or a What? But your sore throat chokes ot to nothing, leaving you flailing like a fish on a line, wincing and grasping your throat.

Now it’s the Night Lords turn to look confused. “Are you Mute as well as stupid?” Faust askes with a slight sneer.

Okay, fuck you bastard, you thought but shake your head. You bring your hand up to your throat and press your fingers to the sore spots from the outside.

“You got Choked?” Mephis asks, confused.

Okay fair misinterpretation, you shake your head again. You bring your hand up and make a scratching motion at your throat.

“Oo! OO! I got it! Your neck is itchy?” Mephis puts forth before…bringing his other hand up, and…scratching at the back of your neck??

It was a bit roughly done, but actually didn't feel too bad. Still no though, you shake your head again. What other motions could you make to get the idea across?

Chirop sighs then growls. “For Curze's sake their throat is injured! Like Scratchy? That's why they can't talk!”

“Oh…” Mephis nods with understanding…still scratching the back of your neck. “That makes sense.”

Faust seems a little miffed by the explanation, and let's out a huff. “Well…that's disappointing…” Then a new look comes over his face, one that brings back the curdling dread in your stomach. “But…it also means no one Else will be able to hear you Scream…” He brings his grinning face full of bright sharp teeth down to your eye level.

It's at this point Mephis stops scratching your neck. “Well yeah…they just explained they literally can't scream.”

“MEPHIS YOU ARE A BRAIN DEAD IDIOT! BE SILENT” The snarling bile came back, and this time you notice how Mephis flinches more obviously when the white haired Nightlord turns his vitriol on him. Faust huffs then brushes his hair back as if trying to compose himself. You notice how the third less chatty member of the group had flexed his claws, and leaned forward when Faust chastised Mephis.

Interesting…and you actually Almost feel sorry for him when the Nightlord holding you mumbles out a quiet. “Sorry Faust…”

Faust seems to notice Mephis's unhappiness, and lets out a sigh. “You know I adore how…charmingly direct you are Mephis dear.” He cooes, now saccharine in his wording.

It makes you want to vomit with how clearly Fake it was.

“But it Can also be…tedious, and you Know how I feel about tedium, don't you?” More sweet empty cooing, you're third wheeling your own shakedown…Great…

You glance to the other third wheel with a look of confusion. He just shakes his head, and you figure he's rolling his eyes. His fists were still clenching and unclenching though.

“So…why not break up the tedium by…playing with a new toy? Would that make you feel better, my big strong lunk head?”

Okay now the dread comes back, and you did Not like how Mephis's expression changed to one of excitement.

Chirop speaks up again. “Faust, you know who this one belongs to...”

Faust scoffs. “I don't see a tattoo anywhere, do you Chirop? Is the tattoo in the room with us?” He remarks snidely. “Or maybe that's just the opinion of yours that I didn't ask for. Besides…”

“I doubt one of Anrir's lap dog bastard sons would care if we batted around his current sex toy for a bit. He doesn't even care enough to mark them, so they can't be That important…”

You ears fill with rumbling again like before, causing This Smarmy Fuckers words to trail off into background noise.

First he calls Your Khopesh a lap dog bastard son, then has the Nerve to insinuate that Khopesh doesn't Love You?

The man who threatened to fight the literal reason for your trauma? (Even if you'd convinced him not to.) Who gave you love and affection and banter and made you feel beautiful inside, outside, in bed, in life, introduced and integrated you into his Family for fucks SAKE.

“Hell they'd probably spread their legs for anyone who offered them safety, If they were even smart enough to think of doing so that is.”

Honestly you thought this fucker had found the straw that broke the camel's back? BUT DAMN he just keeps finding more!

You're done, you are Done with this bullshit. You've shot straight past fear and now you are going to make them-

P A Y...

Mephis you can tackle through the hand still held in his grasp but the others…

(!) And that's when it hits you. You feel your toes touching the floor, almost as if you were dancing en point. You focus, pulling on your power, and pushing it through your legs.

As the two Nightlords continue their chatting about all the awful things they might do to you, you watch the shimmer and shift of the air as you feel the mycelium spread.

You suppress a determined smile when you feel the subtle change in sensation of it making contact with the Nightlords. The shimmers crawl up their armor and you imagine your mycelium grasping and tangling around their Necks.

They're not psychers, you can feel how low their warp power is.

So you'll just have to drain their life force instead. If giving energy causes a boost of Vitality, draining it must do the opposite. And you weren't going to lie, the thought of these bastards dropping like flies in front of you sounded Very Appealing right now.

You'd still need to be careful, pulling too fast could cause a zap, which might give you away. That you could not risk. It’s working. You think to yourself, pleased.

You do allow yourself a light grin seeing the shimmer on your roots become slightly more visible. You also notice how the conversation of the Night Lords has changed again.

Namely that it's trailed off, Faust (bastardfuckfacedeadmanwalking-) swivels his head around suddenly.

“Did you two…hear something?” He asks, actually sounding a little worried.

Mephis looks around as well, you can feel his grip loosening as he loses focus. “Hear what?”

“Maybe it's Another opinion you didn't want to hear.” Chirop growls, more tersely, perhaps his response to your roots draining him is more anger than Fear.

“Will you Shut your Stupid FUCKING MOUTH CHIROP I'M TRYING TO LISTEN!”

“Is the sound in the room with us right now Faust? BECAUSE ALL I'M HEARING IS YOUR ANNOYING FUCKING VOICE!”

Mephis actually seems very distressed by this outcome. “Stop it! Both of you! We're not supposed to fight each other!”

“SHUT UP MEPHIS!” “NOT NOW MEPHIS!”

“DO NOT, GIVE HIM ORDERS!”

“OH BECAUSE THE ONLY ONE ALLOWED TO GIVE ORDERS IS YOU RIGHT!? CURZE'S SAKE I SHOULD'VE-”

“LIKE YOU HAVE EVEN A SHRED OF WHAT IT TAKES! IT’S NO PICNIC MANAGING YOU TWO IDIOTS! YOU'RE LUCKY TO HAVE SOMEONE AS CAPABLE AS ME TO KEEP YOU BOTH ALIVE AND FED!”

“PLEASE!”

“SHUT UP!” “MEPHIS!”

Bingo, the other two were at each other's throats and the third was steadily becoming more upset which would hopefully lead to him dropping y-

“Shut UP I'M TRYING TO THINK!”

“But I didn't say anything Fau”-

SMACK!

Your world falls for a moment as your feet hit the concrete floor, with the rest of your body following. You roll scramble back to standing as soon as you can. Claude and you had practiced how to roll and fall properly so that you didn’t hurt yourself.

Just in case some asshole might try to grab you- from Astartes height-. Your jaw however stays fallen open as you realize what just happened. Faust actually struck Mephis across the face, who's now doubled over covering himself while Faust continues to berate him.

“I said SHUT UP! AND QUIET YOUR INCESSANT WHINING IT'S GRATING ON MY NERVES YOU DOLT!”

“Sorry Faust…” Mephis whimpers.

That…he can't be… If Any of the Nightlords you knew pulled something like that…Any of the Astartes you knew even! The one in Mephis's position wouldn't be apologizing! He'd be throwing hands!

Or someone would be throwing them on his behalf!

You glance back at the other Night lord who does look ready to KILL the white haired Asshole, but you notice the way he hesitates.

Mephis briefly looks at him, and shakes his head, which seems to be the only thing holding Chirop back from committing a good old fashioned homicide.

What the fuck kind of dynamic had you walked (been dragged) into? As much as you would love to break the prissy platinum blond bitch's nose you knew you didn't stand a chance, even one to one, but if you go for the door now, they'd probably snatch you again before you made it three steps.

For now, you had managed to keep your focus even while being dropped, so you keep draining. But you are Primarily focused on Faust.

Could anyone blame you?

The white haired Night Lord seems to grow more paranoid by the second whipping back and forth until…his eyes land on you.

You freeze, half from fear and the other half you still feel that bubbling seething rage in your very Soul.

“Stop it- Stop Staring at me you little Freak!!” He snarls, maybe he can subconsciously sense what you're doing. You don't stop though.

You Like seeing the FEAR in his eyes.

Faust actually starts laughing, without humor and without breaking eye contact. “Oh OhHO little whore iS DEFIANT EY?” He giggles, and you scramble backwards as he advances. “TIME FOR YOU TO LEARN, WHAT DEFIANCE GETS YOU-” Faust shouts while winding up his arm for a back hand.

SLAM-M-M!

A huge dark shape interrupts Faust by Crashing down from above in front of you. The entry is followed by a piercing guttural snarl and the sound of flapping bat wings.

“SHIT IT'S THE NIGHT HAUNTER! RUN! SCATTER!!!” Mephis cries, and scrambles away into the dark with Chirop not far behind.

“YOU IDIOTS IT'S NOT THE NIGHT HAUNTER IT'S JUST-,”

“Just…What exactly…?” A familiar voice breathes through the ghoulish looking raptor helm.

Faust shuts his stupid fucking mouth, before having the Gall to bring out the polite voice again. “Ahh…Ghosk, what a surprise…”

“5….”

“I'm sorry what?”

“4…”

“Now wait just a minute this is All a misunderstanding!”

“3…”

“Which has already offended you so I'll just be on my way…”

“2-1…”

“FUCKING HELL YOU IDIOTS WAIT FOR ME!” Faust cries as Ghosk chases him back into the darkness, snarling and slashing claws practically at his heels until the younger Nightlord vanishes from your sight.

You let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. Holy shit that was scary.

But it was also Satisfying. Fuck those assholes!

Ghosk huffs into the dark, before turning back to you. You'd met this particular Nightlord and his human. Like you'd said before, Khopesh wanted to integrate you into his family.

He was Oooold like Anrir, but a bit more crass like Karlsor. His jokes made you snort on more than one occasion. But right now he seemed far less jovial.

Not like you couldn't guess why…

“This is no place for squishy little humans to be walking Alone. What in Curze's name were you Thinking?” He growled in a voice that was both exasperated and Tired.

You open your mouth to respond, but only a bit of weezy air comes out as you try to speak.

Shit that still hurt!

You fumbled around in your bag for your phone and typed a quick message.

'Shit popped off yesterday, ask Anrir.'

'Throat got fucked up, not in the fun way. Literally can't talk.'

'Got locked in a room without food.' You show the picture of Karlsor's note which causes Ghosk to actually laugh slightly followed by tired mutter of “Of course he fucking did that, for fuck's sake…”

'Need to eat And I need to find the Primaris boys, especially Jophiel, have you seen them??'

Ghosk shakes his head. “Sorry kid, haven't seen any of them since this morning. Just saw Anrir being tight lipped as usual, he was with Claude though. And I haven't seen the fluffy duckling in a long while.”

Ghosk notes the way your shoulders sagged in disappointment, before an itch hits your throat causing you to hack and cough like you had tuberculosis.

He chuckles patting you on the back as your neck throbs from the air forced through it. “Come on little human. Let's get you to the medbay.”

THuMP!

Another loud sound similar to when Ghosk had plummeted to your aid rings out. You whip your head in the direction, and Ghosk instantly goes into another defensive stance, a snarl is building on his lips until-

“What the heck is all the ruckus down here for??” Another familiar voice comes out of another familiar helmet. This one you recognize as a Chaplain, and the voice…

Ghosk sighs heavily. “Shatterwing…”

The Chaplain whom you'd met in passing holds his clawed gauntlets up plaintively. “Hey man, I just got here- Oh!” His eyes lock onto you, and he swoops in curiously. “Khopesh's little squeeze! But not a Khopesh in sight, what's up with you? You two have a fight?”

You open your mouth, but again nothing comes out. You point to your throat, and shake your head.

“You didn't have a fight…you just can't talk?” Shatterwing asks, cocking his head.

Damn you're tired. You finally decide fuck it, open your mouth as wide as you can, and even hook your fingers into your cheeks. You take one hand and point down your throat to emphasize that Shatter should look Inside. Which to his credit he does.

“HOLY DAMNED WHORE MOTHER OF CURZE WHAT DID HE DO TO YOU!?!?”

The Chaplain shrieks causing you to startle a bit, ah well ... you certainly hadn't expected that reaction, lord above.

“The hell are you yapping about now!?” Ghosk demands.

Shatterwing points a trembling hand at you. “Their throat is redder than a tech priest taking a mud bath on Mars! What the hell did you and Khopesh do last night?? Were you trying to do something kinky and went too far or was this expected!?-”

Thwack! “Don't ask them that you dumb fucking slut!” Ghosk growls after delivering a quick hit to the rambling chaplain. It was much less violent than the one you saw Faust give Mephis.

The Chaplain hisses back at the older Nightlord, you just…you just shake your head.

“Wait, that's not what happened?” Shatter asks. “Then what did?”

You open your mouth, but then close it. You can't…really tell him. So you just shake your head again.

“Oooooh I see…too embarrassed to tell me?” Shatter posits. You feel an embarrassed blush erupting over your face at the implications. “No worries little human, you don't have to give me details. Though I certainly wouldn't be opposed. I'd be impressed to find a partner who could leave my throat like that after a night of Passion.”

You facepalm, pulling your hand down your cheeks in exasperation. You're not escaping the freak allegations today it seems. Maybe better he thinks you're just into weird stuff, saves you the trouble of making up a proper lie.

Ghosk just sighs tiredly again before telling Shatter to either be quiet or Scram, because he's taking you to the med bay.

The Chaplain acquiesces to the former, but you can't escape the feeling of him eyeing you smugly as the three of you make your way there.

Lord above it's not even 11 AM and the day is already exhausting…Lucky You!

23 notes · View notes

pooks · 5 months ago

Text

part 4 of straw hat! Ichiji and we're at the last legs of the East Blue Saga; Arlong Park and Loguetown arcs

finding Nami and encountering the Fish Men

Ichiji arrives to a new island, along with Sanji and his new captain Luffy. on the journey there, he and the others were filled in by Johnny and Yosaku about what happened previously.

Sanji is in denial that Nami would have anything to do with Arlong while Ichiji is more rational and believes that there might be blackmail involved.

when they re-encounter Nami again, Ichiji realizes that he was right in his theory but he doesn't have the whole story and he decides that he can't interfere with something he have no business with, not when Nami rejects them.

Ichiji becomes very annoyed with Sanji's lovestruck behavior and outright tells Zoro that he has his full permission to fight Sanji if it shuts him up (and Zoro took that to heart, judging of how many times he would bicker and fight with Sanji in the future XD)

"Fight him, argue with him, tie him up, kick him in the ocean-I don't care! Just make sure he doesn't make a damn fool out of himself! I need to think." - Ichiji's exact words.

Ichiji, in dire situations, is a thinker and he sense that something is wrong here. compared to his crew maters, Ichiji responds to being attacked by the Fish-Men in a rather cold, calculated way. he hates to admit it to himself, but his training at Germa never left him and he uses it to his advantage. the Fish-Men discovers the hard way that Ichiji is not a "normal human" when he takes barely a scratch or even a bruise. when asked what he is, Ichiji replies in a chilling way

"Oh, I'm no human. I'm a monster."

Arlong, upon hearing about this, decides that Ichiji could be useful for him and orders his goons to take him alive to Arlong Park.

common ground with Nami

when the straw hats re-encounter Nami during her breakdown of being betrayed by Arlong, Ichiji understands that they're not so different after all; both of them has made a deal with a "devil" to save something they love (Ichiji, for Sanji and Nami, for her village). when Luffy declares that they're moving out to Arlong Park to defeat Arlong, Ichiji extends a hand to Nami and tells her that he has, also, sacrificed like Nami.

Ichiji then parts the hair that covers his left eye and reveals to Nami and the straw hats his secret; there's a star-burst shaped burn scar on his left eye. his eye is unharmed, but he tells them this was the prize to pay for the freedom of someone he loves. Sanji is the only one who isn't surprised about this revelation, but he looks away before anyone can see he's silently crying. Zoro catches on Sanji's reaction but says nothing (because what can he possibly say in this situation?)

they walk to Arlong Park, in the badass iconic way as they do

fighting Arlong and the Fish Men

Ichiji fights with his legs, just as Sanji does, and this is where he unlocks "Sparkling Red" for the first time. his new "power" reinforces his kicks in a more powerful way. Ichiji doesn't know what's happening to him and he has a mild crisis over it until Zoro shouts at him to focus on the fight and worry about that later

it doesn't take long for him to understand that whatever Judge experimented on his during those six months of hell is now paying off; he knows that something has changed and he has a strange power, but he uses now Sparkling Red to his advantage

of course, in a very villain-esque way, Ichiji do encounter Arlong and he gets the whole speech about a human-looking non-human would belong with his midst. Ichiji coldly laughs at the idea and says "why would I align myself with someone who doesn't keep their word? a true man would always keep his word, fish-men or not."

he reflects back on Zeff's "lessons" about being a man. the third lesson was that a real man always keep his word and stands for it.

with Sparkling Red enhancing his speed and strength, Ichiji no longer holds back and defeat most Fish-Men (the force of Sparkling Red spreads across his legs, like sparkling red lines wrapped around his legs and thighs)

he gets worried about Zoro a lot (he got his wounds reopened and has a fever), but trusts that they can pull through this and they can address Zoro's injuries afterwards

Ichiji panics when he sees Arlong Park collapse and nearly assumes the worst...until Luffy emerges from the wreckage and claims victory. overwhelmed with joy, Ichiji can't resist from hugging Usopp and dances merrily with him.

the mood is nearly ruined because of corrupt Marines and Ichiji learns fast from Nami what happened to the money she had struggled to earn to buy her village back from Arlong.

now, it's already established that Ichiji hates marines, due to they always turn to the Baratie being entitled bastards and this doesn't help. he calmly walks to Nami's side when she beats up Nezumi (the corrupt marine captain) and asks for her permission to handle this. and Ichiji just gives Nezumi a real slasher smile and says "i've never liked Marines, they always come to the Baratie and acts like entitled bastards who owns the world. but i hate corrupt marines even more. how about...there is one less corrupt marine in the world?"

he doesn't really plan to kill Nezumi, btw. but he wanted to scare him shitless...which works. Usopp later remarks that he was a little scared too and it felt like Ichiji could set the whole world on fire and destroy kingdoms with just his glare.

leaving Cocoyashi and Luffy's first bounty

the straw hats spends three days on the island, which allows Zoro to get healed up and the whole island parties to celebrate their newfound freedom. Ichiji takes in all the joy around himself and he feels at ease, seeing so many people so happy.

he thinks about Germa and silently wonders that if Judge had been a half-decent person, could've Germa Kingdom become something like this? a small kingdom, but with good monarchs and happy people. he sits down and looks up in the night skies, wondering if his mother are seeing him and Sanji and if she would be happy to see them happy and free.

onboard the Merry, the straw hats are sailing towards their last stop before the Grand Line...Loguetown, which is famous for being the birthplace and deathplace of Gold Roger, the infamous Pirate King

Luffy's first wanted poster has arrived and the crew is shocked to see his head is worth 30 million berry. Usopp is especially happy to see himself in the background of the wanted poster (just the back of his head, tho) which irks at Sanji's annoyance. Luffy, Usopp and Sanji acts silly while Nami is frustrated over their lack of taking this seriously.

Ichiji is more concerned since he figured that with Luffy having a 30 million bounty on his head, stronger opponent might come after them. he goes to consult Zoro about this and Zoro reveals that he had the same mindset, having one solution; they need to become stronger and more prepared.

Ichiji says it's only a matter of time until all of them gets a bounty on their heads. Zoro smirks at this and bets that he'll get his first wanted poster before Sanji.

entering Loguetown and cursed swords

as they docks at Loguetown, Ichiji decides to accompany Zoro when he aims to find two new swords to replace his destroyed ones (by Mihawk). Ichiji, who was trained in swordmanship at Germa when he was a child, advises him to inquire a shopkeeper about the quality about the words they're potentially selling.

Zoro jokes that he didn't know he had a hidden rival regarding swordmanship on the crew. Ichiji only shakes his head and says he doesn't aim to become a swordsman, just because he knows how to fight with swords, and his dream is to chronicle their adventures. Zoro asks him if he would write a book about him becoming the world's greatest swordsman and Ichiji answers "what made you believe that I wasn't already?"

this ends up in their first meeting with Tashigi, who bears an uncanny resemblance to Zoro's deceased friend Kuina, and Ichiji senses that Zoro is agitated, trying to calm him down. he also witnesses Zoro's "test of luck" and has a panic-induced anxiety...until he sees that Zoro's luck won against Sandai Kitetsu's "curse". Zoro also obtains Yubashiri, an heirloom blade and the finest one in shop. Ichiji feels very honored of witnessing this moment and declares to Zoro that he's certain that Zoro's adventures as a swordman will become a very good book.

Ichiji doesn't have a too high opinion of Tashigi, considering his distaste for marines in general, and he's quick to counter her argument regarding pirates or bountyhunters using legacy katana swords.

"And I suppose you are the one who decides who gets to bear a sword then? A sword is a responsibility and you bear it with honor and respect. To bear a blade like Wado Ichimonji, Sandai Kitetsu or Yubashiri...it's a big honor and their owner treats his swords like companions, not as tools. A word of advice, my lady. Don't assume things when you don't have the full story. It'll save you the embarrassment of being wrong." - Ichiji, during his call-out to Tashigi

Luffy's "execution" and Ichiji's "rage"

Ichiji is horrified when he sees Luffy being nearly executed and he's furious at the responsible pirates behind it. he shouts at Buggy, asking who he think he is to lead someone in a trap to execute them and where is his proper honor, that he should fight like a pirate, face to face

(Buggy is visibly annoyed by Ichiji's outburst and it doesn't help that he doesn't see a new pirate face. all of sudden...he sees a replica of Shanks)

the events that unfolds is pretty quick. Luffy is rescued by a cloaked "stranger", Smoker is unnerved by Luffy being similar to Gold Roger and Buggy, Alvida and their goons are defeated

Zoro and Ichiji, along with Sanji, re-encounter Tashigi who reveals being a marine and it irks at Ichiji's temper. she accuses Zoro for "tricking" her and Zoro is more unnerved by her uncanny resemblance to Kuina.

Ichiji's temper is finally pushed when Tashigi badmouths pirates. being raised by a pirate who sacrificed his leg for him and his brother, being raised among ex-pirate turned cooks and being a pirate himself, Ichiji has nothing but respect for them. marines, however, are the scum of earth for him. he, more or less, explodes.

"Marines...more like tyrants with too much power at hand and playing demi-god! I've lived my whole life on a restaurant that doesn't discriminate pirates, marines or civilians and YET, only marines has the gall to act like spoiled, entitled and ungrateful bastards! I have heard about Axe-Hand Morgan and how he treated people like insects under his boot! And it has only strengthened my decision to never trust a marine, even if I lay dying on the ground. If you believe that you're better than anyone, just because you happened to be a marine, then lay off! Marines doesn't save pr protect people! They want to control them like puppets!"

Zoro and Sanji ends up dragging Ichiji off his feet as he's going off. Zoro subdues Ichiji by pressing on "pressure point on Ichiji's back, forcing him to become relaxed and half-conscious. Sanji whispers to Zoro that marines is pretty much a berserk button for Ichiji and vaguely mentions there was an incident at the Baratie when they were fifteen, but he have no details except Zeff told him to never mention it if he wants to keep his ass from looking like a jolly roger.

the straw hats ends up successful in their escape and realizing that they can no longer linger in the East Blue, they set course straight to the Grand Line. but not before they have a cast off ceremony and make a pledge for their dreams.

Ichiji pledges to write and chronicle the adventures of the greatest Pirate King, Monkey D. Luffy.

(end. part 4)

(read part 1, part 2 and part 3 here)

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wikiangela · 3 months ago

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I'm comin' back, don't let me go

this a REWRITE and a repost, to keep my fave fic my fave <3

platonic buck&eddie rating: G word count: 7.3k tw: mild suicidal ideation summary: Buck's post-lightning breakdown takes him on a drive through the country, fighting not to give into his dark thoughts - a phone call from his best friend might be all he needs to lead him back home.

[read on Ao3]

As soon as he starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot at the station, he thinks he doesn’t wanna go home, like all the time lately. Well, he doesn’t wanna go to his loft. He’s not sure he can call it home, it’s- it’s not. He’s not sure where home is anymore. He could go to Maddie’s, his sister’s warm hug and caring eyes always enough to make him feel safe and at home. He could get distracted by the easy banter between her and Chimney, and by his wonderful niece. Or he could go to Hen’s, have a drink with her and Karen, watch one of their trashy reality TV shows Hen claims to hate but really loves. Or he could go to Bobby’s, he knows he could show up at their doorstep unannounced and they’d invite him in for dinner, and he’d help Bobby with cooking and then cleaning up. Or maybe he could go to Eddie and Christopher, spend an evening playing video games, team up with Chris to make fun of Eddie over the smallest things, and just relax with his friends. All those places are home, he guesses. Where he feels safe and comfortable, and like he can just be himself, and be wanted. He doesn’t want to go to the loft. But he doesn’t want to doesn’t wanna bother any of his friends, worry them, when he has no explanation for how and why he feels the way he feels. His screwed up head is his concern, and everyone is probably busy anyway, with their lives and their families. Buck’s the only one on his own. He has no doubt they all would welcome him with open arms, but he’d just feel like an intrusion. Ever since he died, Buck has been feeling… off. Numb. Sad. Exhausted. He’s not even sure how to explain it, how to voice it, so he doesn’t. When people ask how he is, he says he’s fine. And he is, he swears he is. He’s okay, he’s alive, he has his amazing friends and family, a job he loves, everything is fine. But… but. He’s not sure what the hell is wrong, but a part of him is not fine. Hasn’t been fine since the lightning strike.

[read on Ao3]

#buck driving fic #angst #evan buckley angst #emotional hurt/comfort #wikiangela writes #tw sui ideation #< not really but just in case #911 fic #self indulgent #buck and eddie #platonic buddie #platonic buck and eddie

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carolmunson · 2 years ago

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wish i had a river (part two)

here it is, the part two i said i wouldn't write. if you missed it, here is the first part - wish i had a river this is very much an eddie munson fanfiction, it's mostly from his perspective and follows his story through his eyes and actions. 'you' are mentioned and seen in this fic, but for the most part, it's all eddie all the time. cw: minors dni, adult themes, some smut references. angst. hurt/comfort. lots of mentions of poverty/hunger, sleep deprivation, all around eddie having a bad time. cigarettes/mild drinking but nothing inherently like -- bad? idk. unpopular ship mentioned. i did NOT proof read this.

The alley behind Macy's was a safe haven. Cold, a blue black, poorly paved, with nothing but the dumpters of other stores and the rats to keep him company. Eddie nursed a cigarette on his third smoke break of the night, two bad customers away from a total nervous breakdown. His anxiety built higher every day, every rush, every icy road report -- more people yelling, more people stressed out, more car accidents he'd have to clean up. Wayne's been in an out of the doctor's office more often and it's looking like he might have to retire early. The cigarette loses it's flame and he curses under his breath when he goes to light it again, the nicotine soothing his lips and tongue with a slow steady burn.

You never got to decorate cookies together on his impromptu 'sick day', you hadn't returned any of his calls. Not that he thought he was off the hook or anything, but he did basically write you a fifty two page love letter. If he had the time he'd come by your apartment to apologize in person but at this point exhaustion had started to over stay it's welcome. He could barely make it to the pharmacy on his nights off to get Wayne's medication. The guys at the auto shop could tell something was starting to go very left, 'cause why was the youngest guy there the one who couldn't keep up anymore?

And Eddie really couldn't keep up anymore.

At least his commission in the shoe section was doubling daily.

The cold bites his cheeks while he finishes his cigarette, tossing the butt on the dirty, uneven pavement and crushing out the flame with his work shoes. He rubs his eyes, heavy and swollen with lack of sleep, with scrubbed fingernail hands and sighs. Just another hour and he can go home, just another hour and it's not a closing shift, he can go home at seven like normal people with regular jobs.

He drops his coat off in the cubby area upstairs, stopping in the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. He inspects himelf, eyes half closing in disappointement while he does -- he looks like a shell of himself. He hadn't picked up his guitar in months, didn't turn the radio on anymore -- opting for silence since it was so rare for him to hear between Macy's, the shop, and Wayne's breathing machine at night.

He takes his hair down, shaking out the curls that had at least dried into waving perfection last night, and gives it a shake before putting it back up in a neat ponytail. His bangs sit on his forehead, a few strands framing his now gaunt face. He practices an awake smile in the mirror before he completely deflates -- one bad interaction, one rude look, one snap from a boss, and he'd lose it. The rawness sat in a lump in his throat, a grenade of tears ready to blow if the pin is even so much as nudged.

The door to the back rooms squeaks open on its hinges, revealing the never ending click of boots, heels, sneakers, and men's shoes on the sining tile of Macy's walkway floors. In the beginning, the scent of the perfume section across the way and the bright lights of jewelry used to be an assault on his senses -- but as Wayne says 'You can get used to anything.'

"You good, Ed?" he hears, and turns his head -- it's Angie. Angie is his favorite coworker because she makes the best and meanest jokes about people. If it wasn't for some nights closing with Angie he would've left this job a long time ago. He'd been keeled over in laughs with a duster in his hand so many times that it almost seemed wrong to abandon her there.

"Yeah," he furrows his brow at her, "Should I not be?"

"Some pretty boy's been looking for you," she says, nodding over to the boots section, "You got another business I don't know about?"

A grin stretches across her frosted red lipstick'd lips, crinkling her overlined and spider lashed eyes. She's what Eddie and the guys at Forest Hills would have called 'trailer park pretty' if she was thirty years younger.

"They would be so lucky, wouldn't they?" Ed smirks back, eyes following her nod and landing on a head of beautifully coiffed chestnut hair, "Harrington?"

Steve's eyes perk up like a golden retreiver, a winning smile spreading across his face with a flash of white teeth in it's wake, "Hey, Ed!"

Angie gasps when she realizes who it is, "Oh shit! Is this the guy that --"

"Shh, shut up Ange," Ed huffs, waving her off while Steve comes up to approach him.

"Hey dude, I was hoping you were here. I uh, got a pretty big collection to get tonight so I figured -- you know, I'd come say hi and ask for your help." It's frustrating how pleasant Steve is. How warm his demeanor radiates to others, his candor, the way that he stands. It's annoying that a denim button under a cozy green sweater looks good on him. It makes Eddie sick that he can pull off wire-rim glasses and still look his age, that he smells like spice but not in a cheap way. A twinge of fear shook in his chest when a seed of assumption planted itself in his head -- was this why you weren't answering his calls? Was Steve Harrington smothering you with Christmas spirit every night?

"Yeah, man, sure," Eddie responds like the world isn't sitting directly on his shoulders, which -- he observed -- were not nearly as broad as Steve's, "How can I help you?"

"I need like, four pairs of Moon Boots," he shrugs, "Guess they're in style again? My sister's and nieces want matching pairs so like -- two in a size 8 and then, if you have it, two in a size 4 kids?"

"What color? We have white, purple, black, some metallics," Eddie lists on his fingers, "Well, maybe not black -- those probably sold out already."

"You got silver? Pink, maybe?" Steve shrugs, "I'm just trying to get these wrapped by tomorrow."

Christmas Eve. Ed had almost forgotten.

"Let me see what we have and I'll bring it out," he offers. He wants to ask about you but it seems too obvious. You must have talked about the fight or about him in general, how else would Steve know he worked here? How else would he know to come looking for him.

Moments later, Ed comes out with four boxes, "I have two in silver and two in pink -- so it looks like your nieces will be matching and your sisters will be matching. Does that work?"

"Oh shit, that's perfect," Steve smiles the same winning smile. Eddie wonders for a moment what it feels like to smile genuinely, it's felt like years since he had. He guesses that when you're Steve Harrington, you must get to smile pretty often. Rich, girls love him, former captain of the basketball team, has a masters degree, painstakingly handsome -- no wonder you called him after your fight. Damn, he would too.

"Is that all?" Ed asks, reaching up to run a hand over the five o'clock shadow speckling his chin.

"No, actually, sorry. I need some like, work boots, if you sell those here -- is that okay?" Steve asks.

"Work boots like, how? Like construction?" he asks, "You're a teacher, Harrington."

"Yeah but my uh, my roommate -- he's not in construction but he's on a whole bunch of terrain for work -- desperately needs good shoes for that," he explains.

"What's he do?" Ed asks, guiding him over to the display of Timberlands and Doc Martens.

"He's a photojournalist -- he's all over the place," Steve answers, "He's worn his sneakers down to the sole and like, swears their okay --"

"Jonothan Byer's is your roommate?" Eddie asks, making the connection. He'd only known him from their photography class they shared in Eddie's second senior year, but he knew enough to know he went into journalism shortly after college.

"Yeah," Steve nods, running a hand through his hair.

"Hm," Eddie looks over the shoes and looks up at him, "If I can be honest -- he's gotta be quick on his feet, right? These are gonna be too heavy for him to be walking around in. You might just want to get him some higher quality running sneakers. There's a Foot Locker downstairs if you wanna check that out? A lot of our sneakers are sold out until next week."

"Hmm, shit," Steve clicks his tongue, "Well um -- could I maybe try a pair?"

"Of Docs?" Eddie asks with a laugh.

"Yeah, of Docs -- I can be hip and cool, too, Munson," Steve's faux defense is charming. Eddie wonders what else you find charming about him.

Part of it feels degrading, kneeling down in front of Steve, lacing and relacing each new and different pair of boots he tries on -- but at this point he's buying seven pairs of shoes and the commission alone will cover at least a month of groceries so he's not complaining.

"So you don't hate me, huh?" Eddie asks, slipping a lighter weight Timberland over one of Steve's argyle socks.

"Why would I hate you?" Steve cocks his head, amber eyes catching in the light.

"Oh, did she not talk about it?" Eddie flushes. Why would you talk about him? Your loser mechanic (maybe ex) boyfriend who works at the mall, and at the auto shop, and sometimes sells drugs.

"Your fight from last week?" Steve raises his brows, "Yeah, she talked to me about it. But I woudn't hate you for that."

Ed tightens the laces up his foot to his ankle with care, "Why not?"

"I mean, you're doing a lot right now," Steve shrugs, "I think it can be hard when you're teaching little ones, especially this time of year, to not get caught up in the magic -- you sort of popped her bubble. But y'know, it was sort of a reminder to her that not everyone has it so good."

"She didn't deserve me yelling at her like that, though," Eddie shakes his head, he can feel the threat of the grenade pin tugging on his heart strings. One false move. One shake. One nudge, and he'll blow.

"You're doing the best you can," Steve offers kindly. Eddie swallows hard, offering him a tight smile.

"Thanks. I'm trying, I'm--" he shakes out the tingle of a cry before tying up the laces, "I'm trying really hard."

By the time Steve checks out it's about 7:15 and Eddie wants nothing more than to go to bed. His back hurts, he's gotta make sure Wayne took his medication, he's gotta eat sleep for dinner for the third night in a row.

"Thanks so much," Steve beams, "This is great, thanks for your help."

"Yeah, no problem dude," Eddie sighs, running a hand over his face again, "Have a good holiday."

"You done for the night?" Steve asks.

"Yeah, just gotta y'know -- grab my shit and go," he shrugs.

"You wanna grab some dinner with me in the food court or something?" Steve asks, balancing the many shopping bags he'd collected this evening in his hands.

"I don't know, dude. I don't wanna keep you or anything," Eddie says. His stomach clenches at the word dinner, his body reacting like a dog who just heard the sentence 'you wanna go outside?'

"You're not keeping me," Steve assures, "C'mon, it's on me."

Before he knows it, Eddie's been corralled into a mall food court, sitting slumped over on the sticky table. He tunes out the shreiks of children, the tinny Christmas music playing in the background of the cocophany of noise that is the mall on December 23rd. His forehead sticks to the leather jacket over his forearm, only lifting it up when he hears the slap of a plastic tray being put down in front of him. He surveys the Burger King in front of him and huffs a laugh, it'd been a long time since he'd ventured into the food court. He almost forgot what fast food looked like after the past few months of thin ham sandwhiches or cold cans Spaghettio's.

"So why didn't you try to swoop in?" Ed asked, toying with a french fry before biting off the end, "When you went to her house the other night?"

He savors the oil and salt on his tongue, warm and crispy on the fry disolving in his mouth while he waits for a response.

"Swoop in?" Steve asks, shaking his head, "No, I wouldn't. We just -- we work together. She's my work friend."

"So you never thought about what the kids say?" Eddie challenges, still trying to keep it light hearted, "How the first grade teachers should get married?"

"Her classroom is across from mine and we make lesson plans together," he assures, "What the kids say is what the kids say. They're six, what do they know?"

"Whatever you say, Harrington," Eddie shrugs.

"Munson, seriously -- she's my friend. She's not my type," he offers. The way he says it stings Eddie, what's not his type about you? You're perfect. You're the best person he knows.

"The card thing though? That was cute. I'm gonna put that in my arsenal if I ever fuck up," Steve laughs. Eddie chest rattles when he realizes that Steve was still there for that. He never even knew your reaction.

Eddie clears his throat, "Did um -- did she like it?"

Steve nods with a lazy smile, "Yeah, she liked it."

"Did she say anything?" he asks hopefully.

"She cried," Steve answered, Eddie leans his head on his hands, "I know that might not be what you wanted to hear."

"I didn't wanna make her cry more," he explains, "I wanted to make her happy."

"They were happy tears," Steve encourages with a nod, "She knows you love her. She loves you, too."

"Then why isn't she answering my calls?" he asks, another fry passing his lips.

"I think she's hurt, a little embarrassed. You know how girls are, they never come right out and say it," he shrugs, taking a bite of his cheeseburger. Ketchup drips out onto the paper mat on the plastic tray with a wet plop, Eddie sighs.

"Did you end up getting anything for her for Christmas?"

"No I -- I can't afford it this year," Eddie rubs his eyes again, more swollen and aching than before. Heat beams through his cheeks in embarrassment, tinging pink and then red.

"Well I had an idea," he offers, "If you're up for it."

"Yeah, go for it Harrington. Shoot," he says, the enthusiasm was greatly lacking.

"Well her uh, her class room needs a lot of repairs and the custodial team isn't really equipped for that. The school'll either bare bones it for her or make her pay for it out of pocket if she asks," he starts, "And she told me you're really handy, y'know, working at the garage and all. So maybe you could take care of her class room this week while we're out for break. I can let you in and everything."

He mulls it over in his head, "That's a really good idea, actually. I could um, I could ask the guys at the shop if I could borrow some tools."

"And there's a bunch of wood palettes in the backrooms at Medvald's. Jon said he's happy to get them out of there for you," Steve says with a smile.

"Oh, so you already talked about this?" Eddie smirks.

"Well, yeah, kind of," he blushes, "I was asking around just to see if it was a plausible kind of thing."

"Definitely a plausible thing," he nods, taking a bite of his own cheese burger. He holds back the moan in his chest from eating something warm and mildly filling after such a long time, "Do you think she'd like it?"

"Oh, Munson," Steve shoots him the 'okay' sign, "She'd lose her mind. All she does is complain about how nothing ever works and everything's falling apart. Doesn't even have new chalk."

"Chalk I can definitely handle," he laughs, "I think I can afford chalk."

He feels a moment of calm wash over him when the van rumbles to life in the parking garage. Finally heading home and going to sleep with a full belly, finally with a plan to make you happy, finally feeling like after the new year things can go back to normal. He flicks on the radio and doesn't even change the station when Mariah Carey's 'All I Want For Christmas' crackles through the speakers. He heard it 700 times today, happy to hear it for the 701st.

It was your new favorite song, after all.

Eddie woke up feeling slightly refreshed on Christmas Eve, the dull ache in his back mildly relieved. He fished into his pajama pants for his lighter, flicking it a few times before getting the fuse lit for his morning cigarette. He stood at the open door, bathrobe tied tight around him, and listened to the hum of Wayne's machine from the other end of trailer. The mug of black coffee in his hands had the bitterness cut by the soft sweetness of cinnamon -- that's what you always did this time of year.

'I like making it a little festive for you, honey,' you'd giggle, 'Don't be such a Grinch.'

He wished he appreciated it more, all the little things you did to try to make him happy. The faces in fruit on his pancakes some mornings, making his old favorites for dinner at your place, 'build your own sundae' nights. Scratching his head, scalp massages, hand massages. You'd call them man-icures so he didn't feel weird about you doing his nails and softening his callouses. He didn't care that it was just a manicure with a stupid name, all he cared about was your cute face when you concentrated on his cuticles. He missed your laugh, the way you tap your pen out to your favorite songs when you're grading papers or writing lesson plans, your elaborate schemes to make learning subtraction more fun. The way you're kind to everyone, all the time, constantly. When he first started taking you out he'd get embarrassed by how forward you were with people, how you'd make small talk with cashiers, or grab someone's hand to tell them their nails looked beautiful.

Maybe in a lot of ways, he wished he was more like you to start.

He took a shower and slipped on his coveralls, opting to be one of two guys in the shop today. Him and George. It was George's garage, and for the past six years, Eddie had always volunteered to be the emergency mechanic on deck on Christmas Eve. He got paid time and a half and never had to wait for the check, he'd always get paid at the end of the day.

He laces his boots before trudging down the hall to wake Wayne, taking off his machine and flipping the switch.

"I'm headed out," he whispers, "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Wayne groans when he sits up on the rickety mattress, "I have a new perscription, not sure if the pharmacy'll be open but would you be able to pick it up on the way back. They called last night but I couldn't make it to the phone, it's ready I think."

"Yeah, I'll grab it on my lunch break Wayne," he softens the more he looks at him, "Have some coffee already to go for you on the table, there's a couple eggs left for you too."

"Thank ya, son," his voice is grizzly, but it still feels like home.

Eddie shivers his way into the shop, George in the office organizing some files. The day was always slow, but there were some cars still in need of fixing so he got right to work.

"Hey George," he calls, knocking on the door.

"Hey kid," he calls back, "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, round six," he laughs back. He goes back to the break room and drops off his coat and his back pack. Normally he'd have you to look forward to later with a plate of cookies from your family's Christmas Eve party and some left overs expertly packed. You'd drive an hour and a half to bring it down to him and then an hour and a half back to spend Christmas with your family. But not before he gave you a present, or multiple presents, in the break room when George went out to get a six pack.

"Ed," he calls again, "C'mere when you're done dropping your shit."

Eddie heads over to the office, leaning on the door frame, "'Sup bossman?"

"Someone left a message for ya on the answering machine, think it's the pharmacy," he said, "Ya might wanna give 'em a call, s'probably for your uncle."

"Oh, yeah, I think his prescription's ready," he nodded, "Can I use your phone?"

"Yeah, by all means," he said, pushing it toward him, "Want me to give you a minute?"

Ed shakes his head no, "It's fine, just a quick call." He's got the number memorized by heart at this point, clicking the numbers on the grease stained white plastic buttons while barely looking at the machine.

"Hawkins Pharmacy, this is Debbie," Eddie smiles because he knows Debbie. He likes Debbie a lot.

"Hi Deb, it's Eddie, Eddie Munson," he says, "Calling for my uncle, looks like you called my work. I was gonna come by and pick up his meds on my break, will you guys be open?"

"Oh um, about his prescription Ed..." she starts, and he can hear the hesitation in her voice. The clip in the grenade buried in his chest jiggles slightly, he takes in a breath through his nose.

"What's up?" he asks, his voice his short and curt.

"Well, he changed his insurance recently, as you know and -- well there's a lapse in his coverage right now. His new plan doesn't activate until the first," she expains.

"Okay, and what does that mean?" he says, his palms sweat onto the cool plastic of the phone, his ear sticks to the receiver.

"Basically," she says, and then sighs, "His current insurance can't cover it and neither can is upcoming insurance, so the prescription has to be paid out of pocket."

"Um -- uh, fuck -- okay," he says, a chill courses through him, tightening his veins. The pin jiggles again, "H-how much?"

"For the month?" she asks, "For this prescription it's, hold on, let me check...it's looking like it'll come out to around..." she takes a breath of defeat.

"Around three hundred dollars, Ed," she says softly.

"Three hundred..." he repeats back quietly, "Is there like, is there a cheaper version cause he like..."

His voice cracks, the pin rattles dangerously while his eyes start to sting with oncoming tears, "He really needs these pills, Debbie."

"This is the cheapest option," she says apologetically, "I'm so sorry."

"I'll um, I'll figure it out," he shakes his head, "I'll come by and I'll figure it out. Thanks uh, thanks for letting me know Deb."

He doesn't wait to hear her response before he hangs up the phone, quickly leaving the office to go back to the break room. He sniffles in big shuddering breaths, sweat dripping down his back despite the lack of heat in the garage.

"Kid," George says softly, following behind him, "Hey, Munson. What's goin' on?"

He feels George's big hand on his shoulder, the soft squeeze on the muscle under his skin.

"I can't afford my uncle's medication," he says, the pin jiggles, "I mean I can, but like, if I get his medication I'll be late in paying the gas bill, but if they turn the gas off there goes our heat. Or I can delay the electric bill but if they turn the lights out he can't use his machine at night. So maybe I could like, go out tonight after this and shovel some driveways in the rich neighborhoods or -- I could -- I could --"

The pin falls.

He breaks.

He breaks hard.

Eddie's cries turn to wails, his body shaking with hunger and exhaustion and the unbearable heaviness of having to be himself. The tears pour in droves down his face while he tries to catch up with them, trying to find the words to explain to George that he's okay, he'll figure it out.

"Hey, buddy, it's okay, it's okay," George soothes, his aged face crumpling while he watches Eddie break down in front of him. He pulls him in tight, a hand plopping ontop on his mess of curls.

"Why don't you tell me what's been goin' on? You haven't been yourself for months," he says softly, "Talk to me."

George smells like Old Spice and Newports, it's a scent that's always made him feel safe. Like having a second dad -- well, a third dad, if you count his real dad. He never counts his real dad, though.

Eddie sits down at the table while George takes a couple of beers out of the fridge and places them down in front of them. He cracks them open and settles down, two sets of brown eyes meeting each other.

He begins.

"Well if Wayne was sick why didn't you tell me?" George exclaims, "I've known Wayne longer than you've lived in Hawkins, boy. I would've helped you figure somethin' out. Taking shifts at Macy's? At Christmas time? No wonder you're so exhausted."

"I mean, I'm young. I can do it," Eddie shrugs.

"Those bags under your eyes say you can't," he says matter of factly, "And y'know you shouldn't have to. You're -- damn you're a kid."

"I'm like, inching towards thirty George," he laughs.

"And what about your little girlfriend? She not helping?"

"That's..." he sighs, "That's a whole other mess."

Eddie rehashes the story he told Wayne last week and then Steve's visit from yesterday, "So today I was gonna ask if I could borrow some tools and go in tomorrow or something to fix everything up. But now I gotta figure out how I'm gonna make an extra three hundred bucks for these meds."

"How about this," George starts, "You've been workin' for me a long time. You come early and you stay late. You cover for everyone. You know -- damn -- you know more about cars than I do and I've been runnin' this place for thirty years. How about you take this week off to work on your girl's classroom and I'll see you after the New Year."

"I can't. I need to work, George, I need the mo--"

"How about," he interjects, loud and stern, "You take the week off to work on your girl's classroom and get some rest, and I will pay you for the week. It's not like you're just sittin' on your ass."

"I can do that, that's not f--"

"If you say no again, I'm just gonna fire you. Is that what you want?" George challenges.

"No sir," Eddie quickly shakes his head and shuts his mouth.

"And," the older man continues, "I will cover the cost of Wayne's pills. I'll go pick them up at lunch for 'im and drop 'em off. 'Bout time I caught up with that geezer anyway."

The tears build back up in Eddie's eyes, his mouth lets out a sputtered version of a 'Thank you'.

"You gotta stop pretending like you have to do everything yourself," George's voice holds a fatherly fondness when he gets up and tosses their empty beers in the trash.

"C'mere, kid," he chuckles while Eddie tearily gets up out of the chair and back into the dad like embrace of his boss.

"You got ten minutes, but then we got some cars to fix."

Eddie didn't tell Wayne about the insurance lapse or the pills, even though he was surprised to see George at the trailer park that afternoon. Eddie went home with his tool belt from work, his time and a half, and a little extra that his boss insisted he take with him. Wished him luck on his repairs and that he'd see him on the 2nd.

He was warned that if he didn't rest, Wayne would tell him, and it would mean hell for him at the shop.

Eddie'd already been through hell, so he didn't really want to have to do it again.

Christmas morning came and Eddie woke Wayne up to a cup of coffee and some breakfast.

"Thanks, son," he said smoothly, pushing in his chair at the table in the kitchenette, "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," he wished back, tapping some cinnamon into each of their cups of coffee.

"What's that for?" he asks before a harrowing cough bubbles out of his chest. He takes a sip of coffee to ease the ache of the rattle in his throat.

"It's just festive, Wayne," he teases, "Don't be a Scrooge."

"Doing anything today?" Wayne asks, eyes casting up to look at the old pictures of a younger Eddie sat on Santa's lap. No longer a holiday where they stayed home and snuggled, where he played with his toys, where there was magic.

"Gonna go fix up my girl's classroom as a gift," he says, picking at his nails, "Thought it'd be a nice gesture."

"She hasn't called ya back, hm?"

Eddie shakes his head, already dressed in the Black Sabbath shirt you got him that he hadn't gotten a chance to properly thank you for. The chain you got repaired hung aroung his neck delicately, the pick hitting his chest in a gentle reminder that you're still here with him. You had to be. He'd know if you just decided to be done with him.

By the time the late afternoon rolled around he hopped in his van after Wayne fell asleep in the recliner. The perk of the holidays was that he could drive around in the rich neighborhoods and no one was out to give him and his car dirty looks. No one was around to be confused that Steve Harrington was hopping into his passengers seat to head to Melvald's. No one was around to be confused as to while they were loading wood from broken down pallets into the ample trunk space.

"Good holiday?" Eddie asks.

"Same holiday it always is," he shrugs, "My parents weren't around so I stayed home. Jonothan went to California with Joyce to go visit Will so he wouldn't have to pay to fly home."

"That's lonely," Eddie mutters, "Sorry dude."

"Don't be sorry, I'm used to it," he looks out the window. Steve looks well dressed for repairs -- a pair of worn in jeans, white on white Air Forces, an Izod half zip sweat shirt -- he might as well look like a father of three, "Have you heard from her at all?"

"No -- I left her a message on her answering machine, but I think she's already up with her family. I don't know what she told them so -- I don't want to bother her parents if they're upset with me," he explains.

"They'd never be upset with you," Steve shakes his head, "They're good people."

"I'm sure they wish on a star every night that she was with you, Harrington," he jokes.

"You'd think, right?" Steve laughs, "No, she told me how much they like you. They think you're so good to her -- you are so good to her."

Steve speaks about you with a fondness that makes Eddie wonder. He softens, looking over at him while he turns down the road to the elementary school, "Do um...do you wish it was you?"

"I already told you, man. I love her to death, but she's not my type," he laughs again, but there's a pain there.

"You keep saying that but like -- are you sure? 'Cause you can tell me it's not weird," he assures.

"She hasn't told you?" Steve asks, brows furrowing.

"Told me what? Did you guys used to fuck, or something?" Eddie asks, his heart hammering, "Did you fuck the other ni--"

"No, no, Ed I'm --" he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm gay," he says quietly, "Like, Jonathan isn't my roommate he's -- he's my partner. I'm gay."

There's a silence there for a moment and Eddie shifts in his seat a red light. Oh, I'm such a fucking idiot. Of course that's why they aren't together. I thought maybe he had a weird dick or something.

"That's y'know," Ed shrugs, "That's cool with me, man. Like, silence equals death and all that."

"Oh, shut up man," Steve laughs and shakes his head, putting his hand up to stop him from talking, "Don't like, do that all shit. I'm just surprised she hadn't said anything."

"If you told her not to, she wont," Eddie's voice drops to something sweet, "She's a good girl like that. Great secret keeper. Great -- Oh, shit..."

When the boys pull into the lot, Eddie's surprised to see a couple more trucks sitting by with their lights on, doors opening at the sight of them. A gruff voice calls out from the dark, a light snow obscuring him and the name on his coverall.

"How long were you gonna keep us waiting here, kid? It's a holiday."

George's gruff voice cuts the silence, a couple of the guys from the shop chuckle in the background. Eddie smiles, a genuine, warm smile -- the kind he envied from a couple nights ago that he saw from Steve. These were people who cared about him, who wanted to help. This was, he guessed, was what Christmas was really about. This was what you were trying to tell him the whole time. His heart breaks all over again, and he swears he can feel the pulse of your heart beat in the guitar pick hanging at his chest.

By the 27th, most of the repairs had been done. The help from the guys was beyond what he could've imagined. They were able to replace part of the roof that had water damage, fix the windows, repair a cracked pane, build a new bookcase, fix the wobble in all of the desks, and yours. Now, he was just adding a new coat of paint after spending the morning chipping off all the shards of it that were falling off. In his backpack was an overflow of new chalk, pens and pencils, markers, crayons, construction paper, pipe cleaners, and glue. The guys went through their kids bookcases at home and donated a slew of new books for the room -- some duplicates, too.

He felt good. He'd gotten two nights of adequate sleep, heeding George's warning that he has to rest. He was able to buy a good crop of groceries and most of the guys from work came by to drop off so many Christmas cookies that Wayne was nervous he'd start losing his teeth too. Now, all he had to wait for was you. For you to come in on Friday and see his surprise when you dropped in for your professional development day with Steve. He wasn't sure if he wanted to leave flowers or gingerbread men with the card but he figured he'd cross that bridge when he --

"Eddie?"

He jumped, nearly falling off the ladder he was on to reattach over head light that had rusted on the ceiling, "Jesus Christ!"

He clutched his chest, letting his heart rate settle down when at the bottom of the ladder, there you stood. His face blushed pink, pulse ping ponging through his wrists at the sight of you.

"Hi, sweetheart," he smiles, "This um...this was supposed to be a surprise."

"Who told you?" you asked, looking around, "About all my stuff?"

Eddie climbed down the ladder carefully, "Steve came to the store, told me that you needed some help. I figured y'know, if I couldn't get you a present I could just -- I could make you one."

"It's not done yet though, I still have to paint and put all your art supplies away," he explains, meeting you in the center of the room. He looks at you and then at the tears in your eyes, the heat rising in your cheeks. You don't say anything, his heart races in embarrassment. Maybe it wasn't enough, maybe you didn't like it. Maybe you wanted to do it yourself.

"And um, the guys from the shop, they uh, they brought books," he says, walking over to the new bookcase, "And I uh, I built this, like, with my hands."

He painted it to match the rest of the decor, a fun bright color that would hopefully draw the kids in to read. You'd mentioned that the got bored with the same ten books and weren't sharing well -- half of the books were falling apart since there wasn't anywhere to put them.

"And uh, I got you some new chalk -- white obviously, but I got you some multi-colored sets cause I know you like to do little sketches on the board during holidays and like, with spring comin' up maybe you could do little flowers or something?" he doesn't realize it, but he's gasping through his rambled sentences. Watching you walk toward him slowly.

"It's okay if you don't like it," he assures, "You can tell me and I can fix it I just wanted to--"

Your kiss feels like a spoonful of summer warmed honey on his cold lips. It trails down his throat and into his chest, down through his fingertips and his toes. He feels your soft hands cup his face, resting against his cold prickly cheeks. He's afraid to touch your face because you haven't given him a manicure yet this week. He doesn't want to scratch you with his rough hands, so he places them around you instead, frowning when you finally break away with a soft click.

"I just wanted to do something nice," he says against your lips.

"This is the best gift ever," you whisper quietly, a little sniffle stifling your cry, "It's very nice."

"Merry Christmas, baby," he smiles, leaning in for another kiss.

"Merry Christmas," you wish between kisses.

He wakes up wrapped up in you, in your sheets, in your scent, peering at you while you sleep soundly next to him. You both had barely made it through the door of your apartment before you both had shed your clothes -- landing on the bed with a mutual 'oof!'

It had been so long since he'd been present. Savoring every soft moan out of your mouth, every shake of your thighs, everything whine, every clench, the way you'd rake your nails down his back, the way you'd pulse when he held your hand. You both laid there together after round one, eating cookies in bed (which you'd allowed just this once), while he told you everything. About how hard it had been taking two jobs, how he'd completely shut down, about Wayne's insurance lapse, about the guys at work, about Steve coming to Macy's, about how much he loved the gifts you got. About how he cried the night he yelled at you but was too afraid to face you after because he felt so awful. He listened when you told him that you just needed some time, but that you felt awful that you weren't there when he needed you.

"Need you all the time," he mumbled between heated kisses, "Never lettin' you outta my sight."

His eyes rolled and his toes curled when you took him in your mouth, letting you take the lead. He gasped and writhed, whining for more when your tongue swirled and sucked, showing him how much you missed him. How you'll always take care of him -- and he made sure to show you how he'll take care of you back.

Round three was long and drawn out, slow and sensual, close and quiet -- your boom box playing low static by the end.

Your eyes opened, stretching out when you see him sitting up in bed.

"You heading out?" you yawn.

"No, baby," he smiles down at you before laying back down, losing himself under the covers with you again, "I have the week off, so I'm intending to spend every moment I'm not with Wayne, in this bed, with you."

#eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson hurt/comfort #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x reader #eddie munson

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applejuicefruit · 2 years ago

Note

this might be a similar request to your previous kylian fic but with a twist...

plot idea: kylian and reader gets into an argument in the car after attending an event and because of that, kylian isn't focusing on the road and a vehicle runs into the reader's side of the car and badly injures her.

reader gets taken to the hospital and is in the intensive care unit / coma and kylian spirals into depression and guilt and never leaves the side of the reader.

whether she survives or dies can be your choice!

thanking you in advance if you take this fic idea! ❤️

I’m so good at writing about car accidents that’s the main reason I don’t have a driver license 🤭🤭

I’m sorry in advance but this one is pure angst!

Reader’s being mean in this one I’m sorry

Don’t leave

“I honestly can’t believe you” Kylian shouted at you while he was driving through the street of Paris

“What?” you said back

“What? You let him touch you the whole night and now I shouldn’t be mad?”

“He didn’t touch me the whole night! We just hugged! He’s a friends, what’s wrong with you?”

“A friend who touched your boobs? I didn’t know friends touch each other’s boobs!” he kept shouting and honestly you were getting scared

“It was an accident Kylian! He didn’t mean to! His drink almost fell on me and he tried to catch it!”

“By touching your boobs?”

“I can’t believe you right now! You’re making a drama out of nothing! And please slow down you’re driving too fast!” you said back

“So it’s okay if I go and touch my friends boobs ah?”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore Kylian and for my sanity can you fucking slow down?”

“No we’re gonna talk about it! My girlfriend, my future wife is letting other men touching her boobs. What about all the promises you made? You told me I was the only one for you and yet you’re here acting like a whore I thought I could trust you!” he shouted at you.

He was very pissed.

But what he said hurt you.

You’ve never seen him like this.

You stayed in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again.

“I’m sorry…I didn’t want to call you a whore but…what you did…”

“What I did?” you screamed back now on the verge of a mental breakdown “I simply hugged a friend and you got jealous for nothing! I’m so tired of this!”

“Don’t play the innocent card with me y/n, it doesn’t work, if you only told him to stop we wouldn’t be in this postitio-“

Then everything happened so fast.

Kylian was driving so fast he didn’t see a stop sign and a van came in full speed into his car, hitting your side.

You remembered the car crashing and going outside of the road and then everything came black.

“Babe?” Kylian said a few minutes later. He was sure he fainted for a bit but when he opened his eyes again his main focus went on you “mon amour?” he said again trying to move even if his legs were stuck “honey please open your eyes” he grabbed your face gently and moved you a bit but you wouldn’t wake up. Instead he saw a big scratch on your forehead, a few bruises on your face and arms and your lips bleeding. But what he made him worried the most was your head which kept bleeding.

“No no no” he said putting one hand behind you head trying to stop the bleeding “wake up baby please, wake up”

A few seconds later he saw the lightings of an ambulance coming towards them. He was to tired to even speak or move so he simply gave up, laying next to you and holding your head.

Both of them got carried at the hospital.

They were admitted into the E.R. with code red, meaning it was a serious situation. Luckily Kylian wasn’t too injured. He only had a few broken ribs and a mild concussion. But you were in a worst position. Your left arm was broken, your shoulder dislocated, your pancreas got injured during the crash and you lost a lot of blood from the head. You were hardly breathing by yourself. The doctors wanted to wait for you to wake up before doing anything.

Kylian woke up only a few hours later. His family and his friends Neymar and Hakimi in the waiting room attending news. You, on the other side had no one waiting for you. Your family lived in an other country. You were all alone fighting for your life.

“Where is she?” Kylian asked one of the doctors “where is she?”

“She’s still under our care”

“How’s she doing?” he asked preparing himself for the worst

“She’s not out of danger yet, we are keeping her under control”

“What?” he barely whispered “I need to see her…”

“I’m afraid you can’t to that now…”

“No you don’t understand she’s in this position because of me! I almost killed her…I need to see her”

“As I said before, I’m sorry but you can’t see her” the doctor said leaving his room.

That night Kylian cried in the arms of his mum, his brother and his friends. They didn’t blame him for what happened, he, otherwise, was blaming himself and he wished he was in her position.

The morning after Kylian asked again if he could see y/n but the doctors wouldn’t let him near her. He thought it was the price he had do pay for almost killing you. He felt so guilty. He tried to spoke with a therapist but he would end up crying everytime. He just needed you.

A few weeks later in came back home but without you. You were in a coma. He was finally able to visit you so he did, every morning and every night after practice. He would tell you about his day.

One day he spent the whole morning with you.

He grabbed your hand and begged you to wake up.

“Please baby” he said tearing up “I need you, I need you back in my arms” he dried his tears “I need to hold you and telling you how much I love you and how much I’m sorry, please, wake up for me, I miss you so much.”

He waited a few hours, your small and fragile hand still in his hands, sometimes he would kiss it, sometimes he would gently caress it.

But he felt your hand moving a bit. He thought he was crazy but then he felt it again.

“Babe?” he called you when he saw you were waking up “honey can you hear me? Mon amour?”

“Kylian…” you said in a very raspy tone, your throat still sore from the accident “what-what happened?” you asked confused

“We-we had an accident” he said, voice full of guilt and regret “don’t you remember?” he asked hoping you wouldn’t remember that night and the argument you were having

“We? Oh my…Kylian are you okay?”

“I’m good honey” he said mesmerised by your kindness and care “how are you feeling? I’m going to call a doctor” he said before leaving the room and coming back after with the doctor and a nurse.

They did all the exams they had to do and they thought it was a miracle you woke up since you weren’t properly breathing on your own. You thanked your lucky angel for this miracle.

After the check up Kylian came to see you only to find a very hard look on your face.

You remembered.

Kylian sat next to you on the bed and tried to grab your hand only for you to move it away.

“Babe I’m so sorry for the accident-“

“I’m not mad at you for the accident, I’m mad at you for how you treated me, we wouldn’t have been in this position if you had just listened to me…” you said now crying.

His heart broke seeing you crying.

His eyes were glossy too but he tried to be strong and not crying in front of you.

“I know I was a piece of shit. I didn’t have the right to say those things”

“But you did” you said back. Now you were the one who was mad

“I know I messed up but-“

“Messed up? You called me a whore, you said you didn’t trust me! How am I supposed to marry you when you can even be right with me? You know what I remember? I remember asking you to slow down, because I was scared and you didn’t! Does my family know I’m here? Did someone call them?” you asked almost shouting

“You said you weren’t mad at me for the accident…”

“I’m not! I’m mad at you because you never listen! You’re ego’s too big you always have to be right!

“Baby please…I’m so sorry…I know, I know my ego’s too big I let it inside my head most of the time but I promise you I’ll change” he said now fully crying. He didn’t like the look on your face, you were crying but you showed no emotions.

“You said that so many times I’ve lost count, guess what? You’ve never changed…”

“I’ll do it for you. Please y/n”

“You know what…when they discharge me from the hospital I’m gonna get all of my things from home and disappear for a bit…I think a break would do us some good” you said now in a low tone

“What?” he asked completely shocked “you-you can’t be serious”

“Oh I’m deadly serious” you said removing your engagement ring from your hand “I can’t do this, I need time to think…”

The moment he saw you removing your ring he swore he felt his heart going in million pieces. His face full of tears. He might have not killed you that night but now he wished he was the one who died.

“Babe…”

“No Kylian…I won’t change my mind, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to rest now”

With that he left your room.

Completely breaking once he was outside.

He didn’t care if doctors and nurses saw him. He just lost the greatest thing ever happened in his life.

#kylian mbappe #kylian x reader #kylianmbappe x reader #kylian mbappe imagines #kylian mbappe x reader #psg #paris saint germain #kylian mbappe angst #kylian mbappe fluff #kylian mbappe smut #equipe de france

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