#people who never had a chance to be People before

[dollfacefantasy]

clark kent x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, car sex, mating press a/n: ummm yeah i need him so bad it makes me ill <3

for as long as you'd known clark, you'd never known him to lose his temper. he was forever-patient, your boyfriend. understanding to almost a frustrating degree. especially with you, his little love.

he was already pretty easy to get along with, but on the rare occasion you did have issues, clark seemed to have a natural instinct for deescalating you. he never raised his voice, never spoke an unkind word about you, never gave you a look harsher than what could be described as stern.

all it took to calm you down was a glimpse of his natural puppy-dog eyes and pretty plush lips. his thick arms would circle around you and hold you to his chest. he'd sway back and forth with you a little, a small smile on his face as you melted into the embrace. whatever semblance of tension or irritation that had been bubbling up easily dissolved into a puddle between the two of your bodies.

so, all that to say, you didn't really believe clark possessed any kind of rough edge or combative instinct. despite his large stature, you couldn't really picture him ever being rough.

that was until tonight.

you and clark had planned to drop by some event at the talon, but your sweet boyfriend had warned you earlier that he found out there'd probably be some trouble there later. some potentially dangerous situation that he wanted you avoiding at all costs. it was for your safety. he just wanted you to stay home where he wouldn't be worried while him and chloe investigated.

but did you listen to him? of course not. you went anyways, not in the mood to listen to his vague explanations as to how he even discovered this information in the first place. you put on a cute little dress with some new shoes you bought specifically for the night and took off.

unfortunately for you, clark had turned out to be right. not even thirty minutes after you arrived, chaos broke out. people flew through walls and glass shattered everywhere, all because of some guy who looked like his body could stretch and bend like a rubberband. it totally sucked. but none of that was even the worst part. you survived the craziness of whatever that person's problem was. the real danger came when the dust settled and you saw clark across the room staring at you.

he looked pissed.

he was at your side in an instant, but closing the distance didn't soften him any. it kind of did the opposite since up close he could see a bloody scrape stretching across your cheekbone.

you could see he was worried first and foremost, but behind that concerned top coat a fire burned. as soon as your small wound had been tended to, his long fingers clasped around your bicep. he pulled you to your feet and all but dragged you out of the coffee shop.

"clark i-" you started in an attempt to explain yourself.

"save it," he said, voice as cold as you'd ever heard it, "i asked you for one thing. that's it. stay home for your own good. don't come out here and pointlessly risk your life."

"it wasn't that bad," you defend weakly.

"but why even take the chance?" he asked with true exasperation, "i shouldn't need to convince you that your safety is more important than whatever they had going on tonight."

he didn't continue the lecture beyond that. just walked with a clenched jaw and motivated stare in the direction of his truck. like always, he opened the door for you when you got there. though this time, he practically scooped you up and dumped you into the car.

he was silent as he drove, fingers tight around the steering wheel. you could practically feel the frustration rolling off of him. the urge to lash out for once was near spilling over. he pulled the car over, and you figured you were really in for it. in a way you were right, just not how you thought.

clark didn't bother yelling, didn't try to start a fight. he glared at you for a few silent seconds before leaning across the seats and crashing his lips against yours. he kissed you like he wanted to steal the breath from your lungs.

after a blur of clothing being shifted around and positioning body parts awkwardly in the confined space, you found yourself in the meanest mating press of your life.

you were folded in half beneath all of clark's weight. the points of your new heels scraped up the truck's ceiling while your knees squished against your chest. little squeaks and whines slipped their way out of you as his tip battered against your cervix. he was so deep you swore you could feel your insides rearranging to make room for him.

"clarkkkk," you mewled before biting your lip, desperately searching for some way to ground yourself. one set of your fingers gripped strands of his dark hair while the other held a fist of his flannel.

"what, baby?" he panted. for once, clark wasn't fawning over you between thrusts. he wasn't cooing or praising you for taking him so well. instead, he had his face against your neck and his hands wrapped around your waist, bucking into your dripping heat with enough force to rock the car.

you tried to force out words to convey what you were thinking. too big. too much. so deep. harder. faster. none of those made it though. only choked moans and then a sharp squeal when he rolled his hips and struck that extra-sensitive sweet spot inside you.

"someone's gonna see if they drive by," you whimpered, squirming underneath him.

"maybe you should hold still then and let me finish, huh?" he grunted, "no one's gonna see. everyone's in town dealing with the mess from tonight. the one i told you was gonna happen."

"i didn't think-"

"i know you didn't," he interrupted, "didn't use that pretty little head at all, did you?"

words of defense eluded you right now, his nonstop thrusts keeping your mind cloudy. instead you chose to whine, your lip quivering he rolled his hips deeper yet again.

"oh yeah?" he asked, as if you'd said something coherent.

you opened your mouth again to speak, to really argue back this time, but you were cut off by your own desperate cry when his hands tugged you closer and speared you even further on his cock. you could feel him grinning against your neck at the noise.

"i know, baby. i know you're sorry. you don't have to explain. thinking's too hard for you right now, yeah?" he cooed, his tone bordering on mocking.

your pout got more severe but so did the needy sounds escaping your mouth. you felt those long fangs of his scrape against your throat. his tongue then glided across the area, making you shudder.

"clark-" you tried to say something else, but he cut you off. he raised his head up and kissed you deep again, swallowing the words right from your mouth. when he pulled back for air, he rested his sweaty forehead against yours.

"you can be such a brat," he breathed, "so much whining even though i know you love this."

the truck creaked as his movements continued to jostle it. you felt his breath fanning across your face and watched as his eyes fluttered shut. you knew he was getting close, but so were you. your cunt squeezed around him rhythmically, coaxing him too the edge along with you.

"you gonna cum, baby?" he finally muttered against your lips.

you nodded eagerly, more than ready to release. it only took a few more hard thrusts to get you there, and clark followed along no problem. in the afterglow, he laid on top of you for a minute or so, trapping you in a cage of searing body heat.

when he finally did sit up, the two of you fixed your clothes and stretched your limbs. he looked over at you with more tenderness. your boyfriend's gentle temperament had seemingly returned with the relief his peak brought.

he cupped your jaw with his fingers, looking over that cut on your face. leaning in, he gave it a small kiss before starting up the car again.

"i'm just trying to look out for you, you know? just... please listen next time. i don't know what i'd do if you got hurt. you had me worried sick."

"i will. i'm sorry i scared you," you replied softly. your eyes studied the loving look in his eyes and the way his features seemed so at peace now that all his adrenaline was out of his system.

you grabbed his hand across the seats and traced little patterns on his knuckles for the drive home. he let you play with his fingers but shot you a glance.

"i'm serious. next time you get involved with something like that i won't let you off so easy," he teased.

you smiled and nodded, wanting to put his mind at ease. though in the back of your mind, a small part of you considered trying again some time, just to see what "not so easy" looked like to him.

[acid-ixx]

— related post !

socialite! (secret himbo/bimbo) reader who takes one look at bruce wayne in a gala and you decide you'll use your (dumbass) alluring charms on the man to spend a night with him and it ends up successful. you had the best bed-breaking sex in your life, never once questioning all the taut muscle underneath his polished thousand-dollar suit; now crumpled by how handsy you were taking off his clothes. he was great with aftercare, too, carrying you off to one of his luxury bathtubs to bathe you and leave even more marks on the expanse of your back whilst massaging your naked body (you didn't even think for a second at the romantic implications his actions had).

then you're at one of luthor's galas the next time, being interviewed by this cute man with eyeglasses, who calls himself clark kent, with the cutest country-boy accent, who looks too tall to act all lanky, but you're not one to judge. you take one look at his baggy suit, ignore the pen and paper in his hands and drag him off to one of the spare janitorial rooms to have, quite possibly, the most pleasurable quickie you've ever had spent inside a cramped closet, your sweat sliding off each other as your bodies move in a harmonious tandem. you give him a kiss on his collar right after the momentary sex, and giggle at the skittish blush dispersing on his face, as if he didn't just give you a reason to go home early due to the limp on your step.

after everything, they were buried in the back of your mind. they were great fucks, yes, you never had a moment of horny zenith not until you met them, yes; but your relationship (if you could even call it that) with both men were purely sexual and a one-time thing. you never really thought of them, you prioritize your social life and reputation above all else, not your coster of other rich people you've slept with.

but one day, you see both in the same room as you in another gala. you're oblivious to the sets of eyes hungrily taking you in, or how quickly they shove off other people just to move closer the moment their attention land on you. you take a look at the two men, biting your lips whilst your eyes devour the memory of their muscled pecs squished between your index and middle finger, and their thick thighs pistoning you back and forth, all hidden under all the clothes covering their body; and whisper not-so silently:

"i can take them both, not in a fight."

sadly, you'll never know that they're both at each other's throats after hearing your confession, ready to take each other in a fight if it meant having you in their arms once more. you'll never know just how bruce managed to throw in a microchip in your bag before you're escorted home by his limousine, or how clark watched your sleeping body in your apartment as superman just to make sure you slept well after he pounded you to oblivion in that closet.

all you'll know is that you're going to score them into fucking you once more either way. after all, if they're both the best choices when it comes to pinning you down and going crazy on your body, then you'll do anything to achieve that aching goal with the both of best worlds.

you're unaware that they'd do the same thing for you, though. but it's not out of the intentions to merely sleep with you, no. they're also planning to find a pathway into your heart while at it.

so... welp, guess that's just an added list of all the other suitors you had fighting over the chance of having another night with you.

a/n: gender-neutral reader. no bodily gender mentioned at all. this is purely sexual content with some plot. i blame my irl best friend for this (the single dialogue was me thirsting over the characters through our chats). yes, i post this after posting angst. am i shameless? also yes.

[loveesiren]

What about jj saving rafes gf instead of Sarah when she falls off the boat? Even though jj and Rafe hate each other

of course babes! sorry this took a while, i hope you enjoy! :)

𝕆𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕓𝕠𝕒𝕣𝕕

warnings: not proofread, language, slight angst

wc: 2.4k+

Before you were Rafe Cameron’s girl, you were a Pogue through and through. You grew up with JJ and John B, learning to boat, fish, and work hard for the things you wanted. Life was simple but full, with endless summer days spent on the water and nights filled with laughter. When Pope and Kiara joined your crew, it felt like your family was complete—especially since having Kiara around meant you finally had someone who understood what it was like to be a girl surrounded by all that chaotic, masculine energy.

But things changed when you caught the attention of Rafe Cameron. At first, it seemed impossible. A Kook and a Pogue? The idea alone was laughable. Yet, against all odds, there was something magnetic about Rafe—a spark you couldn’t ignore. And to your surprise, he felt it too. It wasn’t long before stolen glances turned into secret meetings, and those meetings turned into something deeper. But every step closer to Rafe felt like a step away from your childhood friends.

Sure, it was fine when John B started dating Sarah Cameron. But when you got with the older Cameron sibling, it was a problem. Rafe’s constant harassment didn’t help your case. Sarah was much kinder than her brother, and the Pogues saw her as someone who genuinely cared for John B. Rafe, on the other hand, had a reputation that preceded him—a volatile temper and a knack for trouble that made him nearly impossible to trust. Except when it came to you. Your presence seemed to calm the storm in his mind.

Choosing Rafe wasn’t easy. It wasn’t that you stopped caring for the Pogues. In fact, you still loved them fiercely, even if your paths had diverged. Being with Rafe meant walking a tightrope. While he harbored a burning hatred for your old crew, he knew better than to act on it—because hurting them meant risking you. And losing you was unthinkable for Rafe, who had grown to see you as the one thing anchoring him in his stormy world. But even his restraint couldn’t erase the tension. The Pogues saw your relationship as a betrayal, and you feared they’d never forgive you. 

Now, you sat alone on the edge of a boat, staring out at the vast expanse of the Atlantic as it stretched endlessly before you. The journey to Morocco wasn’t one you’d ever imagined taking. But here you were, caught between two worlds, trying desperately to keep the peace. It was your idea to bring Rafe and the Pogues together for this mission. You’d convinced Rafe to help them track down Groff, who had made off with his money, knowing it could also give JJ and Pope a chance to evade capture. Even if you weren’t close anymore, you couldn’t bear to see the people you once called family thrown behind bars.

But, as expected, not everything had gone to plan.

The Pogues didn’t trust Rafe—and for good reason. His track record spoke for itself. As soon as they got him on the boat, they tied him up in the tiny bathroom, keeping him under lock and key. You understood their logic, but that didn’t make it any easier to see your boyfriend treated like a prisoner. Worse still, they’d forbidden you from seeing him until you reached Morocco. You didn’t fight them on it. Confrontation had never been your strong suit, and besides, you knew better than to argue with JJ when his mind was made up.

So, you sat in silence, listening to the rhythmic crash of waves against the hull, the salty breeze brushing against your face. The solitude of the sea was both comforting and suffocating. It gave you time to think—about the choices you’d made, the people you’d hurt, and the fragile balance you were struggling to maintain. You wanted to believe this trip could be a turning point, a chance to bridge the gap between Rafe and the Pogues. But deep down, you knew the odds were slim. Trust was hard to rebuild, and the wounds on both sides ran deep.

As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you let out a weary sigh. All you could do now was wait—for land, for answers, for the moment when everything would inevitably come to a head. Until then, the sea was your only companion, its endless expanse reflecting the tangled mess of your heart.

-

Sarah was kind. She always had been. Even after all her brother had put her through, she still cared for him enough to make sure he was fed and hydrated. She did the same for you.

“Brought you some dinner,” she said, plopping down beside you.

“Thanks,” you responded softly. You took a few bites of the sandwich she brought you before putting it aside. Your appetite had been wearing thin the entire trip.

“I think it’s stupid too,” she said, looking out at the horizon while the late sun cast bright ripples on the calm water.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. “The whole Kook versus Pogue thing. Rafe’s done his fair share of bad shit, but haven’t we all? I really think he wants to help this time.”

“He does,” you said. “All he wants is to get his money back from Groff. He doesn’t care about the crown. Honest.”

“I know,” she said, offering you a soft smile. “We’ll be there soon. Try to rest.”

You pondered her words as she walked off. You weren’t overly close with Sarah. It was almost as if you and she had swapped lives. You started seeing Rafe around the same time Sarah and John B got together, and for the last three years, she’d been getting a taste of life’s adventures while you enjoyed the finer things. You loved Rafe. You were in love with him. You couldn’t imagine being without him. But you often found yourself missing the life you once lived with the Pogues.

You cringed as you swallowed one final shot of whiskey, a vice that did close to nothing to take the stress away. You tossed the bottle to the side and rolled over, closing your eyes and trying your best to relax to the soothing sounds of the ocean. Eventually, you were lulled to sleep, dreaming of Rafe. He smiled as he took you into his large arms, and you felt secure in his warm embrace.

The dream was short-lived, though, as you were thrown roughly against the hard wall of the boat. Disoriented, you struggled to find something to grip. Rain lashed against your face as the boat pitched violently from side to side.

You made your way to your feet and took in your surroundings. The storm had hit fast. You could see movement inside the helm as the Pogues scrambled to navigate the chaos and secure the boat.

“Rafe,” you whispered, your breath hitching. “Rafe!” your voice rose into a frantic scream as you stumbled toward the helm. You knew you had to find him—if he was left unsecured, he’d drown.

“Y/N, get inside!” JJ’s voice cut through the storm. You turned to see him and John B holding the door open, JJ’s hand extended toward you. You reached for him, but another violent wave threw you to the deck.

“Where’s Rafe?!” you yelled, coughing as salty seawater stung your throat.

“Kiara’s getting him!” John B shouted back.

Moments later, Rafe appeared in the doorway, drenched but alive. “Y/N!”

Relief flooded through you at the sight of him, but your joy was short-lived. A massive wave loomed on the horizon, crashing into the boat with terrifying force. You screamed as the water dragged you off the stern, the world disappearing into a churning abyss.

“Y/N!” JJ and Rafe shouted in unison.

“Rafe!” you screamed, fighting to keep your head above water. The sea clawed at you, threatening to pull you under. “Rafe! Help!”

“I’m coming, Y/N!” JJ’s voice rang out as he dove into the water after you.

“JJ, what are you doing?!” John B yelled, trying to hold Rafe back from following. “JJ, no, no, no!”

But it was too late. JJ had already disappeared beneath the waves.

“Y/N!” Rafe’s scream was raw with desperation, tears streaming down his face. John B had never seen him so unhinged, so consumed by fear.

John B pressed his hand firmly against Rafe’s chest, forcing him back inside. “Come on, man! We can’t help them if we drown too!” he yelled over the howling wind. He shoved Rafe into the cabin and slammed the door shut.

“No, no, no, no, no!” Rafe sobbed, pounding his fists against the wall. “I have to go help her! I have to find her, man!”

“Rafe!” Sarah’s voice cut through the chaos as she wrapped her arms around him. “Rafe, it’s okay! Let’s just get to land. I’m sure they’ll find their way back!” She rubbed his back as he crumpled, his sobs echoing through the small cabin.

-

The water finally calmed as you and JJ struggled onto the sand, every muscle in your body screaming with exhaustion. The cold night air bit at your skin, but the relief of solid ground beneath you was overwhelming. Collapsing onto the beach, you coughed violently, lungs burning as you fought to catch your breath.

“Are you okay?” JJ asked, his voice ragged between gasps for air.

You nodded weakly, words feeling like too much effort. After a moment, you managed to rasp, “A-Are you?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Minutes passed as you both sat in silence, trying to steady your breathing. The ocean stretched out before you, dark and infinite, illuminated only by a pale sliver of moonlight. A single tear slid down your cheek as your thoughts turned to Rafe—his face, his voice, and the uncertainty of whether you’d ever see him again.

“They’ll be okay, Y/N,” JJ said softly, his tone more reassuring than he probably felt. “At first light, we’ll head down the beach. We’ll find them.”

You nodded, swallowing back another wave of emotion. “Hey, Jayj?” Your voice was barely audible.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” you murmured, gratitude lacing every syllable.

He turned to you with a tired but genuine smile. “Can’t kill a Pogue, right?”

The next thing you knew, the sun was warming your skin, its gentle rays coaxing you back to consciousness. The once-violent sea was calm now, its rhythmic waves bringing an unexpected peace. You stretched, muscles stiff and aching, before glancing toward the shore.

JJ was standing near the water, absentmindedly dragging his foot through the sand. You rose to your feet, brushing off grains of sand stuck to your damp clothes, and made your way over to him.

“Hey,” you greeted softly.

He turned, offering you a small smile. “Hey. Sleep okay?”

“Guess so,” you chuckled. “Didn’t even realize I passed out.”

“Not surprising,” JJ said with a shrug. “You were pretty wrecked.” His tone was light, but concern lingered in his eyes. “I was thinking we head up the beach toward where the boat was headed. If they made it to land, that’s where we’ll find them.”

You winced at the word if, the uncertainty slicing through your chest like a blade. “Okay,” you replied firmly. “Let’s go.”

For the next 45 minutes, the two of you trudged along the beach in silence, your shared determination a quiet bond. Every step brought a mix of hope and dread as you scanned the horizon for any sign of your loved ones.

“You know,” JJ said suddenly, breaking the silence, “they’re probably feeling the same as us—like they might never see us again.”

You shook your head, gripping tightly onto hope. “We’ll find them, Jayj. We have to.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice soft but resolute. “We will.”

A few more minutes passed before you gathered the courage to speak again. “JJ?”

He glanced at you, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Do… Do you hate me?” The question felt heavy on your tongue, dredging up years of unspoken tension.

JJ’s expression shifted, a flicker of pain crossing his features. He sighed, raking a hand through his damp hair. “No, Y/N. I don’t hate you. I don’t think I could hate you even if I wanted to.”

His words caught you off guard, and you looked down, fiddling with your hands. “It just… it felt like you did.”

JJ’s voice softened as he continued. “I was hurt. You were my best friend, and when you and Rafe got together, it felt like he stole you away. From me. From all of us.”

A tear slid down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away. “I’m sorry, Jayj. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said firmly. “All you’ve ever done was try to keep the peace. I should’ve seen that sooner. And last night, when you fell off the boat…” His voice wavered, and he looked away. “All I could think about was how I couldn’t let you die thinking I hated you. You’re my sister, Y/N. You always will be.”

Tears blurred your vision as you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him. JJ hugged you back tightly, resting his chin on your head.

“I love you, Jayj. I’ve missed you so much,” you whispered.

He pulled back, his hands on your shoulders. “We’re gonna fix this. All of it. I’ll even make an effort with Rafe if it means getting you back.”

An hour later, the sun was high in the sky when you spotted movement in the distance.

“J, is that them?” you asked breathlessly, shielding your eyes with your hand.

JJ squinted at the figures. “Let’s find out,” he said, quickening his pace.

As you got closer, the shapes grew clearer: Sarah’s golden hair, Kiara’s familiar stance, and Rafe’s unmistakable silhouette towering above the group.

“Rafe!” you cried, breaking into a run.

He turned at the sound of your voice, his eyes widening before he sprinted toward you. The moment he reached you, his arms wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground.

“Oh my God,” he murmured, his voice breaking as he buried his face in your neck. “I thought I lost you. I thought I’d never see you again!” He cried.

“I’m here,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face. “I’m safe. JJ saved me.”

When Rafe finally pulled back, his gaze shifted to JJ, who stood a few feet away, watching the reunion. Without hesitation, Rafe approached him and pulled him into a hug.

“Thank you,” Rafe said, his voice thick with emotion.

JJ stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, clapping Rafe on the back. “Yeah, well… couldn’t let her die on my watch,” he said with a crooked smile.

As you stood there, watching the two men who meant so much to you, hope swelled in your chest. For the first time in years, you felt like things might finally be okay.

© loveesiren 2025 - do not copy, translate, transfer, or repost my work without my permission. if you find my work on sites other than through links i've provided, please notify me.

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[all-the-bats-in-the-world]

Since someone tagged it with Logan, here it's. And I'm sorry.

Kindness Tastes Like Blood

Part 1. Where The Lost Things Meet

The darkness is getting hold of him. It's not something new, it started to reach him when he was little, when dad decided he was a play thing. That disgusting mother fucker. He's very dead now, but Wade still sees it in the back of his mind, fighting back, cutting him into pieces and giving it to some starving street dog. The dogs have always been good to him. They never liked dad, the animals know what is kind.

‘You’ll lose’ the darkness says to him, sounding like a voice he should have forgotten. And he is starting to believe it. His world is in danger, everything he cares about will die soon. He thought he could fix it. It seemed very simple, if Logan was dead, he just had to find another one to put in the place. Who would think the Wolverine was the anchor being of Wade's whole world? This is a weak script idea, sure, but also makes sense for Wade, he couldn't imagine anyone else to be this important to him. He remembers it, reading the comics he found in the trash under his bed, hiding it from dad, it was this story of this animalistic man that people tried to control and kill, a man that kept coming back and destroying everything on his way, it was this story that made him company, that made him believe someday he would be free. So, yes, he doesn't need to say he loves the Wolverine, does he? He loves him a great deal.

But the thing is, it's not reciprocated. He knows. He jumps through realities trying to find help, but he doesn't even get the chance to say that he needs him, that he's breaking, that he's desperate, they just punch him, kill him, and this is starting to pile up. ‘Nobody loves you’ the darkness decree. He knows it's not totally true, he knows people love him, Althea, Peter, Vanessa, she said it. He believes her. However, he believes love feels different, that love is not just someone who holds your hand in the bad days or puts up with you. He knows he should be glad, why is he not glad? Was what she offered not enough?

Yes. It wasn't. He knows it should be. Another punch. He's bleeding again. They used to be perfect for each other, but this was before he became a walking wound. Not, he was always like this, except now he can't just pretend anymore, he can't just joke it away. He tried, he really fucking tried. She said to him to show that he cared for something bigger than him. But everything is bigger than him, he's small. Insignificant. You see, this wasn't how love was supposed to be. Well, Wade believes love is understanding. He may be wrong.

‘Nobody will ever understand you, you are unlovable.’ He's covered in blood now, still feeling the sensation of six claws in his chest, piercing through his cursed heart. And he loses it, he throws the TemPad away in his despair, regretting it the same second, he runs and jumps to take it before it touches the floor, but ends up kicking it with his foot, then he stumbles, falling on his own face. Fuck. He cries, like the pathetic being he is.

That's when the electronic — whatever tecnologic shit it is — starts to oscillate on the floor, and bips bips bips. Did he break it? For fuckers sake! He takes it back. Doesn't look like there was any damage, he taps it, but he can't understand the coordinates on the screen. Is it another planet? Doesn't fuck look like Earth.

Suddenly a portal opens up and Wade stares at it. Something is wrong. This portal, it's not golden, it's dark, like a black hole. He feels like when he was a kid. There's a taste in his mouth, and a smell in his nose. He's dragged back to the past. He shivers, suddenly he's in the cold night, one of his feet chained. It hurts so much, but it’s better if he was outside. That was something he never told anyone. He loved the night, he loved when he got this punishment, he pretended to hate it, so that bastard would use it against him. It was a way he found to escape the molestation. It didn't work all the time, but when it worked he felt glad. Glad is a rare and strange feeling. He shivers in gladness and steps into it.

At first all he can see is profound darkness. He's not even sure his eyes are open at all. Has he gone blind? Then there's breathing, he thinks for a moment it's his own respiration, but it's not, he's not making this deep and painful noise. It's a very dark and heavy breathing that gets close with every step. Then he sees it, a subtle light, its red. Seems weird? He sees the eyes before he sees the being. It’s hard to tell its colors in the distance and in the low light. But they are bright and piercing. And unmoving, like it's not really looking at him. He moves close, and something registers, cutting through him. It's green, he realizes, like a pale forest, like a calm lake, its pupils grow, swallowing him in, in an inescapable stare. He's breathing so hard it creates little clouds in the dense air.

Wade would recognize those eyes anywhere. It's so shocking, he stops, his feet refusing to move before the vision. It's a Wolverine. Well, it seems like the TemPad was not broken, but he guesses he was not supposed to find this one, probably no one was supposed to find him. What paralyzes Wade is not just the eyes, but his appearance. The man is contained, pulled down on his knees, defeated, malnourished, the bones standing out under his skin, hes basically just bones and hair, frankly it's absurd he's still alive, well, regeneration is a fucked up thing sometimes. There is a mask on his face, metallic, it looks very much like a muzzle, and there are bright red lines, hundreds of them, connected to the collar on his neck. He's using the yellow accurate comic costume, but it's all dirty and worn out.

It's clear they left him here to die. But what a terrible way to leave this world, painfully slowly, getting weak and disappearing a little bit every day.

“What the hell happened to you?” He doesn't know this Logan, the others he knew, like just their appearances were a tell. And he still kind of feels bad for not helping the uncanny x-men Logan, but that felt like none of his business. This one though, he speaks to something deep in him. He needs to know what happened to him. There is no reaction to his question, he doubts the man will be able to talk soon, he is too debilitated to even breathe properly.

He opens the TemPad, does a little reprogrammation, why not, it's a canon divergent fic, so he can do whatever. Soon the TemPad works very much like a Pokédex, he even turns it in his direction and gets: Wade Willson, also known as Deadpool in Earth XXX, 48 years old, sagittarius, species human…

Does the TVA control Wikipedia too? Or does the author just think it was funny? Whatever. He turns the advice to Logan. His eyes are still burning on him, it's almost unbearable. The scan starts to work, then it stops showing a glowing “restricted access”, so Wade has to do some hacker job, it's nothing, soon the information pops on the screen.

Art by Essi Välimäki

[rosenclaws]

Stronger || Logan Howlett x Reader

summary: after failing your last mission you start to over train yourself in secret but Logan notices the bruises and cuts and wont leave you alone about it.

warnings: angst to fluff, patching up fic, the reader is very hard on themselves, injury, blood, insecurity, sweet logan, reader pushes themself too much.

a/n: I had this idea at like 1:30am last night and I wrote it when i woke up oops. I just love fluffy patching up logan fics what can I say.

There it is again. Logan's nose twitches as you walk by. You smell like dirt and sweat but most of all blood. He locks eyes with you as you walk past the kitchen door.

Theres a limp in your step. It's subtle but there. You're wearing long pants and long sleeves despite it being hot outside and you're hiding your hands in your pockets. There's bags under your eyes and the smiles you give people aren't real.

Logan narrows his eyes at you and you look at the ground. Hurrying away from his pointed gaze. He wants to go after you but he hears your door slam and lock.

No one else has picked up on this except for him. He brings it up in passing but he's brushed off every time. Something is up with you and he's going to figure out what.

You sigh as you lean against your door. Your body aches like crazy and all you want to do is collapse onto the bed and sleep. But you force yourself to the bathroom. You need to scrub off all the evidence of everything from the night before. The blood and grime washed off but the bruises stayed.

"Damn." You mumbled as you took in the injuries from this time.

The person displayed in the mirror looked like a stranger. Your eyes were sunken, bruises on your body, you looked tired and felt worse. But you had to keep going. You needed to be strong, to prove yourself and this was the only way.

At least that's what you think. You crawl into bed and pass out the moment your head hits the pillows. Unfortunately the nightmares start then too.

You're back on your last mission. The whole reason you've been pushing yourself so hard. You were weak, lost, a burden to the team. You weren't like everyone else at the mansion. You didn't come here as a kid.

In fact you were well into your adult life when Professor Xavier found you. You had no training, no experience. You got stuck into classes with kids who had already mastered their powers. You felt silly, a fool to think you could be apart of this world. You didn't belong.

So when you got the chance to go on a mission you were excited. It means they thought you were ready, that you had something in you that could help.

The mission went terribly. You were overwhelmed and could barely keep up. Tackled to the ground you cried out in pain. A sharp blade against your neck caused you to freeze. You tried to conjure your energy blasts but a foot on your wrist stopped you. It was digging into you, crushing you. You closed your eyes as you braced yourself for what was to come.

It never does.

The pressure is released all at once as Logan tackled the man who was on you. Digging his claws into him until he's limp on the ground. He runs to you, checking you injuries. You couldn't speak. You couldn't warn Logan that someone else was coming. Then it all goes black. You're too late.

You sit up, Logan's name on the tip of your tongue as you wake up. Fuck. You take in your surroundings and try to calm down. Slowly sinking back into your bed. Reminding yourself that everything fine.

That the last mission didn't really end that way. Logan is okay, you're okay. But what if things had played out different.

If you could have held your own then Logan wouldn't have had to come to your rescue. He carried you back to the jet and while everyone was nice, you knew that you disappointed them.

You haven't been asked to go on a mission since. It hurt, you wanted to go. To be apart of the team. So you took it upon yourself to train. Your powers were trained in lessons with the professor but he never lets you go past a certain limit. So instead you decided to sneak out at night to the nearby forest and train there.

Honing not only your powers but your hand to hand combat as well. Trees were your only partners but it worked. They were strong and sturdy. Every night you'd sneak out. Practice with your powers which drained you and then practiced everything else after. It left you bloody and bruised but in your mind it was worth it.

Glancing at the clock you see that you've slept through most of the day. The sun had already set. Quietly you get dressed and sneak down the hallways. Most everyone was already in bed and if they weren't they were socializing in the living room. All you had to do was sneak by and you were home free for the night.

Laughter is the perfect distraction as you sneak past the doorway. Opening the door slowly and sneaking outside, running to the safety of the woods. What you don't notice is someone following you.

Logan caught your scent the second you stepped out of your room. Whether he wants to admit it or not he's always searching for you. He smelled your shampoo wafting past the door and eyed you outside. You were quick but he could still see you. Enough of this. Whatever the hell you were doing was killing you. Slowly but surely it was ruining you physically and mentally. He slipped away from the rest of the people in the living room and followed you.

As he got deeper in the woods he became worried, just what could you be doing out here? His ears perk up as he hears you. Peaking through the trees he finds you in a small clearing. You were clearly exhausted but you kept pushing. Creating energy from your finger tips and blasting them at a tall redwood.

Logan smells the blood that trickled from your nose. You were pushing yourself too hard. He's about to reveal himself when the loud creaking of a branch stops him.

You were too wrapped up in conjuring another blast that you don't notice a large tree branch cracking from the force of your powers. Logan springs in to action.

"Watch out!" He growls as he launches himself at you. Grabbing your body and wrapping himself around you the best he can. The branch falls right onto his back. It snaps in two as it falls to either side of you.

"Logan?! What are you doing here?" You ask as you stare at the fallen branch. Kicking yourself for not noticing it fast enough forcing Logan to put himself in danger for you again.

"What am I doing here? What the fuck are you doing out here?" He yells as he lets you go. Taking in just how bad you looked.

"What the hell is wrong with you? What if I wasn't here? What if that branch fell and hit you and no one would know that you were bleeding out in the fucking woods!" Logan snarls. His fear and worry being masked by anger. How could you be so reckless? So stupid?

"I didn't ask you to fucking follow me!" You bite back. Shame creeping up as he scolds you. Logan scoffs and grabs your face firmly.

"Do you even see yourself right now?" He grabs your wrist and holds it up. Staring at your bloody knuckles. It fucking hurts. It hurts for him to see you like this and it hurts him that you were doing this to yourself.

“You're tearing yourself apart, why?" The anger starts to fade, his real feelings breaking through.

"Because I'm weak." You admit, your voice cracking as the adrenaline starts to drain. Instead being replaced but complete and utter exhaustion.

"What?" Logan asks in disbelief.

"I failed the last mission, I could have gotten you hurt, I was a liability. If I got stronger, If I was better."

"Stop. Just stop. You really think all that?" Logan has let go of you by now, his eyes are looking at all your bruises. All the damage you've done to yourself.

"You don't?" You ask, afraid of his answer.

He doesn't say a word. Instead he takes your holds your hand, you try to ignore the butterflies growing in your stomach as he leads you back to the mansion. Taking you up to his room where he pulls out a first aid kit.

He doesn't need one but every room has one, of course you had already used up all of yours. Silently he patches you up, wrapping your knuckles in bandages and wiping up the blood from your nose.

"If you wanted train you could have come to one of us, to me." He should have noticed sooner, said something. Stopped you from doing this to yourself.

"I thought I had to do it on my own."

"You don't. It took me a while to figure it out too but you don't." He would be a hypocrite to scold you for going off alone but he doesn't really care.

"I'm sorry." You mumble. Logan cups your face and to your shock kisses your forehead gently.

"Don't ever do this again do you hear me." Logan can help you, he can protect you.

"I won't." You promise him. He smiles and picks you up.

"Logan!" You yelp as he drops you into his bed.

It smells just like him and you can't deny the instant comfort that comes over you as you snuggle into his sheets.

"You're going to rest for the next week. Anything you need you just call alright?"

"But what-" He stares at you and you stop talking, he wasn't fucking around about this.

"When you're healed and rested. Then we can train together." He doesn't leave room for argument, not that you wanted to argue with him anyways but still.

"Thank you Logan...You didn't have to do this."

He could have turned his head, pretended he never saw anything. Its what you expected him to do if you were being honest. But he didn't. He saw you struggling, pushing yourself and he couldn't let you hurt yourself any longer. He cared about you, a lot.

"I know." He says simply.

"Will you stay, while I sleep. I've been getting these nightmares and well..." Logan nods his head.

He shuts off the lights and crawls into bed with you. Kind of, more like he's half hanging off the edge of the bed. But you're comfortable and that's good enough for him.

It doesn't take long for you to fall asleep. The comforting aura of Logan was enough. He hums as you curl closer to him. Logan chasing away any nightmares that threaten to hurt you and for the first time in a while your dreams are quiet.

A smile on your face as peace finally overcomes your dreams.

[penkura]

Holly Jolly Christmas

Summary: Your first Christmas with the Heart Pirates leads you out on deck for a few moments alone, only to be joined by your captain making sure you're okay.

Note: Just wanted to write something like this, Reader needing to step away to get their feelings in check and Law being willing to listen. :) Again, SORRY IT'S SO LATE. I went to see Sonic 3 this morning after church and it threw my whole day off. (:

“Oh come on, stay inside with us! It’s chilly out there!”

“I’ll be fine, Ikkaku, I just need some air!”

She rolls her eyes at you but doesn’t fight, instead being pulled away by Shachi for a dance while you laugh and step outside to the deck of the Polar Tang, taking a breath and feeling at ease. The holiday party your crewmates were throwing was starting to overwhelm you, a small break is all you need, some fresh air and the chance to collect yourself. It’s still hard to believe this is your life sometimes, that you’re a member of this crew and have friends that care about you, including a captain that wants you to stay safe. People who like and want you around, it’s so different from before.

Your first year with the Heart Pirates was coming to an end, right at Christmas time too. Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think a pirate captain would request you to join them after seeing you protect yourself from some robbers on your home island, you just wanted to be able to eat that night and keep your hard-earned money from them. Apparently it was enough that day to convince Law you would be a good addition to his crew, for some reason you felt like you couldn’t say no even though he didn’t scare you or anything. It felt like something told you that day to go, not like you had anyone to return to at home anyway. Most people on your home island tolerates you enough to pay you for small jobs, but no one cared when you left, you’re sure of that.

It didn’t matter though, once you were introduced to everyone, they all took a quick liking to you and showed you the ropes, taught you how the ship worked and everything you’d need to know for life as a Heart Pirate. You learned everything as quickly as you could, you didn’t want to be seen and burden or dead weight on the crew, and not one of your new friends thought that about you, they all gave Law good reports when they’d help you with anything.

You’re grateful for everything that’s happened the last year, watching your crewmates have fun tonight and enjoy themselves. It’s really like having a family again.

“There a reason you’re out here alone?”

Hearing Law’s voice just makes you smile at him over your shoulder, before he joins you leaning against the railing. Of course he’d find you, he’s very good at that lately. Sometimes it feels like he's actively seeking you out, though that could just be wishful thinking.

“I just needed some air, captain.”

“You don’t have to call me that when it’s just us, I’ve told you that,” Law rolls his eyes while you giggle at him, “Doing okay?”

You nod with a small hum, you know he won’t press too hard to find out what’s going on, he already knows everything about you. Law never pushed but always listened when you wanted to talk about your previous life, when he noticed you weren’t doing well one day and it ended in you sobbing in his arms for hours about your lost family. He was awkward about it but didn’t make you leave until you were calm again, it made him realize there was more that you hadn’t told him at that point.

You two were more alike than Law ever expected when he brought you on.

“I need to thank you, Law,” he looks over to you with furrowed brows, but you’re not even looking at him, “If you all hadn’t shown up last year, I probably—”

“Enough, you don’t have to thank me again.”

You laugh with a nod as Law rolls his eyes once again, before you reach over and hug him. It’s taken some time but you’ve gotten Law used to these random hugs, he’s even started returning them like he does now.

“Still though, I’m grateful…getting to know all of you and feel like I belong somewhere again…thank you for saving me, captain.”

“…we’re all glad to have you here.”

You both stay like that for a while, even though it’s cold out and you know Law will want you inside shortly to get warm again. ��But these moments with just the two of you are rare, some people would question your relationship if it’s just captain and subordinate or something else there, but you’re happy with where the two of you are.

“All right, you lovebirds, everyone’s waiting for you to do Secret Santa already!”

The two of you almost up away from each other, Law giving Penguin a glare while you look away, your older crewmate having a smirk on his face.

“I won’t tell anyone, don’t worry. But really, come on! Everyone wants to open gifts!”

“Fine,” Law sighs, waving Penguin and keeping a hand on your shoulder, “We’ll be there in a moment.”

“Sure thing, cap!”

Penguin runs off to get everyone ready, leaving you and Law alone against. He’s obviously annoyed but it makes you smile anyway. It might be more than either of you are ready for, but you grab his hand and starts walking back into the Polar Tang.

“Better not keep everyone waiting, right, Law?”

“Yeah…guess so…”

You’ll tease him about the light blush on his face later, but tonight, you’ll keep the smile he gives you later on to yourself, and the fact you were his Secret Santa will be your personal secret until Law questions you about it.

You’re the only one who could’ve given him those coins from your home island anyway.

[nuttersincorporated]

Some of you have only watched The Muppet Christmas Carol, not read the original story and it shows. I LOVE The Muppet Christmas Carol! It is be far the best movie adaptation of A Christmas Carol but the original story is still superior.

Listen, you can’t compare Scrooge to modern CEOs. He was ALWAYS better than them, even at the start of the story where he’s a jerk. No, Scrooge did not need to see people happy at his death before he was willing to change.

Seriously, the story is public domain and not that long. There are free versions online to read and/or listen to.

The original story does a better job of showing how Scrooge became the man he was and how the Ghosts helped him change for the better.

In the book, young Scrooge was basically abandoned at school by his father, who was a cruel man. He was the only child left at school over Christmas, so never had the chance to celebrate it. He read fairy tales and dreamed of mythical characters.

When old Scrooge saw his younger self alone at Christmas, he thought about a boy who’d been carolling at his door earlier. He wished he’d been kinder to that child.

One year, his younger sister Fran (the one family member who ever truly loved and who he loved) came to pick him up. She said their father had changed for the better and he could come home. His younger self was overjoyed.

Scrooge used to love the Fezziwig Christmas Party. The Ghost of Christmas Past pointed out that it wasn’t a very expensive party but Scrooge said that wasn’t the point. It was kind and fun and… oh, suddenly he wished he could have a word with his own employee.

Scrooge used to love Bell but became more and more money focused so she left him.

When the Ghost of Christmas Present came along. Scrooge learned how wonderful Christmas could be. He saw people being kind, even though they gained nothing from it. He saw people in need and realised he had the power to help them. He had his own cruel words thrown back at him and realised how horrible they were.

When they went to Fred’s Christmas party, Scrooge had a wonderful time. He didn’t even take officen when – in the guessing game – Fred referred to him as an ‘unwanted animal’. He could tell it was all in fun and that Fred was serious when he said he really wished Scrooge would accept his invitation one of these days.

By the time the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come came along, Scrooge had already decided to become a better person.

Scrooge didn’t immediately make the connection between himself and the dead man everyone hated because he assumed that his future self was off somewhere else doing good deeds. He kept looking around for his future self, to see what good he was doing. It was only at the graveyard he realised this was what his future would have been if hadn’t already made the decision to change.

TL;DR the last ghost might be needed for modern CEOs. However, I doubt all three together would make a difference because they are worse than Scrooge. Also, while the last ghost reenforced things, Scrooge had already seen the error of his ways and decided to change.

[power-chords]

Music lovers of the mid-nineteenth century were young, middle class, white men and women, often newly arrived in American cities, who, for the first time in history, focused more on hearing public concerts than on making music themselves at home. For many Americans in antebellum cities, the chance to hear professionally performed music simply for the price of a ticket was astonishing, wiping away the necessity of having to learn an instrument, find sheet music, and practice. Indulging in its convenience was the mark of someone fully participating in the sophisticated culture of the city. But music lovers imbued their participation in this enterprise with unexpected enthusiasm. They did not just attend concerts; they depleted their savings to do so every night; they described their feelings about what they heard in diaries, and they waited, longingly, for their favorite performers to return so that listeners could hear those performers again and again.

Take Walt Whitman, who, as one of the earliest music lovers, developed a fascination with concerts while a journalist in New York City in the mid-1840s: on the “free list” for concerts, he was able to hear most of the major virtuoso performers who passed through the city in the late 1840s and early 1850s and would frequently rhapsodize about his favorite opera singers. Although Whitman never had any formal musical training and never learned to play an instrument, music affected him with such force that he described his listening experiences in poems, journal entries, and reminiscences throughout his entire life.

[...] As the concert business grew in the 1850s, spectacle became one means of competition between promoters, especially in the form of the “monster” concert format that, at its extreme, put literally thousands of performers onstage at the same time and necessitated the building of huge, temporary performance halls, the size of several contemporary football fields to accommodate such ambitions. The novelty of these performances for most people was the overwhelming physical experience—a kind of sonic rush of instruments, crowds, and applause.

For music lovers, though, sensation was not a novelty but rather a desired ideal for all performance experiences, whether in a temporary coliseum or a “lecture room” at a dime museum. Music lovers were attuned to the power and quality of performed sound at a visceral, almost intuitive level. Voices had to “strike” or “move” them to be important. In response to opera, especially, music lovers often expressed an overwhelming visceral ecstasy, with music “filling their souls” to the point of losing composure, something that was excitingly dangerous and quite cathartic within the behavioral strictures of middle-class Victorian culture.

—Daniel Cavicchi, “Fandom Before 'Fan': Shaping the History of Enthusiastic Audiences,” Reception: Texts, Readers, Audiences, History, Vol. 6 (2014)

[theconcealedweapon]

"Be yourself" is horrible advice.

Many people have never had a chance to be themselves. Children are forced to obey adults and pretend to be interested in whatever their parents decide for them. Autistic people are regularly berated for talking about their special interests and are considered rude because of their natural facial expressions. "Be yourself" often requires undoing the trauma inflicted by the very people saying to "be yourself".

Also, it takes time to figure out what being yourself even means. And for people who were bullied, many are in their thirties still figuring out what being yourself means. Before you know what it means to be yourself, you often have to take wild guesses at what to do and see what feels good. This often involves copying what you see others do, copying what you see on TV, or doing what someone dares you to do. People who do that are usually the ones most told to "be yourself", even though, ironically, that's exactly what they're trying to do.

[callipraxia]

Lots of interesting stuff here; the one point, aside from how I love the phrase “ship of Theseus-ing himself,” I can comment on…somewhat succinctly is the “learning that maybe it’s just better if he shuts himself off from the world so nobody has a chance to hurt him.” I think it partially was as a self-defense measure…but also partially due to his shift toward “mission-oriented” behavior.

We know Stan is a social creature. He craves connection. Not all that long before he went to Gravity Falls, we saw him trying to befriend his cellmates in a Colombian prison. It’s also well-established that he likes women and has had (tumultuous) relationships with them in the past, but by the time the Lazy Susan B-Plot happens in s1, he’s clearly been out of the game for a while. We see no evidence, in fact, that he ever had any relationships in GF in thirty years of living there…because how could he? He couldn’t tell a love interest who he was or what he was doing with his free time, because if that relationship didn’t work out, that person would have epic blackmail material. And if he had a love interest and let her continue to believe he was Stanford Pines, well, that was going to get awkward when he definitely rescued the real one any day now, wasn’t it? So, between needing to lie about who he was and the simple fact that dating would take up time which could otherwise be spent on his mission, having even a girlfriend, never mind a wife, would have been tantamount to giving up, which is…not an option in his world usually, because the “stubborn” bit stuck no matter what else about him changed. Having friends would also introduce the same problems, to a probably lesser extent. So, therefore, there was nothing to do but shut himself off from the world, which became a self-reinforcing habit that progressively made him more and more cynical and bitter about his position in life as everyone learned he was emotionally isolated from other people and therefore not someone they liked or trusted….

Aaah, this reminds me of a fic I never wrote. We know a little about Carla McCorkle and Marilyn, but the rhyme at the end of “Roadside Attraction” also mentions a “Beatrice” who “slapped him for being a cad.” We never hear anything else about Beatrice, which made her fair game, so a plot idea I had involved Stan - since this was early into his career, before he had fully shifted the public idea of Stanford Pines away from “the science guy in the woods” - more or less accidentally getting recruited to help judge the science fair, despite how he knew relatively little science at that time and also really, really hates science fairs in particular. Cue light romantic comedy with a Beatrice also associated with this event during the lead-up to it/his efforts to sabotage it so it doesn’t ever happen…which then, of course, naturally all has a bad ending when he realizes that oh, yeah, right…his life is fake and he has a top-secret, all-important mission in his basement, time to deliberately behave badly until Beatrice breaks up with him and the ending is discordantly sad and angsty. Never wrote it because I could never figure out how to write and pace the romantic comedy bits, though.

Something I think about so much is just how different the Stanley Pines we see in ATOTS is from the Grunkle Stan we know in the rest of the show.

Like, have you ever noticed just how much more expressive Stan is in 1983? The guy wears his heart on his sleeve so much more than he does later on. At almost every moment you can tell exactly what he's thinking and feeling just from his face, something that will become a lot rarer for him. Even setting aside the portal incident scene itself, have y'all ever watched the Dusk 2 Dawn scene and just watched Stan's face? He looks so… openly sad.

It's not just his expressions. Here's a detail that only just occurred to me: you guys ever think it's weird that Stan doesn't just try to steal the bread from Dusk 2 Dawn? Like, you'd think his stealing habit would've originated from his years on the street stealing to survive, but no— he tries to pay for the bread, and then when he doesn't have any money, he figures out how to get some. It's surprisingly honest.

And just like… I don't know, his whole vibe is so different. He's come from this life of hardship completely willing to talk things through. He's emotional, he's open, and not exactly what you'd expect to see when you imagine what a younger Grunkle Stan might have been like. In fact, his vibe is so different that, in Journal 3, Ford writes that when he first saw Stan, he assumed he was just in another alternate dimension rather than the one he came from.

Anyway, it just makes me think about the transition of how, exactly, he went from one to the other. How we go from the "stubborn, frostbitten vagabond" to the "carnival barker" he is by the show's present. I think about that in-between Stan a lot. Realizing that the hole in his heart, the one he thought was caused by his circumstance for so long, hadn't disappeared even now that he had money and a steady place to live. Growing more bitter and grumpy by the day, learning that maybe it's just better if he shuts himself off from the world so nobody has a chance to hurt him. Seeing himself aging and finding himself no closer to saving Ford. Ship of Theseus-ing himself into the carefully curated asshole that maybe even he thinks he is.

[varpusvaras]

Fox had never really interacted with children before.

There had not been any time or opportunities for him to interact with the younger troopers on Kamino. They were all divided into their respective age groups, and then further by their ranks in training, so Fox had been surrounded only by his immediate peers for the first decade of his life. He had seen glimpses of the younger clones, of course, through the windows of the training rooms and passing by him on the hallways every now and then.

There were a lot more children on Coruscant, and Fox had even talked to many by now, but they had been fleeting moments as well. Just a few words here and there. The longest conversation he had ever had before this had been with the younger Jedi, who always greeted him and his troopers enthusiastically whenever they happened to be near the Temple. The young ones were nice enough, and always asked him so many questions, but still, there had always been a very distinct barrier between him and then. Never able to get too close, never able to from anything meaningful, not like some of his brothers with Padawans did.

All in all, Fox had never really thought that kids would in any way be an important part of his life, ever. It wasn't like he was ever going to have his own, after all. Some of his brothers enjoyed that sort of thought, having a family and all of that after the war was over, but Fox had always been a realist. The chances of the majority of them surviving long enough for any of that were slim, and even though they were slightly higher for the clones stationed on Coruscant, Fox wasn't betting on any of them. He was a soldier, and a Commander at that. He always had to be ready to die for the Republic at a moments notice. There was no room for dreaming about the non-existent future.

So, no, Fox had never imagined himself as a father, nor had he ever had any allusions that he would even be any good at it. Children were tiny and fragile in a way that he had never been and expected and needed things Fox had never received while growing up, and he had no delusions about being able to provide something he had no experience on to someone else.

All of this was going through his head as he clicked on yet another hair-braiding tutorial and started watching.

The Twi'lek on the screen made it look absurdly easy for someone who didn't even have hair. Was this some innane ability that all Nat-borns possessed? That didn't seem correct, but Fox wasn't sure what else it would be. He didn't have clumsy hands, quite the opposite, but this all seemed very complicated, and from the way Leia had asked him to do it, Fox had the distinct feeling that there were expectations placed on him about it.

Had his other future self done this too? Stared at one tutorial after another and practiced until it came as a second nature to him? So much so that Leia now held some sort of presumption about Fox's skills on the matter? If so, Fox cursed him to the deepest pits on Coruscant's lowest levels. Fox already had enough expectations placed upon him. He didn't need this as well.

He wasn't complaining out loud, no. This was not on Leia, after all, this was on Fox's dumb other future self who had decided that it was a good idea to play house with people who were absolutely, definitely, irrevocably way out of Fox's league. Well, what Fox had always been was an chronic overachiever, so maybe it all had been inevitable in some sort of twisted way, and had now led to Fox sitting in his office and staring at yet another tutorial. Leia was thankfully still content in playing games on Fox's datapads, as she had been for a better part of two hours by now. Were children supposed to be spending that much time staring at screens? Fox was pretty sure that he had heard one of the Senator's complaining about their children having too much screen time and being all whiny because of it. Fox didn't know. He had spent the majority of his life staring at screens. Well, the other future Fox could only blame himself for it all, since he had been the one who had decided to have a kid and learned to braid hair in the first place.

Fox watched the tutorial to the end, and then rewinded it a couple of times more. This one didn't look too complicated. He could do it. It was just hair.

"Alright", he said. Leia snapped her eyes up from the pad to him. "Come here, let's try it."

He didn't need to tell her twice. Leia hopped down from the couch immediately and ran to him, leaning against the edge of his chair in a very distinctly practised way. Okay. Fox could do this. It's just hair.

Leia had very soft and very long hair. The military-graded soap that Fox had had to give her had not yet scrubbed away all the nice products that she undoubtedly had been using so far, unless she just happened to have very soft hair naturally. Maybe that was just a thing. She was a princess, after all. Fox could imagine a princess just having hair like this.

Right. Divide to two parts. Easier to work with when you have less hair at once in your hands. That was easy. Tie up the half of the hair you aren't braiding yet. Easy as well. Then start from the top of the head, from the right, over, then left, over, bring more hair into it as you go. Right, over, left, over, right, over, left, over. Do not get distracted and mess it up. Right, over, left, over, right, over, left, over. Bring more hair into it as you go. Remember to keep it equally tight all the way. Tie up firmly at the end and fluff it up a little, like so. Then take the other side and try to make it as symmetrical as possible. Start from the top of the head, from the left, over, then right, over, bring more hair into it as you go. Left, over, right, over, left, over, right, over. Tie up, fluff it up a little.

Fox felt like he had held his breath the entire time. To Leia's credit, she had stood completely still the entire time, not complaining about Fox pulling at her hair maybe a bit too tight even once. Fox was sure that he had pulled her hair a bit too tight a few times. Not that he had meant to, but still.

It wasn't like he had been made for this.

"There", he said, as he had finished adjusting the hairtie on the second braid. He did not ask her what she thought. Fox could very much see all the places where he had left the braid a bit too loose and where he had not managed to pull all of the strands properly into it and where they were now sticking out. At least he had made two braids, and he had tried to tie them up tight enough so they would last more than ten minutes.

Leia straightened her back, and very carefully, she ran her hands over the braids, before standing up on her toes to see her reflection on one of the screens on Fox's desk. Fox braced himself a little, almost on reflex. They were just two braids, and not very neat ones at that. He had seen so many ways to braid hair in much more complex and beautiful ways that she probably expected from him, rather than the ones Fox had managed to construct on her head. She was a princess, after all, and princesses were supposed to get all of the best things in the Galaxy.

Not whatever mess Fox was capable of.

He watched as Leia turned her head a bit to see her hair better from the reflection, and then how her face split into a bright, toothy grin.

"Thank you Buir!" She turned around, and before Fox could say anything, she had climbed halfway onto his chair and wrapped her arms around his middle as far as she could reach. "Can I play a little more?"

"Uh", Fox tried to figure out how to speak with his suddenly very uncooperative tongue. "Sure. Just a little more."

"Okay!" Just like that, she was off again, skipping across the room back to the couch, her braids bouncing up and down with every step, and she jumped onto the couch and pulled the datapad back on her lap. She looked up at him one more time, and grinned at him again, before going back to whatever game she had been playing before.

Fox looked at her for a moment longer as she played. She was wiggling her feet happily as she did so, like this was all up to the bar she had come to expect in her life until now. As if Fox had managed to do something correct, just like her actual parents.

Fox swallowed, and turned back to his work. His heart was beating very loudly for something so little.

He didn't hate it.

[ushifiles]

╰  4,114 words · ˚ ༘ ꒱ When the doorbell rings after a few months, Sylus does not hesitate to put down his glass of whiskey and smile to himself in the darkness. Good girls never disappoint, and she just happens to be his best and only girl.

alternate universe — no powers. female reader. third person. age gap ( sylus is in his late thirties, and reader is in her early twenties ). friends to lovers. freak for freak dynamics. mentions of alcohol and violence, an unnamed shitty ex for reader. caretaker ! sylus. sugar daddy dynamics, heavy power imbalance. masturbation. somnophilia. drugging. babytrapping + breeding. fingering. cunnilingus. dubious consent, includes groping and manhandling.

For as long as anyone can remember, she had always been with Sylus.

They are not together, not even in the slightest, but they are friends — one would even say that they are the best of friends. The difference in their ages never bothered either of them. Sylus may have been in his late-thirties, and she, in her early-twenties, but that never had been a problem.

‘She makes me feel young,’ he mused one too many times, always after a few too many glasses of straight vodka emptied on the table. ‘You’re not even that old, oh god,’ she would groan to his shoulder, the fabric damp with a mess of her sweat and tears and more than one of the numerous alcohol in her glass that barely cradles the full volume of her monstrous concoction. Everyone in their circle would always end up laughing, and he would spend the night trying to bribe her to get down from the table before bringing her to his home, and to his bed where she would spend the night.

Nobody even knows how they began, not that they can answer it either. One day, they were both alone, until one day, they were not. It just felt — and it still feels — like the most natural thing in the world, being with Sylus and having him by her side. 

After all, where one goes, the other follows. 

He picks her up after class, and she visits him at work. He brings her to the restaurants that she wants to try, each one she talked about before having seen it on her social media; she brings him food, a sandwich or a few pastries that he mentioned once before that he wishes to try.

If one sees Sylus, then it is of no surprise if they end up seeing her too.

Some people even say that if they cannot find her, then just look for Sylus; chances are, she will be hanging off his arm with the brightest smile that makes even the sun pale in comparison. On the other hand, if they cannot seem to find Sylus, then just look for her; more often than not, he is definitely trailing after her with a besotted curl of his lips.

Eventually, his things end up mixing with hers, a sweatshirt hanging on the back of her couch, his imported sauces that find a home in her kitchen cabinets, and even bottles of his toiletries in her bathroom. In the same vein, her things find their way to his home too, a few of her stuffed animals on his bed, more than a few days’ worth of clothes in his closet, and her own fluffy robe that hangs right beside his.

Just like it has always meant to be.

She ignores how much the mere sight of their things mingling with their respective spaces makes her preen, just like how she has been ignoring how his mere presence is enough to cloud her senses in a rose-coloured haze.

It is easier this way, to pretend that nothing is out of the ordinary.

Her feelings do not matter when compared to their friendship. She is a big girl who can swallow the affection that threatens to spill from her lips every time he looks at her. She can take having to bite down the words that wish to interrupt whenever someone approaches Sylus, but she cannot resist the smugness that drips out of her whenever they all always end up rejected and his attention is returned to her like nothing ever happened.

Sylus is what home should feel like, warm and safe.

His plans shatter the moment a yapping pup enters the picture.

The man-who-should-never-be-named enters with all the bluster that comes with youth and more bark than bite, arrogant little shit. Sylus is not afraid of his proximity to his darling girl, not when she is far more clever than anyone — save for himself — gives her credit for. His presence in her life means that her standards should have risen to bars that only he can surpass. 

Unfortunately, for all his foresight, such a thing did not happen.

Sylus can do no more than watch from the sidelines as she falls way too quickly, way too deep, that he can no longer bring her to the surface. It makes something in his chest ache, his teeth to dig into his cheeks until the taste of iron is all-encompassing. From the tightness  of his clenched fists, pomegranates bloom from burst blood vessels until half-moon indents turn red from the blood.

Everything is fine, all of it is fine. He can be patient, especially when it comes to her.

But he is no saint, not when this stupid mutt keeps on testing him.

When she comes to him, eyes heavy with weariness and resignation, giving voice to words that do not belong to her heart — we should probably keep distance, it wouldn’t look nice to anyone if they see me hanging around you while I have a boyfriend — Sylus has to resist the urge to rip that bastard’s head off of his neck. All he does is smile, eyes curled into crescents to mask the rage that simmers deep inside of him, and agree.

He can never deny her anything after all.

So, he bides his time.

Foolish boys like that piece of shit can never take care of girls properly, can never spoil them the way they should be, can never fuck them the way a real man could. Little mutts like him tend to bark the loudest, knowing that it is all they have when their fangs will never be sharp enough. 

He keeps his distance, watches through the sidelines, and waits.

When the doorbell rings after a few months, Sylus does not hesitate to put down his glass of whiskey and smile to himself in the darkness.

Good girls never disappoint, and she just happens to be his best and only girl.

When the worst happens, there is only one place that she knows to turn to.

The breakup had been a long time coming, everyone who knew her and the ex-who-must-never-be-named have always said that she was too good for someone like him. It is only now that she finally let those words sink into her brain and packed her bags, but not without leaving him with a parting slap — right above the kiss mark on his jaw that was not done in any of her lipstick shades.

She breaks up with him in the morning, and finds herself on Sylus’ front porch before evening falls completely and drowns the rest of the city in darkness.

There is no way that she will stay in that shitty apartment of his, not when she was paying more than half of the rent on top of the electricity and water bills. Let him be kicked out, he should not have cheated on her in the first place anyway.

She is here because she knows Sylus, knows that she can stay for a few weeks just to get her bearings back, and knows that he would be delighted.

He is kind to her like that.

It has barely been a minute since she rang the bell, but he is already there, windswept and breathless as if he ran just to open his door so she would not have to wait. Her heart aches with the fondness, but it is overtaken by the weight of her sorrow.

“We broke up.”

Three simple words that fall from her lips unbidden, her first words to him in months, but Sylus does not even falter when taking her into his arms and letting her cry on his chest over the time wasted on a man who did not see her worth and the time they had to spend apart because of his fragile masculinity. She weeps and clings to Sylus like a lifeline, like he is an anchor to her life that is splintering at the seams, then she lets herself rest.

He will take care of her, he always does.

They are friends, nothing more and nothing less.

Now though, everyone knows that it is only about time before it turns into something more, with the upstart pup finally out of the picture and she is finally in his home. The arrangement was only meant for a few days, then it extends to a few weeks, and when it turns to a month, she tries to offer him payment for the rent he never asked for that he snaps his teeth at playfully.

His eyes remain cold, however.

“Do you think I can’t take care of you?” He asks, teeth bared in a playful snarl but the threat of his bite is true. “Do you think I’d need your money to take care of you, hm?”

It is offensive, how she thinks that she owes him money after everything. As if he demands monetary compensation when her presence in his life is more than enough. She brings light to his days, a stability to the chaos that runs around his mind. She is all that matters, much more now that she is finally in his grasp.

She shrinks at his words, and he feels something inside of him turn cold. He was too much, too fast, too harsh. His arms reach for her almost immediately, tucking her underneath his chin for an embrace. Sylus is careful to not hold her too tight, to not hold her too loosely either. “Baby, really. I’m sorry for snapping at you like that. You understand, don’t you? I can take care of you, of this house, and everything else. All you have to do is to be pretty, safe, and happy. Can you do that for me, darling?”

When she nods hesitantly, he relaxes and presses a kiss to her crown.

“Good girl.”

For a few weeks, that is that.

Sylus thinks that peace has finally returned to their home, because this entire space that belongs to his name is shared by another — the only one that he wants to stay here forever, and she is finally letting him take care of her.

Until he stumbles upon her one night, scrawling on her notebook with her money separated into bills and coins. Something like irritation builds in his stomach at the mere sight.

“What are you doing?” He keeps the tone of his voice even, red tracking the way she jumps in surprise and tries to hide the notebook before giving up with a sigh. She gives him a small smile, shaky at the corners, but he is not fooled in the slightest.

The silence stretches, becoming filled with tension.

She gives in, breaks her gaze to look elsewhere. “Budgeting,” she whispers, but to his ears it sounds like a scream.

His eyebrows furrow, meeting in the middle. A frown finds its way to appear on his features. “Budgeting,” he repeats, not even as a question but as if a statement on its own. For a moment, he sees red. This stubborn little girl, really. Sylus does not know if her youth is equal to this behaviour or if it is simply in her nature, he does not know, and that lack of control and knowledge over one thing so dear to his heart is enough to rattle him.

Instead of letting it turn into another argument when she does not answer, he only pulls out his wallet and plucks a black card to lay it flat on the table.

“Use that,” he smiles, despite the way his teeth ache from the tightness in his jaw. “Don’t tell me no, darling. I don’t care for your protests and cute little refusals. You live under my roof, you better spend my money. That’s the rule. There is no such thing as having to budget for things here, alright?”

The only consolation he gets is the delightful flush on her cheeks, the widening of her eyes, and the clenching of her thighs to one another.

“I said, alright?” It was a demand for a response, one that makes her breath hitch before she gives him a frantic nod. A pretty little thing so desperate to please. Sylus watches as she reaches for the black card, holding it close to her chest with something like awe and finds something in him finally settling.

Her thighs pressing against one another under the table does not go ignored, not when all of his senses are intimately attuned to every movement that she does.

Sylus can feel his mouth go dry at the sight, daring himself to move, and when he does? It is all pure instinct. He takes a seat beside her, places one palm over her knee — dangerously close to the lace of her shorts adorned with a little bow at the waist. It is something that can be considered a friendly touch, nothing more and nothing less.

But his brain is whirring with images from his deepest fantasies, each one more depraved than the last when her legs automatically part the slightest bit in response.

[ … ] sharp spots of a kaleidoscopic lights bursting before his eyes, heaven in the shape of her perfect fucking cunt squeezing him tight with each inch that he presses deep inside her. Their lips are pressed together, her face scrunching rather adorably as sobs come spilling straight from her mouth to his—

[ … ] hair bunched between his fingers, his hand nearly engulfing the back of her head from the force of his hold. Each pull makes his bed squeak, the expensive springs making noises in protest from the ferocity of how he loves his sweetheart. His hips snap, delighting in the obscene squelching of her wetness and the copious amounts of cum he pumped into her—

[ … ] a comfortable weight above his lap, her legs spread wide open with the help of his knees so that they can both see the reflection they make in the mirror. His fingers are knuckle-deep inside her folds, skin pruned from how drenched she is. Lips to her ear, filth comes pouring out of his mouth, and he delights in the blush that overtakes her features—

[ … ] weighed down by sleep, she barely stirs when he falls to his knees between her slightly parted legs. His hands spread her open, thumb rubbing soothing circles on her knee. There’s no hesitation in the way his tongue hangs out, a starving dog and nothing more, and presses flat against the honeyed tang of her arousal—

There is no point in speaking, not when that touch is all he does. Sylus does not bring his hand higher, to the heat he can feel emanating from between her legs even this far down.

Anticipation makes everything much sweeter down the line.

Something is definitely wrong with her.

That is the only thing running through her head as she watches Sylus move around his state of the art kitchen with ease to prepare her a meal.

She has been living in his home for nearly a year now, all of her food is prepared by him or bought by his money, everything that touches her skin is paid for by the swipe of his black card that sits heavy in a bag that he bought for her. Everything that she has now all came from Sylus, and something about that makes her head spin with pleasure.

It feels nice to be taken care of like this, to have nothing to worry about.

Her footsteps bring her to the sink, knowing that it is only right that she cleans the dishes considering that he is the one cooking.

Barely even managing to touch the ceramic bowl before a hand immediately wraps around her wrist, halting all of her movements. She has always known that Sylus is big in the very literal sense of the word, he is tall and heavy and bulky, but this is the very first time that she has actually felt so little when compared to him, with his hand dwarfing the circumference of her wrist.

“Sit down,” he murmurs to her temple, pressing a quick kiss there before returning to the stovetop as if nothing happened while she remains frozen for a few more seconds. 

Her heart is pounding, like she just ran a ten-mile marathon, and her legs shake when they bring her to the dining table. There is a haze setting into her brain, like she is floating but not quite. Her eyes remain trained on Sylus as he cooks; back, ramrod straight. She does not even fidget or squirm, does not even try to protest, she just sits.

“Good girl,” he praises with a smile, giving her a bowl of pomegranate seeds drizzled with honey. “The food’s gonna be done in a few.”

A part of her likes this about him, the ease in the way he makes her do things. The fact that he does not need to actively order her to do them before she does. It makes a part of her brain go numb, just hazy in the delight that comes with obeying, and being good for him.

So that is exactly what she does, she eats, spoonful after spoonful. She licks the honey from her lips, and scrapes the bowl when she is nearly done. She makes sure not to leave a single seed behind. Unlike Persephone who only had six months per year, she will be spending all of her time in the Underworld by choice and with no regrets.

Winter can come for the rest of the world and never leave, she does not care. She will stay with him, inside this home that he rearranged just for her — safe and sound, happy and warm.

The meal arrives after the press of lips to her crown, and a part of her just takes great pleasure in being taken care of by him. She does not have to think, to fret, and to stress over even the smallest of things when Sylus is around. When he tugs on her wrist, she goes and sits above his lap. He does not ask, she does not refuse. No words are necessary, not when he takes such great care of her. A tap on her lips with the fork gets them parting, accepting the offering of meat in bite size pieces. A finger on her throat makes her head tilt, taking small gulps of water then wine then water again. 

Dessert is in the form of chocolate-covered strawberries, one that he taps against her bottom lip with hunger in his eyes. She looks up at him, meets his gaze, and bites. Pale red juices come dripping, down her chin to her neck, and even between the swell of her breasts.

Sylus looks at her, eating from his hand, like a man half-starved and half-feral. It is not a bad feeling; in fact, it feels delightful to be wanted in such a way.

Their gazes locked, she lets her tongue dart out to press against the pad of his fingers, tasting both him and the strawberry. It is such a heady combination that it makes her giggle, part-drunkenness from the wine and part-drunkenness from him.

“I really like you,” she murmurs the confession, blunt teeth nipping at his skin. “I really like being with you like this.”

She can see the way his pupils practically dilate upon hearing her words, a shaky exhale coming loose from his throat like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders at the admission. “I really like you too,” he whispers, leaning in close to let his forehead rest on hers.

He does not kiss her, and when night falls, she has to cum several times by humping her pillow — one that he bought for her — before she can admit that she was disappointed.

A part of him knows that he should not be doing this; unfortunately, it just so happens to be a very small one.

Blood rushes even further south, and Sylus can feel himself going dizzy. When he pulls his hips back, there is a very loud squelch that drowns out the sound of her even breathing. His fingers twitch from where they hold her by the waist, resisting the urge to hold her even tighter — he does not want to leave marks, not yet, but his control is a rapidly fraying rope. She is so fucking tight, he thinks, panting like a feral dog that turns to a drawn-out moan when she clenches around him subconsciously.

She was so naive, so willing to trust everything he says. All it took was a few pretty words, a gentle touch here and there, and she was so eager to down the offered glass. A few milligrams of the drug, crushed and mixed into the juice, is enough to knock an average adult for eight to twelve hours. But she has always been smaller than him, more delicate — not that it is even a significant point considering that everyone is smaller than him. It only took thirty minutes before she stumbled on the steps, a few more before she completely dropped faint in his arms. 

It was so easy to lay her on his mattress, where she should have been since the very moment she stepped foot in his home. Perhaps, even way before that. His bed is where she should have been the first time they met, he should have been Troy to this Helen of his, whisked her away to his kingdom at first sight without care for the repercussions.

What was not so easy was stripping her out of the clothes that she bought using his money. It felt like a waste, to not be able to fuck her in things that basically scream of him, but there will always be a next time.

‘And there will be a next time,’ Sylus vows to himself, mouthing the words to the skin of her nape like he wants to imprint the very intent of it into her. He can feel the tightness in his lower abdomen, the warning of an impending climax.

He does not want this to end just yet, not when she feels too good around him. But it is precisely because she feels too good that he feels himself beginning to unravel.

A hand reaches around to rub circles on the throbbing nub, breathing out a hoarse laugh when she squeezes even more around him. Even in her state of unconsciousness, she is too good— too perfect for him, and he loves her all the more for it. The sound of amusement turns into a groan, his hips stuttering in their pace. 

Reluctantly, he pulls away from where he has been slobbering all over the back of her neck to lean backwards and watch how puffy her folds have become.

Sylus is mesmerised, moving his thumb to trace the outline of her pussy wrapped snugly around his cock. There is already a frothy ring around the base of his girth, and he wants to make her into an even bigger mess. He needs her filled with him, leaking of him. ‘Maybe it will get her with a baby,’ he thinks with grim pleasure, eyes alight at the thought of seeing her womb swell with his seed taking root.

She is so sweet, so delicate. Someone like her will always try and refuse him, out of some misplaced sense of independence — damn, he needs to fuck that thought right of her head soon. This is where she belongs, in his house, in his bed, with her cunt wrapped around his cock. Having a baby with him will break her, but only just a bit, Sylus will never let her be completely broken by his hand. Just enough to make her malleable, to keep her with him forever.

She is so good like that, so perfect for him.

His pace quickens, almost frantically. It is of no surprise how quickly he finishes, he holds on to her tight and brings her close as he pumps her full, hissing under his breath at the intoxicating heat.

Unaware of the fluttering lashes that roll in the back of her skull and the grin she hides on the pillow, still pretending to be asleep on her stomach.

Like calls to like after all, and too much time spent in his company has made her all the more similar to Sylus to the point where even their schemes have begun to synchronise, striving for the same goal.

Not that he is aware of how much she knows.

How much she wants.

© ushifiles ( 2024 ): do not claim, modify, copy or repost my works without permission. minors do not interact.

[scripts4dreamers]

Me and my one (1) friend who has also had their brain corrupted by the blight (dragon age) have been fighting about this for two days but I’m so sure I’m right, so I humbly present my thesis to you lovely people.

1. After the events of the Veilguard, if Rook and Neve ended up together, Neve tries to leave you.

LET ME EXPLAIN! (Spoilers for the Veilguard ending)

I love Neve. She’s my favorite romance from Veilguard, she’s an incredible character and she does not deserve all the hate she gets. Having said that, she does 1000% try and leave Rook.

The one thing we know about Neve, almost from the moment we meet her, is that she is not a believer. She doesn’t believe Solas is a god, at first, she doesn’t believe anyone will have her back, she doesn’t believe Minrathous will improve and she doesn’t believe she’s going to survive this job. But still she fights on, not out of a genuine belief that she can win, but because she has a soft spot for lost causes.

Neve has devoted her life to being the champion of lost causes. She tells Rook that, even if this job doesn’t get her, one of them will. She risks her life, day in and day out, in service of a city that has done nothing but hurt her. Neve believes she’s a dead woman walking, and all she wants to do is go down protecting the people of Dock Town because someone has to. Someone has to.

And then she meets Rook and Harding and now gods are real, and they’re destroying the world and oh well everything was always going to go down in flames, so why not help out? She’s always been a magnet for bad news, for bad luck, for the worst of humanity, so why not spend her last days fighting for what little good is left?

She tries to fight falling for Rook, but they’re everything she wishes the world could be. They’re the lifeline she’s been waiting for since before the world forced her to stop believing. They’re good and kind and full of life and how can she do anything but love them for that? But she’s already dead, they’re both already dead and she can’t survive another loss.

She throws herself into loving them only after she lost them to the Fade. Only after Harding/Davrin died. After her world already ended, because that’s when she really realizes how quickly it can all end and how much time she wasted pushing people away. The goddamn WORLD IS ENDING and the person you love is THERE and they’re REAL and they WANT YOU, so why not? What is there to lose? It’s easy to love someone when the world is ending. It’s easy to love someone when you’re both already doomed.

But then the world doesn’t end. The sun rises on a blighted Minrathous and they’re both still alive, and now she’s faced with rebuilding. There’s so much work to be done, she’s a bloody, scarred mess and the job she was brought in for is over, isn’t it? She’s not a cool noir detective who died saving the world anymore, she’s someone’s partner, someone’s friend and lover and those aren’t jobs she had ever prepared herself to take.

Suddenly, without the haze of panic and the urgency of stopping the gods, things look different. She needs a new apartment. Minrathous needs a detective. Life goes back to normal and Neve still isn’t a believer.

Of course, everyone says they’ll stay in touch. Bonds formed that can never be broken and all that, but Neve knows better. You don’t hang around once the party is over. You don’t give the world more ways to hurt you, more people to take. You don’t give people a chance to leave you.

So she leaves first.

She regrets it. She hates herself for it. She cries herself to sleep wondering how she could be such a coward, but she leaves. She packs a bag, writes a goodbye letter and leaves before morning.

Now, do I think her and Rook get back together? Absolutely I do. I just think that, with all the events of Veilguard happening in such a short time, there’s going to be some major questions for all the companions once the dust settles, and leaving before you can be left is Neve Gallus’ answer to those questions.

[look-at-the-soul]

Hi, Mar!! Following your idea, I'm sending you a question too, to celebrate this anniversary! 🔟❤️

You have the chance to give Tommy one (1) gift. But this gift is from this century, something that not existed back in 1900. What would you like to give him? 🤔

Flor I’ve to start this apologizing for taking forever to reply I’m so sorry!

At first you caught me off guard and I didn’t know what to give him because he already has it all, or he has an easy access to everything (almost) and then time flew but suddenly I had an ide of something that would touch his heart ♥️ Thank you a million times for sending in this ask!

I finally found the perfect gift for Tommy and I turned it into a little story 🎄I got the inspiration from a one shot I did back in the day so this would be like “their present day” “The Photoshoot”

****

It’s not about the gifts under the tree

Y/N stood in a corner next to the fireplace whilst everyone focused on their Christmas presents. They had full house, Ada had her Spotify playlist on, the kids enjoying the moment thrilled about the last adventure of the elf on the shelf and Santa’s presents.

And of course there was the empty chairs, the people who had passed away. And Y/N noticed that ever since Polly wasn’t around anymore it was taking a toll on Tommy, they were one, their bond was so profound, at another level… they understood each other completely.

“I think there was a present missing under the tree.” Y/N whispered presenting her boyfriend a box.

That caught Tommy’s attention, he hadn’t seen that box before, it was wrapped in a delicate deep red fancy paper with reindeers silhouettes as pattern.

“Love you didn’t have to give me anything.” It was strange for him the feeling of getting presents, when he was just a boy his parents didn’t have a lot of money to spend on gifts so he grew up with that feeling that it wasn’t necessary spend money on him, all the contrary because he went above and beyond for everyone.

“I know, but I wanted you to have this, so why don’t you hurry up and open it?” She encouraged softly, eager to see his reaction.

It was a big box with several boxes inside, there was a frown in Tommy’s forehead. Y/N bit her lower lip in an attempt to conceal her excitement.

As he ripped the white and gold paper, Tommy found a portrait that when he turned it around, he found a photograph in color of his beloved mother.

Time froze and his heart returned to normal as his fingers touched his mother’s features.

“How…” a million questions crossed his mind just as tears blurred his vision.

Y/N came around to circle him from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Months before passing away, Polly gave me a few boxes of photographs, she thought I’d know what to do with it.

“I remember this photo, but it was damaged and it was in black and white.” Tommy choked, taking a deep breath to try to keep his emotions at bay.

“I edited it love, deleted the stains and colored the photo.” Y/N explained.

“Thank you.” He was fighting hard the lump installed in his throat.

Because as he took another box, he found a small album filled with Polaroids of pictures he had never seen before. His mother appeared in a couple dressed in a light blue dress in what seemed like her birthday celebration.

And before he could even ask Y/N how or when she got those, she whispered with a smile. “Found them in one of the boxes, then I learned how to convert film negatives into digital photos.”

Tommy couldn’t find the words to thank her for her thoughtful gift. Those photographs held memories of his loved ones, the only link he had to his keen and his past, and somehow she brought it back to life.

One by one, he revisited his past, his background through each Polaroid. And that was priceless.”There’s something else at the bottom.” Y/N pointed out when she noticed Tommy’s eyes were fixed on his mother portrait.

He blinked and looked at her in confusion. More? As if this wasn’t enough?

To his surprise, there was something else, a frame.

But it wasn’t any frame, Y/N plugged it and it came to life, showing Tommy a digital image of him and his mother.

“I might have used Photoshop a bit.” She explained nervously because of his silence.

The edited image showed him next to his mother and a blurred background, and making it look as if they got their picture taken together. His heart skipped a beat and suddenly another image appeared. It was Polly this time, a fabulous photo of her on her wedding day.

And so on many more images he had never seen filled the screen. He was mesmerized and shocked at the same time.

“This is the best present you could ever get me.” His words were full of gratitude. How could he ever top this?”How did you do that?”

Tommy asked so emotional when he saw an animated version of his mother, she was smiling at the camera, then looked away and finally she looked up in the sky laughing.

“I put together the series of photos I found, turned it into a video and looks like she’s moving.”

“Come here.” He pleaded, not finding the right words to thank her.

This wasn’t their first Christmas together, but it was definitely different. After been living together for almost a year, Y/N deserved the world, she had been so supportive after the sudden passing of his beloved aunt, she had been a wonderful step mother to Charlie, she practically took charge of everything to make this gathering for his family for Christmas to try to make it smoother for everyone specially the children.

Taking her hand, he placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles, his eyes saying more than his lips could.

Over the course of their relationship, she had been in charge of immortalizing several family portraits and important events like birthdays, holidays, school milestones… she loved it and to have a piece from his past as well captured in digital photographs was so important to her.

“Rose sent the Christmas card earlier.” Y/N added in an attempt to lighten the emotions he was going through.

“How could I miss it if you left it on my desk?” It was a family photograph Y/N took of her best friend Rose, her fiancé Alfie and their dog Cyril.

A soft giggle escaped her lips, their teasing would never end.

“I also happen to have another present for you.” Tommy added after a minute.

“Dad, Y/N look here.” Charlie interrupted their conversation, he was waving the instant camera she gave him and the kid had been snapping Polaroids of everyone.

“Charlie bring me my phone please.” Tommy asked pointing at the other side of the room. While his son skipped happily moving up and down the photo he took, he returned with a smile and handed the phone. “Show Y/N the wallet app.”

“What’s this?” Y/N was trying to process what she found on the screen.

“We’re going to Scotland tomorrow love, to spend New Year with your grandmother.” Tommy explained running his hand up and down Y/N’s back.

Now it was her turn to feel emotional over the gift she just got. Her grandma couldn’t travel anymore and she wasn’t in position to host a big party, but Tommy organized everything to spend a few days with her.

Leaning on his shoulder, she wrapped an arm around his neck, her free hand inviting Charlie as well. To them it wasn’t about the presents under the Christmas tree, but the people around it.

Thank you again so much for reading! Remember your feedback is the best gift you could give 🎄♥️✨🥰

Blurbs

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[wheels-of-despair]

It's a Wonderful Life (Even in Hawkins) Pairing: Eddie Munson x Evil Woman Summary: What would the lives of Eddie Munson's loved ones look like if he didn't exist? Contains: A bad night for all, a violent outburst, regrets, a bitchy ghost, a peek into another life, a Christmas party, a happy ending. Words: 5k

(This is inspired by It's a Wonderful Life. There are mentions of suicide and visions of a dark world without Eddie Munson. Takes place sometime after graduation.)

Eddie Munson can't wait for the worst night of his life to be over.

He screeches to a stop in front of the garage Corroded Coffin "practices" in and leaps out of the driver's seat, ready to get the band and all their shit out of his van and out of his sight.

"Well that was fucking embarrassing," Gareth grumbles, rolling out the back doors with an armload of equipment.

"We might as well have played kazoos," Jeff adds, yanking out his guitar case.

"Never showing my face in public again," Grant whines, joining the unloading parade.

Eddie fumes and slams the back doors shut. Well, he tries. Instead of latching, they bounce and fly back at him. He gets it on the second, slightly-less-violent, try.

Corroded Coffin just opened for a band from two towns over that people actually show up for. Someone from a record label was in the building. This was supposed to be their shot at getting noticed by someone who mattered. They were supposed to rock everyone's socks off. But no. They played the worst show of their stupid little lives. Even Wayne, who hardly ever got to see them play, looked horrified at the shit-tastic show they put on.

His girl leans against the side of the van, next to the busted taillight that earned him a ticket from that asshole Callahan on the way to the show. Not even she can pretend Corroded Coffin didn't suck a fat one tonight. There's pity in her eyes, and it makes Eddie even madder. He turns and directs his rage at the band, not wanting to crack under her annoying gaze.

"See you dicks around," Eddie snaps. "Since there's no point in ever fucking practicing again."

"C'mon, man," whines Gareth.

"What about the Henderson's Christmas party?" asks Grant.

"At least we can go drown our sorrows in cocoa," Jeff sighs.

They just bombed so hard, they'll probably never be allowed to perform in the tri-county area ever again. Their careers are over before they even started. And they're worried about a shitty little Christmas party thrown by Dustin's mom?

Eddie Munson is mad at himself for being a failure. Mad at his woman for feeling sorry for him. Mad at his dumb band for sucking ass. Mad at the Hendersons for scheduling a party and being a distraction on a night this important. Mad at Wayne for not coming on one of the nights they actually sounded good. Mad at the world for giving him a sliver of hope and snatching it away just when he thought he had a chance of making it big and getting out of Hawkins Fucking Indiana.

He needs to get out of here. Right now. He turns with the intention of stomping to the driver's side door and driving off like a bat out of hell, but she's blocking his way.

"Baby, it's not the end of the world," she says calmly, putting a hand on his chest. The act breaks a barrier and unleashes his barely-contained rage. He smacks her hand away, maybe a little harder than he meant to, and her eyes widen in shock.

"What would you fucking know about it?" Eddie seethes. He can feel the blood boiling and the vein pulsating in his neck. He can't stop. The words keep coming, and Eddie closes in on her. She shrinks. "You've never had a fucking dream! You've never wanted something more than this shitty little life in this shitty little town! I'm sick of you fucking holding me back!"

"Shut the fuck up, man!" Gareth yells, stepping between them and giving Eddie a shove backwards.

"Oh, now you react to something on time?" Eddie laughs cruelly.

There's a blinding flash of pain, and Eddie's suddenly staring to the side. He slowly swivels his head back to Gareth, standing in front of him with balled fists and a red face. Eddie's jaw throbs. Did his own drummer just punch him in the face?

He attacks.

Grant and Jeff are on them in an instant, trying to get Eddie and Gareth apart. Everything becomes a blur of grunts and blows until Jeff gets Eddie's arms behind him and drags him out of the open garage door.

"Cool off, man!"

This isn't how tonight was supposed to go. He was supposed to be signing a contract and sipping spiked cocoa and eating cookies. Kissing his girl under the mistletoe and promising her a mansion in Beverly Hills. Celebrating his talent and good fortune with everyone he loves. Instead, he's standing outside a cold garage, staring at the disappointed faces of all the people he let down.

A sniffle draws his eyes to his girl. His Evil Woman. The love of his fucking life. The look in her teary eyes makes his insides turn to ice. He hit her. He yelled at her, and he fucking hit her. He takes a step closer, wanting to hug her and tell her that he didn't mean it.

She flinches.

She's scared of him.

He's just like his old man.

Eddie climbs in the van without another word. He doesn't know where he's going, but he knows he can't stay here.

He speeds and spirals and re-lives the worst night of his life over and over. It takes him several miles of squinting into the dark to realize his headlights aren't even on. When the van finally comes to a stop, he's at the quarry. He doesn't know why he came here. But by the time he turns off the ignition, he's exhausted from beating himself up.

He slides down from the driver's seat and walks to the edge of the cliff, kicking rocks as he goes. Each breath sends out so much fog, it looks like he's smoking. A smoke would be nice. That'd take the edge off. He pats his pocket for his pack and pulls it out. Empty. Of course.

He tosses the empty pack over the edge and leans over just a little bit, hoping to see it fall. The darkness swallows the little white box almost immediately. It's a long way down. The only light comes from the moon, and it reflects on the still water below like glass. It's both beautiful and unsettling.

The cold starts to seep into his bones, but he welcomes the ache. He deserves it. Eddie sits near the edge, sighing and looking up at the starry sky, wondering how the fuck his friends are ever going to forgive him for this.

Maybe they weren't really that bad. Maybe they tried their best. Maybe he put too much pressure on the younger guys. Maybe the person from the record company didn't even come. Maybe the band that they opened for sucked too, and they could all chalk this horrible evening up to bad acoustics.

Maybe Eddie hadn't just ruined all of the most important things in his life in the course of one night.

His heart hurts at the thought of what he said to his girl, whose only crime was caring about him. Holding him back? Where the fuck did that come from? It's all a little fuzzy, now that he thinks about it.

Eddie touches his swollen jaw and winces. Little Drummer Boy packs a hell of a punch.

He fucking deserves this pain.

Eddie pulls his knees to his chest and hunches over, curling into a ball near the edge of the quarry cliff.

He wishes he hadn't blown up and said those awful things to the person he loves most. He wishes he hadn't forced his friends to practice until their fingers bled. He wishes he'd never begged (and traded a considerable amount of weed) for the chance to play a three-song opener for some douchebag band from the city. He wishes he hadn't turned into a total cunt the second he saw a chance to live out his stupid teenage dream of becoming a rock star.

Hell, why stop there?

Eddie Munson wishes he'd never even been born.

"Don't even think about it, asshole," a voice rumbles from behind him.

Eddie turns, surprised that he let someone sneak up on him. A guy really lets his guard down when he's got nothing left to lose.

An ass thumps against a rock nearby and Eddie squints at the silhouette in the moonlight. That curly hair looks familiar, but he doesn't know for sure who it is until the stranger takes a drag off a cigarette and his face is illuminated by the burning cherry.

"Hargrove?"

"Knew you couldn't be as stupid as everyone said you were." Eddie can't see the smirk, but he can hear it.

"Not a good time, Hargrove," Eddie sighs. "Don't have anything on me."

"I'm not here for drugs, dumbass," Billy says, taking another drag. "I'm here to save your eternal soul or some shit."

"Sounds like you've already been into the good stuff tonight," Eddie deadpans.

"Nobody ever fuckin' believes me," Billy groans, staring upward and blowing a long stream of smoke into the air before turning his intense gaze to Eddie. "Listen up, dickhead. You fucked up, you hurt people, you wished you were never born, et cetera. I was sent here to show you the error of your ways or whatever. Let's take a little trip."

"What is this, like a Christmas Carol thing?" Eddie snorts. "What are you on, man? I want some."

Billy sighs and flicks his cigarette out over the water. He stands and stares at Eddie, his eyes glinting in the moonlight.

"Let's go, fuckface," Billy orders.

"I'm not going anywhere with your stoned ass," Eddie laughs, trying to pretend he's not a tiny bit afraid.

Billy stomps over and grabs Eddie's jacket and hauls him to his feet with surprising strength. Maybe he was right to be scared.

"Woah, calm down, Ghost of Christmas PCP," Eddie snarks, sounding braver than he feels.

"I said, let's go," Billy repeats, dragging Eddie backward. Eddie tries to dig in his heels and resist, but his sneakers slip and slide on the loose gravel.

"Where are we going?" Eddie asks, his ears beginning to ring.

A blinding flash of light makes him cover his eyes, and when he lowers his arm and opens them, he's standing in front of Wayne's trailer. The glow of a street lamp shows more of Billy's face than Eddie has seen tonight. He stares at Eddie through unblinking, half-lidded eyes. Eddie doesn't like it. Not one bit.

"Kay, thanks for bringing me home, I owe you one," Eddie mumbles, trying to side-step him and get away. Billy blocks his path.

"This isn't your home."

"Yeah, it is," Eddie argues. "Since I was eight."

"You wished you'd never been born, remember?" Billy asks pointedly. "Now you get to see what that's like."

"Isn't the first ghost supposed to be the nice one?" Eddie asks. "I thought the third one was the mean one."

"You only get one ghost," Billy says. "Only gonna need one stop, too. Made a bet that I could break you quick."

"Good fuckin' luck," Eddie scoffs.

"C'mere," Billy orders, reaching for him.

Eddie feels the urge to bolt, but before he can act on it, Billy grabs him by the collar and drags him up the steps and through the door.

Like, through the door.

"Did we just--? Did you just--? What the hell?!" Eddie splutters, looking around him for answers. The door is still closed. And then he begins to notice other things. This isn't that ugly brown carpet that's been here since the 50s, when this hunk of junk came off the lot. Those aren't the right curtains. Where are Wayne's mugs? And his hats? And his chair?

There's a small Christmas tree on a table by the window and a few wrapped gifts beneath it. There are plastic toys and wooden blocks on the new-ish rug, which is an odd green color. Photos of prettier places than Hawkins adorn the walls. Carefully arranged pillows line a yellow couch that doesn't belong here. Aside from the toys on the floor, it's neater than he's ever seen it. This isn't his house.

"What is this?" he asks, turning to Billy. "Why are we here?"

Billy nods his head toward Eddie's room, and Eddie follows his gaze to a body stepping out of it. A woman. She lingers in the doorway for a moment, then reaches in to flip the light off and close the door.

Eddie's heart drops into his stomach when he sees her face.

His one and only.

His Evil Woman.

She looks tired. The dark circles around her eyes remind him of the time they experimented with zombie makeup. Something is different with her hair. Has she lost weight? He inwardly cringes at his own question, knowing she'd give him a smack for it. But she can't read his mind. She doesn't even acknowledge his presence.

She tiptoes down the hallway and takes a left in the kitchen, pulling out stuff to make a sandwich. Four. Four sandwiches. She assembles four peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, packs them in crinkled brown lunch bags that have seen better days, then folds down the tops. There's one bread heel left. She stares at it for a moment, then wraps it up and puts it back in the bag.

She looks around, as if she can feel someone watching her. Eddie shifts uncomfortably, almost wishing she'd make eye contact and laugh because he fell for whatever sick joke this is. But she looks right through him with her dull eyes. Where's that wicked twinkle he loves so much? Why does she look so sad? What's she looking at? Eddie glances behind him. Is she waiting for someone to come in the door? Looking at the tree, maybe?

Just when Eddie thinks he can't possibly stand that blank stare for one more second, her face crumples. She sinks to the floor, grabbing a kitchen towel on the way down and holding it to her mouth to stifle her sobs. Eddie wishes he could look away and save her this indignity, but he can't. He can't take his eyes off of her.

"What happened to her?" Eddie whispers, afraid she'll hear.

"It's more of a what didn't happen to her," Billy answers somberly. "She never met you."

"Is that all you got?" Eddie scoffs, turning to his companion with annoyance. "She never met me, so she cries sometimes? Get fucked, Hargrove."

"No, asshole," Billy seethes, taking his attention from the crying girl on the floor to the metalhead at his side. "She never met you and became a social pariah, so she actually made friends with the popular kids. Became quite the party animal. Hooked up with some older guy one weekend, who happened to possess some illicit substances that needed to be distributed to the desperate students of Hawkins High. Sound familiar?"

Eddie thinks for a moment, and when he understands, his jaw drops.

"Rick?" Eddie asks. "My girl was selling for Reefer Rick?"

"She's not your girl," Billy growls. "You don't exist, remember? Anyway, she was doin' a lot more than selling for him."

"No fuckin' way," Eddie protests.

"Yes fuckin' way," Billy argues. "They were together for almost a year before she realized he was stickin' his dick in anything that would let him. By that time, it was too late."

"Too late?" Eddie asks hesitantly.

"She'd already had the baby."

Eddie feels the blood drain from his face. Wait, does he even have blood in whatever this freaky little fever dream is?

"While her classmates were dancing to Cyndi Lauper or some shit at prom, she was in the hospital having a baby," Billy continues. "She never got to graduate. Got into a real bad fight with her mom. When her dad found out that his unwed teenage daughter got knocked up by the town drug dealer, he took her mom to court and won full custody of the little brother. After the kid got shipped to his dad, her mom sold the house and went back to live closer to the rest of her family. And then when she found out Rick was fucking around, it was just her and the baby…"

Eddie tenses, sensing an "until".

"Until me."

"You?" Eddie asks with an accusatory tone.

"Me." The corner of Billy's mouth twitches, like he's remembering something nice. "I liked her in school, but she was Rick's… until she wasn't. Then I moved in. Then came the triplets. They're absolute hellions, but she loves 'em," Billy sighs. "And me. Nobody ever loved me like she did. I wish to Hell,"

Thunder booms, and Billy winces.

"I wish to Heaven," he says, looking up at the ceiling apprehensively, "that I hadn't tried to drive that night. It was hard sometimes, but we were happy, y'know? I didn't mean to leave them all alone like this."

Eddie focuses on the longing in Billy's eyes, rather than the broken woman he's staring at.

"She didn't deserve this," Billy whispers. His face hardens, and he turns to Eddie. "She didn't deserve that shit you said to her either, asshole."

Eddie feels almost as bad as he did the second those words left his mouth.

"So you're dead?" Eddie asks, desperate for something else to think about.

"Yes, I'm fucking dead," Billy rolls his eyes. "You don't exist at all in this world, and I got drunk and drove my car into a tree just before Christmas last year. What a fuckin' pair we make, huh?"

Eddie sighs and turns his attention back to the girl who's now staring blankly at the floor, silent tears still streaming down her cheeks.

"Why's she in Wayne's house?" Eddie asks suddenly.

"Thought you'd never ask," Billy says, lighting another cigarette. "Only place she could afford. Guy cut her a real good deal, after what happened to your uncle."

Billy pauses and makes Eddie ask: "What happened to my uncle?"

"He blew his brains out," Billy says matter-of-factly, pointing to the spot where Wayne's chair should be with his cigarette. "Right there."

"Bullshit."

"Why do you think a trailer this old has a new carpet and wallpaper?" Billy asks.

Eddie surveys the place. The kitchen is mostly the same; same sink, same stove, same fridge, even some of the same ancient magnets he used to play with as a kid. But the living room…

"Why?" he breathes.

"Hmmm," Billy hums, pretending to flip through the pages of an imaginary book and pointing to some imaginary answer. "It seems that dear old Uncle Wayne had a little bit of a drinking problem."

"Wayne never drank anything but beer," Eddie argues.

"Well, funny thing," Billy says, taking a drag of his cigarette and blowing his smoke in Eddie's face. "Seems he gave up hard liquor when his punk-ass nephew came to live with him. And since in this universe, he didn't have a nephew… he just kept on drinking. Even though he was already depressed, and the liquor just made it worse… and worse… until one day, he'd had enough."

"No," Eddie breathes.

"Yeah," Billy nods, not looking very sympathetic. "Wanna hear about your little sheepies at school?"

"No."

"Tough shit," Billy scoffs. "Little Drummer Boy, before he got shipped back to Daddy-O's, was in the marching band. Wedgie City, man. The big guy with the curly hair got bullied so bad, his mom decided to home-school him. He's so scared of everything, he hasn't left the house in months. Brace-Face joined the fucking Mathletes, thus ensuring him a lifetime of virginity. And the rest of those little weirdos just try to lay low and survive. Your little club that brought them all together and made them proud to be freaks? Doesn't exist. Never will. Most of 'em don't even know each other."

"Stop," Eddie says weakly.

"You want more?" Billy asks. '''Cause I can keep going. Wanna know about the worst thing your girl's ever done to make rent? Or how she'll never be able to fix the relationship with her mom? That her own brother won't bother to invite her to his wedding, when he finally finds some four-eyed geek who will have him?"

"Stop," Eddie begs.

"Maybe you want to hear about your parents? How they only had you as an attempt to save their marriage, and how they fared with another miscarriage instead? It wasn't pretty, man."

"Stop," Eddie begs.

"Wanna circle back to the uncle? And how all he ever did was work and drink and had no friends and no reason to live? About how the first time he'd smiled in years was the night he loaded that pistol?"

"Stop!" Eddie shouts.

"YOU STOP!" Billy shouts back. "You've got a good life on the other side of this shit, and you're wishing it away like a fucking loser! Oh, boo-hoo, you're not gonna be a rock star. You've got a fucking family and friends and people that love your stupid ass! You know what, I don't think you even deserve to go back. I should tell the man upstairs to make this reality the real one, and as payment for erasing your sorry ass from existence, I should get another shot at this life!"

Billy and Eddie stare at each other for a moment, both breathing hard and wondering who's going to break first. Then, the clock in the living room chimes, and Billy looks at in a panic.

"She needs you, man," Billy says quickly. "She needs you to pull your head out of your ass and think about why she's with you. Holding you back? She's the only reason you made it this far, dipshit. She's the reason you graduated, the reason you're not in jail, probably the reason you're still alive. She could've gone anywhere, done anything she wanted. But she stayed in the shittiest town on the planet, and she was happy about it, because you were there together. Never had a dream? What a crock of shit. You were her dream, asshole."

Eddie feels tears prickling at his eyes.

"Now, you get your stupid ass back to your reality and you tell that girl and those nerds how fucking sorry you are," Billy yells, his voice getting louder and barely overpowering the ringing increasing in Eddie's ears. "And you better fucking mean it!"

Eddie nods. Billy grabs the collar of his jacket and gives it a tug. The light flashes white, and Eddie hides his face in his sleeve.

"HEY!"

Eddie opens his eyes and raises his head, but the light hasn't gone out yet. He lowers his head again and hears a scrape. A shower of gravel hits his side. He looks up in surprise. The light moves.

"What are you doing out here, you little shit?"

Eddie squints and makes out a flashlight pointed to the ground… and a pair of boots… and tan pants…

"Hopper?"

"You hurt?"

"No?"

"Then why aren't you at Mrs. Henderson's Christmas party?"

"Uh…" Eddie racks his brain, trying to think of something to say that wouldn't make Hop beat his ass.

"Only a Munson would choose to freeze his balls off alone at the quarry instead of being at a Christmas party with all his friends," the chief sighs. "Get goin', kid. People are worried about you."

"Doubt it," Eddie mutters without thinking.

"Oh yeah?" Hop asks, lighting a cigarette. "Then why am I out here looking for some dumbass when I could be riding out the last of my shift at the station with Flo's fruitcake?"

Eddie doesn't know what to say to that. Someone really sent Hop looking for him? After all that?

"I'm off in thirty, and I'm coming by for the cookies Dustin promised me. If you're not in there having a good time with all your dumb little buddies, we're gonna have a problem. Got it?"

"Got it, Hop," Eddie confirms. He can't help but smile.

"Move your ass, then!" Hop orders.

Eddie scrambles away from the edge of the cliff, heading for the van.

Hop follows him down the quarry road, saying goodbye with a honk when they part ways. Eddie smiles when he sees Hopper's lights turn in his rearview mirror, almost missing the chief's company after his crazy night.

He doesn't have to feel alone for long; he can see the glow of the Henderson house from almost a mile away.

Dustin's mom loves Christmas more than anyone else Eddie's ever met. She's hosted a Christmas party for Dustin and his friends every year since they moved to Hawkins, and other moms may try to compete, but they simply can't. Claudia Henderson bakes the best cookies in the world. She decorates the house like she was trained at the North Pole. She has never once run out of hot chocolate or snacks, or let a guest leave empty-handed.

Eddie hopes his friends are having too good a time to stay mad at him.

The turnoff is easy to find. He's never seen so many lights in his life. The mailbox is covered. Every tree in their yard has a string of lights on it. The driveway is lined with lights and filled with cars Eddie knows, including Uncle Wayne's truck and Jeff's car. There's a light-up Santa on the roof. There are plastic reindeer in the yard.

And there's a black shape smoking on an otherwise well-lit carport that looks very familiar.

Eddie eases out of the van and jams his hands in his pockets, approaching the figure cautiously. His Evil Woman meets his eye but doesn't say anything. When he gets close, but not too close, he stops. He stands. He stares. She stares back. He doesn't know where to start. Begging? Groveling? Punching himself in the nuts until she tells him he can stop?

And then she offers him the lit cigarette she'd holding.

The simple gesture floods Eddie with warmth.

Overwhelming warmth.

The kind that makes a person's eyes water.

Eddie rushes forward to wrap his arms around her. He feels her shift, like maybe she's dropped the butt and stamped it out. She hugs him back, and he melts into her.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"I know," she whispers back.

"I didn't mean it."

"I know," she repeats.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"I know," she says again.

"I love you."

"I know."

"You're saying 'I know' a lot," Eddie notices.

"I know."

"We should definitely have tons of sex tonight," he says, holding his breath while waiting for a response. Too soon?

"Dream on, dickweed."

He snorts and pulls back, and she looks up at him with the smallest of smiles. He'll take it. She reaches for his hands, and Eddie takes her freezing fingers in his. How long has she been out here?

"Do you still love me?" he asks, almost afraid of the answer.

She hesitates. Eddie's blood runs cold.

"Do you really think I'm holding you back?" she asks quietly.

"God, no," Eddie sighs, fighting the urge to drop to his knees and hug her around the middle while he grovels. "I don't know where the fuck that came from. You're everything to me. You're probably the only reason I'm still alive."

She considers it. Makes him squirm. Eddie bites his lip, preparing for the worst.

"The night is young, Munson."

She smirks. Eddie lets out a sigh of relief, head swimming at the comfort of a familiar threat. She reaches up to touch his swollen cheek. Did she just wipe away a tear? Fucking traitorous eyes! Eddie wipes angrily at his face, just in case.

"I'm sorry tonight didn't turn out the way you hoped," she says softly.

"It did," Eddie cuts in quickly. He doesn't want to think about that. He doesn't want to think about anything but making things right with the people he wronged. "I'm at the best Christmas party in Hawkins, with all my favorite people. If… if you think they'll let me in?"

He glances uneasily at the front door, decorated by a massive wreath with Santa's jolly face at its center.

"You think those boys, who've been playing D&D with you for years, have never witnessed an Eddie Munson Tantrum?" she teases, with that beautiful, amazing, wicked sparkle in her eyes.

Eddie's face burns with embarrassment.

"Oh!" she remembers suddenly, digging in her jacket pocket. She extracts a folded napkin and opens it to reveal a pile of cookies. Eddie's favorites.

"I snatched the last of the double chocolate chip. Apparently they're Mike's favorites too. I know he's a skinny brat and all, but damn that boy can stuff his face."

Eddie looks from the cookies to the girl, his eyes tearing up again. She did that for him? After he did that?

"C'mere," she orders, shoving the cookies back in her pocket and pulling him in for another hug. Eddie closes his eyes and buries his face in her neck, not ever wanting to imagine a world where they don't have each other.

"I love you," he croaks.

"I love you too," she responds. She squeezes him as tightly as he's squeezing her. He's never, ever letting go.

She seems to read his mind, since her hands soon find their way under his shirt. Eddie jumps out of his skin and lets out an honest-to-God squawk when those icy fingers make contact with his warm back, and she laughs at him. It's the most beautiful thing Eddie's heard all night.

Is she really like this because of him? Fun and happy and everything a person should be?

A car door slams, and both of them turn to the driveway to see Chief Hopper approaching.

"Munson, you got a taillight out."

"Yeah, I know," Eddie sighs.

The trio stands there awkwardly for a few seconds, before Hopper asks, "Wheeler eat all the cookies yet?"

"Just about," she grins. "If we hurry, we might be able to grab a few crumbs before he licks the plate."

Hopper chuckles and walks toward the front door. She takes Eddie's arm, tilts her head to Hopper, and waggles her eyebrows suggestively. Eddie shoots her a fake glare, and she laughs again before leading him inside for the party of the year.

What started out as the worst night of Eddie Munson's life ended up being one of the best. The band had softened under the influence of sugar, and did not murder him when he reappeared. Eddie spent a great evening surrounded by the people who matter most, in a place they all call home, with hundreds of cookies and gallons of cocoa. Eddie had so much fun, he didn't even groan when all the moms started singing Christmas carols at the piano.

Although he did nearly have a heart attack when Billy Hargrove, who'd been dragged to the party by his step-sister Max, tapped him on the shoulder and asked to bum a smoke.

[candyheartedchy]

Saw a post talking about this, but I didn’t want to reblog and ramble in the tags of said post, so I’m bring it up here about the whole situation when it comes to people messaging first or not when it comes to their friends.

I struggle a lot with anxiety and constantly worrying that I’m bothering people when I reach out to talk first that 97% of the time I end up not messaging people at all. I’ve been trying to push myself out of my comfort zone when it comes to this, and getting better, when it comes to sending the first message because I want to let folks know that I do genuinely enjoy our conversations and want to be friends with them. But because of my past situations I end up falling back into the habit of isolating myself because I’m familiar with doing it to cope.

In a way I want to let folks know that when they message me first, I’m always excited to hear from them! And also to reassure anyone that may worry about bothering me. I promise y’all aren’t. There will be times that my text pattern might be different in tone, but that’s just me being tired and awkward.

Heck I’m always surprise when anyone really wants to talk to me in general because I usually get ignored irl. And if I’m being honest, I see a lot of you as my friends, but I’m always nervous to bring up the title because I’m not sure if it’s just one sided or I’m just projecting out of loneliness. So whenever someone says we’re friends I get caught off guard because I haven’t had any in so long.

Basically this is just me throwing in my two cents about people who try to test their friendship on how much people really care or not when it comes to who’s messaging first. I do agree that both parties should try to reach out to each other as much as they can to let each other know they do care. But I also want to bring up that a lot of times most of us struggle with reaching out due to trauma that relates to past friendships not going well and worrying about having those same experiences again. But also lot of folks are afraid to reach out first because they don’t want to embarrass themselves when it comes to making friends or losing that chance because they never had the experience of having a friend before. And I’m saying this from my own experience.

In the end I think if you really care about your friends, just communicate. And reassure the ones that reach out first that even though you struggle with talking, you still appreciate them and also just remind them that you like them because they worry about bothering you too. Because most of us don’t have any friends irl and our online friends are all we have. So even when others try to say that online friendships don’t count, they are missing the whole point of what friendships really is.