#so many close calls that ended in freak accidents

[fraudcelona]

what is it about playing levante at home 😵‍💫

[dianagj-art]

Sooooo.... @intotheelliwoods and I were talking fusions and I ended up creating this monster

I realized way too quickly that One wouldn't be able to fuse, the idea that he fights solo and doesn't need anyone else is so ingrained on his mind that doesn't let him form any meaningful connection needed to fuse. Also the idea of being close enough to someone to fuse freaks him out, so no fusion with the bestie

One's worldview is so different than Oneion's that that fusion in particular is almost impossible. But I still wanted to do a One+Oneion fusion design sooo... The only way they could be so much in sync to fuse would be mid battle and both realize they need the extra muscle but it would happen completely on accident

The moment the fight is over, the adrenaline runs out and they realize what happened they would unfuse immediately

Some notes on One-One: (and yes his name is One-One<3)

One-One is not friendly, he's literally made for battle, and accentuates that part of One and Oneion

Both One and Oneion (but specially One) go into a power rush being One-One

Their fusion brings out the worst and most dangerous part of them

Scary motherfucker frfr

Oneion has a better grasp on his anger issues and violent outbursts than One and is the only reason One-One is not 100% out of control and can focus on a target instead of just going rampant

This guy is smiling and cackling the whole time he's fighting

One-One is very much how One sees himself on the future, not Oneion, but the perfect unstopable soldier Draxum wants, with no feelings or distractors

The prosthesis doesn't fit in anymore, while on the outside is the right proportions for One-One, his arms are more buff than Oneion's so it doesn't fit

He uses vines as a makeshift arm instead

Crossover stuff!!

There is a tiny tiny tiny tiny part of him that has the potential to be friendly because of Oneion, but if he starts acting silly or too friendly or starts showing a softer side, One would push away from the fusion

Toast would be able to keep them fused by asking for a spar, One-One would be happy to accept but things wouldn't go well, the match having way too many close calls to serious injuries

Seeing Toast distressed and looking at him in horror would make Oneion worry and the fusion to pull apart

I am so normal about this

[raynewolferune]

Battle of the Not It

Just me pushing my personal agenda that the Battle for the Cowl makes no freaking sense once again.

I want to see the Battle of the Not It, Nose Goes, Worst out of 126+ Rounds of Rock Paper Siscors Takes It, etc. Basically, the Batfam throwing down in Bruce's absence to Not Be The One Who Inherits (TM). No one wants dear dad's emo fursona but they all agree someone has to take it. The resulting Loser Gets Batmanned sibling war throws Gotham into chaos, Oracle's keeping score of everything, the one with the lowest score at the end of every week is stuck with Batman Duty the following week.

Damian hates loosing his swords everytime he gets stuck doing Batman. Tim can't stand losing his tech. Jason misses his guns. Cass hates having to talk on can't use words days. Staphanie hates doing the voice. Dick can't tolerate being unable to smile. Duke needs his freaking sleep. The list goes on because they've all agreed they hate to embody Bruce's Batman, no one can put their own flare on it (Gun!Batman will not happen on their watch and they won't risk any other equally horrible variation either.) The resulting sibling war takes place 24/7 in the masks and the criminals and citizens of Gotham are as awed as they are horrified by it.

The strangest alliances form and disolve week to week. Dick cheats whenever he gets close to loosing and dips out because "Bludhaven needs him." Cass flits off to China on a last minute mission when too many of her siblings start forming up an alliance against her. Steph breaks her leg (she says it's an accident but Tim has very vocal doubts about that). Tim, Duke, and Damien start teaming up against Jason frequently and Red Hood gets stuck doing Batman practically every other week. Other weeks, Jason picks one of them as Robin for his Batman week (rotating between them as revenge) and forces a temporary alliance to make another of them Batman for the next week. Alfred encourages the four's little rivalry and manages to finagle them into all staying in the manor full time with him.

Just Batfam bonding shenanigans over how much they all Do Not want to be Batman.

And when Bruce comes back Babs naturally has a highlight reel waiting for him. Some of the gems include: Steph in a cast with crutches say "oh no, I broke my leg, however will I be Batman now" in the most deadpan voice. Dick 'answering' an obviously turned off cell phone pretending it's an emergency calling him back to Bludhaven. Cass saluting the security camera as she leaves with a full duffle bag in the dead of night. Jason in the Batsuit, minus cowl, storming into the kitchen shouting "you little shits are conspiring against me!" As Tim, Duke, and Damien are crowded around the island with a bunch of documents clearing planning something. A heated game of Rock Paper Scissors between Dick, Jason, and Tim with the rest of the batkids watching (having already won their freedom from the cowl for the following week). Duke wearing the cowl and asking Oracle repeatedly over coms if it's time for bed yet. Damien throwing a full on tantrum trying to get out of wearing the physical cowl "it's unnecessary and impractical!"

Oracle sends him the reel a day after his return during the standard Justice League team meeting, helpfully projecting it so everyone can see. The reels starts with an argument in the Bat Cave between all of Batman's (previously unknown to the Justice League) children:

"Well, Dickhead, I guess this means you're it now." The clip starts with a red helmeted man speaking.

"The fuck?" Nightwing asks on screen.

"You're Batman now." The teenager with yellow bandoliers replies from where he sits in front of an enormous computer. A girl in purple and another in black both nod. (At this point, it begins to dawn on members of the Justice League that this is footage from the fabled Bat Cave they're seeing.)

"Oh, fuck that!" Nightwing answers. "Not it!" He shouts. The boy with the bandoliers jolts and then says seemingly reflexively.

"Nose goes!" Bandolier boy calls out hand shooting up and touching his nose as he speaks. Both girls and Nightwing react immediately following suit. A smaller boy with a sword copies them a half second later. The red helmeted man sputters.

"Wha-that-NO! NO NO NO NO NO! I am not the one! Fuck no!"

"You snooze you loose, Bro." Nightwings tells him.

There's a pause, red helmet starts laughing, pulls the helmet off slowly to reveal a red domino underneath, and lazily touches his nose with a sharp grin.

"You're right, Bro." He says teasingly. "And Signal's still sleeping." A short pause and then all the people on screen are laughing.

"Oh," bandoliers gasps out between giggles. "He is gonna be so pissed in the morning."

[tevaselmundogiraalreves]

Buddie fic recs:

I've been wanting to do my own list of my favorite fics for a while now so here it goes (in no particular order):

- my words are paper tigers by @hattalove (this ones my favorite of them and i'd say a little underrated maybe?) TIMELOOP TIMELOOP TIMELOOP - buck breaks up with eddie, the universe doesnt agree - ITS PERFECT I'VE READ IT FOR THE FIRST TIME SO LONG AGO AND ITS STILL ONE OF MY FAVORITES EVER.

- Actually, truly by MilenaDaniels Helena (and Ramon) tries to find a way back into Eddie's life and doesn't know what to make of finding Buck around every corner she turns. (Or: "Mom, listen.")

- burn the straw house down by @hoediaz - what to even say i think everyone has read this one already but just in case TIMELOOP TIMELOOP TIMELOOP

- Happy Little Accidents by @like-the-rest-of-la - one of the first au i ever read for buddie and i was so ENCHANTED what to even say, buck owns a plant nursery. Its just so soft and so so so beautiful.

- said i couldn't stay, but it's different now by @hattalove - another fave of them. Many weddings and buddie in the middle of it all.

- Close My Eyes and Stumble (Right Into Your Love) by HSMLusitania - i think everyone and their mother has read this one aswell but just in case EDDIE DISPATCHER.

- Burn a bridge, learn how to swim by Watermelonshots - this is a series and jesus christ it literally starts with a buddie drunk make out session so-

- Sit with me in the dark by @kitkatpancakestack - buck loses his vision- !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Soft and kind and yeah beautiful and buck glasses kink anyone?.

- Lifelines by @hetrez . This fic is literally a lifeline - buck and eddie meet during the tsunami and talk about being in the closet. I have no words for how much this fic meabs to me. FLAWLESS.

- about the present by @runawaymarbles - this is a series now and god this was so so fucking special and unique - the first part eddie in the aftermath of being in a timeloop of the shooting. The second one is buck handling it on his own way. PERFECTION. Still thinking about it.

- a good day to be by @hetrez Eddie is a dance instructor, buck needs dance clases for madneys wedding. As flawless as the other one. Eddie Diaz needs a hug yeah.

- we'll be forever, you'll see by rarakiplin - Eddie Diaz finds a cat and heals and heals. And is so loved. I think i cried the first time i finished this one.

- still by @gayhoediaz - once again i think everyone knows this one but just in case, eddie steps on a detonator. ANGSTS SO MUCH ANGSTS AND THAT ENDING YEAH.

- but i can see all along, love (it was you all the way down) by @captain-hen - eddie confesses his feelings, buck rejects him, TIMELOOP TIMELOOP TIMELOOP

- authentication by @vgreysoncellars - i think i described this one as a never ending extention of 7x06 like nights abd just pride and pride and liberation. Eddie picks guys in bars for buck to make out with...

- oh, come when you're called by @lesbianrobin CHRIS 💘 no other words needed i think

- i'm a cliché (who cares) by @cranberrymoons UFF THIS ONE MAKES ME SO EMOTIONAL - eddie realizes stuff and buck is there every step of the way.

- bark like you want it by @colonoscopys - SOULMATES AU so so funny and wholesome.

- the love triptych by @cranberrymoons - this ones just so freaking special to me. Helena trying and trying and trying cause she loves her son. And buddie together through it all.

- so much left in store by @lesbianrobin - UNI AU UNI AU UNI AU !!!!!!! AND VERY IMPORTANT BABY CHRIS💘

- hang me up on your bedroom wall by @eddiegettingshot WELL buck just wants (more) but only if eddie gets him pregnant about it... (infidelity fic)

- close ain't close enough (til we cross the line) by @cranberrymoons buddie sexting buddie sexting buddie sexting and being so so freaking insane and not normal about it. (Infidelity fic)

- throw a bone, i’m finally home by @shitouttabuck - i think everyone knows the like a dog verse by now (come on lol) but yeah i'm very very obsessed especially with the second part of it.

[newkatzkafe2023]

Hi- may I request a single father Male Y/N- you can choose it's a daughter or is the son or both at the same time.

(He's a Top in relationship.)

With The monkey king reaction.

(By the way I hope you have a nice day or night don't forget to drink water too!!)

You have twins, a boy named Jun De & a girl named Mei Lian👦👧

(Lmk Wukong) You lost your mate many years ago. She died giving birth to your beautiful twins, but no, you can never blame them for what happened. Years later, your cubs accidentally met him when they found his shame temple. Your adorable twin cubs become clingy as they both would have endless energy and affection for Wukong. In the end, Wukong found these cute little fire crackers belonging to the whole Chinese New Year, that is you, you were so sexy that Wukong brain froze from your godly presence. You thank Wukong for taking care of your cubs and left him your phone number as you left, Wukong never felt the same after seeing you🥵.

(HIB Wukong) Single dad meets another single dad. It's quite an interesting setup. It all started when Luier and Silly Girl became very fast friends with Jun de and Mei Lian because the children had a lot in common. Wukong and genuinely on the other head, you have different mature views on each other, Wukong would occasionally blush as you compliment him on his face. You then asked him out as you were now truly interested in him, making Wukong purr and say yes with a deep blush😳.

(MKR Wukong) You both met when Wukong was freaking out about his missing son fruity, and you're trying to fine your own twin cubs as well. You both would have arguments here and there, but it's mostly fuel by worry you both love your children and would do anything to find them. Then, a few hours later, you both found your children by a toy stall. As you scolded the twins, Wukong had looked you over one more time. He then purred into your pecs, asking for a hot date with you and who were you to tell this cute little monkey no😏

(NR Wukong) He's biting his lips so hard upon seeing you at a motorcycle race one night, wasted no time, cat-calling you the whole night. You are so stern and firm with him to like oh yes daddy, scold me so good you should probably spank my bare ass infront of everyone 🤤 Wukong had almost blew an Gasket man he saw those back muscles of you wanting nothing more then to run his claws down your back. The final straw was learning you were a daddy of too, and what's hotter the a daddy of two, a single daddy of two. Wukong's boxers had totally disappeared at this point🫦

(Netflix Wukong) He tends to have big brother energy more than a dad enough, at least how your twins feel. Though you felt like a daddy to him as well, blushing as he would sit obediently as you brush and groom his fur. You would also come to cook 🍽 Making sure he gets his nutrients for the day, especially his protein. Finally, Wukong would play with the twins as you get into chaos and mischief while being home and cuddling you. Overall, you might have accidents turned Wukong into a little, so don't be all that surprise when the little monkey king addresses you as daddy😚☺️🤭.

(BMW Wukong) Ohhhhhhhhhh, hot single dad yes please🤤😏 Wukong immediately became quite infatuated with you. Your powerful ridiculously hot and Hunky and your good with kids, checking all the boxes, and he immediately wants you. If he wants your clothes on his bedroom floor, then he's gonna get it, especially when he can tease you about how domestic you both are together. With you both taking care of the twins, he's on his knees at this point.

(Destined one) He couldn't make eye contact with you at first, because if he dared too, he was going to need new pants. You're so firm, and loving, and sooooo hot the destined one wouldn't know what to do. You treated him so gently and kindly, but you both would get dangerously close, with your hands under his shirt and his hands down your pants. He also loves and cares for the twins very much and would cater to and spend time with them, while you would go out and work to get some food thanks to your support. The Destined one loved nothing more than to have you wreck him in bed, as a reward for being such a good daddy😘

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

A/N: based on an episode of Gilmore Girls

Eddie was sprawled out on his bed, strumming on his acoustic guitar, debating on whether he could get away with writing a ballad about Steve’s hair. He was in the middle of writing a chorus when his phone rang. Eddie grinned and picked up the receiver of his brand new Garfield phone.

"Heeelllo, this is Eddie Meowson speaking," Eddie said.

"Oh my god," Steve’s voice sounded from the other side. "You got the phone, didn't you?"

"Oh, yeah, baby," Eddie said and the other end went silent for a moment. "Hello?"

"Uh, I'd be laughing at that totally adorkable greeting, but I'm freaking out!" Steve exclaimed. "I have, uh, a situation."

"Now, Steve, don't be afraid of it. It's probably more scared of you than you are of it. It's supposed to get big like that, especially when you get excited. Now, I don't know what your mom and dad told you - ," Eddie grinned.

"Eddie! I know all about the birds and the bees! My nanny was the one who gave me the talk!" Steve yelled in frustration.

"Well, now, that's just sad," Eddie said.

"Why did I call you?!" Steve screamed.

"I don't know, big boy, why did you call me?" Eddie asked.

"You're good with animals, right?" He asked.

"Well, I'm able to approach the feral cat in the neighborhood without getting killed," he replied.

"Look, Dustin entrusted me with looking after his baby chicken. It's for a science project, and he really needs to ace it. He was supposed to do it this weekend, but his Aunt Kathy got into a car accident, so he's going with his mother to help her out. Anyway, he kind of dropped this in my lap, and it's not like I could say no to him, anyway. Jesus, I'm starting to sound like Robin. The bird got out, Eddie! I don't know how she did, but she did! I can't find her, and I don't want to look into our kid's cute but manipulative eyes and tell him that I lost his goddamn bird! Can you come help me or not?!" Steve shrieked.

"I'll do anything for you, sweetheart," he said and he meant it.

"Thanks, Eddie," he said softly. "I'll see you in a few."

Eddie gently set his guitar aside before leaping out of the bed with an excited holler. It was finally happening! Steve finally made the first move. . .after so many months of flirting, Eddie was starting to think that it was never going to happen. Really, though? A bird? He figured it would be a better excuse than that. Eddie's heart was pounding. He called Dustin their kid. Their kid. He has spent so many times over the last few months dreaming of bearing Steve Harrington his six little nuggets, despite the fact that Eddie had been born without the ability to give him that. . .unfortunately. He had chalked it up to the fact that Steve had saved his life, but Wayne had pointed out that thinking up baby names for future children probably meant that Eddie was in love with the man. Once again, Wayne was right. Eddie put on his best crop top and stuffed supplies in his jacket before rushing to the front door.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" Wayne asked.

"I'm going to get my man," Eddie grinned.

"About goddamn time, you go any slower you'd be a snail," he replied.

"Ugh! Wayne! You're not as funny as you think you are!" Eddie shrieked.

He pulled up to Steve’s house and fixed his vest. He checked his breath before walking up to the front door. Eddie froze. Oh god, he didn't get any flowers. Just as he was about to turn around, the door opened, and he was yanked quickly inside. Steve slammed the door closed behind him.

"Oh, thank God, that you're here," Steve said.

"You're going to be saying a lot - wait, what was that sound?" Eddie asked. "I think your fire alarm might need some batteries."

"That's the baby chick! I can hear her somewhere, but she keeps escaping me!" Steve exclaimed.

Eddie looked at the mess around them and then at Steve.

"There's really a baby chick!" Eddie yelped.

"Yeah, of course there is!" Steve yelled.

Eddie flashed his dimples before slipping out of his vest and jacket.

"Let's find this chick. . . STELLLA!" Eddie yelled.

"Stella?" He asked.

"It's a good name for a chick," Eddie said. "At least, I think so."

"That name sounds familiar. Oh! It's one of the names on a list that you left here! Character name ideas?" Steve asked.

". . .yeah, something like that. . ."

Looking for a small yellow baby chicken was a lot more difficult than it should be. It shouldn't be faster than them and yet. . . Stella did not want to go back in her cage.

"Okay, look, I get it," Eddie said. "I wouldn't want to be caged either, but this situation right now means that you should definitely be locked up."

"Yeah, I don't think she understands any of that," Steve said.

"Do you want my help or not?" Eddie asked. "STEEELLLLA!"

Eddie felt Steve watching him as he began to make chirping noises.

"Really?"

"Shut up, Steve," Eddie said.

Stella was a tricky little girl. As soon as she had been spotted, she took off. Steve and Eddie both dove for her, but all they ended up doing was breaking things or running into each other.

"Come on, sweetheart," Eddie cooed as he moved towards the noise. "Come to Mummy and Daddy."

"We're not her parents, Eddie," Steve said.

"Well, she doesn't know that. Maybe that's what she's looking for. . .a family," Eddie said. "I'm starting to get a little attached to the shit. She's such a menace."

"Eddie! There she is!" Steve yelled.

"Shh! Don't scare her off! Oh, look at her. . .she's going to run again. You can see it in her beady little eyes," he whispered. "Hey, Stella, you don't have to worry about us. . .we're not going to eat you. . .not yet, anyway."

"Eddie!"

"I said we're NOT going to eat her!"

"Shit, Eddie, she's running again! Damn it!"

A little while later. . .

"GODDAMN IT! IT'S BEEN TWO FUCKING HOURS!" Eddie yelled.

"It's been 30 minutes, Eddie," Steve replied.

"Oh my god, time has lost all meaning!" Eddie groaning.

"Yeah, I don't think she's getting tired yet," Steve said.

"Okay, I take it back, Steve, I'm going to eat this fucking bird," Eddie growled.

CHIRP, CHIRP, CHIRP!

"I think she heard you," Steve muttered.

"No, baby, Mummy didn't mean it!" Eddie exclaimed. "I love you again! We can chill, hang out, talk about boys or girls if you prefer, or maybe you don't have a preference at all! Mummy doesn't judge!"

"Hm, okay, so you're the mother in situation," Steve said. "Hm, I thought it was going to be me."

"Of course, I'm the mother, Steve. Don't be ridiculous," Eddie said.

"Yeah, I'm the ridiculous one," Steve sighed. "Why do I even like - ?"

"GOT HER!" Eddie yelled.

They got her back into her cage without any effort. They made sure she got food and water before collapsing at the kitchen table. Steve looked at Eddie, studying him.

"Hey, why did you seem so surprised that there was a baby chick in here? Did you think that I was making it up?" Steve asked.

"Well, I mean, kind of. . . ," Eddie said, scratching the back of his head.

"Why?" Steve asked.

"I thought you were asking me over to finally. . .," he said, trailing off again.

"What, Eddie?" He asked.

"I thought you asked me to finally get together!" Eddie shrieked. "Clearly, it's all in my head!"

Steve looked at him, and then he laughed. He got up, grabbed Eddie's hand, and pulled him up into his arms. He pressed their bodies together, his arm around Eddie's waist.

"It is not all in your head," Steve said. "You know, I wouldn't come up with such a lame story. I would just tell you that I wanted to see you. No tricks. No games."

Steve crashed his lips to Eddie's, and he gasped into Steve’s mouth. Eddie wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him closer. They both kissed each other eagerly, chasing each other's lips with the same energy that they had earlier. Eddie pulled away with another gasp.

"Uh, I should be honest with you, before this goes anywhere else. . .that list with the names. . .baby names. It's kind of embarrassing how much I want to have kids with you," Eddie said.

Steve kissed him again, even harder this time. He moved Eddie back, pressing him up against the wall and pressing himself further into Eddie. This was even more intense than the first one. It made Eddie whimper, and he felt his legs practically turn to jello. He gripped the back of Steve’s shirt as Steve rolled his hips into Eddie's and trailed kisses down to his neck.

"God, you're so sexy," Steve said, breathing heavily against his neck before pausing, "Hold on, no, we're not naming any children of ours Metallica. I remember that being one of the names on the list."

Steve pulled back to look at him.

"I'll get you to come around, you'll see," Eddie grinned.

"The hell you will," Steve said.

He grabbed Eddie's hand and pulled him upstairs. Eddie grinned. God, best moment of his life. . .

"Come back to bed," Steve groaned sleepily.

"Got to get a drink of water," Eddie said as he slipped on Steve’s polo.

"You're going to Winnie the Pooh it?" Steve asked.

"Hell yeah," Eddie said, laughing when Steve’s face plopped back down into the pillow.

Eddie walked downstairs. It was still pretty messy in here, he noted. They'd clean it up later. He walked into the kitchen. He moved past Stella's open and empty cage to get him a glass of water. Eddie paused and turned around. Stella's cage was empty. Oh fuck. Eddie collapsed to his knees.

"STEELLLLA!"

[nixcloud]

EWE single father/surprise fatherhood AU

It's 10 years after the war when Harry, whose life was just starting to get better and to move on, gets a call that Dudley Dursley has died, along with his wife in a horrible accident leaving behind a daughter. Whom to everyone's surprise, though they were survived by his parents, Dudley has her guardianship willed to a Mr. Harry J Potter. He has been requested to take custody following the burial. 

And so Harry finds himself putting on a suit, and trying to calm the rising panic of having to attend a funeral. A lot of things were hard after the war, at Hermione's behest he had been seeing a mind healer to deal with what muggles would describe as PTSD. And things were getting better, truly better. But he would be lying if he didn’t  admit that some things he had never truly been able to deal with. Funerals being one of them. 

He had seen too many deaths in the war, too many bodies whose souls were magically striped from them, too many who were buried in haste without proper goodbye, to many who were buried with their whole family watching. There was something about seeing a body lowered into the ground, or encased in marble that shook Harry to his core, that left him gasping for air. 

When he entered to wake he walked slowly up to the open casket, could feel Petunia and Vernon's eyes on him as they wept loudly for the room to hear. Harry never saw Dudley at this age until now, he still had that same round Dursley face and short black hair. And he looked wrong, so wrong. This man… this boy who had tormented him his whole life looked wrong, and harry could feel his hands shake. He sat in the back pew for the remainder of the service walking slowly behind the crowd as they moved the body into the cemetery. 

That's the thing about freak accidents, you can't prepare, you can't leave a note explaining your crazy decisions or why of all people, you want your child to live with a man who is a stranger, to live with the grown up child you tortured. And Harry doesn't know why he's here, he knows he shouldn't have come. But this was also literally the last chance at closure he was ever going to get with dudley and so he followed the precession. 

It was the worst out on the lawn. The gaping hole in the ground waiting for them all. Casket closed, people huddled close, weeping mixing with the call of the crows. He couldn't breath, his vision was swimming. He could feel his magic threatening to burst out and protect him from this too familiar threat, from this too familiar ending. He knew a panic attack when he felt one and he was desperately trying to keep it to himself. And so he barely even noticed when Petunia was walking up to him holding the hand of a 6 year old girl dressed in a matching black gown. 

“This is Aedelle Petunia Dursley.” She clung tightly to the child's hand, unwilling to relinquish her.  Harry could only stare at her. Petunia was right to cling, it made no sense for Harry, a stranger at best, to take this child from her grandparents as awful as they were, they loved their son, and they would love his daughter. She deserved her family, she deserved to be loved. He would give up his guardianship, he wouldn't take the last thing she knew from her. 

“I don't know why Dudley willed her to you but we will not stand for it.” Petunia whispered sharply. Many faces turned to look at him accusatorily as if Harry had any say in it at all. He wanted to apologize, tell her he didn't understand either. But then the priest was there, and the casket was moving. Harry couldn't hear anything over the blood rush behind his ears. His legs trembling as they lined it up over the great gaping hole in the earth. The dark shadows stretching to reach up and wrap around the wooden box. It was too much. Harry could picture to many faces trapped inside there. To many limp bodies and broken promises. And now he could imagine Dudley in there too. 

And then the screaming started. Loud shrieks, and for a few moments harry thought it all in his own head yet it grew in volume, and the weeping grew in volume, and he knew then that it was real. Dudley's daughter screamed and screamed as his casket was lowered into the earth. Aedelle is old enough to know what is happening and yet still too young to understand. Though Harry supposes no one ever truly gets old enough to understand why their loved ones die. 

A great wind picked up then, pushing flowers from their arrangements. Pulling peoples jackets off their shoulders and empty chairs to the ground. It blew so hard the men holding the coffin stumbled, sending it a little too loudly to the deep earth below. 

The wind was strong, not just in the way it moved the world but in its pressure. That familiar glittering sweep of magic washing over the whole venue. And Harry looked at the girl in front of him whose pain was now washing over the earth, washing over her fathers casket in a great sweep of magic. Pouring out of her like blood from an open wound. And Harry knew then why he was asked here. Knew what Petunia seemed blind too. Dudley had a magical child, and Harry was the only one who he knew could help her. 

And his tears began falling all at once, for the child of magic who had lost their parents, whose closest family couldn't be trusted to love them, for a child with nothing now being thrown into the great unknown. Wept for a child who had seen too much, given more responsibility yet again. 

He crouched to his knees in front of her. Looking at her reddening face and doing nothing to quiet the painful wailing. But he took her empty hand in both of his own, tinier than his own godsons had been at her age. And he whispered “hi Aedelle I'm Harry, I am your dads cousin.” 

And he sobbed openly in the grass, the sound only muffled by the great roar of wind. 

Across the cemetery, a groundskeeper in a long black coat stopped short. He had been lugging great rolls of grass which he would lay over the burial sight once the family left. A burst of wind swept at him, begging him to keep his distance; this happened occasionally when a wizard found themselves at the muggle funeral home. But Draco just walked on, drawing closer and closer to the grave, looking to see who was causing such a great magical disturbance in the presence of muggles. 

Draco had been working here for a good 5 years now, and found a somewhat tortuous path to healing by providing peace and calm for deceased muggles and their surviving loved ones. It had seemed a fitting role for him after all the deaths he encouraged, that he should be able to at least respect their lives enough to keep the grass green and their headstones polished. It was hard work, lonely work, but it worked for him. 

And from a few yards away he could see the small child wailing as he made eye contact with a man crouched in the grass, green eyes dim, face streaked with tears. Who looked just as desperate and scared as the child in front of him. Harry potter, in the place he deserved to never be again, a cemetery. 

[yanderes-galore]

Hello. Can you write yandere Cavendish (One Piece) headcanon ? Please

I feel like he can only be romantic but let me try writing him :)

Yandere! Cavendish Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Stalking, Violence, Possessive behavior, Jealousy, Blood, Murder, Delusional behavior, Forced relationship.

Cavendish is quite literally known as one of the most attractive men out there.

His entire kingdom's women had fallen in love with him, leading to his exile.

No, I'm not kidding, this is canon.

Cavendish has a certain charm to people.

He's an arrogant yet charming prince who wants all the attention on him.

So much to the point he gets violently jealous towards others.

Now, thinking about this, having him as a yandere is a nightmare.

Cavendish is probably used to being wanted.

He wants attention and was actually exiled for having too much of it.

Which makes me think of the complete and utter turmoil he'd experience if his obsession didn't like him the way he likes them.

Cavendish seems like he's used to others trying to court him.

He's a pretty prince and talented fighter.

Why would anyone not fall in love with him?

It would be just Cavendish's luck if his obsession loved someone else or was turned off because of his arrogance, wouldn't it?

He would be baffled upon finding this information out.

The one time Cavendish has fallen in love, thinking he could have anyone he wanted...

But you don't even like him like that.

You just know he's going to be frustrated.

Sure, I could've talked about a darling who's smitten with him, but it wouldn't be that intense, would it?

Maybe he'd be manipulative and possessive... yet there isn't much of a horror aspect.

I like the idea of Cavendish trying to go after something he can't have.

It would drive him insane.

The idea of making such a pretty boy desperate? That's fun to toy around with.

Poor thing would try so hard to win his obsession over.

He'd tell you he's a prince, how he's turned down all other suitors just to win your heart.

He shows off his skills, offers you flowers, calls you the prettiest thing in his gaze (other than him).

However, he always gets the same answer.

You've either given your heart to another and/or see him as arrogant.

Cavendish is petty when it comes to his jealousy.

He'd be the type to glare at a picture of your lover or anyone you adore.

He'd definitely stab said picture or poster, curse their name, and lament about the fact you're not his.

A scary thing about Cavendish is the fact that he takes revenge very seriously.

He literally wanted to kill people who took his popularity.

I assume you being with someone else or at least interested in someone else would cause a similar reaction.

He'd be elaborate about it, too.

He'd make all these elaborate schemes to win your heart.

Many of which include cutting down your suitors with his sword.

He doesn't mind doing a bit of dirty work if it means proving to you he deserves your heart.

He struggles to be near those you're close to.

Cavendish feels like he wants to wring the neck of the one you love.

Is this how the people he turned down felt?

Did they also feel like they were going insane with want?

Cavendish would either challenge the one you loved to a duel... or kill them in private.

Maybe he could even blame it on his alter ego?

By the end of it he'd act like it was all some freak accident.

Only to be right there to woo you and be your shoulder to cry on.

See? He's supportive!

Do you like him now?

Please ignore the blood.

Cavendish definitely acts like your rejection didn't affect him...

Only to like... ugly cry over it later.

He follows you around and pretends when he meets with you it's a coincidence.

See? Even fate wants you two together!

Your rejection just makes this man delusional.

Too delusional, actually.

If he doesn't have your attention he may just lose it.

He loves attention but yours is so much better.

Your smile, voice, prowess, everything...

He'd be on his knees for you in a heartbeat.

Cavendish can come off as an intense yandere due to his jealousy and persistence.

He's clingy, volatile, violent towards others, petty...

For such a pretty man he's got quite the temperament.

Cavendish doesn't care if someone else has your heart.

He'll show you he's the better suitor.

He'll give you the best kisses, shower you in flowers and affection...

If that means painting the floor and walls red with the blood of that other person, so be it...

He'll have your attention in the end, he just knows it.

[say-al0e]

Your Graduation

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Eddie didn't remember much of his first senior year. But he remembered you. Now, after finally graduating, he just hoped you'd forgive him for the way that first year ended. Warnings: Bullying, self-esteem issues, anxiety, blink and you'll miss it parent issues, maybe a vague mention of Hawkins being Hawkins; anything else, let me know and I'll tag it. Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader Word Count: 9.8k

Eddie Munson couldn’t remember much of his first senior year.

The whole thing was a blur, a barely there flash of moments he was glad to forget, but he remembered how rough it was. Some things hadn’t changed - taunts still followed him and so did the name calling - but it was worse then, hurt more when the torment came from people his own age, people he’d known most of his life and once naively pretended were his friends.

Back then, Eddie was still settling into his own. He knew who he wanted to be - or, more accurately, who he didn’t - but he still stumbled. Hellfire was in something of an infancy, only a year or two old after he’d dragged it from an informal gathering with a handful of people to an official school club, and Corroded Coffin was just starting to become a serious pursuit. It was before they began playing at The Hideout on Tuesdays and he’d fucked up his hair with black boxed dye so badly that he’d been tempted to shave his head again. At that point, he’d only just begun dressing the way he really wanted and his skin wasn’t quite as thick; had no ink and no armor to protect himself from the teenage bullshit.

Things hadn’t changed very much, hadn’t gotten much easier, but it was more tolerable; better. He was better.

It was difficult to remember the classes he skipped, the books he thumbed through, the assignments he ignored, the dances he was never invited to, but Eddie had a handful of memories that all centered around one thing; you. In fact, the only thing he really remembered from his first senior year - and the only thing he never wanted to forget - was you.

Eddie considered himself to be a man with few regrets but his biggest was that he hadn’t taken the leap and gotten to know you sooner.

For years, until August of 1983 - the first week of classes, the first week of what should’ve been his year - you never really ran in the same circles. Eddie was the freak, an outcast among outcasts, and you were beloved by all. There were only a handful of people who would be caught dead speaking to him but it seemed as if everyone wanted to speak to you.

The basketball players, their cheerleader girlfriends, the swimmers, the football players, the pretty girls who couldn’t be bothered to actually attend gym, the burnouts, the theater kids, even the terrified freshmen; you somehow fit with them all, alternated sitting at their tables or stopping by to say hello, and always received bright smiles in return.

Sometimes he wondered how you did it, floating around the school with a smile as everyone just let you in without hesitation, but then you turned your charm on him.

Every time you caught his eye in the hall or across the crowded lunchroom, you smiled at him. If a teacher stuck you with him for a project, you never huffed and puffed in the same way so many others would; you simply slid your chair a little closer to his and smiled, bright and pretty, as you asked him what he thought about the topic at hand. There was never a sneer on your lips at his presence, never so much as a wary look, and you never cowered in fear if he brushed a little too close in the hallway, always on accident. You were nice to him, even when you didn’t have to be, and he appreciated it.

You and Eddie weren’t friends but you never made him feel as if there was a reason for that.

The day that changed, the day you became friends, was nearly the clearest day in his memory of that first senior year - overshadowed only by the day he kissed you for the first time.

Eddie found you in the woods on a Thursday, sat at the picnic table he’d claimed as his own, after a particularly rough pop quiz. The eyeliner you wore had been scrubbed away, harshly chipped at by soft fingers desperate to rid your face of the evidence, though a few wayward streaks stained your skin in a way that confirmed you’d been crying.

Everything always seemed to easy for you, so fucking effortless, and Eddie remembered his surprise when you admitted that some things - math, mostly, and science; classes that weren’t English, not rooted in some kind of thoughtful analysis that allowed you to delve into thought and feeling and intention - left you struggling.

That soft laugh, a little deflated and a little self-deprecating but entirely devoid of humor, you offered when you acknowledged how stupid it was to get so worked up over a grade still rang in his ears if he sat quiet for long enough. The beginning of that conversation was a little watery - you sat with your bottom lip quivering, eyes rimmed red and falling to the table in a display so shy it took him by surprise - but he understood. You were trying to get out of Hawkins, trying to make something of yourself, and a scholarship was the only way to do it.

In an effort to lighten your mood, Eddie did all he could to take your mind off it. He grabbed a handful of tapes from his van and introduced you to his favorite bands. He played Black Sabbath and Dio and Metallica, laughed when you wrinkled your nose and grinned when you got into the rhythm of one of his favorites. He spent the afternoon hiding in the woods with you, drawing little bits of your personality out piece by beautiful piece, and he’d give anything for one more day, just like that one.

That was the first time you’d ever cut class, the first time you’d broken the rules, but - perhaps more importantly - it was the first time Eddie shared thoughts he’d only ever dreamed of breathing aloud. It was your first attempt at chipping away his walls and you didn’t even notice.

Eddie always thought you were pretty, a true vision even in garish green and gold as you wandered the halls of Hawkins High, but that day really sealed his fate. He saw you then, up close and personal, and could still see the details permanently etched into his field of vision if he concentrated hard enough.

The shape of your lips, rounding around soft admissions and breaking apart in delighted laughter at his stupid little jokes; the twinkle in your eyes, warm and so bright in the late afternoon sunlight, sparkling as you glanced at him from beneath your lashes; the softness of your cheeks, puffing with feigned annoyance when he teased you for admitting your love for disco.

Everything about you was beautiful, bright and warm and brilliant, and all Eddie wanted was to bask in your glow.

After that conversation, when night began to fall and early fall sun began to give way to an Indiana night, he drove you home and thanked every deity he could remember when the scent of your perfume lingered in his van the next morning. That conversation was the confirmation he’d dreamt of - confirmation he’d feared - as it told him your soft smiles and pretty eyes weren’t shown to him in pity.

Though he’d never admit it to anyone - except you, maybe, if you ever pressed - he’d been afraid. Not of you, never of you, but of falling for you. He always knew it would be easy, almost alarmingly so, and that it would end in a broken heart on his behalf. There was no other way it could go. Not for him, never for him.

That certainty made him keep you at a distance as he told himself for months that your smiles, the soft looks and quiet laughter at his antics, meant nothing. He convinced himself that you pitied him, that you simply hated the way other students talked to him because you couldn’t stand seeing anyone hurt, and that you’d do the same for anyone else in his shoes.

But that day, something bright and warm blossomed in his chest when you waved at him from your front steps. It curled around his lungs, tendrils squeezing tight every time he thought of you, and made it hard to breathe. Though fall was just beginning, the days seemed brighter somehow and as the warmth consumed him, lapped at his skin and left him floating, he began to grow accustomed to the feeling.

Eddie always wanted you to be a part of his life but never dared dream that you would want the same. Even when you made it clear that you enjoyed his presence, he never believed there was anything other than friendship on your mind. In a desperate bid to protect himself, he decided that it was reciprocity, maybe - a few hours of your time for weed, for someone to fix that rattle in your car that always disappeared before the mechanics at Thatcher’s could hear it, for a shoulder to cry on when someone better than him lost their mind and rejected you - but never could he have imagined you would want him the way he so desperately wanted you.

It was shameful to admit, a secret he would’ve kept had you not chipped away at the walls he so carefully spent years constructing, but Eddie dreamt that you would just hold his hand. For far too long, he imagined being able to hold you in his arms - to look at you, to trace the slope of your lips with his thumb before tugging you into a soft kiss that left you flustered - and he sometimes worried reality would never live up to his dreams.

With you, though, reality always seemed infinitely better than anything he could dream up. He only wondered how long he would continue to get lucky.

When you kissed him for the first time, it was both completely expected and the biggest shock of his life.

Everyone but him saw it coming.

Though your friendship took years to build, that initial spark - a flicker of sun magnified on the ash of a bad day - quickly became an all-consuming wildfire. The pair of you went from barely acknowledging one another to attached at the hip seemingly overnight. Within a week of that conversation, more often than not, your free time was spent with him.

Eddie’s bedroom consistently smelled of weed and green apple shampoo, a little patchouli cologne and cigarette smoke - coffee and hairspray, if the day called for it - but it soon began to smell of you, too. The sweet, warm summer of your perfume, the soft rose of your shampoo, the bright mint of your gum; he breathed it in, allowed it to fill his lungs each morning, and reveled in the warmth that filled the pit of his stomach. He needed it, craved it, desperate for just a fraction of your presence, and would’ve been embarrassed had it been anyone else.

Pieces of you - soft scrunchies, tubes of sticky pink lipgloss, half-empty bottles of nail polish, fashion magazines, pop cassette tapes - began to accumulate. In his bedroom, in his van, in his locker; soon, it seemed that everywhere he looked, there were little reminders of you. It was comforting to be surrounded by your presence and, more than that, eased the ache in his chest when he realized that your weekends were spent in his bed rather than in the backseat of some meathead’s car. 

Still, he sometimes wondered if it was all a dream.

In fact, he nearly grew convinced that it was all some vivid hallucination right around Christmas. When you handed him a neatly wrapped package, a soft smile on your lips, he teased you for the pretty bow you’d spent too long tying. To shut him up, you pressed yourself onto your toes and captured his lips in a soft, chaste kiss. You couldn’t look him in the eye when you pulled away, soft lips curved into a giddy smile, and he couldn’t stop himself from dragging you back in for another kiss.

That day was simultaneously the best and worst of Eddie’s life.

That was the day Eddie realized there could be more to your relationship, that you could love him, too - he was so far gone then, stuttering and shy and deep in the throes of his first love. It was the day he realized he could see a future with you, especially as time wore on and you grew closer and closer. Much to his surprise, your affection only grew when dragged into the light. You sat with him and the Hellfire Club at lunch, spent your afternoons studying with him in the library after practice, spent your weekends exploring long forgotten spaces hidden around Hawkins, had sporadic dinners at the diner and sat in the grass to read as he worked on his van.

There was never any attempt on your part to hide your love, to pretend that you were anything other than head over heels for Eddie Munson - reputation be damned - and everything should’ve been perfect. Eddie had everything he’d ever wanted but that didn’t matter very much.

As desperate as he’d been to make you his, to call you his girl and smirk at the jocks who thought they still had a chance, the day you kissed him was the day he realized that he couldn’t. You were his in all the ways that mattered - you slept in his bed more often than your own, slipped pieces of his wardrobe into your own and wore them for everyone to see, held his hand in the halls and kissed him before heading to class - but he could never bring himself to make it official.

In the eyes of everyone else, you were his girlfriend but not once was he able to call you that. To everyone else, it was obvious just how much you loved one another - they heard you whisper it before class, a little shy but never ashamed, and Eddie could recall every single time those three little words spilled past your lips - but he’d never been able to return them.

Eddie knew you were under the impression that he was simply nervous, hesitant to admit his feelings because he’d never received romantic attention before, but he was so far past self-preservation when it came to you that he would’ve told you he loved you the moment you kissed him had he not realized you had no future.

In October, well before he even considered he had a chance with you, Eddie realized there was no way out of Hawkins; not for him, not in 1984, anyway. He tried desperately - studied harder than he ever had, let you make him flashcards and actually used them, hid in the library and read the awful books Ms. O’Donnell assigned - but it was never enough. You built him up, reminded him that he was smart and capable, but no matter how hard he tried, his grades remained a flat line of crushing disappointment.

Not a single day passed without you encouraging him, pushing him forward with sweet words and bright smiles, but it was no use.

In late May of 1984, underneath the blistering Indiana summer sky, you walked across the stage while he watched from the bleachers.

During your time together, Eddie learned a few important facts about you. One, you would stop at nothing to encourage him; two, you were selfless to a fault; and, three, if you felt that he needed you, you would do everything in your power to help him.

Eddie knew that if push came to shove - and it had, because he’d pushed desperately to graduate and had been shoved straight back into a second senior year - you would entertain the idea of sticking around, just for a year, to help him graduate.

As much as he loved you, there was no way he was going to be the reason you abandoned your dreams.

By never making your relationship official, by never telling you just how desperately he loved you, Eddie hoped it would be easier for you to let him go. The last conversation you had was one he desperately tried to forget - one in which he yelled, the first time he’d ever raised his voice at you, that you were better off without him - but it played on a loop in his mind.

Instead of promising he would call or write, that he would do his best to graduate and join you, he denied ever loving you. He stood in your driveway and watched, cheeks stained with tears and hands trembling, as you tore out of Hawkins. You’d gotten into a school in Illinois, one you’d talked about the entire time you were together, and he’d spat that you were better off there, forgetting all about him.

Still, at first, you tried.

Eddie wondered if you’d seen right through him - you were good at that; knowing exactly when he was lying, when he was retreating into himself in hopes of protecting his fragile heart - but he felt guilty. The glassy look in your eyes, the quiver of your bottom lip, the trembling of your fingers, the soft gasp of hurt; it haunted him, lingered every time he closed his eyes, and was made worse with every effort you made.

Despite how things ended, you sent letters and postcards and even a care package. You called, spoke to Wayne a handful of times, and even knocked on his door in December when you came home for break. He knew that you were desperate to at least see his face, to try and make sense of how quickly he pushed you away, but he couldn’t. Eddie knew that one look at you would break him, would convince him that he’d made a mistake, and he couldn’t do that.

Instead, he ended up with a shoebox full of letters, all from you and all unopened. He refused to read them, refused to let himself wonder what words were hidden inside even as he lay awake at night, but he still dreaded the day they stopped arriving. Most days, he struggled to remember the date but if you asked, he could tell you exactly when the last letter arrived.

It was only a matter of time before he ran into you, he knew that. Your family still lived in Hawkins - your parents, your little brother - and when the summer after your freshman year of college and his second unsuccessful senior year rolled around, he waited with bated breath for you to return. Eddie never cared much for gossip but he listened intently for even a whisper of news about your return.

Finally, he heard that you’d decided to stay in Chicago and he decided to stay in his bedroom for the remainder of the summer.

As time passed, Eddie wondered when you would return. Soon, however, summer turned to fall and then to winter and he heard - through the grapevine, once again - that your family was headed to Chicago to spend the holidays with you. It seemed as if you were avoiding Hawkins and, truth be told, he couldn’t blame you. If he ever made it out, he planned to never look back.

However, your return was inevitable.

Eddie knew that you would be in town for the class of 1986’s graduation; that was never a doubt in his mind. Though you kept your distance, your brother was in his class, spared him glances in the hallway and told Jason Carver to fuck off any time he witnessed something he shouldn’t, and there was no way you were going to miss seeing him walk across the stage.

Whispers spread through town when you arrived, murmurs of your name filled his ears each time he wandered the halls, and he was grateful that nearly everyone seemed to have forgotten your momentary lapse in judgement. Still, he held his breath any time he was forced to enter a local building - Family Video, Bradley’s, the gas station, the diner, Thatcher’s - just in case, even though he never expected to see you in any of them.

The one place he knew you wouldn’t be was exactly where he found you.

For the first time in two years, you stood in Eddie’s line of sight and he was struck with an understanding of what people meant when they said that someone had both changed completely and not at all.

Physically, there were only a handful of minute differences. Even from a distance, he could see that a few more piercings littered your ears, your hair had gotten a little longer and your cheeks a little thinner, your thighs and hips a little fuller. The last time he saw you, you were eighteen and terrified, heartbroken and miserable; now, you looked sure of yourself, more confident and at home in your own skin.

Long gone were the muted tones and modest skirts you used to wear. In their place, you wore a dark mini-skirt that exposed most of your thigh, something he’d only seen in a magazine, and a tank top. The jean jacket that covered them both was oversized, littered with patches and pins, and Eddie wondered - only briefly - if it was yours or if you’d borrowed it from a boyfriend.

The thought of you with anyone else filled him with a jealousy he couldn’t stand. It was unreasonable - he was the one who broke things off with you, was the one who refused to keep trying - and he knew that. But as he stood at the bottom of the staircase and observed you, his heart hammered so hard against his ribcage that he fleetingly feared it might leap through his skin.

Warm light spilled from the windows and illuminated your figure, cast a dim glow about the small space that allowed him the luxury of studying you. He could see silver jewelry glint every time you moved your hands - rings, that looked a hell of a lot like his, and bracelets that jingled with every gesture - and it seemed nearly impossible to breathe as he watched you throw your head back in a laugh.

Eddie had thought about you every day since you left. Somedays, it was for hours; others, it was simply in passing. Not a day had gone by, however, that he hadn’t thought of you at least once. There was no question that he’d missed you, no question that he still loved you. In fact, Eddie was of the opinion that he wouldn’t be able to get over you, even if he tried.

He knew in August of 1983 that you were it for him but now, he wondered if he’d been it for you.

As he stood, rooted to his spot at the foot of the stairs, he watched you lean against the railing beside your brother’s girlfriend. The swaying of your body told him you were on the verge of having too much, a little looser than he’d ever seen you in public as you pursed your lips and frowned at the cup in your hand.

“He’s a nice guy,” he heard you say, words stringing together a little too quick - a little fuzzier, a little clunkier than the carefully chosen words and measured cadence he still heard in his dreams. Despite that, your voice sounded just as he remembered and, were it not for the subject matter, he would’ve been content to close his eyes and listen for as long as you continued speaking. “I just… I don’t think I could love him forever.”

Eddie felt as if his world were crashing down around him. Though he’d thought of you daily, he never once considered the possibility that you were seeing someone else. It was possibly naive of him, or maybe a selfish, subconscious wish - after all, he hadn’t seen anyone else since you left, hadn’t even tried - but the breath he’d been holding caught in his throat as he waited for you to continue.

“I don’t even know if I love him now. I haven’t found anyone that I could see a future with since -” Again, selfishly, Eddie hoped that his name was on the tip of your tongue. He nearly broke when you cut yourself off, sent himself barreling up the stairs to ask the question. Your admission was comforting in a way he knew it shouldn’t be and it was selfish, but he hoped that you were thinking about him. He hoped that you missed him in the way that he missed you, that you still loved him, but he’d never really been that lucky.

The girl beside you offered some kind of reply, words of comfort that Eddie missed as the door opened and a handful of people stepped out into the night air, and he took that as his chance to ascend the stairs. Though he’d graduated himself and should’ve been celebrating, all he’d wanted was to make a few bucks before returning to his bed.

Now, all he wanted was to go home.

Had you been anyone else, he would’ve stepped right by and walked on without stopping, slipped into the open door and hid amongst the crowd - even though he’d never wanted anything more than to stop and take a look at you, catalogue all of the minute changes up close and personal. But you called his name, soft voice wrapping around each letter just as pretty as he remembered, and his body reacted before his mind could catch up.

“I thought that was you.” The words were less slurred than he thought they should be, a little easier to understand and coherent enough, as he turned to face you. Eddie barely noticed the girl at your side slip away - barely noticed anything that wasn’t you; your eyes, your lips, your hand wrapped around a cup of spiked punch. “The hair suits you.”

Eddie couldn’t really remember what he’d looked like the last time he saw you. There weren’t many photos of him in the first place but the ones you took with him - tucked beneath his arm, grinning as he made faces; smiling bright as he played guitar, watching with such careful focus; settled on his lap, face hidden in the crook of his neck - were hidden away. They lived in a shoebox, stuffed beneath his bed and slotted right beside the box of unopened letters, because he hoped he might forget what you looked like if he avoided looking at you for long enough.

That was never really a possibility, however, when he saw your face in almost every dream he had.

He knew that his hair hadn’t been quite as long - a little past his shoulders, almost awkward in length - and not quite as unruly. Despite himself, he’d wondered, often idly, what you would think of it.

For the first time in a long time, Eddie was struck silent. There wasn’t really much he could say other than, “Thanks. Yours does, too.”

Another minute change, but one Eddie noticed immediately. Your hair fell a little longer than he’d ever seen it, had been ironed straight and teased at the roots, but Eddie liked it. It reminded him of something out of one of his magazines, the pretty metalhead girls who wore leather and should’ve starred in his fantasies instead of you, and he struggled to keep himself from staring too long.

Silence had never been awkward between you. Even in the beginning, back before you knew how to be yourselves together, silence was tentative but usually broken by giggles. It was sweet, a nervous pause between young lovers who’d never been struck that hard by Cupid’s arrow, but those days were long gone.

The silence seemed to stretch endlessly, stifling and so fucking heavy Eddie feared he might crumble under the weight of it, but he couldn’t break it. Before that moment, he’d written lists - songs, poems, actual, honest to god lists - of things he wanted to say to you, if the universe would just give him a chance.

But when he looked into your eyes for the first time in two years, nothing seemed right.

Eddie swore his heart hadn’t beat that hard since the day you left but as your eyes traced his skin, flickered over the new splotches of ink peeking out from the collar of his shirt or the scar on his chin from a fight the summer before, his chest ached with the force of it.

“Congratulations,” you finally said, breaking the horrible stalemate and drawing Eddie’s gaze back to your own. “On, you know, graduating and flipping Higgins off. It’s been a long time coming.”

If anyone asked, Eddie would say that he came up with that plan all on his own. Higgins had it out for him, always had - just because he was a kid from the trailer park who wore black and listened to music a little too loud - and no one could question why exactly Eddie would’ve thought to defy Higgins as his final act.

That wasn’t the case, however.

The idea emerged less than a month before he destroyed the best thing that had ever happened to him. He remembered the weight of your body, half atop his - the warmth of your fingertips, lightly tracing the few scattered tattoos that stained his skin; the scent of your shampoo as he buried his face in your hair, eyes closed and so content - as you lounged in his bed. The conversation faded in and out, a handful of sentences spoken between puffs of smoke, but he remembered the way your eyes lit up at the mention of his second senior year.

“I think,” you’d whispered, as if you were sharing an important secret, “you should tell Higgins to fuck off. After you get your diploma, though. Oh, or flip him off! He deserves it.”

“Yeah. I was starting to worry he’d retire before I got the chance.” The joke sounded weak in his own ears, a half-hearted quip uttered to stave off that horrible silence, and he hoped the ground would open up and swallow him whole as he folded his arms over his chest. “Eighty-six was my year, I guess.”

There was a set to your shoulders that told him you weren’t amused. That furrow of your brow told him you were thinking, seriously weighing every word you could possibly breathe aloud, and Eddie hated it. He hated that he’d ruined the ease with which you’d always interacted, hated that you couldn’t just speak your thoughts aloud in the way you used to. He hated that you stood, lips parting but silence remaining unbroken as you thought better of every word you wanted to speak.

Most of all, he hated that now that he finally had you in his sight once more, the only thing he wanted to do was run.

“I should -“

“Amanda’s probably -“

A confused cluster of words filled the quiet as you both tried to speak at the same time. Eddie’s cheeks tinted pink, warm and blistering as he felt a white-hot shame fill his chest. Cowardice had him running, looking for an exit after years of hoping for a chance to get you back, but that was what he’d always done.

When faced with difficulty, Eddie Munson ran.

So, when you gestured for him to speak first, Eddie cleared his throat. “I should go,” he declared, casting a cursory glance at the open door he no longer wanted to enter. “I was just - I shouldn’t have come, anyway.”

That much was true - Eddie had never been invited to parties, had never been particularly welcome when his stash ran out - but he likely would’ve stayed, just to make a few extra bucks if you hadn’t stopped him dead in his tracks.

Some small part of him hoped for a fight, hoped that you would argue and ask him to stay, but that hope did little to quell his surprise when you scoffed. “Jesus, Eddie, this is such bullshit. It’s so fucking stupid,” you asserted, dropping your empty drink onto the railing and taking an angry step closer. “We’re tiptoeing around one another and I hate it. I…” He waited, breath caught in his throat and heart seeming to still in his chest, as you took a deep breath before meeting his gaze once more. “I miss you. You fucking miss me. Just… just say it and let’s get this shit over with.”

Eddie expected anger, he expected your hard feelings and upset. But to hear that you missed him, to hear that you hated the uncertainty and discontent that lingered between you both just as much as he did, kicked his seemingly frozen heart back into overdrive.

Suddenly, the bubble he’d been in - the island that consisted of you and him alone - popped and he was painfully aware of where you stood.

From the corner of his eye, Eddie could see faces peering through the open windows. Familiar faces - your brother, Jason, Harrington, Robin; people who knew and maybe cared about one, or both, of you - watched with wide eyes and bated breath. The noise of the party had stalled, dulled to a murmur as everyone was reminded of your history and the question they’d asked so many times after your initial demise.

What had Eddie done to lose you?

That was never a conversation he pictured having in front of an audience, not one he wanted the friends he still couldn’t believe he had to hear, so he shook his head.

“Why does it matter? That doesn’t change anything.” Eddie sighed, arms falling to his sides as he shook his head once more. There was little his confession would do. Admitting he missed you wouldn’t change the past and it would only serve to make the future harder. So, he refused. “Just… go back to the party, okay. I’m leaving.”

There was a shimmer to your eyes that he hated, a glimmer of unshed tears in the dim glow of light filtering through windows, and he wondered just how many times you’d let him make you cry before you finally let him go. There was a roiling in the pit of his stomach, a sick feeling that made his chest ache, but that pain was nothing compared to the sting of your response.

“Aren’t you tired of running away, Eddie? Doesn’t taking the easy way out get old?” He wanted to be angry but the feeling that gripped his lungs and squeezed until he felt incapable of drawing the slightest breath was one of sorrow. You were right, but that made it hurt that much more.

“That’s not -“

“Not what, Eddie? Not fair?” A laugh, harsh and angrier than he imagined you capable of, escaped as you pushed away from the railing entirely and brushed past him to reach the top of the steps. “Yeah, well, neither was you pushing me away with some bullshit excuse and then hiding from me when I tried to figure out what I’d done.” Another scoff, this one accompanied by a defeated slump of your shoulders as you began descending the stairs with careful steps. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I’m going for a walk. I guess I’ll see you around.”

Eddie watched for a moment as you wobbled on unsteady legs. You weren’t drunk, but you’d had enough that he couldn’t let you leave alone. With a heavy sigh - and without a glance spared at the audience you’d amassed - he called your name and followed you down the stairs.

“Stop.” He reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder, careful not to grab, but quickly recoiled when you jerked away from him. “You’re drunk. Let me take you home,” he offered, tugging his keys from the pocket of his jacket.

“Fuck off, Eddie. I’m not drunk and I don’t need your help.” 

From the corner of his eye, Eddie could see your brother moving to linger at the top of the steps - ready to step in should you need him, should you both find yourselves overwhelmed in the situation at hand - and sighed. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he urged, voice soft as he took a tentative step forward. “I’ll drop you off and then leave you alone, alright?”

For a long moment, he waited with bated breath for your response. He stood, statue still, as you seemed to weigh your options and watched as your shoulders rose and fell just a little too fast. Despite the venue, despite the time that had passed, he wanted nothing more than to reach out and offer some semblance of comfort but those days had long passed. His touch would only further annoy you, he knew that, so he simply waited.

Finally, without a single word or glance back at him or the party, you crossed the lawn to where his van sat and climbed into the passenger seat. It was a familiar sight, one he’d missed terribly, but it brought him little comfort as he tipped his head back and blinked at the stars.

With a deep breath, an inhale that barely filled his lungs, Eddie spared your brother a cursory glance. When he received a nod, permission to whisk you away - encouragement to give you some sort of closure - he crossed. The lawn and climbed into the van himself.

It was widely known around Hawkins that you heard Eddie before you saw him. Loud music, heavy and fast, often warned of his presence before his van peeled into view. Way back when, you always teased him - joked that it was difficult for you to have a conversation over the sound of Metallica - but this time, the drive was silent.

Long gone were the good old days, the days where his van was filled with laughter as you swapped stories - theories about the lives of Hawkins residents neither of you had ever met, tales of school, dreams for the future - and music you both loved. For the first time in years, Eddie’s van alerted no one of his presence as it navigated the roads that were once as familiar to him as his own route home.

The silence was stifling, overwhelming, but you were too lost in thought to speak first and nothing Eddie could think to say felt appropriate. Everything he wanted to say felt hollow, like an excuse plucked from thin air, and he knew that it would only hurt you further. 

It only further broke his heart to realize just how hurt you still were. If he was honest, he sometimes worried you’d gotten over him immediately. He worried that the relationship never meant as much to you as it did to him - though he knew, somewhere in the depths of his heart, that he couldn’t be farther from the truth - but to know that you’d harbored these feelings this entire time had a nauseating combination of emotions bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

When he finally pulled to a stop in front of your house, a spot once unofficially reserved for his van, Eddie finally mustered the courage to speak. He still wasn’t sure what he planned to say but he hoped the words would come. However, before he could so much as turn to you, you climbed out of the van and headed for the front door.

Eddie wondered, idly, if he should follow. A long time ago, he would’ve known immediately, would’ve been able to read you without sparing it a second thought, but now he felt crippling uncertainty. He wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk or if you wanted to get rid of him immediately, but he received his answer in the form of an open front door.

Following was a bad idea, he knew that - knew he’d end up sharing every thought he’d had over the last few years, knew that he’d end up breaking his own heart once more to heal yours - but he couldn’t stand seeing you so hurt. So, he climbed out of the van and followed.

There was no changing the past, no undoing what he’d already done, but he knew he could offer you some sort of closure. That was the least he could do.

The path to your front door was one he’d taken a thousand times before - only a little less traveled than climbing through your window, despite your parents’ likely knowledge that he’d slept over - and he kept his eyes on the ground beneath his feet. Glancing at the driveway to his left, the one he watched you peel out of on his last visit, would only intensify the ache in his chest.

Eddie tried not to think about that last visit, tried desperately not to remember the last words he spoke to you - the way he acted, desperate to push you away in some noble attempt to make you happier in the long run. He tried not to remember the ache in his chest as he watched you drive away, tried not to remember the look on your parents’ faces as he walked back to his van and sat for a while, just to gather himself. He tried to forget it all as he stepped into the house and pulled the door shut behind him.

With tentative steps, Eddie wandered through the house. He eyed the walls lined with photos, the living room that had been redecorated since he last stepped foot inside, and deeply inhaled the scent he associated with you - with home. The place he’d once seen as a second home turned into one he’d avoided so much as driving past for years and each step he took felt heavier than the last as he finally reached your bedroom door.

Little had changed about the room he once knew so well. There were a handful of new posters lining the walls, newer photos with friends he’d never met - tacked up in the place his photo once occupied - and he felt a glimmer of warm nostalgia as he took in the overfilled bookshelf.

“That’s new.” He gestured to the duvet, a stark white replacing the old pale pink, as he eyed where you sat at the foot of your bed.

“Old one’s in a box in the attic.”

Eddie hummed, acknowledging your response as he stood in the center of the room. He was uncertain, not quite sure of what to say or where to go, but it seemed as if you had little intention of pointing him in the right direction as you eyed your chipping nail polish.

“Your parents,” he began, pausing to listen for the sounds of life he might’ve missed. “They’re not home?”

“They’re with my grandparents. Took them back to Fort Wayne. We celebrated as a family yesterday ‘cause they knew he’d want to be with friends tonight,” you reasoned, shrugging as you did. 

Another hum - this one of understanding as Eddie remembered just how understanding your parents had always been, just how supportive of your lives and how welcoming they’d been when you brought him home - before he sighed and took a step closer to you. “Is this the part where you kick me out?”

It wasn’t - he knew you wouldn’t, even if you had every right to - but he still felt a mild form of surprise when you sighed. “It should be.” A beat of silence passed in which Eddie wondered if he should speak, if he should begin the difficult conversation that he knew you needed to have, but before he could open his mouth, you spoke. “I’m sorry.”

Genuine bewilderment filled him as he blinked. “For what?” Try as he might, there was nothing Eddie could imagine you feeling the need to apologize for. You’d tried, he ran.

“For what I said at the party.” Finally, after nearly an hour of avoidance, you lifted your head and met his gaze for the first time since leaving the party. “It wasn’t fair,” you admitted and he could tell the apology was genuine.

Eddie sighed as he took another tentative step closer, closing the distance a few inches at a time, and shook his head. “But it was true.”

If there was one thing he could do, he could acknowledge his faults. He’d always been a coward, choosing to run rather than face his problems head on - choosing to push you away rather than have a difficult conversation - and he knew that. It was genetic, he imagined, inherited from a father who’d run from responsibility nearly two decades prior, but he hated that you were caught in the wake of it all.

“It wasn’t,” you countered, clearly convinced in a way Eddie didn’t feel he warranted. “But, even if it was, doesn’t mean it was okay to say.”

With one final step, Eddie managed to close the gap between you. When you shifted, moved to make room at the foot of the bed, he carefully sat beside you and sighed once more. “You should’ve said worse. I wouldn’t have blamed you,” he confessed, quiet in the silence of your usually bright home. “I… I was afraid I’d never see you again.” He spared a glance at your hands, watched for a moment as you picked at the remaining black nail polish, and nearly reached out to hold them as he continued, “I didn’t want to hold you back. I ran because I didn’t want to make you give it all up just to wait for me.”

Eddie lifted his gaze to your face, uncertain but desperate for any hint of how you felt. Long ago, he could’ve read you better than anyone, knew from the most minute twitch of your lips exactly how you felt, but your face was impassive as you shook your head.

“I knew what you were doing, Eddie,” you confessed, still refusing to glance at him as you turned to playing with the rings adorning your fingers. “How could I not? I knew you loved me, I never believed you didn’t. I just… I hoped you loved me enough to get that stupid fucking idea out of your head. That’s why I kept trying.”

There’d always been the question of why. He’d always wondered what kept you pushing, calling and writing letters and dropping by on your few trips home, when he was convinced he’d sufficiently broken your heart. Eddie hoped, desperately, that you’d believed him when he’d shouted that your relationship was a mistake. It would’ve hurt in the moment, he knew, but you would’ve been better off. Believing that he never cared the way you had, he thought it would’ve helped you get over him faster.

But to know that you never believed him, that you knew what he was doing all along, surprised him.

“I love you - loved you, Eddie,” you corrected, quickly, as you shook your head. “But I was never going to give up my dreams. It would’ve been hard, I knew that, but there was never any chance I was staying in Hawkins. We could’ve called, written letters. I could’ve visited during breaks. I… I never planned to stay but I didn’t want to leave you here forever. I wanted you to join me, Eddie. I would’ve waited for you there.”

With every word that left your lips, with every confession you made, Eddie felt the knot in the pit of his stomach tighten. He was so convinced that he knew you, that he knew exactly which choice you would make, that he never thought to ask. The possibility that you would’ve left, anyway, only leaving a lifeline for him to follow after his graduation, never crossed his mind. But, looking back, it should have.

Try as he might, Eddie couldn’t think of any instance in which you’d given him reason to believe you would stay. You talked often of your plans, of the trips home you’d make and the letters you could write. Your parents bought you a new Polaroid, one you planned to use to take photos of Chicago for them - and for him. The plan was always there, out in the open for all to know, but Eddie had been so focused on his own fear that he hadn’t heard you.

When you met his eyes, Eddie’s chest ached as he realized his mistake. “Did you ever read any of the letters?”

Eddie shook his head. “No. I wanted to,” he assured you, averting his gaze for a brief moment. “I couldn’t. I knew if I did, I would’ve wanted to write you back or call you or come see you. I kept them, I just… couldn’t read them.”

“If you had, you would’ve known that I didn’t hate you.” Eddie wondered just how much he’d missed by refusing to read the letters, just how desperately you’d tried to reassure him, and decided that he’d open them when he returned home. “If you’d read them, you would’ve known that I wasn’t coming back to be with you but I wanted you to join me. I promised I’d wait for you.”

“Even after my second senior year?”

An annoyed huff escaped as you rolled your eyes at him. “Yes, you dipshit,” you snapped, anger beginning to overtake the sadness you’d been crumbling beneath. “God, I love you - loved you.” Eddie’s heart pounded in his chest, beat an uncontrollable rhythm that nearly deafened him as he heard your second slip of the tongue. He knew it shouldn’t give him hope, not when he didn’t deserve a second chance, but he couldn’t help it as you huffed one more. “It wouldn’t have mattered how long it took,” you assured him, “I still would’ve waited for you.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Eddie remembered the reasons he’d had for pushing you away. They’d seemed so real all those years ago, so relevant, but your conviction cast his reasons into doubt. He wondered if they were ever valid or if he’d simply been trying to protect his own heart.

Still, he felt the need to explain himself. “You deserved better,” he reasoned, though it sounded weak in his own ears. “Someone who had a future, someone who was in college and going to do something with their life. That wasn’t me. I couldn’t be enough for you,” he admitted, ashamed he’d ever thought he could be.

“Stop fucking pretending this was about me.” You scoffed, pushing yourself up from the bed and beginning to pace at the foot of it. “You knew how I felt. I told you I loved you and you swore you’d never forget it. And I know you loved me, too. I just, I thought you were too afraid to admit your feelings. Now, I wonder if you ever even knew me at all, let alone loved me. Because if you did, you would know that I saw a future with you. I saw your future!”

Eddie watched with wide eyes as you glared at him, gaze sharp and angrier than he’d ever seen. It hurt to hear your doubt, your questioning, because he’d only ever loved you. There was never any doubt in his own mind, never any question of whether his love for you was anything but real, but he supposed he could understand where you were coming from.

That seemed to matter little, however, as you shook your head. “You’re more than you give yourself credit for, Eddie, and I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear enough when we were together. But you were enough. You were all I wanted, the only person I’ve ever really wanted.” You looked at him, then, met his eyes and took a moment to search for the answer to a question you had yet to ask aloud, before you sighed. “You were it for me, Eddie, and I hate it and I hate you.”

Eddie knew that you didn’t hate him. He’d heard your slip of the tongue - twice - that told him you dreamt of him as often as he dreamt of you. He knew that you were simply frustrated, annoyed at the loss you’d deemed avoidable, and couldn’t stop himself from standing to join you.

With shaking hands, he reached for you. There was no resistance then, no fight left in you as he pulled you into his chest. Your hands gripped fistfuls of his jacket, leather putty in your hands as you buried your face in the worn fabric of his Metallica shirt. He could feel your shoulders shake with quiet sobs, soft little noises that cracked his heart in half,  and he blinked hard against the light to keep himself from following suit.

For years, Eddie thought himself a martyr. He thought he’d sacrificed his own happiness to ensure yours. He felt certain, somewhere in the far corner of his mind, that he was making the right choice in pushing you away. There was no future with him, not one that you deserved. He was convinced he’d only hold you back, an anchor around your waist that kept you tethered to a life less than you deserved, but he could see that his attempt at chivalry was misguided.

Though some small part of him hoped you’d missed him, hoped you’d loved him, he hated that that was the case. He hated that you’d felt this way, hated that he could’ve kept from hurting you - kept from hurting himself - if he’d only been brave enough to have the conversation with you. He hated that the pain you’d both suffered was his own fault and all he could do was hope you’d forgive him.

“Sweetheart.” Eddie lifted a hand to your cheek, attempted to guide your face forward - searching for your eyes - but you turned your cheek.

“Don’t.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice cracking as he attempted to keep his breathing even. “I should’ve… you deserved better.”

“We both did.” 

“I thought I was doing the right thing.” He wondered if you’d believe him, if you’d trust that his intentions were true, as he sighed. “I hoped that making you hate me would make it easier for you to get over me, let you find someone better for you. I didn’t… I thought I’d just ruin your future.”

For a long moment, you remained quiet. Eddie wondered if you were contemplating his confession - wondered if you were trying to decide if you would forgive him - and busied himself with brushing idle patterns across your shoulders.

“I don’t like it,” you finally whispered, “but I understand.” That eased a bit of the ache in his chest, made it a little easier for him to breathe as you admitted that you at least understood his rationale. “I would’ve liked to be part of that decision, though. I appreciate you trying to do what you thought was right but it was a relationship, Eddie. You can’t just choose what happens and expect it to be okay.”

There was never a clear definition of love for Eddie. He never had an understanding of what it meant to be in love and be loved in return. In his mind, love was about sacrifice. You gave of yourself to make sure the other person could thrive. It was a decision to be made alone, one that did not warrant a conversation - as a conversation would dissuade him from doing what was right - but as he thought, he realized you’d spent your relationship teaching him otherwise.

The relationship you shared was one filled with compromise, not sacrifice. Though you shared so many interests, there were moments you disagreed. Eddie never wanted to spend Friday nights at basketball games, watching from the bleachers as people who tormented him leered at you, but he dutifully sat in the stands and watched you cheer just to support you. You never loved The Hideout but you sat in the crowd and cheered louder for him than he ever heard you do for the basketball team.

Eddie knew you’d rather spend your weekends watching a movie or hanging out with friends but as the semester wore on, you’d spent night after night tutoring him on classes he still couldn’t manage to pass. And though he knew you loved him, he still found himself surprised by every date you turned down.

For nearly a year, you showed him that love was about compromise - giving just as good as you got - and he’d forgotten it in a moment of fear. Now, he only hoped he wasn’t too late as he attempted to lift your face to his once more.

“I should’ve talked to you,” he agreed, glad you finally met his eyes once more. “I… if I could do it again, I’d do things differently.”

“You can’t change the past,” you reminded him, gently. “But you can do things differently in the future.”

Eddie blinked, brows furrowing as he searched your face. He wondered if you were implying what he hoped you were, wondered if you’d be generous enough to give him a second chance, but he couldn’t help himself as he mentioned, “Your boyfriend…”

“I don’t love him. I wanted to,” you sighed, “I tried to. I just… don’t. I can’t.”

“Why?”

It was hopeful, softly optimistic in a way he hadn’t been since he last saw your face. And when you rolled your eyes, he couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t ask stupid questions, Eds. I know people suck but you’re smarter than that.”

“How long are you in town?”

Eddie knew that your relationship wouldn’t be rekindled immediately - he was a realist, after all - but he hoped that he’d have enough time to at least remind you of why you’d fallen in love with him in the first place. So when you smiled, offered him a glance from beneath your lashes, he felt a glimmer of hope.

“I’m here for the summer. My roommates graduated so we broke our lease. I couldn’t find anything for the summer so I’m picking up a new one by myself in August.” You smiled then, shrugging. “Rent might not be so bad if I had a roommate, though.”

“I hear Chicago’s nice,” he agreed, tentative but hopeful for the first time in a long time.

“I think you’d love it.”

There was more to be said, a conversation to be had, but Eddie felt a glimmer of something warm in the pit of his stomach. He could see a future once more, one in which you were again by his side, and promised that this time, he’d do things right.

_____________________________________________________

Author's Note: I spent so long on this. I'm kinda glad it's finally done. I included a few old anon requests so. Sorry it took so long. :) Also if my Modern Baseball anon is still around, here's a Modern Baseball inspired fic. :)

Taglist: @x-avantgarde-x, @thisisparadisemylove, @eddiesprincess, @slvdsjjk, @munsonlover, @tasmbestspdrman, @urofficial-cyberslut, @jxngwhore, @hopelesslylosttheway, @meaganjm, @lazuli-leenabride, @deiondraaa, @piscesmesss, @glowyskiess, @kiszkathecook, @missryerye, @solarrexplosion, @ofherscarlettwitchways, @lovedandleft-haunted, @trappedinlimbo15, @sweetiekitten, @bookfrog242, @gwendolynmary, @sage-bun, @zealouslibrariesparadiselight, @castiels-lilass, @tojis-little-brat, @emmah787, @theworldsendxx, @asuperconfusedgirl, @flores-and-sunshine, @passi0np1t, @laurathefahrradsattel, @hellf1reclub, @slut4yourmom, @niko-04, @hannirose-loves-you, @mrs-eddie-munson, @screambabe, @vllowe, @ryswritingrecord, @cheriebondy, @ryswritingrecord, @thewitchofthewilds140, @bootlegmothman420, @maruushkka, @honeymoonpython, @keenesbeans, @jess-bonn, @sammysinger04, @khaoticken21, @denkis-slut, @spiderman-berries, @lotus-es, @amortiff, @stardust-galaxies, @ure-a-sunflower,��@1-800-ch3rry, @ladybeewritethings, @ynbutbetter, @hunnybunimdun, @breathinfive, @s-u-t, @s4ntacarlal0stk1d, @rae-iin, @pennamesgame, @stefans-wife, @voldieshorts, @frankie-mercury, @bbymochi1, @serendiipty, @saturnsworld01, @eddiemunson1sstuff​, @valthevalkyrie-main​, @crying-caro​, @inglourious-imagines​

[dreamweave01]

i actually love your tmnt 2012 swap au concept so much

so what does "role" actually mean here? obviously i'm assuming it means shredder takes the role of their sensei/father, donnie as the leader/mediator, mikey as the tech/smart one, leo as the protector/hothead and raph as the silly guy (these might not be the most descriptive i haven't watched much of 2012 my apologies)

but how much of their original personality stays intact? from what you've posted i can assume raph and leo have had some personality change, but! was the swap au's splinter still yoshi?

or is the foot clan the peaceful clan and the hamato clan was wiped out, and yoshi was adopted, and ended up killing saki's wife? if so, why did the turtles "grow up in a not so pleasant household"?

not sure if this makes sense, but what i'm trying to ask is, did the swap au!splinter get his wife and think his child was killed, OR was he the brother that did the killing and burning of the house?

- @asheronangel

Okay, first of all, thank you so much! <3

And second of all, you basically nailed the “role” thing. 

Donatello’s the leader, Michelangelo’s the nerd, Leonardo’s the hothead, and Raphael’s the silly :P 

Despite the change in family dynamics, there’s still a few things that have stayed in tact. 

For example, Leo is still the most dedicated to his training, taking it very seriously, (part of that being Splinter’s influence.)

Donnie is still madly in love with a certain Ms. O’Neil, but though I kept the Donnie-April-Casey love triangle, a couple things have been altered for my own sanity.

Mikey still has ADHD and has retained his catchphrase, “booyakasha"; he’s basically just more smart/nerd oriented and less childish.

Raph is still technically the best fighter of the four, but he’s too much of a softy to ever actually let loose, unlike the classic 2012. (It may or may not frustrate Splinter. A lot. •_ •)

Splinter is still Yoshi, and essentially everything has stayed the same with his backstory, the only difference being that his personality was swapped with Saki’s. 

However, the context of said events were admittedly a little different. 

The Hamato clan was never necessarily “evil,” (same with the Foot) but their rivalry led to many conflicts and contentions.

When the Foot was wiped out by the Hamato due to such conflict, Oroku Saki was spared and adopted by Hamato Youta, raised side by side with Yoshi as brothers. 

Yoshi was always the more merciless and aggressive of the two, whereas the now Hamato Saki was compassionate and thoughtful.

The both fell in love with Tang Shen, and the both wished for her hand. 

However, Shen still chose Yoshi, getting married and having little Miwa together. 

Saki, being the man he is, was willing to step aside and respected her decision completely. 

It was soon after the time that Miwa was born when Saki discovered the truth of his heritage and who he really was.

Though he never sought vengeance, and chose to let go and move on.

When Yoshi revealed his plans to lead the Hamato clan and take over the world, Saki couldn’t just stand by and watch, leading to a confrontation that would cost the life of his love, Tang Shen, in a house fire, (which also left both him and Yoshi physically scarred.)

Presuming his once called brother dead, Saki took in little Miwa as his own daughter and moved to New York, starting a new life, safe from what remained of the vengeful Hamato. 

As further precaution, Saki changed his name to Oroku Kazuo (if you get the reference, I salute you) as well as Miwa’s to Oroku Karai. 

Karai would grow up and go to school, making friends with people such as Casey Jones and April O'Neil (though Casey and April don't officially meet until the turtles come along.)

Saki also made friends, becoming close with Anton Zeck and Ivan Steranko (both of which got mutated into a certain warthog and rhino duo during a "freak accident.")

Going back to Hamato Yoshi, he had of course survived, him in turn thinking that Saki and Miwa had both died in the fire along with Shen. 

Due to business opportunities, Yoshi moved the Hamato clan to New York, (not realizing his enemy was living right beneath his nose.)

While in New York, Yoshi met an interesting man named Bishop, who revealed himself as an alien once from a place called Dimension X. 

Bishop promised Yoshi immense power to fulfill his wishes in taking over the world, if Yoshi in turn could provide him with the resources Bishop needed to exact his revenge on his people, the Kraang, who banished him and his followers, (known simply as the Utrom.)

Agreeing to the terms set, Yoshi was mutated with Bishop’s mutagen into a mutant rat, along with four baby turtles, who would be the first generation of mutant warriors among the Hamato.

Yoshi, changing his name to Splinter, named the four babies Donatello, Leonardo, Michelangelo, and Raphael.

It would only be years later that Miwa and Saki would meet Donnie, Leo, Mikey, and Raph. 

Admittedly, I’ve made little change with Tang Shen. She’s essentially the same, though I guess you could say her taste in men is different than the original, considering she went with Yoshi. . .

Miwa was swapped in the sense that she and the turtles switched places, her being the one hiding out from the big bad guy and the turtles having been raised by said big bad guy.

Before when I said the turtles grew up in a “not so pleasant household,” it was in reference to the living conditions they had to be in, what with being raised to be soldiers in a war they never asked to fight in. 

The easiest way to put it is that their relationship with Splinter is on the abusive side of things. He was always hard on his sons, and “weakness had no place among the Hamato clan,” to put it in his own words. 

It’s probably why the turtles have so many issues.

But Miwa and Saki are quick to take in the turtles and help them through their troubles.

Along with others, like Casey Jones, April O’Neil, Bebop, and Rocksteady :3

That was probably more information than you asked for, but I felt like it was needed to explain everything.

So hopefully that explains everything :')

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Thank you so much @yandere-paramour for commissioning me.

Commission description: I got in a freak accident where in hs where I was in theatre rehearsal and basically a 4x4 fell directly onto my head and I was severely concussed for the Next month. Can you write this happening to Reader and Yves cannot prevent it in time? and he's very upset and angry at himself and Reader is just absolutely fucked up and nearly helpless.

tw: injury, yandere themes

(2632 words)

He oversaw your entire hospital residency. Yves didn't trust the doctors and nurses that were there, he would be the one to administer any treatment. Yves would also be the one to give you bed baths and clean any messes you may have made due to losing some control over your bladder or bowels. Yves had seen all of you.

All he needed to do was talk to a few people, pull some strings, forge a few signatures, and erase a handful of records.

You were in deep throbbing pain, only made manageable by the painkillers you were made to eat. But you couldn't think straight either, everything is just too hazy and foggy. The slightest bit of light bothers you to no end, luckily you were vaguely aware Yves was around to be with you. He knew what to do, he always knew what to do.

You could make out your boyfriend's hushed voice as he spoke through the phone. Squinting your eyes, you could discern a blurry image of Yves holding his smartphone in one hand, and the other typing away on his laptop. You had always found his voice soothing, but it sounded like he was upset, it didn't help that you were barely registering the words he was saying.

Noticing that your drugs are slowly wearing off, Yves quickly ended the call and walked over to you in large strides. You closed your eyes and he didn't say anything, only the shuffling and rustling of what you think came from the medical equipment reached your ears. Occasionally, you open your eyes only to close them again, catching glimpses of Yves toggling with your cannula and a filled syringe.

You were too concussed to question why Yves is doing the nurses' or doctors' job, or if he was even qualified to do so. You were just glad that he was by your side.

Soon, you felt the relief and newfound wooziness from the freshly administered IV painkillers and something else. You were sent to your own world when Yves pulled himself away to clean up and put everything back in place.

You felt him caress your cheek and kiss you on the forehead. After that, you felt the mattress of your hospital bed dip as Yves got on, he tucked himself under your blanket and spooned you from behind.

It was baffling how that wooden plank dislodged itself from somewhere and hit you. Just you, out of all the people present there. He does routine checks on the places where you frequent, the theatre didn't appear to be dilapidated, nor did his numerous tests yield any conclusions that could help him predict this outcome. That damned building passed all his safety checks, likewise, your coworkers weren't a threat to your life.

He buried his head in the crook of your neck, closing his eyes as he breathed in your scent. Yves was deep in thought while he tenderly rubbed the palm of your hands, it's not foul play. If it was, he already knew from the footage from a few dozen cameras he hid around the theatre. Moreover, he did his research on every single one you knew or knew you. The idea of someone trying to end your life is possible, but not plausible.

Yves had replayed that one video over and over again to try and discern the cause of the wooden plank falling from the top. It seemingly... isn't caused by anything. No matter how he digitally enhanced it, no matter how many times he watched it until it was positively seared into his brain, Yves found nothing of note. It just detached from the ceiling and fell. He frowned each time he had to remember the instant it slammed right into your head.

He even paid the theatre a visit just to investigate the site of impact itself. Bewilderingly, he could discern advanced signs of weakness in the surrounding areas that weren't there a day before but would have taken a few months to form through natural means. He swabbed everything and all his tests came out nothing. Yves was undetected by the owners of that building or the authorities because he broke in during the dead of night and scaled the beams quietly and skillfully. He balanced himself on a taut rope while he snapped pictures of the sites.

He called up people who he thought could give him advice and more information about the matter, but to no avail. It's almost like this was caused by something paranormal, there were no conceivable reasons as to how or why this happened. Even if there was, it defied the laws of physics in this reality.

Regardless of how strange and unexpected this event was, Yves was upset that he didn't think of a failsafe for this. He thought of everything but not this, because it was just so implausible.

You groan in discomfort, nothing feels right and you want your mind back now. However, there really isn't anything Yves could do and all the other relatively instantaneous healing methods he knew of would cause more significant harm than good. So, for now, you're stuck like this.

He sighed, murmuring that he was here to assure you. Well, at least this has given him a new set of data that he otherwise wouldn't go out of his way to induce and collect; there is at least that silver lining.

Yves frowned as he parted away from you, despising the cold nipping at him without you as his soft heater. But he has a lot to do, he has to maintain the life that you built for yourself while you're out of commission for at least a month.

He pressed a kiss on your forehead once more, ensuring that you were completely passed out from the drugs before taking out his phone again to make a few more important calls.

-

He transferred you to his humble abode a few days later, after determining that you were stable enough for him to resume your care outside of the hospital. You could barely walk, talk, or open your eyes, you were entirely helpless. Mumbling semi-incoherent words to try and communicate your needs and wants. Luckily for you, Yves clearly knew what you wanted just by your body language alone, so you were never too angry or frustrated that he couldn't understand you.

Unfortunately for your friends and family who would visit you from time to time, you were babbling in a language from another planet. They're either too loud, too panicky, or too pungent-smelling to be around with. It's as if the air was ruined by their presence. Your poor, concussed mind thought everyone else was just idiots and Yves is the only intelligent lifeform there.

Such an attentive man, he is. Yves would politely shoo them out of your shared bedroom when they got too much, he would then spend a few more minutes entertaining them with small talk downstairs before ultimately making them leave the property. The ones who truly care about you are glad you are under Yves's supervision.

However, if you were just lucid enough, you would question how Yves knew that you wanted a blanket from your heavy slurring, how he knew that you wanted to be hugged at that very moment by just watching you blink, how he knew what hurts by an incomprehensible grumble.

A few times, you did catch yourself realizing that you may have been completely unintelligible in verbalizing your wants. Still, he gave you exactly what you needed before you could correct yourself.

You always look forward to meal times, as he would never fail to whip up something delicious yet nutritious enough; packed chock full of vitamins, and minerals to your healing process. The best part was that he would spoon-feed you while sitting on his lap, it's ridiculously comfortable and you felt like absolute royalty. Strangely and fortunately for you, it never once felt degrading or patronizing. At most, you felt heavily nostalgic and had a strong sense of sadness that you couldn't conjure up an idea as to why. But it would all ebb away with every spoonful Yves fed you or every kiss he gave to show his appreciation for your cooperation.

Yves wouldn't allow you to use your phone or watch the television, he wouldn't allow anything in his house to emit too bright of a light. Which you were grateful for since it reduces the pain dramatically, and he would keep you fully engaged by reading stories from his library. They're always so exhilarating to hear as the protagonists always possess a wonderful personality that closely matches yours, allowing you to immerse yourself in whatever whimsical and fantastical world of his storybook. His smooth, baritone voice lulled you to sleep more times than you can count, letting you continue the story in your dreams.

Sometimes, you want to experience that particular story again, so you would pick up the book Yves read from. Only to find that its' pages are seemingly filled with illegible graphite chicken scratch. Asking him about it will lead him to tell you he wrote each and every single one of those pieces, they're all based on your proudest achievements and your life journey.

When Yves promised that he would take care of you to the fullest, he meant it. He wouldn't allow you to shower on your own, nor did he let you stand too long. He prepared a stool for you to sit on as streams of warm water washed over your nude body, Yves would roll his sleeves up and clean you up while you merely remained there in a daze; you didn't have to do anything, Yves would work up a lather on your hair and massage your scalp, he would gently scrub your skin with his smooth hands and apply an impossibly long list of skincare products that leaves your skin happy and glowing.

Yves is rarely apart away from you when you're this needy. And he enjoys it, savoring every second he spends with you. Yves would take his time styling your hair, stroking it, and collecting any strands you may have shed for data. Applying hair oil and caring for your body, he wouldn't have had the chance to do this when you're perfectly healthy, as you would either get too uncomfortable, bored, or too busy for him to do this for you.

In many ways, this accident was a blessing in disguise. For you to make up for all the missed bonding times with him; it's not that Yves is elated with you being severely concussed, but he isn't too upset over it either.

"Is this the color you want for your base?" He asked, ensuring his voice wasn't above the volume threshold. Yves brought up a bottle of nail polish in your favorite color.

You gave him a thumbs up, as nodding can cause you pain.

"What design would you like?" Yves continued asking, putting the polish away so he could begin to prep your fingernails. He had your hand limply resting on a towel draped over his thigh.

You opened your mouth to speak, but it was gibberish and garbled. But you were so used to talking like this and your brain is still healing from the damage, that you couldn't tell something was wrong.

Yves merely hummed in response while he skillfully pushed your cuticles in, they were softened by some cuticle oil he applied earlier. He needed no extra enlightenment even though you spoke in a tongue that no human could ever comprehend easily, Yves already knew what you wanted. He only asked that to give you an illusion of control.

You relaxed to the soothing music playing in the background while Yves continued with his manicure on you, skillfully using his tools to create intricate works of art on your nails. It's amazing how he could do that with laser precision in dim light.

Perhaps you tried holding a conversation with him, and you did. Albeit one-sided, Yves seemingly responds to your words normally as if he truly understood. But he was actually doing some very complex "guesswork" that was apparently accurate all the time. However, if there is one thing for certain, he memorizes all the sounds that left your mouth and movements you made no matter how random or unnecessary.

If thinks that you're getting too under-stimulated, he will recite one of the many stories he wrote for you to listen to and immerse yourself in. Yet, he wouldn't get distracted, continuing his work with elegance and expertise.

You were mesmerized by how he would hold his brush, how he would administer a graceful stroke, and how he would do the details of such an impossibly beautiful masterpiece.

You smiled and cheered when you saw your nails, all that there was left for you to do was wait for the polish to dry. The corners of his lips were also pulled up into a pleased grin, feeling absolutely delighted to see you beaming like that. He couldn't resist pecking you on the apples of your cheeks, as he might accidentally squeeze you out of his cuteness aggression if he didn't at least expel some of it.

He cleaned up after himself and put the items away. You were still giddy over your nails and he was in joy too. Yves then sat right next to you, resting his head on your shoulder and letting his silky, jet-black hair tickle you in the nose.

Yves closed his eyes and relaxed at the sound of your heavenly giggles, nuzzling his head further into the side of your neck to keep the playfulness alive. He would occasionally litter your shoulder with kisses too.

Eventually, the atmosphere calms back down to a gentle lull, where you would be lying on his lap as Yves runs his fingers through your hair. A soft smile graced his face as he watched you stare at his artwork, feeling flattered and honored that you liked it.

Yves always knew the potential of himself enjoying the aftermath of such a tragedy happening to you was there. But he didn't anticipate that he loved it this much. As bad as it sounds, Yves is unwilling to think about the time when you will inevitably heal and leave him alone all over again to live your life.

His smile faltered a bit thinking how you're most likely going to go back to that theatre to work again, cutting the time that he's used to have with you short by a drastic amount. He is going to miss tender moments like these so awfully...

Yves paused when he noticed that you drifted into slumberland, softly breathing as your lips were slightly parted and drool running down the sides of your mouth. Yves chuckled a bit as he wiped them away with his thumb.

He blinked as he thought about the situation at hand even more.

You are such a strong, resilient person, who endured far worse than a measly headache. And it seems like your recovery process isn't too agonizing for you to bear, you're fine.

And, you would definitely be fine if Yves extended that duration for a few more weeks; he needs to make sure that you're fully healed before allowing you to go back into the real world. You would also be fine to consume a bit more sugar than usual, he knows you better than yourself.

Yves brought your hands and grazed his fingertips against your nails to see if it was fully dried. They were, and he gave them each a kiss.

The next few hours were spent with Yves watching you sleep, his green eyes were unblinkingly trained on you.

[onskepa]

Okidoki~ sooo how about Tonowari with a reader that’s like kiri? Like- they’re mates and our dear reader kind of keeps her head in the clouds yk? Like- she when she goes for a swim sometimes she forgets everything else and poor stressed ‘wari has to look for her. :333333 DAAAMMMN this is making me kick my feet under the covers!!!!

Hope you like this one! I made her a bit ditzy for this one.

-------------------------------------------

Fwew

Tonowari is a leader, tall, patient, good sense of direction and morality. He fits all of the requirements to be a leader to his people. So, as leader, many people would assume he has everything under control.

NOPE. If anything, he freaks out on the inside.

Fwew. A name he given to the love of his life. A pet name.

Tonowari's mate, who despite having a name of her own, everyone calls her Fwew. And for one reason only.

She has a god damn talent to get lost and not know.

Its not that she doesn't have any sense of direction or doesn't know how to navigate around the island, its just that she gets distracted why too easy.

Easily, fwew can get side tracked. By anything really.

Pretty flower? she stays put to stare at it.

Pretty seashells? She stays to gather them.

Is the sky extra blue today? She will lay down at who knows where at stare at it like its a master piece.

Anything and everything just fascinates her so easily. She hardly gets bored and would appreciate the little things.

And where does her lovely mate, Tonowari leave? In a midst of panic. He tries his best to make sure his mate is with him at all times. But like a child, you look away for one second, and gone.

He has come up with so many ways. Using bright color flowers or hair décor for his mate as means so notice where she is. But the colors dulled down due to not lasting as much as he liked.

Made a sort of head band made out of shells, so that when Fwew moves, the shells make sounds. What happened do that? The twins that kept it together broke and the shells fells off.

A wrist band that tied her wrist with his, like hand cuffs, made with the strongest vines and roots. It did worked actually....until fwew's hand began to turn pale due to low blood circulation so tonowari had to cut it off.

Tonowari was so desperate as to not lose his mate, that at one point he strapped her on his chest like a parent would with a child. Fwew didn't mind, Tonowari shoved his pride aside to keep his mate close. What happened there? The straps were cut on accident when he was cutting up some fish.

Eywa forbid she enters the ocean. She tends to lose herself more in the ocean more than the forest in the island.

She would spend hours underwater. Admiring the fishes, corals and their unique designs.

Would let the waves gently sooth her to and from. Closing her eyes and feel the rhythm of the ocean.

Tonowari would often spend more time finding his mate rather than doing his duties. The people understand and are not at all upset nor annoyed. If anything, they find it amusing.

But the village does keep any eye out for the darling mate. Take notes of where she was last seen and report to tonowari so that he doesn't go in circles.

At the end of the day, Tonowari would calm himself as he finds his dear mate. He never gets mad at her. Too in love to really scold her. If anything, he would sit as his mate would tell of all the wonderful things she saw, collected, and hear her inner thoughts.

And the following day, repeat the chaos again.

I hoped ya'll liked this list! I had fun with it!

Fwew = search, look for.

[lsunstreakerl]

Famiglia-Familie

Chapter two analysis:

chapter two analysis is here!

- Starting with the boxes- Max feels like he needs to be useful when he's staying with GP, needs to contribute to the household, so he's unpacking boxes in the kitchen even though his arm is completely fucked. GP is really, really confused about that when he realizes, because GP still hasn't realized Max has trauma prior to the crash, so he's like "??? why are you unpacking boxes you're literally hurt please go sit down?"

- The fridge has essentials for breakfast in it, clearly, because GP ends up making omelets, but Max goes for the celery because he thinks he's not allowed to touch the other things, and that they're "Gianpiero food", which is separate from Max food. Celery is also very low on calories, so it's a food Max is allowed to have.

- Max scared GP on the counter because GP has completely forgotten he has a teenager now when he woke up. Kind of like how when you get really disoriented in a hotel room sometimes, or the morning after you get a pet- GP wakes up and he's like "oh my god someone is in my house" and then has to be "wait that's the fourteen year old he's supposed to be there".

- GP is surprised at the celery for breakfast, again because that's not only an odd choice, but also because they clearly have other items.

- "...or if he's trying to make Max jealous..." It does not even occur to Max initially that GP is also making him breakfast. He thinks maybe GP is just being a dick and rubbing it in his face that he's about to have an omelet while all Max is having is celery. (obviously, if Max thought about that for more than two seconds he would realize that's dumb, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

- "If Gianpiero wants to turn down free labor, that's his business, not Max's." Max thinks GP is weird. GP thinks Max is weird. They're still figuring each other out.

- Max being unsure on if he's allowed to use GP's nickname or if he needs to be formal and keep calling him Gianpiero, and there's no way for him to just ask, so instead he's stressing about it. (You'll notice in chapter three Max is much more relaxed about switching between GP and Gianpiero. He uses GP in a more casual sense, and Gianpiero when he's thinking about him as his dad/thinking emotionally.)

- Max being weirded out when GP feeds him first and washes his dishes first because that's not ever how things have worked in Max's world, but GP is just treating him like a parent does a kid. (Their needs before yours)

- This story very easily could have been Max being adopted by Hayden instead. I don't bring it up a whole lot, but Hayden as a character stays very close with Max and GP, they're family friends. There were a few times after the accident where Hayden had his own nightmares about pulling Max out of the crash, so sometimes he would come over and just hang out for bit. Seeing Max okay with GP helped soothe some of that anxiety. (Or he would text GP, be like "hey Max is okay right" and GP would confirm, or, when Max got more comfortable, they'd send little selfies)

- Max doesn't have issues karting personally, but he does get serious flashbacks when he's the passenger in a car, or when it's raining. It takes him a looooong time to work on that.

- GP knows the flashbacks need to be addressed, but at the first one he decides their short term solution is just going to be a shit ton of public transportation. (Mentioned in chapter three is that they bike places a lot- this is also one of their solutions)

- Word gets out eventually via rumors and gossipy karters that Jos died in an accident, and the parents are all very hush-hush about it, but the kids are like "hey we haven't seen Max since then either did he also die" so George is really freaked out when he sees Max in the bookstore. Between that, and the fact that Max drags him where other people can't see, doesn't talk to him, and never ends up texting him, and George also watches too many spooky shows and movies, instead of thinking "oh, max didn't die, max is here in the UK", George goes back to the other kids and is like "BEDFORD IS HAUNTED I SAW THE GHOST OF MAX VERSTAPPEN"

- GP just trying to be a good adult and getting Max a house key and a phone and a keychain and Max is like ??????

- When Max is trying to make GP understand that he's "doing too much" and that Max is overwhelmed, GP doesn't even consider that it's about everything, because he's just doing what any good guardian should do, which is why he tells Max they can always just order a keychain. (He assumes Max is overwhelmed just by the store)

- GP keeps Max's pain meds in his pocket, and he's diligent about making sure Max eats and drinks water when he has them, so of course he notices when Max is hurting, and obviously he buys him a water at the checkout counter. Max is thrown off by this because the water at the front is always overpriced, everyone knows this, and Jos would never have done that for him, would have told him it's his own fault for not bringing any with him.

- Max starts actually thinking Jos' name after the doctors appointment, because it's starting to chip away at him that everything is real. He can't cut himself off as easy, can't pretend it isn't actually happening, so the reality of the situation is starting to sink in, unavoidably.

- Micheal Schumacher does actually own a red Mercedes. It's cool as hell. Look it up.

- Poor Hayden is just trying to get the house set up and make it a home for one of his best friends and the new kid, and he's doing a really good job, getting everything all homey, and then fucking Michael Schumacher is knocking on the door, and obviously he's going to let him in? Because like. stranger danger and all that but also again this is Michael Schumacher. So Hayden is freaking the entire time bc there's a world champion just chilling on the couch while he's trying to decorate.

- Michael had immediately started hunting down Max as soon as he heard about Jos, because Max was the first thing on his mind. Tiny Max, baby Max, little track menace Max. All Michael can think is "what if this was Mick" and he's on a parental rampage, hunts down the EMS department to find out what hospital they went to, hunts down the hospital to find out who Max went home with, hunts down Colin at Force India to find out where GP lives, and then drives directly to his house.

- Michael is 100% prepared to bring Max into the family. He's kind of expecting it, he's ready to do whatever needs to be done in that aspect, but he's incredibly surprised at the home GP has put together, and he also notices the subtle things. The way that Max doesn't let go of GP, the way GP is willing to stand between him and Max, just because Max seems scared.

- GP earns Max's lifetime loyalty the moment he steps between him and Michael, because this is the first adult who has never cared about who's on the other end, who's put themselves there to protect Max. Michael is such an influential, powerful man, and Max doesn't at all expect anyone to step between him and something he wants, which is why he's so stunned when GP does.

- It's worth noting GP is intimidated out of his mind in this scene. Here is Michael, who could ruin his career, get him banned from the paddock, any number of things, and who has also seemed like a pretty nice guy all the times GP has met him or heard of him. But then here is Max, who GP is now responsible for but doesn't know anything about, and GP isn't sure how Michael knows him, he just knows Max is afraid, and doesn't want Michael getting close to him, and if that's what Max wants GP is going to make it happen, so he's willing to put his job and his career on the line for this kid.

- This impresses Michael a lot, it's one of the reasons he allows Max to stay with GP at all. It's a show of GP's character, and his willingness to take care of Max.

- Michael and GP are still kind of posturing at each other when Max has his breakdown, at which point all of that is tossed aside to help Max. They're working as a team to try and calm him down, and it helps both of them to see and realize that each others priority here is Max.

- GP carries Max up to his room, which Michael also checks out, and then they're going downstairs to talk logistics and discuss the whole situation.

- Michael explains that Max has family, a mother and a sister, but that they haven't seen each other in years, and Sophie is a single mother with a girl, and Max hasn't talked to his sister in a long time, and that Sophie and Jos had at some point in an emergency entrusted Max's safety to Michael. He's made the executive decision that Max is better off sticking close to what he knows, with racers, where Michael can keep an eye on him, rather than sending him back to the Netherlands with family he doesn't really know. (Is it the right decision? Who knows. They're all just people, and they're trying to do the right thing.)

- Max overhears GP and Michael talking in the kitchen, but he doesn't comprehend in the fic just how threatening Micheal is actually being to GP. He's basically saying he has eyes everywhere, and that all these drivers, these powerful men with millions of dollars, are looking out for Max, checking that he's cared for, and if GP fucks that up even a little bit Michael is going to know.

- At the same time, Michael is also saying that he's paying for Max's surgeries, for his schooling and eventually uni, that Max is still protected as part of the Schumacher family even if it's not by name or by blood. Max and GP both have a card linked to an emergency fund that is funded through Michael.

- The phone gets used as an easy way for Max and GP to communicate with yes/no even when they're not in the same room, and over time Max gets more comfortable sending actual words, though he still keeps his messages short.

- Yes, the alarm GP uses when he wants Max to get up is the same one from Chapter 1. Yes, Max still hates it. Yes, GP thinks it's hilarious.

- Max having two months to do a project and waiting until the week it's due is SO REAL.

- MP/mini-piero is so family nickname of them. Redbull loves Max just as much as Force India did, if not more, and he's smart, and little bit sassy, and he likes to help, and it's like having a garage kid basically.

- Yes, Redbull does think Max is genuinely mute for a physical reason.

- Daniel and Daniil adopt Max as a kid brother. They roughhouse sometimes and give each other grief, but the Dan's are very fond of him. The whole garage views him as a little GP attachment the same way the rest of the paddock does.

- Max and Mick have the Silverstone room because the rest of the paddock doesn't get it, especially after Michael's accident. He was so revered, and everyone respected him, but sometimes the boys just needed a space to be angry about the whole thing, which is how the Silverstone room happened. It's their safe space to vent and rage with no judgement.

- An employee saw Charles crying and directed him to the room, because that's where they send upset racing children, they covered it in orientation.

- Charles thinks the note is somehow making fun of him, which is why he's so pissed off at first, and he doesn't even know who Max is, and the employee told him this was an okay room to be sad in but it's clearly occupied.

- Charles then assumes that MP is an engineers kid (not entirely wrong) that somehow got to know Mick, based on the homework and the teamkit. He does get confused though, because for an engineers kid to know Mick the engineer would have had to work with Michael, and MP is wearing Force India and Redbull gear, but Michael didn't drive for either of those teams.

That's all I got! Feel free to ask questions if there's something here I don't cover or that you've been wondering about 🫶

[uhdrienne]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

to be published: (estimated) february 2024!

🌼 summary: going back to the countryside where you grew up was at the bottom of your list. unexpectedly, your life changes course, and you eventually find your home in weekly village cleaning, the sound of the waves, and with the local jack-of-all-trades, jeon wonwoo.

🌼 pairing: wonwoo x reader (smau, written)

🌼 genre(s): fluff, mild angst, yn can be mean sometimes at the start (this is inspired by the kdrama hometown cha-cha-cha, so some parts of the plot and characters are similar), wonwoo is an overall sweetheart

🌼 a/n: there are many other villagers in the area! not all of them are named here, but they may make small appearances throughout the series. the ones named below are the villagers that appear the most!

🌼character intros under the cut!

wonwoo: a witty villager in his late twenties, and the most skilled man around. also the go-to person in the village for any and every problem. fixing your pipes? call wonwoo. helping the fishermen by the dock? wonwoo is your man! he's so kim seon-ho coded to me, i can't explain it. incredibly popular among the villagepeople. has a past of his own that no one knows of, but it doesn't hinder his kind and helpful nature.

yn: a pediatrician in the city. (physical appearance is up to you!). ambitious, hardworking and determined to come on top, your emotions have taken a backseat for much of your life, which is why you can be cold and calculating at times. your parents no longer around because of a freak accident, you can be emotionally sensitive, with a sharp tongue on the topic of family. deep down, you're kind and affectionate, you just show it a little differently.

chanyeol: yn’s close friend and old crush from university. now a famous tv producer and presenter, this gentle giant is constantly in search of a muse to kickstart his next project. stumbles into the idyllic town to film a program after going in the wrong direction, and fits in just perfectly before long. also ends up becoming wonwoo’s friendly rival (🥲)

delia: yn's best friend forever!! a pediatric nurse by profession, she's one of the only people who can tame yn down when she's being haughty/angry. moves to the town to work with yn, and sometimes acts as the neutral party between yn and the villagers. gets along very well with other people, she's a complete E. she's a little ditzy, but a lovely person.

miss kim: yn’s landlord. divorced with a child, she runs a small bookshop in the village. as the unspoken village head, she handles the village’s admin matters. her ex-husband, mr woo, lives in the village too and works in the village bank. she shares her son's custody with him.

grandma lee: affectionately called ‘grandma’ by everyone, she’s seen wonwoo through most of his life, his ups, downs, and everything in between, except for the three years when he left town. a clever, patient, and kindhearted woman, she often knows what everyone needs before they do.

miss hwang: the neighbourhood gossip. a loudmouthed person, she runs a small cafe near the coast, selling coffee and cake (which yn really doesn't enjoy), and once she knows something, the whole village will. she can jump to conclusions too quickly sometimes, but she’s a nice lady, honest!

seungkwan and joshua: wonwoo’s best friends in the village, who grew up with him. they are similar to him, in the sense that they help everyone out in the form of part-time jobs, but their expertise isn’t as wide as wonwoo’s. however, if you need someone to fix your chair or install a bulb, they’re pretty solid options. didn't stay in contact with wonwoo during the years he was away, but the trio became close again after he returned. they have a hunch that he had a hard time, so they've never brought it up with him.

[lunarw0rks]

hi! i have a request with ghost or könig, where one of readers parents die, and they start freaking out, crying, panic attack and all. and one of them is there for them through it? if it's not too much, thank u sm and love ur writing!

Summary: After losing someone close, your roommate, König is your support system.

Warning(s): panic attacks, grief, parental death, hurt/comfort, roommate!König, GN!Reader, no use of y/n

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: My first König work :) [mein Engel = my angel] I hope you don't mind, I chose reader's mother to be the one who passed.

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ KÖNIG MASTERLIST // have a request? ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ ao3 ver.

Saying Goodbye // Drabble

It was supposed to be an average, mundane day.

Eight hours at work, then stumbling into your apartment with sore muscles and a desire to relax until it all repeats again tomorrow. It was hard enough making it from the door to the couch, especially when barely able to keep your eyes open.

When you did, your eyes fluttered shut nearly instantly. Finally, you were getting some much needed sleep until—

You groaned loudly, palming around the sofa for your phone ringing at full blast. Inside, you cursed yourself for forgetting to silence it, and now you were debating on answering the call. An unrecognizable number, probably spam. The last thing you needed was another problem, another hitch in your relaxation.

The gut feeling you had was unmistakable; you should take the call, something was wrong.

With a hesitant thumb, you pressed the accept button and raised the phone to your ear. You’re wide awake now, you might as well get off the couch and pace while the scammer chews your ear off.

At least, that’s what you wanted to believe at first. It wasn’t a scammer; it was a nurse.

She asks your name, says they got your number from your mother’s phone. That instinctual feeling you had was proven true now—in the worst way possible. Though the nurse was hesitant to get the words out, as if the news hurt her more than you, your brain was scrambling with every possible bad scenario.

A car accident, a heart attack, perhaps even a mistake on the hospital’s end. The logistics didn’t matter, how she got your number, knew your name. It couldn’t be your mother, it had to be a mistake, right?

“I don’t understand.” You wavered, finding any excuse to dismiss her words—if you could call them that, they overlapped and mixed together with the haze in your mind.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Her voice is strictly professional, but to imagine her on the other end, she’s cringing at giving news like this over the phone, probably more than once today.

“You can come down and claim her belongings anytime. The administrator will help you with the arrangements… Do you have anyone—”

You terminated the call before she could continue, phone dropping to the floor below you. How could this happen? Why you, today of all days?

Tears were blinding you, coating your vision in a misty gloss. Next, it was your knees buckling beneath you when the dizziness was too much. Third, it was your inability to catch your breath; heaving and gasping as the sobs became too much for your body to handle. Above all, it was the thoughts and memories of your mother, how this could’ve happened so suddenly.

You hadn’t heard the door opening behind you, your fatigued roommate coming up behind you with concern. His large hands hovered over your back a few seconds, before he gently placed them to get your attention.

“What happened, mein Engel?” He asked softly, eyes wide with concern.

In all the months you’d lived together, conversations were quick but respectful; many days, your schedules would overlap, resulting in rarely seeing one another, or sleeping when you were home at the same time. But that didn’t matter to König, he couldn’t help but involve himself now.

“My mom…” Your weak voice finally spoke, tears streaming from your eyes down to the neckline of your shirt.

His observant eyes flicked over to the scene before him; you, distraught and struggling to breath, your cell phone dropped next to you.

Calling family members of the deceased, informing them of the horrible news, it’s something he’d done before for his job. It never gets easier, but he’d never seen the grieving person on the other side, often it ends with the call ending mid-sentence, just like you had done.

Now, he was face to face with it, and it was personal.

König’s brows furrowed empathetically as he listened to your cries, each one cracking his tough and intimidating exterior. He felt he was awful at comfort, only doing what came naturally to him—which wasn’t verbal.

Instead, it was physical comfort; a perk of his abnormal size.

He used one of his hands to push your head into his chest, while the other remained tightly wrapped around you. You could kick and scream, pound against his chest, get it all out of your system, and he remains still, allowing you to mourn in any way you have to.

He lifted you both up, letting you stand there and grieve against him. König’s eyes shut as he listened to your roars of sorrow, yearning for the parent you would never get back.

This went on for a few minutes, the room silent except for the sounds of your cries against his chest.

His strong arms kept you upright with ease, even though you were visibly trembling. “It will be okay, I promise… I promise…” His Austrian accent was soothing and gentle, a stark contrast to the way he looked.

You lifted your head, eyes bloodshot and quivering open and closed. You weren’t to the point of clarity yet, but the initial violent shock of the news had begun to fizzle; your mother was alone right now, in a hospital bed waiting for you. “I need to go see her, König. She’s all by herself.”

Your shaky hands found the entry table, reaching for your keys, but his hand gripped your arm before your fingers touched the cold metal.

With a shake of his head, he drops his hand. “I’ll drive you, okay?”

—

The city passes as a cynical blur; bars and restaurants packed with partying patrons, neighborhoods with playing children and family get togethers. Then, you, still distraught and with a tightening chest. Each street, each turn, each street sign pointing in the direction of the nearest hospital.

Ten miles; five miles; one mile; then, the bright red sign displaying Emergency illuminated the lot and König’s car.

He pulls into the closest visitor’s space, though most are already occupied. You pull the handle and step out, but the door remains open as you watch the bustle of the emergency room through the large windows.

You meet his blue eyes again, a black surgical mask concealing his true identity. “Will you come in with me?” It’s more of a despairing plea than an honest question.

He kills the engine and removes his hand from the wheel, giving a wary nod. In the face of a panic attack, he’s there for you in an instant. But by your side as you say goodbye? He began to wonder if he was the one you really wanted as moral support.

Your shoes scrape against the pavement, as if your feet are just as hesitant to face the situation.

The fluorescent lights overhead cast an unforgiving glare on the sterile white walls, reflecting the urgency of the environment. The constant hum of medical equipment and the beeping of monitors merge into a symphony of urgency, while the faint scent of bleach hangs in the air.

Nurses and doctors dart from one patient to another, their faces tense with determination, occupied with those in need of more attention than you, here to claim a body, for lack of better words.

The desk in the entrance is just as chaotic; the corded phones going off with an endless stream of calls, papers and clipboards stacked atop the other, and the loud typing of the receptionist’s outdated computers.

The woman behind the counter looks up briefly, carelessly pointing to the waiting area beside the desk rather than speaking to you. Her typing continues, as if no concern for what you might be here for is left, especially after a long shift in this busy chaos.

You look over at the waiting area—depressing and packed with patients who have been triaged and are awaiting further care, and filling the rest of the seats, distraught and impatient family members waiting for results on their loved ones. Some are praying, some sobbing, others clutching minor injuries, but most stare blankly as they tap their feet against the beige tile.

“Actually, I’m here for my mother. She passed.” You tell the bored receptionist, practically forcing her to pay attention to your dead expression.

The once unsympathetic stare she had, now turned the opposite. But once again, without words, she pointed to the elevators in the direction of the ICU. Her pity only lasted seconds, before she raised one of the phones to her ear, full attention on the other line.

You looked back at König for reassurance, who merely kept walking with you, eyes straight ahead with uncertainty.

As the elevator doors close, a sense of tension fills the confined space.

The panel of buttons displays various floors, but the one that stands out is the one labeled "ICU" in bold, red letters.

Inside the elevator, there's a mixture of people, each carrying their own burden of worry and concern. Family members clutch tightly to their belongings, their faces etched with anxiety and sorrow. The atmosphere is heavy with anticipation, despite the icy chill of the ventilation causing goosebumps on your skin.

A few forced smiles are exchanged among the passengers, trying to find comfort in each other's company, but the worry in their eyes betrays their attempts at reassurance, though you keep a straight face, already privy to what lies ahead of the doors.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the elevator slows down, and the doors open to reveal the ICU floor. It’s a morbid contrast to the emergency room; eerie quiet. Nurses and doctors roam, small groups of family members visit, and most of all, patients without any visitors hooked up to the machines.

König’s steps mirrored the pace of yours as you walked down the aisle of rooms, reading each chart until you found the one belonging to her.

You stopped in front of it, seeing her in the bed through the glass window overlooking the room. Your eyes, which had just gone dry, began to tear up again. It was a different feeling, seeing it in person, rather than imagining it over the phone.

“Let’s go inside, alright?” His voice is low and respectful as he takes a step around you, sliding open the pocket door, allowing you to go inside first when you are ready.

The door wooshes shut behind you as you approach the bed. Her chest is rising and falling with each hiss of the ventilator, but there are no signs of life anywhere else. Her hands are cold and lifeless, as is her skin—now drained of any memories and creases of age.

When the nurse steps inside and begins explaining the process to you, you only nod in response, keeping your eyes on the loved one in front of you. It would be your decision, to unhook her and say a final goodbye, or keep her like this, nothing but a corpse breathing through a machine.

“I’ll be here, whatever you decide.” König places a hand on your shoulder, ushering you to the chair beside the bed, while he remains standing in the corner, attempting to keep a respectful amount of distance. He didn’t know her, and now this would be all he knew of your mother—this harrowing image of her, with you beside her.

The silence passed by, hour by hour you spent listening to the beeps of the machines, the wheeze of her departed lungs mechanically filling with air. The warm hand you placed on hers, met with no returning caress, only her stillness.

König would make small efforts, a cup of coffee from the cafeteria, or small comforts in your ear, but they were futile against the waves of grief engulfing you. They were recognized, but not reciprocated with thank you’s or smiles—only silence.

—

The night you said goodbye, he left the room out of respect. He spent about an hour in that busy waiting room, hands folded in his lap as he waited for your return. It was best if he left you to the details, only there in terms of comfort.

He looked up curiously each time the elevator dinged and visitors piled out, until eventually it was you coming out to meet him. Swollen, reddened eyes, and a stack of funeral pamphlets still clutched in your fist.

The moment the ventilator let out its final hiss, the moment they unhooked the tubes, the moment you removed your hands from her—all a constant replay in your mind. He was to his feet instantly, pulling you into an embrace similar to the one in the living room, letting you know he would be there every step of the way.

König remained silent until you both reached his car again, opening the car door for you as he waited for you to climb inside.

You turned to face him, staring up into his sympathetic gaze, “thank you. I don’t know what else to say, except thank you.”

His blue eyes softened, as if shocked by your gratitude. He thought it was a given, being there for you, driving you to the hospital, even just showing you kindness, but it was clear you hadn’t expected that from him.

“You don’t need to thank me.” He mutters softly, his large hand resting on your arm, giving it a light squeeze. He hunches over and places his head on your shoulder, rubbing circles up and down your back.

“I’m always here, hm? Whatever you need to get through this.”

[sapphic-agent]

I know that this isn't a problem unique to MHA, and this isn't even a new complaint within the fandom, but the way the series deals with trauma (physical and mental) is off-putting.

Eri endures years upon years of isolation and abuse? Well, all she needs is a song and dance, and now she's smiling! Because of this, she's completely and 100% recovered from what all Overhaul put her through!

1A endures villain attack after villain attack after villain attack? Well, we've offered them counseling, not that they've been showing signs of burgeoning PTSD or anything, so they really don't need it!

Izuku mentally and physically pushes himself past his breaking point during the Dark Izuku arc, going without food, sleep, and ignoring his unhealed injuries? Obviously, all he needs is for 1A to drag him back by force and make him take bath! He's 100% good as new now!

I've already complained enough about Bakugou's bullying, so I won't rehash that.

Sir Nighteye repeatedly disregards All Might's boundaries in the name of protecting him from a horrible future, using two teenagers as a means to an end in this regard? It's okay! He had a point all along, and he truly cared!

Aizawa, Present Mic, and Midnight lose an incredibly close friend in a freak accident during their school days? Midnight's feelings aren't even explored, Present Mic neglects his own grief in favor of Aizawa, and Aizawa uses his grief as an excuse to be an asshole to everyone around him and play God with his students' futures, with NO ONE calling out his behavior as what it is.

I think the overarching problem with MHA is that Horikoshi simply doesn't know how to handle the subject of trauma or how victims can be affected by it.

It think it's why characters like Izuku, Todoroki, Eri, etc. don't feel like real people sometimes. Because if he actually focuses on their trauma, he also has to make them more complex and complexity can be very ugly. If he keeps them surface-level (Izuku being friendly/saving others, Todoroki being blunt/dry, and Eri being a cute kid), he doesn't have to get into the nitty gritty of their characters.

It would also mean making it about 20x harder to redeem Bakugou and Endeavor.

If we had more than vague flashbacks of Endeavor abusing 5 year old Todoroki, beating Rei and pushing her into insanity, and willfully neglecting Touya as his mental health deteriorates more and more, he would be seen as a lot more than simply overzealous and misguided ambition that got out of hand. He would be seen as a monster. Horikoshi has to keep flashbacks of the Todoroki family surface-level or Endeavor's redemption wouldn't have been nearly as well-received.

And of course we've gone over Bakugou. He has to saturate Bakugou with comedy or the shit he pulls would come off a lot more disturbing. If every scene with him was like the Battle Trials, he wouldn't be looked upon nearly as favorably. He wouldn't be funny or endearing (he isn't to me anyway, but I'm talking about in general), he would just be deranged and violent.

There's also the fact that Horikoshi tries his best to keep things lighthearted. I think it's because he's more comfortable doing so and it explains why Dark Deku was so disappointing. To shroud the story in a darker tone- especially with a character he tries to keep light and cheery at all times- really didn't work for him.

I think the proof is in him keeping so many characters alive when they should have died. He is unable to write the affect characters like Gran Torino and Bakugou dying would have on Izuku which is why he couldn't commit himself to killing them off.

Problem with Aizawa is that no one (Horikoshi included) sees a problem with his behavior. He's justified in his "tough love" and is seen as such a good teacher. Although for Midnight and Present Mic, I feel as though he just doesn't bother giving them any depth at all. Midnight only exists for perverted jokes and Mic is simply supposed to be a contrast for Aizawa (a prop really). He actually did start to give Midnight depth and character, but it was only like five minutes before killing her off😐

(It would have been nice if Midnight being an R-rated hero was a product of society. Her being sexualized her whole life because of her quirk/appearance and just deciding to embrace it because it was the only way to reasonably become a hero has always been my headcanon. Her civilian clothes aren't revealing (not that that really matters) and when it comes to being a hero she's very sweet and encouraging and so unlike what we see usually. When she was being interviewed about her costume, she actually started to give a really good answer before Horikoshi decided to make a cat fight out of it. That really sums up the story as a whole, it starts off really deep and intricate before eventually being interrupted by juvenile jokes and unnecessary situations)

I really wish we could have seen more of Eri's recovery. I feel like her trauma is really overlooked/ignored outside of being a plot device to be saved by Izuku and Mirio. I think the light novel of Aizawa having Bakugou of all people watch her is proof of that. Why on Earth would he take the chance that Bakugou- someone who has repeatedly dismissed others' trauma, attacked those weaker than him, and been insensitive to others' feelings, and has a destructive quirk- could trigger her? Why use Eri- an abused, traumatized kid- as a tool to make Bakugou better? But sure, Aizawa is such a good teacher, right?

(Seriously, what the fuck?)

Someone needed to tell Nighteye to shut the fuck up. This doesn't really contribute anything to this post, but I needed to say it. There's literally nothing good about him (HE STRAPPED HIS SUBORDINATE TO A TICKLE MACHINE TO FORCE HER TO LAUGH)