#tangible life. i wonder if i could have gotten over it by now had it stayed dead in the ground where it laid
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fireheartpages · 1 day ago
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interlude | b.d
bodhi durran x reader chapter two. series masterlist summary: So, he made a plan. He would work his way into your atmosphere. Get your attention somehow, manage to win you over. He didn’t know what it was, only that his interest would only be satiated by one thing: knowing you. word count: 1.8k notes: kind of second person pov, it's mostly all bodhi's pov though. canon-typical violence. bodhi is such a sweetheart ok. this is a little brain baby because i wanted to dive a little more into his brain so i could get a good feel of where this was going! pls enjoy reading bc i really enjoyed writing it, i love a good character study and that’s well and truly what this is!
When Bodhi had seen the dragons after parapet as a first year, he had almost been apart of the group that ran.
They were menacing—terrifying, and for a brief moment, he wondered why more people didn’t have the common sense to turn around in their presence. Leave them be. Simply try something else. Like maybe something that encompassing and powerful should just be left alone.
His anxiety had eaten through every nerve ending in his body until he was barely able to stay on his feet. But he did. He stayed standing, and when Garrick leaned over and whispered to him not to move—lest he incur the wrath of such a colossal beast—he listened. He planted his feet on the ground and kept his head held high. This was his life now. This was the card he had been dealt, and deal with it he would.
It was this attitude that had gotten him bonded to his own dragon: Cuir, the massive green with a quick tail and even quicker tongue.
She was a mother hen if he’d ever met one. Half the time she was making sure Bodhi had an adequate meal and enough sleep, and the other time she was the backbone he’d grown and hardened in the quadrant.
She’d gotten him through all of the hardest things he’d done within the quadrant. His first year had been rough—not incredibly eventful by most standards, but enough to put him through the wringer.
Nothing had made him feel more inadequate than watching all of his friends develop signets while his own lie dormant. Cuir had started channeling almost immediately. Her trust in him was implicit, but he had worried it was misplaced. He worried he would just never develop one. Worried that he would just burn up and never amount to anything.
But there never seemed to be a danger of it. Never seemed to be a surge of power with the threat. He could feel it, and he could channel into lesser magics, but there was no signet. Nothing.
Everyone else in his squad had a signet. They had even been developing and training them. But not Bodhi.
It was only a few weeks before the end of the year, going on a mission for the rebellion and suffering through Xaden’s taunting when he realized his signet had developed. He just hadn’t used it yet.
Xaden had swarmed his feet with shadows, nipping at his ankles like they were viscous animals, and they all watched as the shadows seemed to burn up.
No one was more surprised than Bodhi was.
“Light?” Garrick had asked.
Xaden shook his head. “No, I—I felt that.”
Then, during War Games, he realized what it was.
Some asshole from first wing was a fire wielder, and he had it out for Marked ones. He sent a wall of fire at Bodhi, completely intent on killing him, and Bodhi had thrown his hands up. And then nothing happened. The flame sputtered out, and—oh.
A twist of his hand, and he had rendered the asshole incapable of using his own signet.
The other rider tried again, and Bodhi was intentional with it this time. He twists his hand again, imagining it was a dial on someone else’s power, and he watched as the flames seemed to retreat back into him.
Satisfaction was a tangible thing in his chest. Pride filled his bond with Cuir. There was a roar from someone behind him, and Bodhi couldn’t help but just fucking smirk at the guy.
“Nice try.”
“I’m gonna fucking kill you, Durran!”
“You’re gonna have to try a little harder than that!” Bodhi called as he mounted his green, knowing it was a taunt. He was top of his wing in sparring. He’d lost to one other person during challenges ever. In that moment, Bodhi felt unstoppable.
He suddenly became the most useful tool his squad—hell, his whole wing. Needless to say, they won War Games that year.
The Executive Officer title came as no surprise, not after the display of power he had shown in the latter half of the year. It did, however, paint a target on his back. No one liked that Marked ones were working their way up in the ranks. Him, Garrick, Xaden, they were the pentacle of everything leadership had hoped rebellion kids would never become—good at their fucking jobs.
But Bodhi had decided he refused to show them what they were looking for. Including anything less than perfect. He would be a powerful rider. He would master his signet. He would be a just officer. He would do everything he could to help with the rebellion. He would be the perfect soldier for Navarre, so they could never suspect he was an even better soldier elsewhere.
And then he watched you make a dance of the parapet.
He couldn’t resist the interest that followed, the way you captured his attention simply by being there. You were meant for a stage, not the hardened walls of Basgiath. And yet.
You were incredible. Skilled and talented. You were kind, and witty, and good gods he would give anything to be the center of your attention. You were like a drug he couldn’t get enough of.
So, he made a plan. He would work his way into your atmosphere. Get your attention somehow, manage to win you over. He didn’t know what it was, only that his interest would only be satiated by one thing: knowing you.
Step one: observe. Figure out your likes and dislikes, your habits and interests, who your friends were. Xaden’s weird interest in Violet helped, gave him an excuse. He watched you during challenges, even got the chance to spar with you. Would watch you slip those gloves on your hands every morning as you run to catch up with your squad. Watched you dominate the Gauntlet despite the odds stacked against you.
Step two: get an in. AnĂ© was the cadet in the healer quadrant that always seemed to be stuck with him when he came in with any particularly nasty wounds. A sprained wrist, too-deep cut, and one time, even a broken rib or two he’d gotten on a very much not sanctioned flight to drop off some weapons over the border. That was all his fault, but it was hard to explain away when no one had observed it. But AnĂ© was kind, like you, and when he explained what he’d seen of your hands, AnĂ© seemed to know what it was. And have a solution.
Step three: delivery. It had taken AnĂ© minutes to make a balm for you, and he kept it on him until the next time he saw you. He had felt like he was ambushing you, jogging up to you in the courtyard as you headed back from the infirmary, but he was excited. To say the least. Not being able to do so had never crossed his mind, so when you’d nearly rejected it, he had almost crumbled right then and there. But then you’d taken it from him, and gods, the look on your face—he wanted to bottle the feeling in his chest, the light in your eyes. And when you’d told him about home? Trusted him with little pieces of yourself—the cold you hated, your mom’s role in the damn rebellion, how you’d ended up in the quadrant. The high he felt was better than winning War Games.
Step four: make you like him. You were a hard shell to crack, but he was working on it. He was doing his damndest. He would give you as many little pieces of himself as he could. Find you during Threshing and talk down your anxiety. If you could admit your history to him, he could tell you a little about his. You weren’t Marked physically, but from the burden you carried, you were marked in another way. On your soul.
Step five: make you fall for him. Not that he’d fallen for you. He wasn’t, like, in love with you or anything. He just—liked you. Yeah. Really, really liked you. Cuir thought he was full of shit, but she didn’t know everything. (Even though she reminded him many times that she, indeed, did.) And the more he got to know you, the more he liked. He would teach you how to spar, and make you give him something in return. He didn’t care about flying like you. In fact, you were terrifying in the air. Said you weren’t meant to be a rider and yet you rode like you were born for it. He just wanted to spend time for you. And if he got to touch you while you sparred? In the most innocent way, of course. No funny business. Unless you have the green light, then—
Then you started pulling away.
He missed seeing you for days at a time, sometimes an entire week. He felt it like a phantom limb.
It had only then occurred to him then just how thoroughly you had encompassed every part of him. Just how easily he had gotten you mixed into every aspect of his day. How much he looked forward to seeing you until he was deprived of you. Until he didn’t have access to your wit and your laugh anymore.
Seeing you on the flight field had been nothing less than a shock. He had recognized Shocair before she had even seen them. He was still thinking of the most recent drop when their little group had stumbled across her.
And somehow, deep in his gut, he knew. He knew that if you discovered them, found out what they were doing, that they were working with the resistance
 You wouldn’t say a word. In fact, he knew you would jump to help.
Those thoughts had sprung forward without him realizing, and it was like they were caressed, cupped in his head and—it was a weird feeling. Almost like someone ran a hand through the pond that was his mind. Not unlike the one he got around Xaden sometimes. The one that flared something in his channel.
And then Shocair’s wing lifted and you stepped out and Bodhi’s heart about stopped beating. You looked run through. Tired. Still beautiful. Beaten down.
Xaden had gone on offensive, but you handled it with ease. With the support of Shocair, of course. When you said you slept on the flight field, it was like his world had stopped spinning.
Something was wrong, something was deeply, deeply wrong. He would have done anything to fix it.
But you kept icing him out. And it hurt like hell.
He wasn’t going to push, but damn him if he wanted to. There was a moment there where he thought he might have cracked you. But he wasn’t a fire wielder, so he couldn’t melt your ice, and he wasn’t an inntinnsic, so he couldn’t figure it out for himself.
So he walked away. And he felt like a damned coward for it.
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mirmidones · 2 years ago
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my mum texted me completely out of the blue 'have you heard from [old friend] lately?' and i had a minor breakdown about it and then 3 hours later resurfaced to text back 'no' pointedly not asking 'why' bc i don't wanna know but now she's answered 'ok thanks' and now i'm mad what the fuck
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cthulhus-curse · 17 days ago
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Good Behavior
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Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader
Word Count: 2,126
Warnings: Mean!Wanda Maximoff, Mommy Kink, Dom/sub dynamics, Fingering, Punishments | 18+ Minors DNI
Summary: In which you misbehave, something which your mommy, Wanda, cannot have.
“Behave,” she had told you in her stern, hushing tone that made the world stop. “And maybe I’ll reward you.”
But even then, you went against her wishes. 
During the weekends you found yourself glued to her indefinitely. Your hand would squeeze her own as each Saturday she dragged you off to run errands. In her dominant nature, Wanda disallowed you from so much as forming a single tangible thought. She was the one that drove then, a hand clasping the steering wheel as her free one held your own — thumb brushing over your skin. The days went by quickly when it was just you and her, but you still clung to the savory nature of them for dear life.
There came a particularly busy week once that left you in a harsh mental state of disarray. Many nights you came home after work to throw yourself in bed, leaving Wanda to hold you tight and soothe your angry tears away. The frustration pushed your body down as Wanda pulled you up. Although a mean, ragged soul towards others, when it came to you, she’d give you the world. 
When it came to rushing through the grocery store on a busy Saturday morning, you stuck to her like glue. Normally she took to dressing you in lovely outfits she intricately spent time picking out for you, but after having awoken much later than usual – resulting in a missed morning run alongside yoga and a sour mood – you had been left to fend for yourself and don an oversized hoodie alongside sweats and horribly tied shoes Wanda found herself gawking at with disbelief. She held off from commenting as she knew it would only result in her growing more furious. 
“Can we get this?” You spoke up for the first time since you arrived at the store, pointing your finger towards a box of cereal that had enough colors and sugar to most likely induce cardiac arrest. “It looks really good. Please, I’m tired of that stale, tasteless cereal you always buy.”
“But you said you liked it,” Wanda frowned, but shook her head after letting out a hefty sigh. “And you can’t eat that, sweetheart. With the amount of sugar it has, it can probably kill a bear.”
If she could be in a bad mood, so could you. “But I want it,” you huffed – the stomping foot that came afterwards only accentuated your fussiness from not having breakfast that morning. “I’ve behaved so far and you promised to reward me. Please, let me have this.”
You tried to throw it in the shopping cart only for Wanda to slap your hands away. “Put it back,” she warned. “Now.”
“No,” you retorted. As soon as the simple word left your mouth, you deeply regretted it, but there was no point in backing down as you clutched the cereal box before throwing it in the cart. With the mixture of the little sleep you had gotten the previous night and the lack of food in your stomach, it was no wonder you blew up over the smallest things, much like Wanda. “Just because you’re a bitch to everyone else doesn’t mean you get to be one to me too.”
And that
made her go entirely quiet, which was even worse than having Wanda shout at you angrily in the middle of the store. 
Since then, no words were spoken, but from the look on her face after your outburst, you knew to remove the box of cereal and silently follow along. Wanda didn’t so much as give you a single look. Instead, she took to fully ignoring your presence. Her lips were formed into a thin line and given the knowledge the townspeople had of your partner, they knew to stay away from her unless they wished to face her wrath. Too bad it would be you on the receiving end of it. 
As you dragged your feet to the car helping Wanda load the groceries into the trunk, you feared for her to unravel inside, only to be met with nothing. The drive home was eerie. No matter how many times you attempted to make conversation, the woman’s eyes and focus never left the road. 
Well, that was until the groceries were safely put away at home. From then on you could feel dark hooded green eyes crawling on you. And as soon as you made contact with them, you obediently made your way upstairs following her phantom instructions. 
Only bad pets misbehaved, and according to Wanda, so far you had been the worst on that day. 
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
“I’m really sorry,” you tried to offer, but it came with no avail. “Please, I didn’t mean it. I just
I got really angry and it slipped out. I promise I-”
“Shut up.”
Hands traveled down your body caressing every small area encompassing the surface. They were soft, gentle palms that explored you as though it was the first time. You knew that no matter how infuriated Wanda was, she’d never fail to take time to worship your body – to squeeze your breasts before pulling and pinching your nipples until they hardened or even tickle your sides enough to draw out laughter that made her chest warm. She could be cold, sure, but at the end of the day, her love for you was much more monumental than anything else. 
With your back lying against her front, Wanda had easy access to you. She had taken the time to shed your body of the confines of clothes before replacing them with an atmosphere of humiliation. Her hands tugged and slapped themselves over you out of anger, something that made you let out mixtures of moans and screams. Your wrists were bound on your back with ankles tied with bindings that were attached to a long, metal bar which forced your legs apart. She only took it out when it came time for hefty punishments which she knew you’d try to stop to rile her up even further.
“You called me a bitch.” It was a statement that came from flared nostrils. “And you didn’t care to listen to mommy when she told you time and time again to put the cereal back. You keep apologizing, but baby,” she leaned in, her hot breath hitting your ear and making you shudder with exhilaration. “That’s not going to do you any good. You need to learn your lesson. This is the only way a dumb girl like you will know to behave just as her mommy taught her. Because I fail to remember when I told you it was fine to be such a stupid thing.”
Her hand glided in front of you, carefully ghosting right above the drenched area where you needed her the most. No matter how much you tried to squirm and grunt at her to touch you, to give you what you so desired, Wanda ignored your needs. Instead, she settled for smacking your pussy over and over, simply eliciting grand amounts of pain from you as she enjoyed seeing you in such a state of dishevelment. 
“Stupid girl,” Wanda muttered, making you squirm right against her skin. You could feel her erect nipples sliding with your back, but she disallowed you from turning and enjoying the view of her nudity. “You’re fucking disgusting for behaving like that.” Another slap came against your cunt, but you were unable to move with both your hands and legs bound. “And now you think you can sweet talk your way out of this? How pathetic of a slut can you be? Didn’t I teach you to behave? How many times does mommy need to spank this pussy for you to learn your fucking lesson, Y/N?”
“I’m sorry,” you cried, but she knew you didn’t mean it. Instead, you wanted more – more of your pussy being left severely abused by the palm of her hand all while you yelled at her to stop, but it only meant for her to carry on. “I-I promise I’ll never misbehave again. And I didn’t mean to call you that.”
“Oh now you’re sorry? You’re only sorry that you’re being punished, whore, not for being a bad girl,” she huffed. “Don’t worry. Mommy will have to fuck the bad behavior out of you. After I’m done with you, you’ll never dare say that again, especially not about the person who you belong to, sweetheart.”
When her fingers, two at once, first slipped inside you without warning, you groaned. Surely the feeling was familiar, and yet you basked in being stretched out as though it was your first time all over again. Throwing your head back on Wanda’s shoulder, there came an attempt to grind against her digits, only for her other hand to come down and lightly smack your clit. Although you were in pain, it meant pleasure for her. 
Since the incident at the grocery store, heat panged between your legs with exhilaration at the thought of whatever Wanda had planned for you. It wouldn’t take much for her to drive you to the edge of glory. If anything, the more your partner thrust her digits within you, the closer you were to letting go. Your hands turned to fists as they were unable to hold onto much while your legs gave failed attempts to kick. 
“Stay still, darling,” Wanda laughed at the sight of you trying to get away. “And here I thought you couldn’t get more adorable. Aww, is my little girl all needy to cum? Mommy’s fingers feel way too good in this pussy, huh?”
“Y-yeah,” you choked out. “Feels so good. Wan’ cum
”
“But do you think you deserve the opportunity to cum all over my fingers, honey? Go on, use your big girl words since that’s what you think of yourself as. Tell mommy that you deserve to cum and I’ll let you do so. After all, you’re nothing but a dumb cumslut addicted to my fingers
”
“I deserve to cum.” But not even you believed such deceptive words. “I-I want it so bad, please. Mommy!”
She let you do as you pleased, her digits buried knuckle-deep in your hole when you came. The orgasm that shot through you was earth-shattering, something that forced the loudest scream from the depths of your throat as your inner walls clung to Wanda’s hand for dear life. Her free hand palmed at your breasts, alternating between each of them as she roughly massaged the mounds before taking to torturing your nipples. 
“Thank you,” you shuddered as you spoke, your words shaky when they left your mouth. “I-”
“Don’t thank me yet.” She cut you off, and although normally Wanda kept her fingers inside you as you came down your orgasm, it made you frown when she began moving them again. “You gave me only one, baby. Why don’t you give mommy more of what she wants, huh? Or are you too dumb to do it by yourself? I bet you are.”
No matter how much you came, Wanda didn’t stop. She added a third finger, spitting on her hand as she pumped it back into your pussy. A thumb pressed against your bulbous clit, rubbing it languidly while your grunts only grew louder. Her ragged breathing mirrored your own, casting a spell upon your being that made it impossible to focus, even for a second, on anything that wasn’t her. 
That night Wanda made you cum over and over again. Her fingers didn’t pull out for what felt like hours as even a fourth was added once you were relaxed enough. The only time she left the bed was to seek out a rather curious little clit sucker that she pressed against you before beaming with pride at the mess she turned you into. 
“Hmm maybe you are a good girl,” Wanda mumbled as she held you close. Four orgasms passed and your eyes could barely remain open. The woman towered over you, hands running down the front of your body which made her hum with approval. “Mommy’s good girl, huh? You did a wonderful job taking mommy, Y/N, and for that I think someone deserves a reward.”
Once you were bathed, your head was placed on her chest as your lips parted to latch onto one of her nipples. Eyelids were far too heavy to be forced open, but alas, Wanda didn’t mind. She simply ran her fingers through your hair, allowing herself to relax with your naked body pressed with her. Suckling on her nipple, you ignored the torture that had been exerted on your body. Surely the remnants of it would come out the following day, but as you lay next to Wanda, you knew it was a nonissue.
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chokifandom · 26 days ago
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—☆ 13. you're worth changing for
prev // masterlist // next
note: this chapter contains writing! buckle up folks, this is a LONG one... but we finally made it to the end!!! thank you all so much for sticking till the end with this incoherent mess of an smau <3 wc: 1735
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you stare at the barebones text conversation you’d had with nagi over the week, which was mostly him asking you what’s up and you brushing it off like nothing ever happened. honestly, you’d have loved to just fix this over text, but some things are better off being fixed in a tangible setting. nagi deserves more than just some words on a screen, too. with shaking hands, you press call. a feeling of regret immediately blooms in your gut. and your stomach drops even further when the receiver actually receives the call. in all honesty, you want to puke. it all feels far too sudden now, but you’ve successfully dug yourself your hole to lie in— you’ve got no choice but to carry through. perhaps you hate yourself for what you’ve done, but you hate leaving loose ends even more. “nagi?”
“y/n. hello.” ‘what do you need?’ is an unspoken continuance of his greeting.
“can we, uh, talk?”
“sure, i guess. there’s something i wanted to talk to you about as well— what’s up?”
“not now! i mean in-person. can i come over actually? we can sort this out before meeting up with the others.”
“yeah, cool.”
“i’ll see you in ten?”
“yeah.”
nagi remains as deadpan as ever, and you can’t quite tell if this puts you at ease or makes you feel worse. you wonder if he actually wanted to hear you out or if he only agreed because he thinks it would’ve been too much of a hassle to reject you. but this had always been looming at the back of your mind, staining all your memories with nagi an ugly dark hue the moment you realised you had feelings for him. but nagi’s too precious for that. you don’t want him to be just another person you could’ve had more with, lost forever in the annals of history. 
at the other end of the line, nagi thinks this couldn’t have been more perfect of an opportunity. once again, he’d gotten everything handed to him on a silver platter. the cruelest thing you’ve done to him was pretend he didn’t exist and give him withdrawals— how much worse could this conversation be? he wonders what he did wrong. your arrival was the most eventful his life could’ve gotten, and when he’d finally gotten the resolve to change for the better, to change for you, you’d all but disappeared like you were never even there. this is better than nothing. 
and now begins the arguably ten most gruelling minutes of his life.
you think being an avid overthinker could almost be akin to telling the future. countless possibilities spring to life in your mind, and it’s like you travel multiverses for a living. at what cost, though? these blossoming ‘outcomes’ are all tainted with a darkness that scares you. like a moth to flame, you are compelled to pick the worst outcome you can ‘see’, and cling to it like tightrope you’re walking on that feels like it’s about to snap. the outcome that reflects the hurricane-like frenzy your mind has been over the past week, the one that justifies your thoughts and tells you that you were right in thinking that nagi seishiro would hate you for everything you’ve done. ‘there’s something i wanted to talk to you about too’ keeps replaying in your head and it only amplifies the output, each telling darker than the last.
you find yourself standing in front of his door, but the sinking feeling in your stomach simply gets deeper. the door is ajar, and you can see nagi sitting on his couch in a plain white hoodie, the same shade as his hair, through the little open sliver. his presence is just as monotone as the rest of his apartment, which is unexpectedly tidy. but you don’t have the liberty to say anything about it. you call out his name, and he sets his phone aside, standing up from his place and walking to the door, and you’re greeted by his large, towering frame once more. and once more, you question if this is the right choice— but then again, you’d rather be the one ripping the bandaid off by yourself than nagi having to find out in an unexpected way. but you can’t deny that no amount of steeling yourself would ever prepare you for a moment of confrontation.
“you can uh
 come inside
”
you wordlessly follow nagi into his monotone apartment, but don’t take a seat next to him on the couch like you usually would have. you opt to standing awkwardly in front of the couch as you look down at him. “you can sit, y’know
 you’re kinda making this awkward.”
nagi seishiro is unchanging as ever. his blunt words spear through your chest, but he’s right.
“what did you want to talk about?” you both ask in unprecedented unison, but you’re quick to clear your throat and tell him he could go first.
“well, i was wondering why you were avoiding me. i don’t know what i did, but i’m sorry.” your heart clenches and you let out a choked sob upon hearing his words. you’re the one that hurt him, but he’s the one apologising. “it’s— it’s not your fault, i just—” hiori was right. your avoidance hurts.
“what— why are you crying?” almost reflexively, nagi’s arms are around you. you grip the sides of his hoodie like he’s an ethereal being that would vanish if you didn’t hold onto him with all your might. he stays silent and waits until your cries start to fade. “it’s okay. it can’t be that bad, right?” he says as he holds with such a soft tenderness, treating you like you might break.
“i’m scared 
nagi.” his name feels heavy on your tongue. “i’m scared that i’m going to lose you after this, and i’m going to lose my only friends in this university. i’m going to ruin a paradise i built off of a lie and now that it’s time to rip the bandaid, i find myself unable to do it... i’m scared because i can’t tell the future and i can’t face it with cetainty. i keep running away and it’s making me hurt everyone, and i hate that you felt like you were the one at fault when it was most certainly me.” the confession is almost unexpected, but you begin to feel liberated with each word that leaves your lips.
“you’re already here, aren’t you? i mean, i’d say you’re brave enough already to try, all while admitting your faults. most people are too afraid to do that.”
how ironic, you think. you hurt nagi and yet he’s here comforting you instead. you take a deep, deep breath and say it out loud, raw like it is. “you remember valentine’s day? well
 it wasn’t ever meant for you, but for itoshi. but well, i really like you now and i wouldn’t have it any other way, so i’m a bit glad i made that mistake. but it felt wrong for me to keep acting like it never happened, and i’d have hated for you to find out about it from someone who wasn’t me.”
a mixture of emotions flashes across his face, momentarily, and it scares you that you can’t tell what he’s feeling or what his response could be. you can’t meet his eyes— you skirt all over his face but don’t look into his eyes even once.
“that’s it?”
“what?”
“you overthink too much to be healthy.”
“i know that—! why else do you think i— i— you know!”
“you like me, and i like you, so i think that’s all that matters,” he continues. “unless you still like itoshi, then we’re gonna have a problem.” you think that you could hear the shrug through his voice if you weren’t looking directly at him.
“you like me? even after this? but wait, you like me?”
“well
 i wouldn’t be saying that if i didn’t?” you can feel the tension in the air thin out and you feel like you can breathe again. “although, i do want to know why you went on with that date like nothing was wrong when clearly everything was.”
“you— you told me those were your first ever valentine’s chocolates before i could say anything and then i felt horrible about having to break it to you like that so i didn’t!”
“it wouldn’t have mattered to me. i only went on that date because reo made me.” you should’ve found yourself shattered by this statement, but it only relieves you. ‘if it makes you feel better’ is the phrase left unsaid by nagi. “but it’s good that it happened, i guess? you’ve inspired me to change myself for the better, and that wouldn’t have happened if i never met you.” nagi’s admission takes even him by surprise, but there’s a small smile on his lips as he says it.
“to be honest, it was so hard for me to, you know. do this. it’s hard to change, but you’re worth changing for, too.” it’s all out in the open now, and in this moment there’s nothing but you and nagi seishiro, naked with vulnerability that you only could’ve dreamed of displaying in your dreams. it comes with a lovely sort of reprieve that makes you feel like you can do anything.
you finally ask the question to address the elephant of silence that’s standing smack dab in the middle of the room. “anyway, so
 what does this make us?”
“i don’t know, you tell me, we’ve been practically living at each other’s place for the past few months,” a little smirk teases the corner of nagi’s lips.
“it’s not real until at least one of us—” you are very quickly cut off by nagi pressing his lips to yours. it’s a short kiss, very fleeting, but it’s enough to stun you. “i hope that was confirmation enough,” the smirk on his face only widens as he watches you regain your composure. “we should get going, reo and the others must be waiting.” you wish you could freeze this moment for eternity— alas, time and reo wait for none, and you are confused when reo and chigiri have the most dumbfounded looks on their faces when they see you walking out of nagi’s apartment hand in hand with the one and only.
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talshiargirlfriend · 1 month ago
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The first time
 she mentions their relationship to someone else.
Dress uniforms, wine glasses, and a hulking - and frankly, kind of tacky - Xindi War Memorial. Trip does not want to be here. He just hopes he has honed his diplomacy skills well enough over the past few years that it doesn’t show on his face just how badly he does not want to be here. He doesn’t want to chitchat with various dignitaries. He definitely doesn’t want to walk over to the ostentatious stone monument and highlight Tucker, Elizabeth Allison, but of course he will.
The large column is slightly more tasteful up close; the screen displaying the names is subdued in appearance and cool to the touch.
He still doesn’t want to be here.
He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he catches T’Pol’s gentle voice coming from the other side of the pillar.
“I grieve with thee.”
There’s a bit of rusting and sniffling. “Thank you.”
The second voice sounds young. “My cousin and his wife,” she explains. “They were talking about having a baby. I was so excited to be an auntie.”
After a moment the young woman continues, “Did you lose someone?”
“I lost several crewmates,” T’Pol answers quietly. “
 and my sister-in-law was killed in the Xindi attack on Earth. I did not have the opportunity to know her, but my partner loved her very much.”
He can hear the sympathetic smile in the second voice. “Then I grieve with you too.”
This is the first time he’s ever heard T’Pol reference their relationship. He’d like to revel in the moment, but a fresh surge of grief washes over him, wondering what Lizzie would have made of T’Pol and how they would have gotten along. He suspects his sister would have been charmed by his partner’s dry wit and quiet warmth. In turn, Lizzie would have worn T’Pol down with her relentless good cheer and impertinent sense of humor. He’ll never know.
Of course, if Lizzie had lived he wouldn’t have leaned on T’Pol to cope with his overwhelming pain and rage. They might not have come to understand each other so deeply or learned how well they complement one another. There’s a peculiar sort of grief in that as well, in considering a life in which he never loved T’Pol and was never loved by her.
“Are you all right?” T’Pol has finished talking to the girl on the other side of the column and joins him, her face full of sympathy.
Trip sighs.
“I am,” he answers honestly. “Just paying my respects to your sister-in-law.” He flashes her a crooked smile.
T’Pol looks down uncertainly. “It seemed the simplest description. Do you object?”
As if he would deny her this or anything, regardless of their legal status or complicated history.
“Of course not. I think she would have liked you, ya know.”
“I sure do,” he adds softly, and she meets his eye with a hint of a smile.
He reaches out to briefly take her hand, and she grips his with a firm squeeze, a tangible reminder that for all his melancholy thoughts of what could have been, he is loved by her here and now. That’s enough to get him through the next few awkward hours.
“Come on, let’s go find our table before it’s time for Jon’s speech.”
“I hope it’s the one with the gazelles,” T’Pol deadpans as she falls into step with him.
His snort of laughter draws a few curious looks.
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icycoldninja · 29 days ago
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FLUFFCEMBER DAY#11: (Mahito x Reader)
The Mysterious Plushie
You came home after a long day of work expecting a familiar blue-haired curse to come running into your arms the moment you opened the door. Instead, you were met with a vacant, darkened house, with no signs of life within it, save for yourself. You set down your bags and crossed your arms, wondering what could have happened here. The furniture was all upright; nothing was broken, nothing was missing, no notes had been scribbled and left on the counter or under a magnet on the fridge. Where could your little monster have gone?
“Mahito?” You called apprehensively, worried something bad might have happened to him. Had he been exorcised? If so, how? Have you been stalked by sorcerers, or did they just find him as he was out and about in the city and follow him back here? “’Hito!” You shouted again, this time more afraid. You were beginning to panic, the lack of a response sending your mind into overdrive.
“Mahito!? If you can hear me, answer me! Mahito!” You checked every room and looked in every closet. No sign of him. Frantically, you pulled out your phone and dialed his number, (you’d gotten him a cell phone for this exact purpose) holding the device up to your ear and waiting as it rang, feeling a lump drop into your stomach when it clicked and sent you to voicemail. Now you were sure something horrible had happened because you made Mahito promise to never ignore the strange metal device when it buzzed and beeped—it meant you, and only you, were looking for him, since only you had his number. You knew him, as psychotic as he was, he would never ignore you.
Terrified, you sank onto the couch, head in your hands as you tried to formulate a plan. What would you do? Who could you go to for help? Certainly not a Jujutsu Sorcerer, and definitely not another cursed spirit. You were alone in this search, alone, scared, and just inches away from having a complete nervous breakdown. You wanted Mahito, you needed Mahito, you—was that a teddy bear on the cushion next to you?
Without sparing it much thought, you snatched the plushie and held it tightly against you, desperate for something to hold, something that would make you feel safe. The fact that you didn’t recall ever owning a bright blue teddy bear with oddly humanoid eyes certainly didn’t help things much. Once you’d calmed down enough to think again, you pulled the strange thing away from your body and held it up for inspection. It was about 12 inches tall, seemingly made of very fuzzy fabric that you couldn’t name, was completely blue but in a generic teddy bear shape, and had the most lifelike eyes you’d ever seen on a stuffed animal. Those eyes bore into your soul, extending beyond the realm of the living and the tangible; entering into something entirely beyond. You wondered just what the hell this thing was, and whether it had something to do with Mahito’s sudden disappearance, when you noticed the thin, barely noticeable stitches all over the teddy bear’s face.
“Mahito!” You screamed at the plushie, watching as it morphed back into the creature that you couldn’t believe you were in a relationship with.
“Yes, sweetie?” He purred with false sweetness.
“What are you—why did you do that?!” You demanded, breathlessly.
“For the same reason any other curse would,” Mahito responded airily, “Because it’s just so much fun watching you freak out.”
“You’re a real jerk, you know that?” You returned moodily.
“Aww, don’t be mad,” Mahito crooned, pulling you into his arms and running his large hands up and down your back comfortingly. “I was just playing.”
“Well, I didn’t know that. I thought something happened to you,” You sighed, nuzzling your face into his chest. “Nearly gave me a heart attack---actually, I think you succeeded. I was
pretty upset just then.”
“I saw,” Giggled Mahito, now patting your back rhythmically. “You’re so adorable when you’re fussing over me.”
“This better not become a regular occurrence,” You warned him, before he got the wrong idea. “Do this again and I’ll ignore you for a week.”
“Don’t worry,” Mahito assured you, planting a kiss on the top of your head. “I promise not to scare you by pretending to be a harmless little teddy bear ever again.” You hummed your approval at that, though some part  of you suspected trickery, given how carefully Mahito worded his promise. He might never turn into a teddy bear again
but what of other animals?
Well, at least now you knew that if you ever came home to find your house empty and a mysterious looking plushie on your sofa, you could rest assured knowing it was just Mahito playing a trick on you.
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clean-bands-dirty-stories · 1 year ago
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Theoretically ~ P.P.
A/n: And another request!!
Request: “Male reader x Andrew Pete, After a long day of thinking about it and wondering if he and Peter were ready, reader proposes?” By anon
Word Count: 1800+
MASTERLIST
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It had started slowly, but Y/n had realized after it had been going on for a while so it had felt sudden and startling.
First there had been the exact moment kisses between them had become casual. They weren't startling and didn't make him jump, heart racing. Peter would be on his way out the door and would say goodbye, leaving a kiss on Y/n's mouth very quickly before dipping. And that felt right. He'd sink into the feeling, his chest warm, but it wasn't buzzing and burning like it used to be.
Then it was the increased PDA. Peter had always been repressed and reserved, hating attention and confrontation unless he had his mask on. But they'd gotten slowly into the habit of having little to no personal space, and being generally touchy. One day, Peter didn't take Y/n's hand just "to show him something" and then drop it when someone looked over. Another day Y/n stared lovingly as long as he wanted and Peter never made a joke about it. After that, Peter lay his head on Y/n's shoulder on the subway and sighed, relaxed. When they kissed, grinning, on the side walk waiting for the light to change for them Y/n knew it was okay to do that more often.
Those were followed by the casual way Peter referred to Y/n as his boyfriend. Even spoke about "his boyfriend." Before he'd said "partner," brushing it away that he was dating someone of the same gender. He wouldn't use Y/n's name even when people knew who he was talking about. And then one day he introduced Y/n as his boyfriend - something he'd heard later from MJ.
The day it clicked was when Peter got caught up in an especially rough back and forth with Doc Oc, who had kidnapped Y/n in an attempt to hurt Peter. It wasn't the first time it had happened, and the panic afterward had been tangible, but Peter didn't implode like he so often had. He was focused on Y/n, tending to him and reassuring him he was safe. And he didn't blame himself or hate on himself or push Y/n away. It was... startling, honestly, when Peter wrapped around him instead and whispered a simple, "I'm sorry this Spider-Man stuff caught up to you."
Y/n ran his hands through his boyfriend's hair, and realized that he was home to Peter, the same way Peter was home to him. That they couldn't have denied each other even if they wanted to. Even if they'd have tried. They both knew it.
And he smiled, realizing that maybe they hadn't said it yet, but this probably meant they were in love after all. And they'd been in love for a while, so much more than a young romance. They'd be together for a very long time.
"I knew what I was getting into, Peter," he reassured softly. "I know we'll always figure it out. Together." He sighed. "Plus, now you know how I feel every day."
Peter nodded. "That's fair."  And that was it. No argument, no anger, no spiral.
The confession of love had followed soon after.
When Y/n got a succulent and Peter started calling it Jimmy, and referring to them as Jimmy's dad, something settled deeply into Y/n's chest. He wanted to do this forever. He wanted to be with Peter for the rest of his life.
That was a terrifying thought.
Peter had been getting better. A little more grounded, and much more experienced. Every day he was softer with himself. Every day he opened up more, and let Y/n help when he could. Every day he smiled more, laughed more. Every day he showed Y/n off more, being proud they were together and being loud about it too. They moved in together, and after that everything was theirs - not individually Peter's or Y/n's. Like they never had to worry about moving out or going separate ways or breaking up. Like this space was theirs and it always would be, even it it was a different space.
It was the teasing look in May's eyes as she grinned at Y/n over the cup of tea she was drinking that was the last straw. She put her cup down and in a gentle voice, began, "You want to ask me something?"
Y/n blushed. "You saw through me then."
May raised an eyebrow, her smile teasing. "In the years you've been with Peter, your worst fear as been time and again proved to be imposing on me. You only ever come by when I invite you, with Peter, or explicitly to help with something. I've never seen you ask to come over completely unprompted with nothing else in mind but spending time together." She leans back in her chair. "Not that I'm complaining."
Rubbing the back of his neck, he got sheepish. "I'm sorry May. I don't mean to be around so little."
She waves her hand back and forth, and if to scatter the words in the air. "Don't he silly. I don't take it personally. You should come over more often though." She took another sip of her drink. "But that's not what you're here to talk about."
Y/n swallows hard, interlacing his fingers so he can hold onto something as he begins. "You know Peter so well," he began. May nodded; Y/n had come to her asking advice several times now. "I was thinking... maybe..." He cleared his throat, nervous. Once he said this to May it was in stone. Was he ready? Was Peter? "Do you think Peter is the marriage type?"
May froze, eyes wide. Y/n went solid and still as stone, only breathing again when May's shock flipped to glee. "You're thinking of proposing."
Okay. This was a good sign. "I was thinking about it," Y/n said slowly. "But I don't know if Peter would... want to. Or if it's too soon. Or if there's too much going on already with the whole Spider-Man thing." He shrugged, running his hand through his hair.
May nodded again, mulling Y/n's concern over. Every day Y/n thanked god she actually considered things rather than just jumping to "I want to see my boy married" like some aunts had before. It was a relief to know he could trust what she would say next.
"Have you talked to him about it?"
And sometimes Y/n wished she wasn't quite so good at what she did.
"Well-"
May cocked an eyebrow, her expression turning into something akin to 'you know what I'm going to say.' And it was true. Y/n did. He let her say it anyway. "I can't speak for my nephew, Y/n."
"I know," he sighed. "But I don't want to go in blind or jump the gun or scare him away-"
May chuckled. "That boy has seen more than I could even imagine." She paused for a second. "Normal things do scare him more than any villain in a suit could. But he's better about it than he used to be. And if you eased him into it, or took your shot, and we're ready for some possible rejection and not take it personally, it could be fine."
And there it was. The real reason Y/n was stressed. Because sure, Peter might not be ready, but if he wasn't and he ran and Y/n was crushed it could lead to the end of their relationship. They could both react very poorly...
This would mean Y/n would have to do it somewhere privately. It would have to be very low pressure, open minded. Understanding. Gentle. And it was a little heartbreaking that was the case. Y/n wanted to be a little loud, a little dramatic. And he would have to let that go.
May reached over, taking Y/n's hand. "It also doesn't have to be now. It should be when you're ready. The moment will come, and you'll know. You should only do it then." Her gaze was so soft and patient that Y/n could only absorb what she was saying directly into his soul. "Don't try to make a perfect moment. Let one come."
That advice stayed with Y/n until the moment came. He thought it had a few times but then it wouldn't quite pan out, or something would interrupt them or they'd need to stopper what they were doing and table it for later - when they moment was gone. But one day they were laying in bed, out of breath and grinning after Peter had stolen Y/n’s favorite jacket and Y/n had tried to take it back by force. Peter was much stronger than Y/n of course, and had plenty abilities to overwhelm him, but decided to play fair and shenanigans had turned into raucous laughter that had stolen both of their breath away.
Y/n looked at Peter and something warm and sweet touch him. May’s words came back to him full force in that moment and he was stunned to realize-
This was the moment.
“Will you marry me?” Peter turned, eyes wide, and immediately Y/n panicked. “Maybe not know. We don’t have to say now. But maybe one day.” His voice got dry when suddenly Peter took him by the face, kissing him.
The kiss was king and deep and passionate. Y/n felt something wet ion his cheek and realized Peter was crying.
When it ended, Peter pressed their foreheads together. “You’ve been so patient with me. I know you have. I know I’m not
 easy. But I’m yours, and that was always enough for you.” He chuckled, seeming near giddy. Y/n felt his throat close with how much hope swelled in his chest. “I would love to maybe you. We can figure exactly when and how. Is that okay? If we don’t know exactly when?”
Y/n melted, raising a hand to run over Peter’s jaw. “I would marry you anywhere, any day, in any way that we could muster. Even if no one was there. Even if no one knew.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “You cheese ball.”
“Your cheese ball.” Y/n beamed. “For the rest of our lives?” It was timid, hopeful.
Peter sighed. “For the rest of our lives.”
Neither would ask more than that.
-
Male Readers: @ravenpuff-oli @sortzz @fadedver
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jenanigans1207 · 9 months ago
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Me, who hasn’t even gotten to s15 yet, writing a fix-it fic? More likely than you think!
—
“I made a deal with the empty,” Cas whispers to the space between him and Sam. “I offered it my life in place of Jack’s. And the empty agreed if it got to take me the moment I felt true happiness.” Cas steadies himself to say the words for a second time— the words he never even thought he’d say one time. “I knew that we were out of options and that if I summoned the empty, I would be able to take Billie with me so that Dean would make it out. So I— I told Dean that I love him.”
The sharp breath Sam takes this time is tinged with so much sadness that it’s tangible.
“Fucking hell.” Sam mutters, shaking his head and ignoring the longer pieces of his hair that fall into his eyes. “Now I’m mad at you. Fuck, no wonder Dean took it so much harder this time.”
“I never intended to tell him how I felt, Sam. But it was the only way for him to make it out alive and I— I needed him to survive. That was the only thing that mattered.” Cas doesn’t regret it, even now. He knows that he’d do it a million times over if it was still the only way to save Dean and he’d never regret it. “And I know it’s not something he wants, which is why I had assumed that he would simply try to erase any memory of that night, so he’d never have to deal with a confession such as that.”
When he looks up, Sam is pinching the bridge of his nose and staring down it at Cas. True to what he’d said a moment ago, he does look mad at Cas, but not in the same way that Dean had looked mad at Cas before he’d stormed out earlier.
“For the fact that you know Dean as well as you do, you sure don’t seem to know shit about him when it relates to you.” Sam mumbles, finally dropping his hand with a sigh. “Okay, listen. I won’t speak to Dean’s feelings— not because I don’t know them but because Dean’s already going to kick my ass for telling you all that I’ve already told you and even I know that his feelings are something he should tell you. But I will tell you this: Dean blames himself for everything bad that’s happened to you. He blames himself for you falling, for every ounce of blood that’s on your hands, and every hard time you’ve had in the last twelve goddamn years. That shit keeps him up at night, trust me.”
“Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for Dean, to some extent.” Cas replies. “But that doesn’t make it Dean’s fault. They were all my decisions.”
“I know that. And you know that. But Dean? Trust me, Cas, he’s put everything that happened to you high on the list of reasons he hates himself. And it’s a long ass list.”
“I know it is.” Cas mumbles.
“So you must understand that not only did you tell Dean you love him— something he wouldn’t have reacted poorly to, by the way— but you used it to— to die. Literally you made loving Dean the cause of your death, you realize that, right? And I know, Cas, I know you didn’t mean it like that. But to Dean and his fucked up brain, he got you killed. The one thing he’s never been able to tolerate and he is now the direct cause of it.” Sam explains and it’s so stupid, it’s so stupid—
But it’s exactly how Dean’s brain works and Cas knows that.
And that’s fine, sort of, because he still wouldn’t change the fact that he confessed to save Dean. He didn’t have time in that moment to think about how it would mess Dean up and a messed up but alive Dean was better than the alternative so that was fine. What wasn’t fine, however, was the fact that Cas never thought about it after. Now that he’s back, now that he’s had time to see how Dean reacted and how he handled Cas’s death, he still hasn’t spent any time to think about the role he played in that or the ways he could have made it worse. And that is unacceptable.
Cas sighs and deflates in the seat. He feels like his strings have been cut, like there isn’t an ounce of fight left in him. He feels like he could simply sit here, glued to this chair, for the rest of eternity.
The thing is— Cas isn’t unaccustomed to messing up or hurting Dean. He’s not inexperienced at crossing lines he both does and does not see. It’s not new for him to let Dean down or betray him. But this— this is something else entirely and they all know it. Because Sam is right, Cas is one of very few people who has been gifted Dean’s trust. He knows that and has spent twelve years cherishing that fact on a daily basis, grateful and awestruck that he had been given something so beautiful and precious. He knows that he has been granted insight into Dean that nobody else, not even Sam, gets. That he has been the only one that has been able to get through to him sometimes.
He has been indescribably privileged to be this close to Dean at all, let alone for this long. He knows that, it’s the greatest blessing of his eternal life and he knows with an unbridled sort of certainty that nothing else will ever honor him in the same way, nothing else will ever even come close.
And through one careless remark, one remark made out of an attempt to deflect his own shortcomings, he has shattered twelve years of a bond that has held strong through everything else. He has laughed in the face of the greatest gift he has ever been given and he was too blinded by his own shortcomings to even realize he was doing any of this.
“I’ve really fucked this up, haven’t I?” Cas asks, looking ruefully at Sam.
Sam’s smile and huff of a laugh in response is sad and a little amused. “Yeah,” He says after a minute. “You have. But like I said, Dean’s never been one to deny you second, third, or even fiftieth chances.”
“I’ve never hurt him like this before.” Cas points out.
“Nobody has ever hurt him like this before.” Sam remarks, and it’s clear that he doesn’t mean the statement to hurt, but it does anyways. “But that’s because he’s never cared about anybody like this. The way he is with you, Cas it’s— he never has been and never could be that way with anyone else. Whatever you two have, it’s completely irreplaceable.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s unbreakable,” Cas says dejectedly.
Sam stands up then, walking around the table to clap Cas on the shoulder in the way the Winchesters always do when they’re trying to be heartfelt or encouraging. It’s the closest they come to physical affection when nobody’s life is immediately on the line and it helps Cas feel a little better.
“Cas, if there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that Dean will never let you go now that you’re back. He could spent the rest of his life spitting mad at you, and he’d still do it from no more than five feet away. When he comes back— and he will— he’ll be mad and he’ll be hurt, but he’ll be right here. You’ll have a chance to fix this.” It’s encouraging and terrifying in the same moment but Cas is grateful for Sam’s vote of confidence nonetheless. “Just don’t ask me how to fix it, because I sure as shit don’t know. You two have never gone about things in a way I can understand.”
Cas looks up at Sam, meeting his gaze. “Thank you for your insight, Sam.”
“Just remember,” Sam’s hand slips off of his shoulder. “There’s a reason that Dean cares as much as he does and takes your death as hard as he does. And the reason sounds a lot like something you said to him.”
“I thought you weren’t going to tell me how Dean feels.”
“I’m not.” Sam answers as he heads towards the door. “I’m just hinting at it. It’s different.”
He swings through the doorway and around the corner before Cas has a chance to say anything else.
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ay-miphae · 2 months ago
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I like hearing peoples' life stories, so it might be cool to hear some of your life story (as much as you are willing to tell)
*this is in response to that reblog about asks and rants and such
Hell yea thank you for such a loaded ask, this took me awhile to think about but I have not forgotten but now that Inktober madness is over I’ll go for it.
Hmm. Life story is interesting, I don’t know if there’s much of a tangible story there yet. I’ve come to realize I don’t have a very strong sense of identity or self, rather basing my identity off my hyperfixations so that’s often the closest I get to describing myself. But I have this whole blog for that purpose lmao, and also for my interests in music and drawing. But a significant constant in my life (that I don’t talk a whole lot about here) is coffee.
It’s a little silly I know. I am a little too dependent on my beloved bean water and you guys are free to tease me about that lmao. But it’s always been here.
It was there in my childhood years, the smell of fresh brewed coffee from the kitchen every morning. My dad still drinks black coffee (almost) every morning, and I think I must have been 4 when I insisted on trying it the first time. “Yea I like it!” (I did not. It was very bitter.)
Sometimes the grocery store would have coffee samples, where I had a field day trying them all and somehow growing to like the taste. And then I realized I could add milks and flavors and be creative with it. Enjoying coffee of any kind became a source of comfort and something I looked forward to and cherished through my early teenage years. Maybe a cafe run with a friend that was just so special and unique to me, or the time it iced over all the streets and my dad and I brewed a particular brand of coffee that gives me nostalgia every time I taste it, or making myself a bit of something to tide me over a long night of studying.
When I was old enough to get a job, that’s naturally where I gravitated. Don’t get me wrong - customer service takes a lot out of you - but it was something I genuinely enjoyed for awhile. Like - wow, I get to make a coffee for this person? That’s so cool! I mean the magic certainly gets lost after countless afternoon rushes and unpleasant customer interactions. I don’t know though. I guess it’s still a special thing I get to do, and it feels nice to put artistic craft and care into something that would have meant the world to me a few years back.
I’ve never been that close with my parents. But somehow the bean water still works wonders. Buying a Chemex coffeemaker for my dad for Christmas, deciding that we wanted an espresso machine at home, talking over getting some coffee to go. A little outside my comfort zone, but I guess little steps count. Not to mention the times my closest IRL friend (@samevanssatscores hi) and I have yoinked ourselves to the local coffee + records shop to bond over going absolutely feral over iced lattes and records neither of us have ever heard of. And meeting both of my online best friends in person and being so excited that hey! we’re having coffee (or boba) together! in person this time!
So I guess this is my long-winded ode to bean water, which, sure, is a universal drink that keeps millions of people awake each day. But it’s not just function, it’s about the experience of enjoying it and connecting via it, and that’s something that’s only gotten more and more true in my life.
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fbfh · 2 years ago
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dad!leo x parent!reader hcs
wc: 1.2k
genre: tooth rotting domestic fluff, parents au, regular family and found family, past hurt/lots of comfort, post canon domestic bliss
pairing: leo x gn!parent reader
warnings: tooth rotting fluff, brief implied fucking like rabbits but otherwise sfw, you and leo have a bigass family, brief mentions of past trauma unmet needs and general rough conditions, building the life you wanted as a kid, found family demisquad and their children, brief mention of Leo's extended estranged family /pos, Leo is a fucking amazing dad, aged up obviously (you have a passel of kids and careers and a house)
a/n: I will carry as many children as he wants. deadass. /srs. I want the white picket fense and the ketchup fights and the minivan. I will become a full blown soccer mom for him oh my fucking god
tags @yesv01 @avashaye @perseajohnson @afidiofobia @thatmultifandomloser @yelenabel0vaswife @almostjollypizza @Fictionalcomforts  @lizziebitch33  @jacksondeeznuts @girlfriendwhoseawitch @urmum-xoxo @Asunnyhunny @dustyinkpages @cowboylikekelsey @legramilis @youkissedareaderinthedark @mrscarolscaramoucheplease @cosmiq-cloud @anything-forourmoony @i-dont-remember-a-lot @chasingpj @1dpjohoohp @mystic-writings   @babiesimagines @dreamerball @demirunner @if-only-i-was-fictional @lubsana @if-only-i-was-fictional
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Bark bark bark woof grr ruff ruff
Or should I say loud aggressive cat meowing noises
Both are appropriate responses to seeing dad!leo
First of all
First and foremost
You’re going to have a bigass family with him
Not just because he always wondered if he would have had siblings if his life had been different
Not just because he always craved being from a big family deep in his bones, taking years to mourn silently when it really sunk in that that wouldn’t happen for
Because yes
While those are major factors
But also let’s be real
You cannot fucking keep your hands off this man
How could anyone be expected to look at him and not get fucking pregnant
He stretches and his tummy shows a little where his shirt rides up and you’re suddenly holding a 6 month old with his daddy’s eyes in a fluffy little bear onesie
No idea how it happens
But the odds of anyone being around Leo for any period of time and not ending up with a fucking passel of of little rugrats
Fluffy haired ankle biters with sweet grins and intelligent eyes 
Just like their dad
Is zero
Plus holy fucking shit
He can’t keep his hands off you either
He’s fucking insatiable, always craving your touch, always covering you in kisses and sweet nothings
And you wouldn’t have it any other way
So yeah with your chemistry duh you’re gonna have a big family
Once you start you can’t really stop
Before you know it you wake up one morning to find Leo making pancakes in the kitchen
He’s handing out juice boxes and sippy cups of milk
There’s a kid clinging onto each leg, giggling their heads off when he shuffles around, and one hanging on his back, watching while he cooks
He narrates dramatically to the other kiddos and babies, who are enamored with Leo’s cooking show
You stumble into this scene, walking past little shoes and various toys, legos, and barbie dolls strewn about
There’s a tangible warmth, and it’s not just from the stove and piles of fluffy pancakes
One or two of your kiddos run over and hug you with the sweetest greeting you’ve ever received 
Their little hands grab up at you until you scoop them up, approaching the counter
“Oh thank god, my sous chef has arrived”
He greets you with a kiss and hands you a coffee or tea or whatever else you like to drink in the morning, just the way he knows you like it
“I think we all know I can’t handle this kitchen without you” 
The way he says it, the look he gives you means more than any words or any look you’ve gotten from anyone else
You fix hair and kiss foreheads for a few minutes before you start getting plates of pancakes and bowls of cereal ready
It’s routine, practically automatic by now
But there’s nothing you cherish more than these sunday mornings together
You and the love of your life and your big old passel of rugrats all gathered around the kitchen table, discussing uneventful dreams and schedules for the upcoming week
Between coordinating homework assignments and ballet lessons and soccer practices it hits Leo every single moment 
Of all the things he’s built, his life with you will always be his favorite
His most precious, favorite project
You look so pretty in the morning, you always have
So as your “sunday morning breakfast bops” playlist reverberates through the room around laughter and chatter and singing along
As you sing off key and dance around with him and dance with your kids to Selena and 80s hits and throwbacks to when you were still teenagers, unable to fathom making it to 20
He thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful
When he kisses you, you taste like coffee and maple syrup
Your hair is a little messy and you’re wearing one of his shirts, tucked into a pair of shorts
Your wedding rings gleam in the sunlight streaming in through the lacy curtains 
Burnin’ up by the jonas brothers comes on shuffle, and one of your older kids asks to hear the story again
They’ve heard it a million times, but they adore hearing you recount the lengthy inside joke related to this
They love hearing about all the times you had with all their aunts and uncles (aka your friends) before they were born
They imagine what it was like to live through the 2010s, a decade they’ve only seen in movies and tv shows and online in little time capsules referenced here and there
They think about how cool you must have been, running around and living an idealized version of your lives
Leo listens, just as enamored as the rest of them as he listens to you recount the events he lived through with you 
A little part of him still can’t believe it’s real
He can’t believe he created the warm, loving, lively household
The big supportive family 
That he always dreamed of having as a kid
And now that he’s older, he reached out to some distant relatives, cousins and aunts and uncles
He’s surprised that he’s been able to somewhat reconnect with his extended family 
And even more surprised that they’d welcomed him with open arms
It hits him again that not only are his kids going to have a safe, stable, loving home life
But they’re going to have relatives to visit at family reunions once in a while
They get to spend holidays with their cousins and aunts and uncles (aka your friends and their kids) 
Any occasion y’all can find to get together and make some food and spend time together is always one you’ll take
You have little parties and get togethers and cookouts for every occasion you can think of
No matter where you go, there’s always vibrancy and life and togetherness 
Sometimes other neighbors and friends will pop by with their kids too
You’ve become the family in the neighborhood that anyone can go to
And that’s something you take pride in
It’s rubbing off on the kids too
Their teachers have told you time and time again that they’re always the first to invite kids who are by themselves to play
To make sure no one gets left out
All your hard work
All the sacrifices are paying off
Because you and your friends are determined to be the first generation of demigods to not only live to adulthood
Not only build lives
But stick together
You’re creating such a tight knit community
A family of other demigods
You’re sticking together
Chiron has been praying for times like this for as long as he can remember 
And he’s reminded that all the hard work and suffering and sacrifice are paying off too
He knows every time he shows up for someone’s birthday party or some minor holiday get together 
Half of you and your friends kids call him grandpa 
He’s waited so long to see the demigods he trains live long enough to have kids
He never could have imagined being a part of their lives too
All around, things really turned out better than any of you could have expected
But you still think nothing can top sunday morning breakfasts 
119 notes · View notes
jazlynriddle · 3 months ago
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Welcome to your life - Pt 2:
Acting On Your Best Behaviour Ch 9:
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Summary:
They'd seen it in their fellow orphans often enough to recognise the pattern and were now forced to admit, despite their hopes to the contrary, that Isidora had likely suffered similar side effects.
No
 they'd always known she had. The Keeper had just wanted the power that Ranrok had, enough to convince themselves that they would be able to handle it better than that naive woman.
With the start of the Keeper’s sixth-year in Hogwarts, comes a whole slew of headache-inducing challenges from the most unexpected of places. Between insignificant pests throwing wrenches into their plans and tedious teenage drama, that the Keeper is entirely unprepared for, they wonder if they'll make it to their NEWTs without losing their sanity.
Or worse, Ominis or Sebastian.
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Warnings: Sebastian x MC x Ominis! Drug Addiction! Spoilers! Slow-burn corruption! Dark content! Fucked up 1800s orphanages! MC has no love for Anne or Solomon! Dubious happy ending (it's happy for MC, Seb and Ominis at least).
You can also read on AO3! (chapter specific warnings below)
Notes:
Warning: More fluff and more character study! I feel like so many chapters have been sweet that you guys might be wondering when this fic is actually going to be as dark as I warned.
Just, trust me. It's going to be really really dark but I just need to lay groundwork before we get there! There's slow burn romance fics, and then there's this fic, which is slow burn descent into hell instead.
I just go where the story naturally leads, and I think the fucked-up-ness has a greater impact when you can see how things got fucked up, like in Sebastian and Ominis' canon story honestly.
This sixth-year is a lot of preparation for the story to start taking an escalator down into the depths of madness where I can unleash my full horror visual novel descriptive potential xD
Sebastian sighed as he placed his hand on the Keeper’s forehead, their head resting against his leg while they slept on their side on the couch beside him. He was relieved that after a little over four hours their fever had finally broken. He and Ominis had spent the entire time taking turns to maintain and stabilise their lover's temperature.
While it hadn't been the most fun way to spend an entire Saturday afternoon, it had actually felt good to be able to care for the Keeper in a more tangible way. Hearing the Keeper attribute their victory over their addiction to Ominis and himself had been
 well, he wasn't sure how to describe it.
Honestly, it had surprised even himself how affected he'd been by their murmured words.
Sebastian would never admit it aloud, but his many failures wore on him. He'd failed to save his sister with the relic, he'd failed to convince his uncle that he could save her, hell he hadn't even managed to convince Ominis of that. The last two months had felt like yet more failure, failing to outsmart the bullies, failing to find a way to help his partner with their addiction, failing to find a way into the Undercroft.
It had stung when the Keeper came to them with a plan, cooked up by Onai and her group of 'better friends'. The fact that, in the end, it was neither him nor Ominis who managed to contribute substantially to an actual solution, had hurt his pride.
A part of him understood that it was technically the Keeper themselves who'd figured out a solution to their own problem. That they'd simply used Onai and her friends. Still, it felt wrong, that wasn't what was supposed to happen. After the Keeper finally opened up, and actually asked him and Ominis for help, it was supposed to be the two of them who saved the day.
So, while Sebastian wasn't sure what he and Ominis had done to earn those words, he knew that hearing the Keeper say them, had really gotten to him. It made him feel a lot of feelings, and this time, he wanted to understand them, rather than simply feel them.
He'd learnt that much at least.
"Here." Sebastian glanced up at the sound of Ominis' voice, and was greeted by his gentle smile along with a steaming cup of tea. "You're only ever this quiet when you're tired. Would you like me to take over for a bit?"
Sebastian chuckled, accepting the tea but shaking his head. "Nah, it's fine, I was just thinking."
"You were? Now there's a surprise." Ominis teased, lowering himself to sit on the floor in front of the couch.
"Har har, very funny, Ominis." Sebastian rolled his eyes and took a sip from his cup.
"How do they look?" Ominis asked, reaching up and loosely grasping the Keeper's hand with his own.
"Better, I think they're out of the woods." Sebastian sighed at the tea's relaxing warmth, before setting his cup down on the table. "Hopefully they'll wake up naturally before our housemates start returning after dinner."
"Think they'll remember what they said?" Ominis asked with a dreamy smile and Sebastian felt his chest warm again.
"Knowing them, probably." Sebastian grinned, glad to see Ominis wear that expression again, it felt like forever since he'd seen that calm and peaceful smile.
Deciding that it was fine since the common room was empty, Sebastian gave in to the urge to run his fingers across Ominis cheek and lean down to press their lips together gently.
Ominis made a soft sound in surprise but easily relaxed into the kiss, moving his lips gently against Sebastian’s, and Sebastian happily gave him control of the pace. It had been ages since they'd had a few minutes of peace and just enjoyed each other. The warmth and comfort of each other's presence.
"...why are you guys always starting without me?"
At the Keeper’s voice, Sebastian felt the corners of Ominis' mouth curl upwards against his lips and felt his own follow. With a last lingering touch against his lips, Ominis leaned back to speak.
"I thought you liked a good show." Ominis grinned teasingly as he stood, listening to the Keeper groggily push themselves up into a sitting position.
"I do, but I think I'd rather be a participa-" The Keeper's words were interrupted by a yawn and they shook their head for a moment, before frowning. "Did I say something weird before I passed out?"
Sebastian grinned and Ominis chuckled, which seemed to be all the confirmation the Keeper needed, and they covered their face with a muffled groan. "Ugh, yeah no, I remember, let's just-"
The Keeper made a cutting motion with their open palm while clearing their throat, and Sebastian snickered under his breath at the rare sight of the Keeper flustered.
Shooting Sebastian a glare, the Keeper asked. "What time is it?"
"Tempus." Sebastian flicked his wand. "A little past five."
"Hm." The Keeper frowned. "The bullies still haven't found us?"
"They're probably searching the other side of the castle or even yet searching for each other." Ominis suggested thoughtfully.
"In that case, we might as well take advantage of their incompetence. We can make a quick trip to Feldcroft for some privacy." The Keeper smirked, making to stand, and immediately losing their balance.
"Gah-" Sebastian quickly slipped his arms under the Keeper's to keep their knees from hitting the floor. Breathing a sigh of relief, Sebastian peered down at them. "That was close, you alright there?"
"Yes
" The Keeper grimaced, they were weaker than expected. Well, at least Sebastian still had the reflexes that saved them a detention back in the library.
"Merlin’s beard, I know you want to get going quickly but you literally just passed out from a fever a few hours ago. Can you please be more careful?" Ominis pinched the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh.
The Keeper grumbled under their breath, but understood that he was right, they shouldn't let their urge to taste the Pain energy once more overwhelm them. They sighed, letting Sebastian move their arm to his shoulders so he could support them.
As the Keeper stumbled by with Sebastian, Ominis took their other arm, supporting them from the other side so that they could move even faster. The gesture, despite his chiding, warmed their heart and together, the three of them quickly made their way over to the floo.
"I'll go first, then." Sebastian carefully removed the Keeper's arm and stepped forward.
The Keeper's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I can floo just fine."
"Sure you can!" Sebastian grinned as he disappeared in a puff of green smoke.
"Are you sure you-"
"Yes, Ominis, I'll be fine. I can floo just fine on my own!" The Keeper insisted, stepping out of Ominis grip and into the floo powder.
The moment they emerged from the ash on the other side however, the Keeper lost their footing on the uneven flooring and gravity began to drag them towards the rocky ground. They braced themselves but to their surprise, felt themselves slam into something comparatively soft instead.
"Oof-" Sebastian released a lungful of air from the impact as he caught the Keeper against his chest. "And that's why I went first."
The Keeper's grumbling was muffled in his shirt and Sebastian laughed breathlessly. "You know, when I wanted you to fall for me, this wasn't what I meant."
The Keeper felt their face warm at Sebastian's words as Ominis stepped out from the floo in a cloud of ash.
"Are they alright?" The sound of Ominis' feet hitting the ground came accompanied by his worried voice.
"Yeah, just a bit winded I imagine." Sebastian quipped as he cradled the Keeper in his arms proudly.
"Hey, I can at least talk for myself." The Keeper sighed with a resigned smile as Sebastian loosened his embrace to support them again.
"I'd save my breath if I were you, we still have a bit of a walk." Sebastian grinned as Ominis moved around him to take the Keeper's other arm again.
The Keeper huffed lightly, shaking their head. "I must be going soft."
Fortunately, the short walk wasn't too bad with Sebastian and Ominis' help, and the Keeper sighed in relief as Sebastian lowered them onto their bed while Ominis got a cup of water for them.
Admittedly, it was nice being cared for this way, if a little unsettling. How quickly they had gotten comfortable with receiving help and showing weakness around their partners. How quickly they'd lost their barriers and ego with these two. Yet, it didn't feel like a bad thing.
These were the contradictory thoughts and conflicting feelings in the Keeper's mind as they reached into their satchel and withdrew a jar of pain energy. Before, they wouldn't have even considered taking it in front of anyone. How things had changed

"Hard to believe that human pain can be both addictive and a source of strength
" Sebastian frowned, gazing at the jar contemplatively as he sat on the bed beside them.
"Really?" The Keeper hummed. "I think it makes perfect sense. It's hard to let go of one's pain, even when it's poisoning you. Both you and I have used our pain and suffering as driving force and motivation. If you think of it that way, this is exactly how pain behaves."
"And if you let yourself drown in it, you become a monster that only wants to hurt others." Ominis added, taking a seat on the other side of the Keeper, offering them the glass of water.
The Keeper nodded in thanks and accepted the glass, draining its contents in a few swallows. Sighing in relief, they passed the empty glass to Sebastian for him to set down on the bedside table.
"Yes, pain is a strange thing. It is at once a barrier of protection and a dividing wall. It separates people, making it hard for those who have suffered to connect with others unlike them. Yet it also brings people together, together in shared suffering." The Keeper smiled, taking a deep breath, and placing the jar on their lap.
They'd once thought their suffering had been worth it to meet Sebastian and Ominis. They were glad they still felt the same way.
"I won't let pain control me." The Keeper took Sebastian's hand in one and Ominis' in the other. "I will be its master and become stronger for it. I will use it to protect both of you."
"Excuse me, but who are you calling a damsel in distress?" Sebastian grinned broadly. "I'll have you know that it'll be me protecting the two of you."
"Great, I guess I'll let both of you do all the work then, best of luck." Ominis waved his free hand in a flippant gesture.
"Hey!" Sebastian protested, unable to hide his smile while the Keeper laughed, their heart lighter than it had ever been in their life.
This must be what happiness feels like.
Ominis took a moment to enjoy the pleasant sound of the Keeper's laughter, waiting for them to calm before tightening his grip on the Keeper's hand. "In all seriousness, however, we'll be holding you to your word."
The Keeper nodded resolutely. "I won't let either of you down."
With that, the Keeper released their hands and picked up the jar again. Twisting off the cover and drawing their wand, feeling the desperation surge once more. Their hand shook again, causing their wand to clack against the side of the jar loudly as they tried to stabilise their grip.
To their surprise, the Keeper felt Sebastian's hand over their own, supporting them as they drew out the energy and raised it before themselves.
They closed their eyes and allowed the sweet burning energy to flow into their body. Almost instantly, the Keeper felt the ever-present stress of the last two months ease. Their body still felt awful, aching from the accumulated stress, but their soul basked in relief and the tightly wound muscles under their skin loosened steadily.
It felt like being able to take a full breath of air after living on a mountaintop for days.
The urge to draw out another jar immediately began gnawing at them, but they quashed it, pushing down the itch with a vengeance.
Releasing a breath, the Keeper opened their eyes, and flicked their wand. "Lumos."
The Keeper grinned in triumph at the steady glow of light. It flickered slightly from time to time but was already far more stable than it had been when they'd last attempted the spell. No doubt their magical control would gradually return to its usual state as their body readjusted.
"How do you feel?" Sebastian asked, uncertain if he was unsettled by the red glow in the Keeper's eyes or if he was aroused by it instead.
"Better." The Keeper smiled reassuringly, relieved to feel more like their usual self again.
Ominis smiled, hearing strength return to the Keeper's voice, and he held out a hand. "Good. Now, give me the extra jars I know you collected."
The Keeper blinked twice, before huffing lightly and pulling out two jars from the satchel with a resigned chuckle. "No getting around you, I see."
"Two is one and one is none. Don't think I've forgotten what you said." Ominis gave a small smirk as the Keeper placed the jars in his hands.
"You're too sharp for your own good." The Keeper shook their head with a helpless smile. "I guess you'll be hiding them here somewhere."
"Actually, I'll be placing them, right here."
To the Keeper's surprise, Ominis leaned past them, groping for their satchel, to place the jars back into the Keeper's bag.
"Wait. What?" Sebastian's eyes were wide with confusion.
Ominis shrugged. "If you end up in a sticky situation, you might need the extra jars and we may not always be able to get back to Feldcroft to collect them."
The Keeper stared at him as Ominis continued. "Besides, I trust you. None of this works if we don't trust you. So, I choose to trust you. With everything."
It took a few seconds for the words to sink in, and the Keeper felt their tear ducts burn, they laughed quietly. "You are
 unbelievable. Thank you, Ominis."
Sebastian felt his heart swell with affection, as the Keeper covered their face with a hand, their voice trembling on the last words.
Ominis really is amazing, being able to choose to trust, rather than just feeling it. Sebastian smiled, feeling proud of his lovers. He knew he wasn't the brightest when it came to feelings, so he was grateful to have two partners who could do what he couldn’t.
He would catch up to them.
One day.
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The Keeper glanced around as they stepped into the Three Broomsticks, easily spotting the bullies hovering on the upper floor like the last time they'd met Natty's group here.
They had been mildly amused when they'd gone through the diaries yesterday at Feldcroft and found that the bullies thought that the Keeper’s poor magical performance last week might have been a trap. Explaining why they hadn't tried to duel the Keeper directly despite having seen their weakness.
The two idiots had congratulated themselves on their wit and intelligence when they came to that conclusion. It had been enough to make the Keeper laugh for an entire ten minutes. Just when they thought the bullies couldn't get any more daft.
To the idiots' credit however, they'd shown up in Feldcroft just an hour after the Keeper and their partners did. Having correctly guessed their location, preventing the Keeper from getting a report from Tynx during the visit, but that was fine since they'd managed to finish going through the diaries at least.
Seeing that the rest of the Natty group had gotten here first, the Keeper made their way over to the table with a small smile.
"There you are, how'd it go then?" Garreth greeted with a wide and excited grin.
"Smoothly enough, here." The Keeper placed the two journals on the table as they took a seat. "I changed the appearance of the covers with a charm, so the bullies won't be able to recognise them."
"Brilliant! Good thinking there." Garreth grinned excitedly as he picked up a diary and immediately began thumbing through it.
"How are you feeling?" Poppy asked as she eyed the Keeper’s eyebags with concern.
"Perfectly fine, you needn't worry, Poppy." The Keeper gave her a reassuring smile, they were certainly feeling better than they had all week, thanks to everyone's help.
It was curious. Even though the Keeper felt the most gratitude towards Sebastian and Ominis, they could also feel a small amount for this group. Without the unknowing cooperation of their friends, they wouldn't have been able to achieve this outcome so easily and painlessly.
"Did you guys manage to transform back without being seen?" The Keeper asked with a small frown. Honestly, they'd rather the bullies not realise that this group were helping them against the two of them.
After all, as the famous philosopher Machiavelli once said. 'No enterprise is more likely to succeed than one concealed from the enemy until it is ripe for execution.'
"Yeah, it was pretty funny watching Selwyn run around in confusion for an hour." Poppy giggled with a mischievous glint in her eyes and the Keeper snorted lightly, at least someone was having fun.
"What in Merlin's name is this!?" Amit exclaimed and the Keeper looked over to see him staring at an open diary.
The Keeper chuckled, they could guess what had garnered that reaction from the Ravenclaw. "Those bullies’ best attempt at English apparently."
Amit looked appalled. "Ugh, even Gobbledegook was easier to read."
"I've seen worse." Garreth shrugged as he flipped through his, somehow seemingly capable of understanding the garbled mess of squiggles on the pages. "Blast! There's missing pages in here!"
The Keeper's eyes widened as though they were surprised, inwardly however, they were relieved that they'd removed and burned any incriminating pages yesterday. They hadn't been expecting any of their friends to be able to read the bullies' handwriting, but they were nothing if not cautious and fortunately, that had paid off.
The Keeper frowned, leaning over Garreth's shoulder to peer at the torn strips of paper along the journal's spine. "Perhaps they hid any incriminating evidence elsewhere. They are Slytherins after all, I suppose there must be some level of cunning in their skulls."
"Where could they have hidden those pages though?" Natty frowned, her tone wrought with frustration and the Keeper felt the slightest pinch of guilt for their part in that.
Natty would be feeling a lot more of that frustration if the Keeper had their way. The last thing they needed was more attention on the bullies and by extension, themselves. While Natty was a friend, the Keeper didn't like her enough to risk themselves or what they were protecting for her.
"I'm not sure." The Keeper shook their head. "I suppose we could try searching, but I wouldn't know where to start."
Poppy sighed despondently. "After all that effort
 I guess we'll have to try something else."
"Well, I'll still give these a read, there's still some excellent material in here that we can use to make things unpleasant for those bullies." Garreth grinned as he shoved the diary he was holding into his bag, before plucking the other out of Amit's hands.
"I suppose while Garreth is going through them, we'll just take turns escorting our friend around." Natty suggested and the Keeper had to withhold their grimace. Great.
Poppy nodded vehemently. "That's right, we can't let those bullies have another chance to hurt them."
Amit also nodded. "Agreed, we can meet up again next weekend and see if we can think of another plan."
With that settled, after finishing their butterbeers, the group gradually dispersed to run the errands they'd set aside for their operation yesterday and the meeting today. The Keeper sighed internally, while they were grateful for the effort, keeping up appearances for this whole thing was immensely tedious.
As Poppy disappeared through the door, leaving Natty alone with the Keeper, she hesitantly spoke up. "I noticed yesterday that Selwyn was following Gaunt."
"Was he?" The Keeper asked, feigning nonchalance.
Natty nodded, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "He was, I don't suppose you'd know why."
The Keeper gave her a tight wry smile. "Do you really think I'm the only person they're bullying?"
Natty's eyes widened, and she flinched at the Keeper's suggestion. She hadn't considered that possibility at all and found herself deeply troubled by it. If Gaunt was also being bullied by Selwyn

"If you want to believe that you're the only one who doesn't have the option of tattling to an authority figure, so be it."
Then she had essentially condemned a bully victim for not defending another bully victim. Natty felt guilt gnawing at her insides. Had she prematurely judged Gaunt and shamelessly victim-blamed him without realising?
Uncertainty welled within her chest.
Seeing that their words had disturbed Natty, the Keeper stood. They would let her come to her own conclusions. "I'll see you tomorrow, Natty."
With that, the Keeper left the pub, with the bullies trailing them out as always, leaving Natty to her thoughts.
Notes:
Hogwarts Legacy's story honestly has some of the most unexpectedly well-weaved layers of symbolism in a fictional story that I've seen since the 2018 movie, Annihilation. With the way they address Pain as a concept being so potent, elegant and most importantly of all, blunt and easy to understand with a thematic reading.
I do hope I've been doing it justice with this fic x'D I also feel like most "righteous-minded" assholes start out actually trying to do a good thing, but simply didn't realise that they need to consider that they might be wrong, while they were young enough to learn it, and thus also never learn to apologise when they're wrong.
As an opinionated person myself, I am constantly trying to learn as many perspectives as I can, to try my best to support an opinion that is comprehensive, rational, objective and understanding. There is no argument that I won't consider, and I don't discard any of them as invalid without justification.
Thus, I can say with confidence that Sebastian doesn't deserve to be sent to Azkaban. An objective overview of his story, the way it was told and supporting evidence point to the Developers wanting us to spare him.
The parallel with San Bakar killing Isidora and Player killing Rookwood. The fact that Solomon is literally the final boss of his story. The sheer amount of literary effort that went into showing his reasoning and circumstances.
The fact that Ominis literally says "I don't want to lose Sebastian, but I don't think we have a choice." and that the game will give you a chance to back out from the option of turning him in. The fact that Sebastian learns from his mistakes if you show him mercy, and in contrast, he gets worse if you turn him in.
All these point to the Devs trying to teach the players understanding and compassion. To look beyond the crime and instead to what caused the misguided actions of a naive, inexperienced and earnest child.
To support attempts to improve orphan care legislation, mental health care for both veterans like Solomon and traumatised kids like Sebastian, and of course education, to prevent tragedies like this from happening.
Sebastian is the way he is because he is full of love. Love messes with the head, even for adults. For a kid who watched his parents die at his feet and is watching his twin die slowly in agony, that love becomes twisted with pain and fear. No child can handle that without adult guidance. Any that do are the 1% that grow up to change the world together as activists.
For people who don't see this
 honestly, I don't know how to help them.
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potetosaradas · 1 year ago
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Problem Solved
Summary: Rick comes up with an unlikely(?) solution that settles the decision of choosing Prime or Diane. Rating: T
DISCLAIMER//NOTES: This fic was never meant to published or shared and thus it's in a permanent state of work in progress-- this fic was supposed to be part of Bad Habit, but it never made the cut :') but with the upcoming hype around S7, I wanted to share this for anyone who might be interested in reading my delulu thoughts ><
Dedicated to @cyanichexanthine for encouraging me to share this and supporting this silly fic <3
Blue light washed over pale skin, edges of bone and muscle defined by deep shadows in the artificial light. 
“Take care of him for me
”
A shaky hand stroked down a smooth cheek.
“Be good to him.”
The hum of machinery buzzed lowly in the background as a monitor counted out a steady, stable pulse. 
“Love him better than I ever could.”
----
When Prime woke up the next morning to cold empty sheets, he wasn’t surprised. Disappointed and lonely maybe, but not surprised. Out of habit, his hand came up to rub the scar on his ribs, feeling the tender healed skin and remembering the way Rick had kissed him there the night before. 
There was a strange knot brewing in his chest, gnawing and burrowing at the cage of bones surrounding his heart. Prime was feeling a lot of things as he sat up, but mostly he felt a cold realization that things were truly changing between them. The sex had been bittersweet, tender and heated in the moments that passed far too quickly but it was a mockery of the connection and passion they had shared together in the past. 
He didn’t believe in fate, but whatever it was, he clearly felt the divide in the path that they walked together. Prime felt with absolute certainty that Rick was now walking down a path that did not include him and it brought out a desperation that Prime didn’t even know he was capable of feeling. He had been so certain that Rick would choose him— how could he not? He’d seen their future together. He could feel it in his mind so tangibly that it had become real. All of that was swirling away like bath water into a drain and Prime was left feeling cold and alone. 
Anger swept over his body and he snatched the half pack of cigarettes from the makeshift bedside table, lighting one and smoking it in mutinous silence. This right here was why he never got attached to anything or anyone. He knew he’d fucked up when he found himself starting to rely on Rick. The worst part was that it had felt so easy and natural. They were so in tune with one another that they didn’t even need words. They’d just known what the other needed.  He’d never known what that level of comfort and understanding was like and it was all consuming. Prime had gotten himself hopelessly addicted. He felt safe in the knowledge thinking that Rick had felt the same way. He knew Rick had felt the same way. He saw it in his eyes and felt it in his body. And yet, Rick was the one pulling away so easily for someone who didn’t even inspire him to be the best version of himself and it made Prime burn. It would have been better for the both of them had he left Rick to fuck up his life on his own, but he couldn’t. He saw the same haunted look in Rick’s eyes and to Prime, it was a cry for help. 
As he exhaled a cloud of smoke, Prime found himself wondering and poring over every moment that led to this point. Was there any point in time he could have prevented the rift between them? He thought about the day they’d decided to go to Shoney’s for breakfast. How small and insignificant that choice had seemed at the time. It had been a toss up between Shoney’s and some no name diner on the corner of Main and 3rd. He imagined if Diane hadn’t been on shift that day. Would it have been another waitress that stole Rick’s heart? He should have ripped up that receipt when he had the chance. For not the first or last time, Prime idly considered wiping Diane’s existence off the face of the Earth, wondering if that would make a difference at all. With that thought, he crushed the butt of the cigarette out in a makeshift ashtray and got out of bed. 
After Rick stabilized portal fluid, he hadn’t been back to the lab very often. Long gone were the days they used to spend holed up on this distant moon and the stretch of days enclosed in the ship as they traveled to and from Earth. The absence of the extra body only served to make the modest apartment feel bigger, emptier and quieter. Prime glanced at the small square table where they’d shared countless meals and hours plotting out schemes and problems. Now the table was littered with loose leaf from Prime’s research on time travel and there was virtually nothing to show that his twin had occupied the space at all. 
He glared at the table as if it caused him great offense. He didn’t need Rick. If anything Rick needed him. The lie made him laugh quietly.  He’d existed on his own just fine until he met Rick, now everything seemed determined to remind him of what he longed for the most. Irritation at his human weakness caused a surge of spite to rush through his veins and Prime decided to throw himself into his work. If Rick didn’t want to make a choice, Prime would make that decision for him. 
For one week Prime barely slept as he kept his hands and mind busy with completing the time machine modelled after the portal gun they designed together. He had to keep himself busy otherwise he’d find himself stalking the house at all hours of the day and Rick had expressly banned him from doing that. There was one thought in his mind that he kept coming back to in the late hours of the night as he worked through the final equations, a feverish, desperate thought that maybe he could use the time gun to correct their timeline. 
Even though he had been determined to avoid thinking about Rick, Prime couldn’t help but keep one eye on the portal gun log that sat open in the basement though. Partly because he was curious to know where Rick was traveling to but mostly to keep tabs on his partner. The last entry had coordinates marked for Rick’s home and it hadn’t changed from one week ago. Usually Rick would call or text to let him know if he was planning on coming over, but Prime’s phone remained silent. He refused to call or text Rick first and spite alone drove him to work like a madman. 
In an effort to drown his thoughts and feelings, Prime had started to feel numb. He hadn’t even felt half as satisfied when he’d completed the time gun even though he’d been working on this project for a little over two years. The time gun sat in front of him and Prime could barely even look at it. When Rick had perfected portal travel, they’d gone out and celebrated, partying hard and getting completely sloshed. The elation of success could hardly be contained as they kissed each other on the mouth and cheeks stained with alcohol all night, proud of their accomplishment. It had been a great night. They used the portal gun extensively, traveling to all their favourite planets and a few more new ones. It was thrilling to be able to make trips to places that would have otherwise taken days. They kissed for every successful portal opened and closed. When they got home late the next day, they’d fallen into Prime’s bed and made slow, achingly sweet love until they fell asleep bathed in starlight. 
The loud buzz of his phone vibrating against the worktop jolted him out of his thoughts and he checked the caller ID. As if Rick had sensed his thoughts, the call was coming from Rick’s home phone. Usually, Rick would call him directly from a private number. Something about this call felt strange. 
“Hello?” He answered guardedly. 
There was silence on the other end. 
“
 Rick?” A familiar soft voice asked in a strange tone. “Is
 is that you? Honey— where are you? Are you okay? Who's
 whose number is this? Please come back home. If this is about what happened last week
 I’m sorry. I didn’t
 I just want you to come home
 please.”
Prime’s fingers gripped his phone tightly, trying to make sense of the call. Rick wasn’t at home? His eyes flicked over to the portal log but the coordinates hadn’t been updated. He wanted to feel smug about the fact that there was conflict between Rick and Diane but worry overwhelmed any satisfaction he felt. 
“I’ll
 I‘ll be home soon.” Prime said in a strained voice and hung up. It was better to keep the conversation short and sweet. The longer he had to hear her voice, the more nauseated he felt. 
He pushed a shaky hand through his hair and tried to rally the facts in his head. If Diane didn’t even know where Rick was, it must be quite serious. He must’ve been missing for days for her to be this worried. 
Prime grabbed his portal gun sitting on the other side of the workbench and punched in the coordinates to Rick’s last known location. 
When he stepped into the garage, the first thing he noticed was that everything was neat and tidy as if it had been untouched for days. Rick worked like a whirlwind, papers scattered, equipment strewn everywhere in the process of building something. Prime was the same way. The spotless workbench gave Prime a strange sense of anxiety. It wasn’t normal. 
The garage felt warm. Unusually so. Getting on his hands and knees, Prime felt warm concrete under his fingers. His keen eyes picked up a place on the floor where dust had been disturbed. There was a faint outline of a trapdoor, so thin you would have missed it. A laser scanner emerged as Prime approached and as he placed his hand on it, the trapdoor slid open silently revealing metal rungs of a ladder that extended deep underground. 
As Prime made his way down into the darkness, the air became warmer and he could smell the stale smoke of cigarettes and marijuana. The short corridor opened up into a larger room cramped with machinery, cables and tubing feeding into one large glass tube. What available wallspace was completely covered in drafts and papers documenting research and tracking progress. It looked like he wasn’t the only one who’d been busy. His gaze fell on Rick who was bent over, embracing someone whose face he couldn’t see. Angry jealousy surged through his body. He drew his laser pistol.
“What the fuck is this?” 
Rick turned around slowly and Prime saw how exhausted Rick looked. His eyes were rimmed with red and there were deep shadows. They could barely focus as they took him in. Prime’s gaze dropped to the man standing behind Rick and his eyes widened.
“You— you cloned yourself? You
 you made a successful clone?” He couldn’t help but add on in slight admiration. Cloning was something they’d always talked about doing together. 
“Yeah.”
“Is this what you’ve been doing for a week? Why didn’t you call me. We could have worked on it together—” 
“You said I couldn’t make a decision so
 this is it.” Rick waved tiredly at the clone and sighed. 
Prime stared at the clone who stared back at him unflinchingly, trying to put two and two together. What did making a clone have to do with

“Tell me that’s for her.” Prime’s eyes cut towards Rick’s accusingly. “You made a clone to take care of your bitch spawn so we can be together, right?”
“...” Rick’s silence said it all.
“Right?” Prime’s voice took on a waver. “Come on, baby. You can’t be serious.”
“Maybe
 in an alternate reality if it had just been Diane, maybe the choice wouldn’t have been so difficult. But we have a kid together now. There’s— I can’t let Diane do this by herself. It’s my responsibility too. And
 And I want you to be happy too. The clone has—”
Prime took three strides forward, grabbing the clone by the arm and yanking it into a kiss right in front of Rick’s shocked face. It had Rick’s exact likeness and it smelled and tasted just like him too. The Rick clone tried to kiss him back but Prime didn’t even give it a chance before he pushed it away violently. The clone fell back against the desk, throwing out a hand to catch himself. Prime felt nauseous. 
“You know what I think of your clone?” His voice trembled with anger and adrenaline. Without thinking, he aimed his laser pistol at the clone’s head and pulled the trigger. The clone fell to the floor with a heavy crunch, blood seeping out of the head wound. Rick let out a harsh, strangled cry and turned on him.
“Prime! What the fuck? You motherfucker— Do you know how long it took—”
“How could you possibly think I’d be okay with your clone? That’s the biggest insult to everything that we are. You think I’m with you for your body? You think that some clone is going to be able to replace you?”
“The clone has all my memories—” 
“I don’t give a rat's ass if the clone has two dicks. What were you thinking? Were you just going to send the clone in your place one day and think I wouldn’t know the difference? I want you not just some shitty xerox of the person that you are.”
“Then tell me what I should do!” Rick said angrily, hands balled into fists. “I’m trying so hard to come up with a solution that doesn’t fuck up the lives of the two people I love the most in this universe. Nothing I can do will make you or Diane happy. Sure, it’s not fucking ideal but I really thought that—”
“Well you thought fucking wrong.” Prime spat out. “Great idea, but you’re sending the clone to the wrong person. I refuse to spend the rest of my life with a substitute. You need to make a real decision, Rick. Blood will be spilled. There’s no way to avoid that.”
“Well that’s fucking bullshit. There’s an infinite amount of choices— there has to be a solution that will—”
“Let’s just skip to an alternate dimension— one where you never even met Diane or had a kid. It’s literally that simple.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why the fuck not? The answer to all our issues is sitting on the table over there.” Prime gestured to Rick’s portal gun.
“Because
 I’m just not that guy who would abandon their family.”
“But you’re okay with being a cheater?”
“... That’s low and you know it.”
“Truth hurts, baby. Doesn’t matter if it’s hard to hear, doesn’t make it any less real.”
“...” Rick looked away, ashamed.
“I’m going to tell her.” Prime said quietly. 
“You— what?” 
“I’m going to tell her— about us.” Prime continued in a stronger voice. “I’m going to tell her about every single time you were getting railed in bed when you were supposed to be at home eating dinner instead.”
“No, you will not.” Rick grabbed his arm. “If you do that, I’ll never be yours.”
Prime laughed and pushed Rick’s arm off.
“Don’t you see? You’re already not mine.”
The words hung heavy between them as they looked at one another with a mirrored expression of resentment and misery. 
Prime turned on his heel and started walking towards the entrance. 
“Stop!” Prime felt Rick grab at his jacket. “Stop it. Don’t take another step or I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Prime turned to face Rick, a sneer on his lips. “You’ll hurt me? Babe, you’re already hurting me.”
“Just don’t hurt Diane.” Rick muttered. “She doesn’t deserve this.”
“But I do? She gets you but I get a clone?”
“Just— just give me some time to work— to figure something out.” Rick’s grip tightened on his jacket. “Just don’t tell her. Please.”
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honeysmokedham · 1 year ago
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TIMING: July 10th, 2023 PARTIES: Emilio @mortemoppetere & Nora @honeysmokedham LOCATION: The Mines SUMMARY: Nora is a fresh made crystal monster who had previously been telling everyone she was dying. Emilio is making sure Nora isn't dead. They talk. CONTENT WARNINGS: Parental Death TW (mention) Sibling Death tw (mention) Child Death tw (mention) (the emilio trauma pack tw list)
Concern ebbed in his gut as he made his way towards the mines. He didn’t know what to do here. It was a bad feeling, the helplessness that had been eating away at him ever since Nora told him she was going to die. It kept dragging him back to that familiar living room, with blood on the floor. How many times, he wondered, could you fail to save the people you cared about before failure became the only thing you were good at? How many graves could you dig before the dirt became a permanent fixture beneath your nails?
Nora was alive, but he hadn’t saved her. Nora was alive, but there was still something wrong. Those pictures she’d sent, with the same purple crystals that had been popping up all over town clawing their way from beneath her skin, they set him on edge in a way he couldn’t quite explain. He felt cold and uncertain and everything was wrong. Dread sat heavy in his chest, paranoia worse than its already impressive default state. 
He stopped in front of the entrance to the mine, leg aching. He sent a quick message telling her he was there, hoping he wouldn’t have to venture into the mines but prepared to do so if it became necessary. Emilio would crawl into the earth if he had to. If crawling into a grave meant he didn’t have to dig another one, he wouldn’t hesitate.
"I don't understand why he's dancing." It was their second watch-through of Morbius. Apparently one hadn't been enough to get into the spirit of the movie. Whatever spirit that was supposed to be, Nora didn't know. She wasn't sure she'd ever find it. A ding from her phone. Nora fumbled it into a reading position. More often than not she found herself dropping her phone thanks to the crystalline talons that tipped her fingers. "Mimi is here," Nora noted to Cass. "I gotta go talk to him. I told him the banshee screamed for me, I don't think he believes I'm alive." Nora extricated herself from the fort the pair had made. The mines were turning into a comfortable home. "I'll be back," Nora told her friend, throwing in one of Matt Smith's atrocious dance moves as a fair well. 
The trip to the entrance of the mines was easy, it was familiar. As familiar as the walk down into her crypt, or the walk into Axis. It was a home. The familiar scent of Irish Spring Soap and cigarettes met her as she neared the entrance. Nora wondered how close he'd gotten, would he enter the mines? That would be nice. Everyone should live in the mines with her. A big family of her favorite people in her favorite place. She was sure that the mines would fix his knee. Just like the mines had saved her life. "'Sup Mimi." Nora made sure her approach was dramatic. Glowing crystals coming out of a darkness that was exaggerated by her illusions. "Welcome to the mines." 
Nora stood there for a second. Two seconds. Three. "Death looks good on me, don't you think?" And like that, she was a kid showing off something she was proud of. Nora did a slow turn, arms held wide, making sure he could see her full monstrosity. "Sick right?" The pictures didn't do it justice. The pictures didn't capture the slight glow or the way they made soft chiming noises when Nora moved. 
Somehow, some part of him hadn’t believed she was alive until now. Logically, he’d known she was. He’d spoken to her, he’d seen the pictures she sent. He knew she was alive, was well enough to talk and look as happy as he’d ever seen her in the photos she sent. Still, there was a flood of relief as she came to the surface — breathing, moving, and tangible. There was no twist in his gut that meant undead, despite her claims that she’d died and risen up down in the mines, and that was a good thing. 
“You’re not dead,” he told her, though he was pretty sure she’d argue. She usually did, when she had her mind set to something. And she seemed to have her mind set pretty firmly to this. Still, saying aloud helped just a little. His heartbeat slowed, his shoulders released some tension. She wasn’t dead.
She also wasn’t normal. He’d half-hoped the pictures she sent him were doctored in some way or another. Emilio might not have known much about photoshop, but he knew that people more talented than him could manage some pretty impressive feats with it. But here Nora stood, in front of him in the flesh, covered in those goddamn crystals. He took a step forward, watching her with a wary eye as she turned. Sick was one word for it, though he figured the way he was thinking meant something a little different than Nora’s use. “What the hell happened to you? Are you —” He choked on his words a little, relief that she was alive and concern that something was wrong fighting it out in his head. “Are you okay, kid?” 
“Anymore.” Nora added the correction to the statement, she wasn’t dead anymore. It was an important distinction. Important to her because it had been a life changing event. It had shifted her world, it had shattered her bones, it had remade her in the image of the mines. Death had wrapped its boney fingers around her heart with the intention of crushing her, but she had been pulled back to the mortal coil with a purpose. The purpose of being an acolyte to the mines. Nora didn’t miss the relief that seemed to seep over Emilio’s features. It came in the subtle way his jaw seemed to unclench, his shoulders relaxed, and a new calmness entered him. “I keep telling you. Death couldn’t keep me. I remain ungovernable.” 
He hadn’t been listening to her. That was typical Emilio. Nora shook her head in the way of the sitcom actors. The way that said, oh there goes Emilio! Being so silly again! “I told you what happened.” She’d spoken it into her phone until her phone got all the words correct and she could send the message explaining her transformation to him. “I’m,” Nora reached out a hand, staring down at the purple talons that made using her phone so difficult now. She flexed the fingers, straightening them and curling them, eyes fixed as if transfixed by her own movements. “I’m perfect. Look at me. I’m perfect.” Nora knew the words she wanted to use to describe how she felt. She knew how to wrap the sentence that explained this is how she should have always looked. How right it felt, but she didn’t need to say them. It was obvious just looking at her. 
“What about you, old man?” Nora allowed a smile to creep over her. “How’ve you been doing? Any new cases? I bet the mines could solve all the cases.” Nora turned and cast a fond gaze at the mines, the mines where all the answers to life remain. She wished Emilio could see that. 
“Me and death go way back. I’m usually pretty good at telling when it’s around.” It was dry, the way his jokes always were. She wasn’t undead; he knew that, and she had to know that he knew that. Emilio might be a shit hunter where action was concerned, but he could still sense the things he was supposed to be after. He still knew when something had been wrapped up in that blanket of death and uncovered as something else with the same certainty as he knew his own name. And Nora hadn’t. There was so much relief in knowing that Nora hadn’t. Emilio was trying, he was trying to be the kind of man who could look at something undead and not feel a sense of disgust wash over him. He could hang out with Metzli, could exist near Zane without wanting to kill him on the spot, could talk to an undead stranger in a bar and not pull a blade. He was getting better. But there was still that deep-seated sense of unease that came with it. There were still years and years of conditioning, of being told that it was bad was wrong was not okay. It’d take a long time to get out from under that. And so, the relief. Nora wasn’t undead.
But Nora was stubborn.
He knew that about as well as he knew his own name, too. Knew that she’d argue with him about it until she was blue in the face — or whatever color her purple gem-face would turn when she ran out of breath. She’d decided that things were a certain way, and she’d fight for that. She always did. In all honesty, it was one of the things Emilio had always admired about her. She was a good kid, strong. And she liked this. The gems, the mines, all of it. She liked it. That much was clear.
He was still going to fix it, of course. He didn’t trust anything like this, and he’d get her back to the way she’d been before if it killed him. If she hated him for that after
 he’d learn to live with it. He’d learned to live with worse.
“Yeah,” he said, “okay. Perfect. Are you in pain?” Maybe that was the better question. He wanted the answer to be no, even if the answer being yes might make her more likely to be willing to let him change her back. The idea of her being in constant pain, of it hurting all the time made his stomach clench up. Emilio knew what that felt like. He wouldn’t wish it on anyone, least of all Nora. “Me? Kid, I didn’t really come here to talk about me. I’m fine. Cases are what they always are. Don’t think the mines will change that.” Though they might solve a few of the missing person files on his desk. 
“Old drinking buddies, right?” Nora quipped. Emilio shrouded his past in mystery. It had to do with Mexico. It had to do with a family that was gone, dead or missing was never clear. She knew his mom was dead, she thought he alluded to some siblings had gone that route too, but there had always been a line drawn when Nora asked a question that went too deep. A simple, I don’t want to talk about it. Nora reached out a crystalline hand and gently patted it against his arm. An abbreviated version of her cataloged comforting touch. “I know you don’t believe me, but he’s not coming here. He can’t. The mines will protect us.” Nora turned, giving the mines a longing look. 
Even while standing just at the entrance, she felt the pull. It called her back. It asked why she was standing outside its embrace? Why didn’t it want her to be cradled in its being, consumed by its energy, and protected by its walls. The outside world felt wide and empty. Had she always lived in the large open world without caring before? Perhaps it was why she made her home in a crypt, the subconscious realization that the mines were for her. The crypt had also protected her with four walls and a ceiling deep within the ground. What was a crypt of not a mine for human bones? 
“Pain?” Nora ran a talon against her jaw. It had been weird, losing all the flesh of her jaw to make way for the crystal. It had hurt in the moment of her death, but now? “I feel heavier, but it doesn’t hurt.” Nora patted one of the shoulder crystals. “Sometimes I run into the walls.” Spatial awareness was something she was working on still, now that she had to be aware of every crystal jutting out of her flesh. Trying to lean back was the hardest, the sharp crystals back there hadn’t done her the deficiency of being the same size, which might have made it easier to lean back against them. “I’m perfect, Mimi. This is everything I’ve always wanted to be. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t bother me. It’s a blessing.” 
Then Emilio was deflecting back at her. Nora gave him her most deadpan stare, built with extra intensity. “You should talk about yourself sometime, you know. You’re deserving of space. The mine knows that, the mine wants you here.” She knew she probably sounded like an evangelical preacher, trying to convince the sinner to lay down his sin and accept Jesus into the church, but Nora worried about Emilio. Nora wanted him to find the same happiness she had in the mines. “The mines and I, we’re here to help. We want to help you.” 
“Right. Drinking buddies.” The joke wasn’t as funny as it usually was. Not in this moment, not even with Nora standing in front of him in one piece. Death was a familiar thing, but it never seemed to have much interest in Emilio himself. It took the people around him one by one, broke them down bit by bit and ground them into powder. His father died before he could form a solid image of his face in his memory, his oldest brother was gone before he turned thirteen. He was thirty-four years old and an orphan, a widower, a father whose child was already in the ground. Death was an old drinking buddy, sure, but not one who had any interest in taking Emilio home.
So there’d been that fear, when Nora first started telling him that she was dying. There’d been that familiar grip of panic, that old ache that took him back in time to a living room floor and blood on the walls. Emilio and death existed in a quiet cohabitation, but there were so many people he couldn’t stand for it to take. Nora had quickly cemented herself as one of them, as a name right up at the top of the list of people he thought ought to be untouchable. And still, he almost couldn’t let himself believe she was here until her hand found his shoulder, until those rough crystals brushed against his shirt. Nora was here. Nora was alive. And death could fuck off, this time. Death could go right back where it came from.
“Okay,” he said quietly, because there was no arguing with her when she was like this. She said the mines were a death free zone, and he knew they weren’t but he knew his arguments would fall on deaf ears all the same. If he were a little less exhausted, he might try it anyway. He was as stubborn as she was, and he knew he was right about this one. There was no safe place in the world that couldn’t be made unsafe, were no walls death couldn’t walk through. He thought back, as he always did, to that living room in Mexico with the cross on the wall and the iron doorframe. He thought of the nights he’d fallen asleep on the couch with a baby on his chest without fear, without anxiety. 
He thought of how the only difference between a safe place and a casket was whether the hearts that sat within it were still beating.
Nora’s was. He could hear it in her chest, a strange echo through the crystals in her skin. Beating oddly, but beating all the same. It could change in an instant, he knew; it only every took a second for one heartbeat to fail to give in to the next, for one breath to become a person’s last. But Nora was alive for now, and maybe that had to be enough. 
His shoulders slumped in quiet relief as she said there was no pain, and he let himself believe her even though it seemed impossible. She was able to stand upright, at least, and wasn’t that more than he could do himself most days? Even now, his leg ached on the uneven ground, as if protesting its own existence. (And maybe Emilio could relate to that sentiment, just a little.) “Well, try not to run into walls.” It was supposed to be a joke, but it didn’t sound like one, didn’t feel like one. Nothing really did when he felt like this, when the world was heavy. (Everything was always so goddamn heavy.)
He didn’t know what to believe here. Nora swore that she was better than fine, that she was perfect, but his heart still felt like a jackhammer beating down on his ribs, breaking them up into pieces. He was still in that goddamn living room floor, still washing the blood out from under his fingernails. Maybe he always would be. And Nora was talking about him, was saying he deserved space, and he didn’t know how to tell her that she was wrong. He didn’t know how to put to words that the things he deserved probably weren’t the things she wanted him to have, didn’t know how to say that the space he took up would be so much better if it were filled by someone else, someone who’d been gone for years now. 
“I’m not the kind of guy you help,” he said, rather than try to find those ever-elusive words. “You can tell the mines that, too.” He was quiet for a moment, unsure how to proceed. “Said you had a friend down there. The two of you managing all right?”
There was concern written all over his face in bold lettering. Its script spiraled around his features with every word he didn't say. Emilio didn't speak much, he never had. But today he didn't need to. Each look he gave to one of her crystals was a sentence she could hear clearly in his soft voice. The voice he only used when he knew something was wrong, but didn't know how to fix it. The voice that told her he was listening, and he heard her, but he couldn't fix it as much as he wanted to. The unspoken sentences were ones of concern and disbelief. But Nora knew the disbelief wasn't for her, per se, but for the crystals. The story. In a town that was full of the strange and unusual, could she blame him for that? Would she think it was hard to believe something good could happen in this town if she was a jaded old man? Who was to say? 
"Wrong. I help you. That's literally my job, dumbass." A pause, before adding. "Assistant? There was a word Nora had always wanted to use. It was apprentice. But it felt too big. Too official. It sounded too much like a, I want to be like you. Even if she did. Even if she looked up to a guy who couldn't accept any help. Neither could she, if she was being honest. "The mines are listening. I don't need to tell them anything." They sang in her bones, they whispered to her crystals. It wasn't a literal voice. As much as a mine shaft looked like an open mouth, the mine shaft vocal chords with the cart the box moving up and down to activate the tone. It wasn't true. No, everything Nora knew from the mines she just... What was the best way to explain it? It was in her. It was her. She was the mines and the mines were her. Their ideas were her own, and if she had her own ideas? What did they matter? The mines wanted what was best. 
At the entrance, standing near the open sky, Nora wondered if she actually felt that way, or if something was wrong. But a glance down at her crystalline body reminded her of the favor the mines had done for her. It reminded her that she loved the mines with everything she was. "If the mines don't want to help you, they won't. But they want to help everyone. Remember that." He was stubborn. He would stay stubborn. Nora would let him have this for now. 
"Cass." Nora supplied the name because Cass deserved to have her name remembered. Nora glanced back into the darkness. "She's down there. We've been watching things together. It's great. we are fine down there." Words that Nora felt like she repeated a thousand times. Every one was so concerned about the people living in the mines when they should be concerned about living outside the mines. They were missing the beauty of the depths within. For someone who had struggled with words her whole life, she felt like she finally might have them. But only the words that would tell people about the mines. If only they would believe her. If only they wouldn't look at her with faces painted in concern. 
"If you change your mind, come. Whenever you want." Nora listed the steps. You start at this tunnel, and you head down. You take the fourth right, there is a winding path but don't leave it. Those multiple little ones will take you to other caverns. Then you take a final right, left, right and straight. Then there was a home. Waiting for anyone who would take it. "Oh. I haven't seen Babadook and Munch in a while. They are refusing to come to the mines. Can you keep an eye out for them? Babs can feed himself, but..." Nora shrugged. "He doesn't look like other dogs. If hunters are after me, they are after him too, right?" Because god forbid anything be different in this town. That wasn't true anymore. The mines welcomed everyone who was different. 
"I'm going to get back to Cass now." Nora didn't want to admit it, but standing in the open made her uncomfortable. The mines were a soft embrace closing in around her. This? This was an open hell. Anything could go wrong out here without the watchful eye of the mines. "I'm serious, Emilio. Come to the mines sometimes. Just think about it. It'll change your life." 
“You get paid for jobs,” he reminded her. Not that he hadn’t offered to pay her a hundred times now, not that he wouldn’t have shoved cash into her bag when she wasn’t looking if he hadn’t known she’d probably respond by hiding it in his fridge or something. Nora deserved a lot more than he could give her, but he still wished she’d let him give her something. He still wished she’d sleep on his couch instead of sleeping in a crypt or in a mine or wherever it was she decided to lay her head that week. But she wanted freedom, and he understood that. She wanted to be able to pick where she slept and what she did, and Emilio would never take that away from her. He’d never dream of it. “Yeah. Assistant. You pick whatever title you want, okay? We’ll get matching business cards.” Another joke, just as flat and empty as all the ones that had come before it. Even on his best days, Emilio’s humor was dry and flat and unfunny to pretty much everyone but him. 
Nora seemed to understand it better than most, at least. Seemed to understand him better than most. She didn’t tend to laugh, because she wasn’t really the laughing type, but
 She also didn’t give him odd looks or chastise him for his poor timing. It was part of what he liked about her, part of why she was one of the few people he wanted around even when he was in a slump so deep that the idea of interacting with anyone at all was exhausting. He wasn’t sure when that kid who’d tried so hard to scare him in the cemetery all those months ago had become the exception to so many of his rules. He tried not to think too hard on it. Some things were better when you just let them be.
And maybe, in turn, he could understand the
 appeal of this idea she’d built for herself. Of this vague concept that told her the mines were a healing place, this notion that they could help anyone. It was a tempting thing to believe, he thought. It reminded him a little of his relationship with religion, of how he used to cling to the idea that there was a God who loved him, a higher power who’d chosen him for something bigger, a big important thing somewhere in the universe that saw him not as an inferior version of the older siblings who’d surpassed him but as something worth loving all its own. That idea seemed just as ridiculous to him as Nora’s new mine obsession now, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still understand why it was a tempting thing to cling to. He wished he could still believe in it. He wished he could look at himself and think that something — God, a mine shaft, his mother — could love him just as he was.
“Cass,” he repeated, because that was easier than accepting everything else that she was saying. The mines were a delusion, and it hurt a little, because the idea that Emilio was fixable, the idea that there were things that weren’t irreparably broken and that he could be one of them was a delusion just as grand. It wasn’t the kind of thing anyone would think possible without some malicious outside force insisting upon it. “I’m glad you’ve got someone.” And he was glad it was someone better than him.
He nodded, pretending there was any chance that his mind would ever change. Unless he got hit with whatever magic made her this way, he didn’t see himself scrambling to join her in the mines any time soon. But the rest of her request
 “I’ll keep an eye on them,” he promised. “Go by the crypt and make sure they’re all right, make sure there’s nobody sniffing around that shouldn’t be.” He was good at steering hunters away from things. It was a skill he figured he’d be using a lot more now that Rhett was in town. 
Sucking his teeth, he nodded. She was going back to the mines, and he wasn’t. Even if he’d wanted to, just the idea of making that trek made his leg ache. It was a bad pain day. There’d been a lot more of those since Nora retreated to the mines; a side effect of Emilio pushing himself harder than usual. Probably a side effect he deserved, if he was being honest with himself. “I’ll think about it,” he lied. “Until then, you stay safe. Okay?”
Matching business cards sounded nice. Because Nora wanted to be a private investigator. As Nora thought about that want, the first passion she’d discovered out of painting since childhood, the thought struck her. If she lived in the mines, how would she be a P.I. Nora glanced over her shoulder, the entrance was a mouth waiting to consume her. It called to her. A Siren song that made her heart dance with joy. She turned back to Emilio. She could be a private investigator in the mines, she decided. He’d come in there and finish training her. Then she’d be the second best P.I. in the mines, until Emilio got old and retired and stayed at his cavern as a consultant while Nora took on the mantle of best private investigator. Because that was surely the life the mines were offering for her, it was the life she wanted. 
“Cass,” Nora agreed. Nora was glad she had someone too. Nora was glad about Cass all the time. The fact that she hadn’t left. The fact that she’d forgiven Nora. The fact that she existed. “It’d be better with two.” Because who was she to give up her last attempt to get someone else in the mines. Later, Emilio would take that seriously and deliver someone else to Nora’s mine, but it wouldn’t be him. It would be another crystal blessed and Nora would be just as pleased, just as thrilled, to have more people in her home to call family. 
“Thank you. Oh. Babadook has recently started terrorizing a retirement home. Oaks Lawn. I did one of those read to the elderly programs,” Nora wasn’t sure that was an actual program, she just showed up and started reading. “And told them a story about how a big dog with tentacles appearing meant a mass death event. Then showed them Babadook. I thought it would be funny.” It was. “But Babadook has really enjoyed hanging out there. He’s a bit of a legend now. You’ll probably find him there if he’s not at the crypt.” Babadook was a good dog. She missed him. She hoped one day he would stop by and visit her, but it was hard to convince a dog without a phone, or the ability to speak a similar language. 
“Okay.” Nora agreed. She nodded, the tips of her mouth moving up into a smile. It wasn’t her usual rare micro smile, but something close to a real smile. Something foreign to her since her modeling days ended. “I just want you to be happy.” Nora told Emilio, blunt as usual. “And I think you could be happy with us in the mines.” She turned away, eyes focused on the darkness within. “But we’ll be safe. The mines will keep us safe.” And she let the mines swallow her whole once more. 
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red9 · 2 years ago
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@devilsbaptist continued.
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              “I’ve been.. busy, that’s all.”  
              It was all an excuse, hidden behind a casual lie. Something that seemed to come far too easy for him, as if the other were incapable of seeing right through him. Yet it was clear he was avoiding it, if not evident enough in the way his eyes avoided his. The way he was so quick to go for his lighter, a nervous tick he was unaware he even had at all. Fresh cigarette lay loose between his lips, a curtain of loose locks giving him relief from those piercing eyes that burned right through him. To think he’d gotten in too deep, all in an act of cowardice. To think all he could have said was no, taken a bullet like his friends who refused to give in. Instead he stood, willingly helping those that were seen once as the enemy. He himself was never a good man- not in that life, or this new one he was thrust into. At the end of the day he was there to study, observe, the thought always lingering in the back of his mind that one day- when the time would come- he would run away and not look back. Until then he would play their little game, playing with the plants and people was just a bonus along the way. 
              Somehow he got lucky, being spared and thrown in under Faith, showed kindness and in turn helped with the development of Bliss. Now here he was, in a place of his own, testing new strands to feed to the Angels and see how they’d respond. Each trial and error bringing progress, stronger batches meant stronger reactions, in turn making the others bend at the will of the brothers like they wanted all along. It was why he was still working, checking to ensure his batch would be complete in time for his next ceremony. He couldn’t imagine any other reason he’d come around, knowing he had deadlines to meet and shipments to deliver to him. It’s what kept him up at night, working late, making sure everything would go according to plan for his next big performance. He’d heard plenty talk about his work, firsthand experiences and those who went to admire. It was only a matter of time before he’d be called- each passing day bringing that inevitable moment upon him. He was never a religious man, couldn’t bring himself to believe in any god or higher power. It was all smoke and mirrors, nothing tangible or real. Why would this be any different? 
              Fingers danced around the lighter in his grip, the sound of metal clinking open with a graceful flip of its lid. Three beats of silence filled the space as he tried and failed to light it- clink, clink, clink- before a soft glow illuminated his profile, burning away at the end of the cigarette as he took a moment to toss his head back, releasing the smoke from his lungs with a sigh.
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              “-Besides, you wouldn’t want me there anyway. Wouldn’t want your holy river to run black the moment I touch it or something.” A joke, but there was a part of him that wondered if it was true. Gaze flickered over to him, finding the confidence to finally meet his gaze as he leaned against his desk. “I’m just the man that delivers, you get what you need, everyone is happy, eh? I’m sure you’ve got a long line of people ahead of me anyway, just waiting to be cleansed and all that. I’m the least of your worries-” At least, that’s what he hoped. If anything, he was simply making excuses just to delay the cleansing that awaited him.
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crobones · 4 months ago
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@huxandthehound
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and then monsterboyfriend again as well
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crack theories ahead because I'm just full of those
potential reasoning for Claudia having healed that also shows how morphed and biased Louis' memory could be is that, Louis didn't even try to find medical help for Claudia. Just went straight to Lestat with a girl and an idea. She could've truly been dying, or she could have just been passing out and not truly about to die.
Louis may have been looking for a connection so ardently that he thought Claudia was more injured than she truly was. He wasn't thinking right, and then he remembers later that he begged Lestat more desperately than he'd first thought. It could also be the reason why Lestat was at first adamant in his refusal. Lestat only changed her to make Louis happy.
What I'm saying is, he may have saved her before her injuries would begin to threaten her life, thus being easier for the Gift to heal her. Something more complex like PD could be harder to truly have any tangible effect on, but could possibly stop progression.
Second crack theory: the Gift heals physical wounds, but neurological disorders might be beyond its power. We know quite a few vampires and I don't think it cured any of them of their potential psychological issues, to be quite frank, let alone the trauma they each had from their lives before the Gift.
Paul heard voices he believed to be God and the Devil, and showed signs of hallucinating. Louis saw the "ghost" of Lestat for over 70 years. We don't know the du Lac family history in regards to possible hereditary psychological disorders, or how quickly or differently they may have developed. (okay, this is a subplot 2b to my crack theories, really, but I digress)
essentially, the point made about the Gift's effects on physical injury versus anything mental or neurological has some merit. It may prevent mental/neurological issues from progressing, but it might not cure them.
but I also agree that the show won't likely go there, or even anywhere near I've wondered and gotten lost on the map. but i now have things to consider if I ever decide to write this fic
I remember seeing a post about someone wanting to write a fic about Daniel being good representation for someone with parkinson's/a physical disability, and how it got "magically cured" upset them, and so they planned on a slight rewrite I think? a longer fic? idk I can't find the post. essentially, I want to read the perspective of what might've occurred in relation to his disability, written by someone more informed on the subject than myself. whoms't've of you did the thing know you're out there
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bonesofapoet · 2 years ago
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Inferno
[ vampire!eddie munson x you ]
author’s note: did someone say 2k of eddie being a vampire but in a heartbreaking crimson peak-esque horror way and not a queen of the damned spicy way? no? well i did so here we are!! this is a darker read with mentions of blood, implied murder, violence, death, feelings of anxiety, intense fear with a side of heartache and angst
word count: 1790
If you were gifted the chance to do everything differently that night, would you?
Yes. A hundred times over, until I got it right. But, of course, there are parts that will stay the same, inevitably, because our hearts are intertwined and the adoration I hold for you will outshine, always, everything else.
—
The moon had risen high and bright against a sky so ominous, a chill slipped down your spine every time your eyes drifted out a window. It was full, the moon, guarding the stars and stories they told under its watchful eye, even as wispy clouds of silver drifted by to obscure its radiant glow.
It was the first week of April, but you could have sworn this specific taste of ‘eerie’ screamed October, instead of an approaching spring storm. You could have sworn that the nocturnal wildlife of Hawkins, Indiana, was jabbering and echoing with the unmistakable breath of life only a moment ago.
Except now, it was silent. Save for the candles crackling where they lent their light to your small apartment on main. The air had shifted - both in spirit and tangibly - you could feel a tension begin to build; the flames flickered just a little bit more than usual because - it was weird, really.
They cast wild shadows that danced on every surface, even though there was no breeze. The windows cracked to welcome in the chilled night air brought no wind, no relief from the stagnant indoor air sponsored by the cold, snowy Ohio weather. Your heart began to race with wonder, and your palms began to clam up all nice and sweet, but there wasn’t-
A thump sounded through the front door.
You froze. Slid wide eyes from the movie, paused on screen, to the door across the room.
A proper knock came next. The knob began to twist almost immediately. It jiggled once, twice, thrice, and you watched with eyes wide and alert now, the tension wrapping snug around your shoulders with a cry for any sort of attention.
“Shit -” your eyes narrowed at the voice, widened at the sound of your name falling through the other side of the door. “It’s just me, sweetheart, no need to get the bat to defend your honor. C’mon, I forgot my key.”
The blanket of tension slipped from your shoulders, no longer strong enough to keep you in its claws. You recognized the voice, relaxed almost immediately into the cozy little nest you had curled into, once you settled in for a movie night. Adrenaline pulled you up out of the safety of pillows and blankets, carrying you on shaking legs across the room. Your name - desperate - fell through his lips once again as a trembling hand reached for the knob while the other wrenched the lock.
“Jesus fucking christ, Eddie,” the words spilled out in a huff. You stepped back to tug the door towards you; the action was jerky and unsure. Lingering fear dripped down your spine along with all the embarrassment you had ever felt in arguably, your entire life. Have you not gotten enough sleep lately? “You scared the shit outta-”
The candles in your apartment guttered out.
No more soft glow to illuminate your silhouette for Eddie’s bloodshot eyes, but he heard candle wax dripping down the pillars as it splattered to the floor from the shock of their quick death.
It was just you, Eddie, and the harsh fluorescent hallway lighting as it shined unkindly over you - a merciless stabbing, this light, as it beat down on his eyes already sensitive and bloody from his earlier mistakes.
And you -
Flinched, almost, when your eyes adjusted to the light, bright enough to cast a little visibility on the shadows eating Eddie alive. You were about to speak again, to ask why the fuck he seemed so out of it, ground control to major Tom -
But then it slammed into you hard enough, quick enough, unexpected enough before you ever had the chance. It knocked you off balance. Forced a harsh breath from your lungs, an open door to welcome that shuddering tension back into your body, your heart, your soul - it pawed at you, latching onto it’s opening with a relentless grip of iron, metal, steel, unbreakable - as you took a step back from Eddie, still lingering in the doorway to your apartment.
It seeped in slowly after that, the fear. A feeling so ancient, a fear so primal, you had never felt anything like it in your life. Not even in the Upside Down. Something wasn’t right.
And Eddie -
A silhouette hunched, leaning heavily on a forearm braced against the doorframe. Dark stains spread generously down the white glow of his beloved Hellfire uniform; similar splashes seeped into the denim of his vest, the white of his patches and crusting on his pins. He was breathing heavily, his head turned away. He wouldn’t meet your eyes.
“Sorry - I just - I think you have to invite me in.”
It snapped you back to the present, his voice. Calm, even, despite the evidence that something terrible had clearly happened, and Eddie was, without a doubt, tangled in the strands of a web woven intricate and impossible to shred through to freedom.
Your grip on the door had tightened.
“I’m -  are you -? What? Did someone try to jump you again?”
His laugh is low and easy, coming just as quick as it usually does. It didn’t draw a smile from you tonight, because it sounded fucking sinister this time, and your skin had begun to crawl. 
Something wasn’t right.
“Nah, it was the other way around this time. Some assholes thought it’d be a good idea to -”
Eddie hisses - he fucking hisses - and doubles over clawing at his stomach. His body slumps against the threshold, knuckles white on the wooden frame. Jagged cracks spiderweb out from where his hand meets the surface. A crunch sounded loud, deafening in the silent hallway.
A small chunk of wood fell to the floor.
“Shit - okay, come on, let’s get you inside.” Despite being wide eyed and unsteady yourself, you reached for Eddie without a second thought. “We’ll get you cleaned up - jesus, Eddie, I need you to walk - you have a key, for fuck sake, you’re obviously welcome here. Always.”
It was a struggle getting inside, with Eddie leaning against you as you half dragged him into your apartment. That blood curdling fear was growing stronger, but Eddie was injured and something was not right. It added up, yeah?
It had to. It had to.
The absence of candlelight had plunged your home into an unsettling darkness. Long shadows were cast on the floor and along the walls from Fright Night, the movie still paused on a dim screen. It did little to help you see Eddie as he groaned when you half dropped, half laid him on the nearest couch with a huff.
There would be stains on the furniture, and maybe even the floor - it was a half thought, unimportant in the grand scheme of this newfound nightmare.
You ignored the stickiness clinging to your hands making your fingers stick together as it congealed and dried on your skin. Clothes, now damp on the side Eddie leaned so heavily into, began to cling to bare flesh beneath the fabric. The pounding of your heart grew louder and louder. You switched on the nearest lamp, fingers slipping off the switch once, twice, thrice, success.
He flinched into the shadows that could still touch him. You hurried for the first aid kit, that feeling of fear still startling stark and unfamiliar, eating away at your nerves one by one by fraying one.
It was odd, you thought, how this unease began just as Eddie arrived home. How the night had been calm, peaceful, normal - then nocturnal life stopped singing. The precursor to a tension building hard and fast never to dispel, not even when Eddie arrived to chase the shadows away.
Eddie Munson, who could chase all your horrors away.
Instead, he brought more with him
“Babe?”
His call startles you so, the supplies almost fly out of your hands. You right your grip, holding on so tightly your fingers are beginning to fucking ache. You waste no more time returning to his side, cautious now. Alert. Curious.
“I’m here,” your tone is soothing despite the tremor you couldn’t quite silence. He’s still curled into the shadows, face buried in the back of the sofa. “Where does it hurt? Eddie, darling, c’mon - I can’t tell this time, there’s so much blood.”
It’s weaker now, his laugh. Shaky. A crimson stained hand rubs down his face. “Yeah, uh. About that.”
A stab of that fear hits your body hard and fast for the third time that night. It rolls down your spine in waves, hands shaking harder, breath coming just a little bit faster with each passing second. Adrenaline was your lover now,  it seemed, and Eddie Munson had no idea he'd just been dethroned.
“You’re not making sense, Eddie.”
It’s hard not to reach for him. Harder to ignore the voice in your head whispering, shouting, pleading for you to back away slowly, run far and fast and never dare to look back, but.
Your hope was your undoing, in the end.
Hands stained with the blood of Eddie’s sins reached for him regardless, body leaning in close to get a better look at what you could. He was putty in your hands, head turning smoothly when you took his chin and gently pulled his face toward yours.
Your eyebrows fell together, heart sinking at the bloody tears falling from his brown eyes tinted black.
“I’m sorry, my Highness,” his voice was all heartache and giddy schoolboy joy, an eternity of dread and the thrill of the hunt. He sounded like your Eddie, but deep under the shadows there was something else. Something new. “Blood is the only thing that helps.”
Still bloody with tears, his eyes softened when you stuttered out questions about not understanding, about wanting to know what he’s done. There was a hand on your back then; a soft touch was tracing up your spine all gentle and soothing, the calm before the storm.
“You’ll learn soon enough,” he says, leaning closer. He guides you towards him with the hand on your back. “Just close your eyes.”
He didn’t wait for you to do so, but it didn’t matter. All you saw was a flash of long, sharp teeth, and all you felt was a tear in your neck as Eddie pulled you closer. The full moon was freed from the clouds smothering its light, and it blanketed two bodies intertwined, illuminating the carnage that was unfolding right before its eyes.
All you could think before this darkness claimed you for its own was. . .was. . .
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