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islandofsages · 11 months ago

Note

The first years (not Ortho) discovering that they are Yuu's emergency contact. Like Yuu put them as an emergency contact, but he didn't think it would be necessary, but he ends up having an accident out the town and is taken to the hospital, causing one of the first years to be called, so when they ask Yuu why they chose him to be As his emergency contact, Yuu responds that he is the one he trusts the most in the group.

characters: first years (excluding ortho) x gn!yuu!reader

tags: platonic, canon compliant, hurt/comfort, imagines + scenario format; mention of vil in epel's, mention of malleus in sebek's

warnings: accidents, hospitals, near-death mention, the use of the word "idiot" as an endearing term in ace's, hugs and hand-holding in deuce's

author's notes: ngl the pronouns in the ask kinda confused me so i just made this gn reader lol hope you dont mind anon <3

Ace Trappola

Despite all his antics (or maybe because of them), he really feels that he’s made a genuine connection with you

He won’t say it but he’s really glad that you put up with him and you don’t see him as some one-dimensional jerk you do see him as a multidimensional jerk though /joke

So when he gets a call from your number yet an unfamiliar voice greets him, he immediately grows worried, and for good reason - turns out you’ve ended up in the hospital due to some unknown accident

He drops everything he’s doing and rushes to the hospital without thinking twice. Like, literally rush there. He spares no time to call for transport

…Or ask for details from anyone for that matter. If it weren’t for the staff, he would’ve tried barging into any random ward to find you

When he gets to you, panting and panicked, he goes to steady himself, his hands gripping the sides of the hospital bed so tightly

You’re glad to see his face and he’s glad to see that you still manage to muster up a smile at his presence

That’s when he notices that nobody else is there, and so he asks you where everybody else is. You tell him they only called up your emergency contact which is none other than Ace himself

He asks you why is he your emergency contact out of everyone-

“It’s because I trust you the most, you idiot. I bet you ran all the way here the moment you got that phone call.”

You let out a knowing laugh and Ace pouts as a response, totally not trying to hide the tears that pricked the corner of his eyes

You’re not sure who’s supposed to do the comforting at that moment, considering you were involved in an accident and Ace is on the verge of tears - so you both don’t bother trying. The following conversation carries on as normal

Despite all his antics, you really feel like your faith in him is not misplaced.

Deuce Spade

You’ve always admired Deuce’s strength to change - and he’s always admired your loyalty

Sometimes he’d feel guilty for having you endure having him as a friend and you always have to shut him up by assuring him that there’s really nothing to endure

Even when you have to endure an almost life-ending accident, you can’t help but think of him first and foremost

His grip on the phone alternates between on the verge of breaking and so loose it’s a miracle he hasn’t dropped it yet when he gets the news

Someone goes to fetch him from the hospital and he cries on the way, not giving any room for the person to speak with him

He tries to put on a brave face when he walks through the halls in search of you but when he reaches you, he can’t resist the yell he lets out

“YUU! YOU’RE ALIVE!”

You end up having to calm him down a bit lest you two become the victims of a few dozen glares in that hospital

When he’s down to only sniffing, you tell him why he’s the first person you called

He almost broke down into tears again because of it

He’d hug you or hold your hand if your condition allows it and give you a teary smile that you of course reciprocate

You fill him in on what happened and he’ll listen intently, then offer to be by your side as long as you need him to

He’s always admired your strength - and you’ve always admired his loyalty.

Jack Howl

You always found his stubbornness amusing and honestly, he’s a bit confused as to why you stick by him all this time

Not really in a self-deprecating way - he’s always been more of a lone wolf. Only when he came to Night Raven College does he feel like he’s part of a pack now

And since you’re a part of that pack, he has a strong need to protect you, no matter the cost; so you can imagine his reaction when he got a call about you ending up in the hospital after an accident

The first thing he feels is anger; not at anything in particular yet at everything simultaneously. It’s called an accident for a reason yet why did the universe allow such a thing to happen to you?

He tries to calm himself down on the way to the hospital but it’s nothing short of difficult, even with the help of someone else

When he finally finds you, he finally lets out a breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding

You muster a smile up at him and it takes his all not to let tears break through the surface

“...I was really worried.”

You chuckle - in situations like this, his absent stubbornness really makes a difference, but you appreciate his honesty

He didn’t think twice of the fact that he was the first one you called but you tell him why anyway. A cute little smile adorns his features then

He says he’s honored that his feelings are mutual then swears to you he’ll try harder to protect you, even if it means switching places with you

You brush him off, saying you’d do the same. The conversation goes back and forth for a while after that

He’s always found your insistence endearing and frankly, he wouldn’t have you any other way.

Epel Felmier

A bit similar to Jack, only when coming to Night Raven College does he get to mingle with kids of his age due to his hometown

And one of those kids is none other than you! You two have grown so close and made some unforgettable memories together

Unfortunately though, one of those unforgettable memories includes the news of your accident. Not just for him - some may remember the scream he let out at the news

He begged Vil to let him borrow the blastcycle the Film Research Club has and Vil only nodded solemnly; nobody needs to see him cry on the way to you

He speeds through everything and anything possible; he doesn’t care whatever consequences he has to face after all this is over

When he reaches the hospital, he allows the staff to guide him to where you are as he catches his breath

He chokes out a gasp at the sight of you and calls out to you

“Y-Yuu… I’m so glad you’re alright…”

He sits on the stool provided by the hospital and his head droops low. He’s silent

You give him a moment to process everything. It’s a lot to take in. Even you didn’t think it could come to this

Five minutes pass. You sigh and tell him why he’s the first you reached out to. He mirrors your sigh and a small smile creeps onto his face

He’s grateful that he means so much to you; grateful that he can mean so much to someone. Despite himself, his heart swells with pride

Even when you are inches away from death, he feels like every memory can be a happy one as long as you’re in it.

Sebek Zigvolt

He sees you as an equal - and that’s saying something

He won’t admit it out loud but he feels less lonely for once, seeing that someone understands or at least respects him as much as you do

For once, he feels he can disconnect from his Malleus worship for a while and not feel like he’s betraying his trust

But when he hears news of you ending up in the hospital, he definitely feels a sharp pang of guilt pierce his chest; he’s betrayed your trust

He excuses himself from Malleus and apologizes profusely for willingly leaving his side for someone else, but he simply can’t abandon you

Malleus lets him go of course, even offers to tag along, but Sebek assures that Malleus is needed more where he is

His head rested in his hands while he laments in his transport, breathing heavily

It takes his all not to shout your name in search of your ward when he reaches the hospital; but he can no longer hold it back when his eyes land on you

“YUU…! YOU’RE… You have no idea…”

You wave to him as he runs to your side, tears at the corner of his eyes

You rub his back as he quietly sobs for a minute, even feeling like sobbing yourself at some point; this man holds so much love for you

You tell him why you summoned only him for now - the tears continue to stream but now he smiles and puts a hand to his head

How silly of him. Of course. How could he make such assumptions about your relationship? He could never betray you. Every moment only strengthens your trust in each other.

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saerins · 2 years ago

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─── 𝐄𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓

+ nagi seishiro x f!reader | wc 3.2k | content: fluff, ngl i was too lazy to proof this, childhood friends to lovers, canon-compliant (i tried), yn’s parents are just bad

notes: me ?? writing someone other than sae ?? wild . but it’s my first try at nagi so pls have mercy :’) feedbacks/reblogs appreciated !! <3

summary: it’s a little more difficult for nagi to realise his feelings compared to the average man.

i. fleeting moment

nagi seishiro was your first kiss, age ten on the swings of your backyard.

you’re only friends by chance. he was a loner on the swings in the public playground and you have a habit of picking up strays. (but until then, it had been limited to animals and not humans.)

yeah, yeah, maybe having a first kiss at the young age of ten is a little alarming, but it’s not like nagi is a bad person. if anything, he was just trying to shut you up. probably, maybe. (and it wasn’t with tongue, if anyone needs the specifics.)

“if you keep crying that loudly i won’t be able to hear my game,” nagi grumbled, eyes glued to his screen. apparently he was playing some pseudo horror game where four fighters run from a single hunter and apparently he needed to listen to the sounds to know when to run.

but really, you were ten and crying because some other boy bullied you in the playground, saying how you were so ugly and that no boy would ever wanna kiss you. given all of that, why would you even care about nagi’s stupid game?

if he didn’t want to be bothered, he shouldn’t have chased you all the way back home.

“but seishiro, am i really ugly?” you were ten and in need of immediate validation while nagi was in need of your immediate silence.

he didn’t even look up. “that’s subjective.”

even when he was young he had a smart mouth that would be able to break you.

“well then what do you think?” because honestly, even at that point, you thought nagi seishiro was handsome; he was the face claim you used to imagine all your scenarios at night before you went to sleep.

he was your knight in shining armor, coming to break you free from the cage which was your life and obligations. he was your prince charming who’d rescue you above all else. heck, sometimes he was mario and you were princess peach.

seishiro groaned when the screen shows game over and honestly, he really did think it was all your fault because he couldn’t hear anything over your incessant wailing. but then he looked at you for the first time after you cried and had the recurring thought that he didn’t want to be the reason for you to keep on crying.

“yeah, you’re pretty.”

and he puts his lips on yours like it’s no big deal.

ii. unreciprocated

fifteen is when you’re most rebellious. it’s a sickness you get from none other than mikage reo.

your family and the mikages go way back. they’d been family friends for such a long time. a part of you feels it’s not genuine, blinded by the fact that they’re always business partners and everything else stemmed from that one simple fact.

you started to play hooky from business dinners, started to say fuck off to rude old geasers who truly didn’t deserve a single dime they got.

all you ever got in return was your father’s temper and your mother’s cowardice and reo’s praises. most of all you at least had nagi’s shoulder to cry on. (he’s learned to bring along his earpiece just in case he had to meet you or accidentally bumped into you.)

“they all sicken me,” was what reo told you when you asked about his family in relation to their business. you could sympathise. sometimes all you could feel from your parents were that they treated you as a next-in-line rather than just daughter. and almost everyone around you made you feel like you were just a moneybag.

what reo felt shouldn’t have been too far off. except you thought he had it better; at least all his parents did was try to spoil him while not-so-subtly training him up to be the next ceo. he at least didn’t suffer at the hands of foul tempers and verbal abuse.

no one should have to.

“oh shit! i gotta go soon,” you realised, noticing that it was almost six and you’d made plans with nagi.

reo cocked a brow, “y/n l/n, you have other friends?”

you knew he was joking, but that didn’t stop you from landing the hardest punch you could on his arms. “hey, i’m not that inept at socialising okay?”

sure, you’d started taking caution with making friends because most of them were just after one thing: money. even at this age. which is crazy to you, at least, but you felt you had no right to think that. not when all the money you wanted was still at your disposal.

but you weren’t actually bad at making friends. it was just that maybe most people weren’t even worth the effort.

“they’re good to you, right?”

you took a moment to decide before you eventually nodded. “yeah, for sure.”

nagi was… weird, for you. but in the good sense. yeah, he’d open his mouth and ask you for money which at least told you he was honest. even if you rejected him, though, he was still beside you.

“man, what a hassle,” he grumbled when you wouldn’t buy any more food. he was broke, which meant he couldn’t eat anymore too if you didn’t buy some.

the two of you still never talked about that kiss. it never happened again, to your dismay.

you were a teen, and screw stupid teen hormones for driving you to ask him.

“hey sei, we’re good friends, right?”

“huh?” nagi was already fixated on his phone. probably some new game you didn’t know about. his earpieces were ready, around his neck. “uh, i guess?”

but that was not good enough for your feisty fifteen-year-old self.

“sei, i’m serious! would you be sad if one day we weren’t friends anymore?”

back then you didn’t know what you were doing. back then you didn’t think to yourself what it was, really, that you were trying to get out of him. maybe it was validation, and maybe it was just boredom.

you really just wanted to know nagi cared.

all he did was shrug, brows furrowed in annoyance. “that’s life, isn’t it? sometimes friends drift and sometimes they don’t.”

throwing wisdom around as if that was what you needed. and it was unfair to expect anything out of nagi as it was, but that didn’t stop you from throwing a tantrum and storming off.

(he watched you as you left, and there was something unsettling about the sight of your back moving so far away.)

iii. turning point

the world is small.

when you were sixteen you realised that the so called treasure reo told you he found was a human, who so happened to be your friend—nagi seishiro.

teeny tiny.

they also both happened to be picked by the JFU to go to blue lock. which you only found out after they’d both been gone for a week.

it didn’t surprise you though—they were both talented. it was only right they got picked. though, they also happened to be the only two people you would hang out with, so by default you felt lonely.

but at sixteen you’d learned to suck it up, hide your feelings. everything was okay—as long as you deceived yourself so. your parents were the same; overbearing and breathing down your neck and now that reo was not around for you and nagi couldn’t be your confidant, it felt much worse than usual.

everything was a transaction and you felt suffocated. it made you appreciate nagi’s unfiltered honesty and reo’s unwavering loyalty to whatever you dedicated yourself to.

“at least that reo boy has some other talents like that foolish soccer he plays,” your father berated over dinner. “and here my daughter is, good for nothing yet expects us to believe her when she says she can make a living outside of our company.”

and if you’d had other close friends, they would’ve told you that sixteen was too young to be sure what you wanted to do for the rest of your life. they’d have said your parents were unreasonable and that they were the fools.

but you didn’t. and the only friends you had weren’t around. so you ate it up. you clenched your fists where your parents couldn’t see and let them run their mouth. or, in your mother’s case, stay silent while your father made unreasonable arguments.

“and that nagi boy you hang out with,” your father turned his focus to him, “all he reeks of is laziness. i don’t get why you have to hang out with him all the time. inviting that oaf into our house like he’s welcome.”

that time your fists hit the table and you didn’t even expect it. it hurt because of how hard you hit but nothing could beat the hurt your father inflicted on your heart.

you found you couldn’t say anything, only because your father’s eyes were wide with rage at your outburst and you were still the same scared girl inside at age four when he first raised his voice at you.

“i-i’m sorry,” you choked out, which was pathetic but you didn’t want to end up murdered in your own house.

your father scoffed. “get your stupid head out of your ass or you’re cut off.”

the only time you could do that was when nagi and reo finally got their first break out of blue lock. you occupied their time for the most of it, listened to them going on and on about the matches that went on inside. though reo seemed a little mad at nagi, a little awkward around him, for some reason you weren’t privy to.

“i’m gonna head home first,” and reo was gone with the wave of a hand, something about having to settle something at home—probably nothing good.

maybe it was the lovestruck idiot in you talking, but you’d made peace with the fact that maybe you had a small crush on nagi seishiro, judging by how you acted around him. maybe it was that idiot that made you want to spend all of his free time together.

“guess i’ll see you tomorrow too?” sue you, you were just trying to shoot your shot.

nagi put his phone in his pocket, for once, and you were struggling to remain standing as he held eye contact with you, calm gray eyes the bane of your existence. “mmm can’t, gotta meet isagi and the rest.”

isagi, a name you’d just learned earlier—apparently nagi thought he was strong and chose his team. maybe that was why reo was mad.

“oh, okay then.” you’d ask for the next day, but you didn’t want to get rejected twice. besides, nagi would probably just prefer playing games and resting at home. you were just friends, after all.

“was thinking we could get dinner though,” nagi told you, hands in his pockets as the both of you walked down the street.

that was the first time he ever extended an effort, you remember. and suddenly life wasn’t that bad anymore.

it was also the first time nagi asked you to feed him, not because he was playing some game but on purpose.

and you didn’t know how it turned out that way, but he ended up taking up all of your time. it was the only reason you had the ability to fill him in on your family, and he actually listened. and, like reo, he said “fuck them.”

maybe that was the point you realised maybe he did care.

but for a girl at seventeen just concerned with romance and happiness, it was paradise—until of course he went back to blue lock, taking your heart with him.

(what you both failed to realise was that he left his with you.)

iv. slow realisation

in the bleachers of his first match out of blue lock, nagi seishiro spots you easily in the front row—wearing his jersey and number, when did you buy that?

doesn’t change the fact that nagi likes seeing it on you. he’s not familiar with the feeling, but it’s equivalent to saying you like him the most, which feels great if he’s honest to himself.

what he doesn’t like is the guy next to you. sharp jawline and spiky hair wearing a business suit and his raven eyes are always peeking at you out of the corner. does he like you?

but the whistle blows and nagi forgets about you for a little over ninety minutes. he’s going to show you he can win this, with you watching from the front row, and he’ll show you why he’s the best and that other guys in business suits don’t matter.

after the game reo makes a big deal out of the fact you’re wearing nagi’s jersey and not his, and nagi finds out the guy with you was someone your dad wanted to hook you up with.

twisted business marriages.

“i’m just going out with him to shut my father up,” you admit to nagi when you’re both finally alone. (aka, after you’ve convinced reo to pry him away and leave you two alone.)

nagi’s not used to this. what’s this relief he feels? “oh, good to know,” is all he says because he doesn’t even understand himself.

he isn’t even sure why he’s here in the first place, walking you home. he’s not sure why reo left when he could’ve driven all of you home instead of just mr business-suit-guy.

“how’s it feel now, to be mr popular?” you’re not even sure why you’re asking. maybe because you feel like the gap between you and nagi grew so wide in such a short period of time and you’d do anything to hear him say that he’s still the same seishiro you knew.

your seishiro.

nagi only shrugs, “dunno. don’t really feel the difference.”

because really, apart from the fact that he’s much more busy, he’s still him—playing games when he’s free, texting you because that happens to fall in the list of things he likes to do now, and well, the only difference he feels is—he takes a peek to his side—you, somehow.

not because of anything you do in particular, but he feels different somehow. and he can’t make sense of it. he never can. how’s he supposed to? no one ever warned him about shit like this.

“uh, nagi? have you ever thought that maybe you like her?” reo tells him over the phone later that night, a little baffled by the things his usually detached friend just told him.

“you like her too though,” nagi retorts.

reo sighs, wondering how nagi ever made it to where he is. “not in the same way.”

“what do you mean?”

“figure it out yourself.”

nagi hangs up, thinking he already has it figured out. he also thinks reo will keep his mouth shut.

he doesn’t.

v. requited

it’s funny how reo rushed to call you that night, right after nagi basically told him (without saying it explicitly) that he has a crush on you.

but it’s also funny how it’s been three months since then and nagi still hasn’t said anything about it. you play ignorant around him, waiting and waiting for him to admit it himself.

evidently it’s not working.

tonight you’re just watching him on the screen, cheering him on from the other side of the world because despite being from a rich family you can’t just up and leave to another country as and when you feel like it.

besides, you’ve made peace with your parents; you’d learn about the family business willingly as long as they stopped interfering with your personal life. they surprisingly agreed.

nagi and reo win, as you expected, and as usual, the cameras trail their team as they celebrate on the field, their captain having tore his shirt off to celebrate that they’d won the tournament. it’s not long before the camera pans back to nagi, a few reporters already surrounding him.

“so nagi, how do you feel right now?”

“great,” he answers, with a sexy amount of enthusiasm. he’s rarely ever enthused, but you find it so much more attractive when he is.

nagi has his phone in his hand, you notice, and you immediately fish for yours. he’d texted you right before they started hounding him.

are you watching?

you smile as you type back.

no. congrats on becoming champions! 🫶🏼

“nagi nagi, who would you like to dedicate this win to?” the reporters are all clambering to get a chance to question him.

“oh i don’t know,” nagi says, and you catch him looking at your message before looking back at the camera. “i guess i’ll dedicate this one to this girl i like.”

you nearly spit out your drink.

“wait, does this mean you’re involved with someone? tell us, who is it!”

all the reporters get excited, and understandably, since nagi’s probably just about given them the biggest scoop for the month. they’re all looking at him, money signs in their eyes, while your jaw drops open as he overshares with the entire world.

“oh, y/n l/n, she’s been my friend since forever and i don’t know… i kinda like her a lot,” he’s saying all this earnestly, a hand scratching his neck and a blush creeping on his face, though he doesn’t look the least bit fazed.

you rush to find his chat thread.

nagi, what the fuck!!!

you did NOT just say my name on live tv!!!

on the screen, he openly looks at your messages before typing a reply as the reporters hound him for more details.

oh shit, m i not supposed to?

“nagi, is she the one texting you right now?”

and like the honest guy he is, he nods. “oh yeah, think she’s mad at me right now.”

you curl up under your blanket, flustered because nagi is way too open and way too precious.

“would you like to say anything here to her now?”

nagi looks off camera and hums in contemplation before finally deciding on a response.

“hey y/n, tomorrow i’m gonna make you mine okay? so just wait for me.”

reo finally drags him away and towards the rest of his team and his interview ends there. you switch the television off, half mortified and half flattered. your phone blows up with most of your contacts gushing over what nagi said.

leave it up to nagi seishiro to have feelings for you, not realise it until years later, not tell you in the whole three months before this and yet announces it and your full name to the entire world on live television.

in spite of how flabbergasted you are, there’s a warm sensation blooming underneath your chest, a comfort that you’ve always been looking for finally fulfilled. there’s a certain endearment in the way nagi realises and professes his feelings.

you pull up his messages again.

you better keep your word, sei.

it doesn’t take him long to respond.

don’t worry, i’ll make you mine.

#bllk x reader #nagi x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #blue lock x reader #nagi x you #nagi x y/n #nagi fluff #bllk fluff #nagi imagines #bllk imagines #blue lock fluff #nagi seishiro fluff #bllk nagi x reader #nagi seishiro x you #nagi seishiro x y/n #૪ aeri’s fics !

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steddieunderdogfics · 4 days ago

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This week’s writer spotlight feature is: @cuips-not-cute! cuips_not_cute has six fics in the Stranger Things fandom on AO3 and all of them are in the Steddie tag!

Our anonymous nominator recommends the following works by @cuips-not-cute:

he could be brave

blood is an aphrodisiac

honeyed affection

blinking red light

cyclical

"cuips is a master of taking the reader on an emotional roller coaster ride. The amount of times I've laughed and cried at the same time reading his fics have been too numerous to count. Especially the depth of the sex scenes and the character beats and growth they portray are gorgeous to read - and also very titillating. I love Steve and Eddie in every one of cuips stories, adore the little mannerisms they are given and the way they interact with each other and other characters. Besides the inspiring prose cuips can pull off a plot like few other people I've found so far - since blinking red light is still ongoing, I'll just point to cyclical for that. I'm very thankful to cuips for writing and posting these stories and for being a very active part of this lovely fandom." -- anonymous

Below the cut, @cuips-not-cute answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

i don’t even know. i was happily in the ofmd fandom when i watched season 4 almost three years ago now (oh god) and then the characters… they got me. i fear they’ll never leave.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

god, so many. they’re all kinda the same flavor though so i’ll list out what i’m always filtering for to find a new fic: bottom/sub eddie, creature/monster eddie, post s4, canon compliant, soft dom steve, sex pollen, spit kink, rimming (perhaps my FAVORITE ever thing to read), switch eddie/switch steve… the list goes on.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

probably also rimming. there’s just something so romantic about eating ass. and i really love to stick with post s4 canon compliant aus, too, i don’t think i’ve written an actual for real au yet, though i do have an idea for one after brl.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

i don’t know if i can pick!! my ao3 bookmarks host my many all-time faves, but if you wanna go by the fic i’ve reread the most it’s probably the affliction of the feeling. it’s so fucking good.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

YES!!! i have never written omegaverse!!! which is crazy, ‘cause i like it a LOT. i have a post-s4 omegaverse au kicking around in my head currently, and i cannot wait to sink my teeth into all the messy biology and politics that come with the omegaverse.

What is your writing process like?

chaotic, in a word. usually, i’ll get a fic idea while i’m balls-deep in writing another fic so i’ll shove it to the side and let it simmer while i finish that first one, then i’ll spend a good long while planning it out in ridiculous detail, and THEN i’ll start actually drafting. i like to have a fully fleshed out outline and a couple chapters written and edited before i start posting, and once posting begins i tend to deviate quite a bit from my outline but it’s all good fun.

Do you have any writing quirks?

definitely. i don’t like pointing them out for fear of other folks seeing them in everything i do, but they’re there. one that i don’t mind so much is my absolute abuse of the word “little.” everything is “a little” of this, “a little” of that, but i try to cut my usage down significantly while i’m editing.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

i always TRY to keep a schedule but… yeah. it never works. i’m far too busy for one, but attempts are made. i’d like to one day write a fic in full before posting it, because i think it’d be a whole lot better if i let it sit for that long but lord, i sure do like getting ao3 comments on every chapter. they make the writing motivation go WAY up.

Which fic are you most proud of?

brl, definitely. that fucker is LONG and i’m barely halfway through it. i think i’ve done a lot of cool things with it and i’m going to do some more cool things and i’ve made a lot of really awesome friends in the process of writing it so it’s got some pretty insane sentimental value to me. it’s definitely going to be a fic i’ll miss writing once i finish it, but that’s what the epilogue series is for!!!

How did you get the idea for blinking red light?

from another fic!!! @racketghost is the author of one of my favorite things i’ve ever read, which is the good omens zach and miri au, closed set (https://archiveofourown.org/works/23320960/chapters/55862155 <- hyperlinked), wherein crowley has been lying about the existence of some angelic sex tapes to all of hell, and then he and aziraphale have to actually make the tapes. it’s awesome. it’s gorgeous. brl is one big giant love letter to this fic, because it means so fucking much to me and i think about it ALL the time.

When writing honeyed affection, what was something you didn’t expect?

hmm, i don’t know? ha is, i think, a pretty easygoing fic with lots and lots of porn stuffed inside it, and that was all i intended it to be so i cannot think of anything i was surprised by!!

What inspired blood is an aphrodisiac?

i just wanted to write vampire eddie. it was july ‘22, kas theories were everywhere, i had to try it. these days i think i would change a LOT about it because my ideas and hcs surrounding the characters have evolved significantly, but i’ll write vampire eddie again and “fix” everything i no longer like about biaa.

What was your favorite part to write from he could be brave?

…the fisting. i genuinely think some of my best writing is in that scene, and while i feel the same way about this fic as i do biaa, the fisting scene will always hold a special place in my heart. i’m very, very excited to write the fisting chapter in brl because of this scene. fisting rules.

How do/did you feel writing cyclical?

i wrote cyclical during a very weird few months of my life, so writing it was sort of my way of dealing with all the insane shit going on around me, and i think it shows. in a good way, though, because cyclical is a timeloop fic so it needed to be a little angsty and insane. i’m stupidly proud of that fic. @ryeallytired actually BOUND it into a PHYSICAL BOOK and SENT IT TO ME and when i tell you that is the singular most precious object i own, i mean it.

What was the most difficult part of writing blinking red light?

PLOTTING THAT BITCH. GOD. i’m so happy to be actually WRITING it now, the planning was genuinely so brutal. my issue was that i was sticking too close to the plot of closed set (<3) which just… did not work for steddie. closed set’s premise centers around crowley lying about making sex tapes, yes, but he lied about them to PROTECT aziraphale, which is the messiest, kindest, riskiest fucking thing ever. and it’s awesome. in the early planning stages of brl, i was trying to put eddie in the crowley role of lying about having made sex tapes with steve, but it reallyyy didn’t work. there was an oc and i absolutely hated him, plus i didn’t like what that premise was doing to eddie’s character… ugh. it was a MESS. it took several rubber duck-ing conversations with my brilliant friend @lollaika and a rewatch of zach and miri to finally realize that it had to be STEVE who brings up the idea of sex tapes so that he could protect eddie, rather than eddie bringing it up to save his own hide (yikes).

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

oooh, lots. reallyyyy loved chapter 8 of cyclical with all of the pov shifts, that was super fun to write. i also really enjoyed writing the dry humping/sex tape convo in the first chapter of brl, and i’m stupidly excited to write chapters 12, 13, 15, and 17, because of specific scenes that will happen in each.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

i do!! after brl is completed i’ll have to choose from two story ideas (because i cannot have two wips at once or i’ll get SO stressed), one being a semi-realistic steddie cowboy au based off my own experiences with growing up on a farm and featuring messy, earnest cowboys and not-fully-human eddie, and the other being the omegaverse au i want to write, which will have a very fun mix of vampire eddie, dubcon bitching, and accidental mating bites!!!

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

i cannot think of anything!! this was super fun :D

Thank you to our author, @cuips-not-cute, and our anonymous nominator! See more of cuips_not_cute's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

#writer's spotlight #writer's wednesday #ao3 writer #steddie writers #steddie #steddie fic recs #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things

73 notes · View notes

brookiewriting · 1 year ago

Note

ahhhh if you wanted to could you do a finnick fic where the reader was in the blood rain during the quarter quell and finnick helps her calm down and clean up kind of like what katniss did for wiress? I'm thinking pre-existing relationship. thank you!!!

CLICKS

finnick odair.

summary : you get separated from finnick and he finds you covered in blood.

note : my first request omg!! i'm literally so bad at writing pre-existing relationships... like. it's embarrassing! but i tried my best for a good midground. also, catching fire is the only book i've read once so let's ignore any none canon compliant details 🤔😛 peeta and katniss don't exist lololol.

word count : 1,538

you couldn't believe you were in this damn game again. after sleepless nights, panic attacks, and flashbacks from the arena, you figured, at the end of the day, you'd at least never have to go back.

you were very wrong. at first, you thought it was some cruel joke. of course, snow was demented enough to do something like this, and the quarter quells weren't known for being easy, but seriously? throwing the victor's in again was crazy. inhumane.

even though your name was drawn days ago, you could still feel the silent eyes on the back of your head as you made your way to the stage. hushed whispers and concerned expressions. you remembered feeling even worse than the first time you went in. this time, instead of the feeling of hope amongst the people in your district, you could sense in their pained eyes that they didn't think you'd come back a second time. honestly, you didn't think you would either.

maybe it would better this year. this year you had finnick. but alliances only get you so far in this game.

☾ ☾ ☾

finnick got separated from you almost immediately. you were frozen as the voice echoed from above the arena.

"let the seventy fifth hunger games begin. may the odds ever be in your favor."

it seemed like everyone was quick to move to the center where the weapons were. your eyes darted frantically around at all the victors next to you. you watched finnick's golden curls disappearing into the water. closing your eyes for a moment, you counted to ten in your head, and you did what you did in your first games. you ran.

you were, thankfully, quick enough to pick through the remains of the weapons, and were able to get your hands on pretty decent throwing knifes. once you secured them to the band around your waist, you scanned the arena. "finnick!" you called out, hoping the blonde boy could hear his name over the cries and screams of victors fighting each other.

no reply. god, please don't be dead already. please keep my finnick safe. you repeated over and over, sucking in your bottom lip and biting it to the point where dew drops of blood formed and the taste of metal filled your senses. it was so overpowering that you couldn't think. your brain was shutting down.

you prayed and prayed that finnick was smarter than to get into a fight right away. there was nothing to do but hope that he swam away and was hiding somewhere.

you cried out his name again, and again there was silence. so you had to do what you had to do to survive, and that was run away. there was a forest clearing not far from the starting circle. right. that's where i should go.

the forest was already murky and nearly dark, and you let out an exhausted sigh. the games had just begun but you were exhausted, terrified, and hungry. all while you were having flashbacks of your first games. your shaking hands were holding on tightly to the hilt of your knives, the cold metal allowing you to focus your senses on something other than y'know— your inevitable death.

one positive thing that you learned from your previous games was that you were stealthy. your feet were light on the dirt and you made sure to leave multiple tracks so no one could follow you. this year you knew you had to outsmart everyone. you had an advantage by being quiet. maybe you could hide throughout the whole game.

that worked for a while. it was quiet in the clearing, no sounds of struggling and the screams from the center had died down quite a bit. but you couldn't find cover anywhere. it seemed like you were just doing circles, repeating and seeing the same tree over and over again. by the next hour, you made sure to walk as slow as possible to save your stamina.

you heard the sound of a shrill scream, definitely from a woman. and then came the downpour.

the rain wasn't normal rain. of course it wasn't, it was snow for fuck's sake. the rain was thick. it landed in chunks rather than individual drops. it took you a moment to realize that this rain was blood.

you looked down at your shaking hands, the maroon of the blood staining your skin. that's disgusting. it smelt like the metallic scent of pig's blood you'd smell walking past the farms in your district. the blood rain made your skin, hair and clothes feel heavy and sticky. and after a bit, your eyes started to sting, vision blurry as you tried your best to outrun it.

i can't see anything. i'm going to break my damn ankle. you thought, using your hand as a barricade against the rain. it was no use. as your sight got worse, your hearing improved, and for a second, you heard the sounds of running water.

and someone clicking their tongue in that familiar pattern.

☾ ☾ ☾

finnick's hands were on your shoulders, dragging you away from the crowd of victors waiting for their interview with caeser flickerman.

"jesus, finnick. can you be gentle?"

your voice was condescending, but were smiling though, your hands tugging at the bottom of your dress. you were met with a frown. those sea green eyes of his looked grey. something was wrong.

"this'll be my only chance to speak with you before the games. i need you to listen, alright?"

it was weird seeing finnick this serious. during all of his interviews and talks before this, it seemed like he wasn't even taking this game serious. like he thought he'd already won. or that he didn't care if he died.

"i can't call out for you in the arena. you can't be seen with me. we'll be too small of an alliance and we'll get killed. do you understand?"

his hands were gently shaking you out of your dazed state and you swallowed, nodding slowly. it sounded like he didn't want to be in an alliance with you. yeah, sure, you weren't the top ranked tribute, or even the smartest, but you thought district's were supposed to stick together, right?

finnick must have read the confusion on your furrowed brows, his grip loosening from your shoulders. his smile was back, the cresent shaped dimples indenting onto his cheeks. you wanted to trace them with your hands. to have his face remember the gentle curves of your touch.

"don't give me that look." he spoke finally, breaking the painful silence that drifted between you two.

"i don't understand."

"listen for my whistle. it'll let you know that i'm close by."

he made a clicking noise similar to a birds call and you bit your tongue to stiffle your laugh.

☾ ☾ ☾

you may have been laughing then, but you weren't now, the clicking bringing temporary relief to the throbbing pain in your eyes and head. you repeated the click, your lips dry.

with your eyes barely able to open, you were able to make it to the sandy riverbank.

"y/n? god, who's blood— i thought you were— there's people—"

you could hear finnick's panicked voice in segments, and you sighed in relief. his hand took yours and together you sat in the water. the first place you both cleaned blood off of was your face.

finally being able to see him again, you burst into a bright smile and tackled hugged him. finnick hugged back, being slightly knocked over into the creek, his hand holding the small of your back. when you pulled away, his hands were still holding your sides as if you were about to float away.

"your whistle! i heard it! oh my god, finn, there was blood. but not any blood, it was raining blood! can you believe that? snow is a sick—"

finnick shut you up quickly by holding both sides of your face and pulling you into a quick kiss. it made your cheeks hot and in any other situation maybe this

"i thought you died." he repeated, and for some reason you felt guilty for leaving him. you should've fought with him. he could've died too. the concern in his eyes was enough to make your heart hurt. "hey, i thought you died too." you protested, sighing in defiance. his hands were on your cheeks now, gently cupping water to wash away the blood stains. finnick didn't respond, but the small smile he gave you while looking down made your cheeks warm.

"what are we going to do?" you ask him, and it's clear that he doesn't know himself. his thumb reaches out across your forehead. he really wished he knew. he couldn't imagine coming back to district four without you.

he's still quiet, just enjoying your presence, and the soft feverish touches between you two. "i have no idea, sweetheart." finnick adds, and there's a hint of amusement in his tone. he can't let you panic without a reason, and he just wants you to relax, at least for now. your fingers gently reach out and brush across the cuts on his temple and you frown.

"we'll be alright, though. i'll keep you safe."

#the hunger games #finnick odair #finnick x reader

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it-happened-one-fic · 1 year ago

Text

Ink and Magic - The Rose-Red Tyrant

Author Notes: So this is a sort of halfway non canon compliant what if with the overblots and their aftermath. I've been considering, for quite some time now, why the Prefect (reader) gets to see what amounts to the overblot victims memories and hear what seems to be their thoughts regarding said memories. So I guess you could say this is a kind of headcanon for what happens in those moments. This isn't exactly romantic. in fact, I would say it counts as more platonic, but it certainly can be taken as shippy. This will also be a series, though the Diasomnia section won't come out until that entire matter is resolved in game. As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Spoilers for Book 1: The Rose-Red Tyrant!!

[Heartslabyul: You're Here!] [Savanaclaw] [Octavinelle] [Scarabia] [Pomefiore] [Ignihyde] [Diasomnia: To be released]

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ fic series/ Can be platonic or romantic/ fluff/ angst/ comfort/ Spoilers for Heartslabul overblot.

Word Count: 2311

The ground was a brutal red. Covered in crushed and bruised rose petals that mixed with dark ink and made everything slippery.

All I could hear were the screams and shouts from those nearby, but rather than fleeing or continuing to shout directions and warnings until my voice was hoarse, I stood silently. Watching in quiet horror as Riddle stumbled, reeling from the magical attacks he’d just received from his fellow dorm-mates.

His once soft gray eyes were a violent red and wide open as he stared at me with an expression that spoke of shock. Like his entire world had just come crashing down like a house of cards around him.

He was no longer a form of horror, as the monstrosity behind him collapsed in a flood of ink that spread across the already-soaked ground.

Instead, Riddle now looked pitiful. Like a lost child. He was trembling all over, but he’d at long last stopped attacking, and I honestly wondered if he’d simply run out of steam.

But as I looked at him, an unexpected sorrow swelled within my heart and caught me off-guard as the young man looked down at his hands, still blackened with ink stains.

Bitter tears began to fill his red eyes, and his previously loud voice wavered as he began to speak, “I…. I was wrong?! But that’s…. Impossible…..”

His hands came up to cover his eyes and hide the tears that now threatened to roll down his too-pale face.

He was no longer a creature perfectly fit for nightmares, and my heart seized painfully at his next words. So soft and broken that they were barely audible, “Isn’t it…Mother?”

With those words, he gave a shudder and stumbled forward, his hands limply falling away from his face, which was now streaked with ink from his stained hands.

This was a Riddle I’d never seen before. One that was completely different from the mature but tyrannical young man I’d met.

This was a young boy who was lost, broken, and one that I simply couldn’t abandon in this moment.

I didn’t know if it was instinct or something else, but something drove me forwards. Spurring me into running towards the young man, who had begun to collapse forward.

My feet slid against the inky but tattered rose petals that littered the ground. Evidence of the horror we’d all just witnessed. The other students' voices followed me as they let out alarmed cries. Ace’s voice was perhaps the most prominent as he shouted my name.

The panic in his voice almost made me want to stop even as my tired legs continued to carry me forward.

In truth, I had only one thought in my mind: that the young man in front of me, Riddle, didn’t need to be alone.

It was a truth that was whispered to me from within my own mind. Something I knew as a solid fact even though I had no proof.

I barely even knew Riddle. All I knew of him was tyranny.

But I held out my arms, catching the small young man that I now realized was quite frail despite the immense magical power he possessed.

He clung desperately to my shirt with trembling hands, and a sob tore its way out of him. I could practically feel the cold ink staining my shirt as it seeped through the thin fabric, and we both sank to the ground.

He was exhausted, with his head drooping towards me like he could no longer stay awake. And as my knees hit the soggy ground, a wave of fatigue washed over me that promised me peace if I would just let it carry me away.

I faintly heard my name get called yet again, but it sounded far enough away to be in an entirely other world.

Perhaps it was a voice from my world, trying to call me back home.

But even with that thought in mind, I didn’t respond. Instead, I fell into a darkness that consumed me, and I slumped forward. Still holding the small, broken boy close to me. As if that could bring him the peace he seemed to so desperately need.

But I wasn’t meant to slumber peacefully here, and though the deep darkness of what I thought was deep sleep surrounded me, I was not truly resting.

I looked around in confusion, looking for someone else in this deep darkness. After all, it didn’t feel like I was alone. It felt like I was surrounded in a space that was filled with only myself and one other person.

It was a strange sensation, one that left me feeling out of my depth as I glanced around in confusion. Finding that here, I was no longer exhausted or sore from the events that had just unfolded in Heartslabyul.

Like a glitch on a television screen, the blackness flickered, and a hazy scene appeared. That reminded me of an old black-and-white movie recording.

Even the voices were crackly.

“Happy 8th Birthday Riddle….” I frowned slightly and shook my head, wondering what I was seeing.

I had to be dreaming, but…. Something about this didn’t feel like a dream. It felt more like I was trying to sift through my memories and was instead being faced with wholly unfamiliar images.

A large woman stood, smiling down at an adorable red-haired boy whose face I immediately recognized with an alarmed jolt.

Riddle. Without a doubt, that was the very same young man who’d just attacked me, my friends, and the other members of the Heartslabyul dorm in the midst of what I could only describe as a psychotic break.

I stared in a strange mixture of fascination and confusion at the scene before me as a voice that, unlike the others, was perfectly clear began to narrate the scene that lay before me. Riddle’s voice.

It sounded like he was right next to me, but when I turned, he was nowhere to be seen. Instead, I appeared to be alone.

Alone, but I was wholly surrounded by the scene of what seemed to be his, Riddle’s, childhood.

“I’d always wanted to try one of those tarts with the bright red strawberries….”

His voice was as solemn as ever as it calmly explained the thoughts and feelings of the child Riddle, who seemed to star in all of these scenes. But the image before me did not stay peaceful, and I soon came to realize a darker truth about what was unfolding in front of me.

I listened and watched with mounting horror as memories from Riddle’s childhood, barren of playing and fun, played in front of me like a film. Every bit of it was narrated by a numb-sounding Riddle himself.

My eyes went wide as a young, brightly smiling Trey flashed in front of me. He was accompanied by another boy, whom I soon realized was that cat-like fellow I’d met in the Heartslabyul maze. Chenya, I believed his name was.

It was then, right after their appearance, that everything truly began to snowball out of control.

Tiny Riddle finally got to experience the joys of childhood, only to be caught by his mother, who enforced even more rigorous rules on him. And it was painful to see the small child, who would someday become the young man I’d met not too long ago, weep as he was denied some of the most basic aspects of childhood.

I was beyond enraged on behalf of the small child in front of me. But what made it worse was Riddle’s voice, which was still narrating each scene even though tears were slowly beginning to choke off his voice, “But Mom… Why? Why does my heart hurt so much?”

I covered my mouth, as if that could somehow help me cope, as I listened to the young man whom I could hear crying, but I couldn’t see nor comfort.

The scene in front of me slowly faded to black, leaving me only with Riddle’s voice, begging for an explanation as I turned, searching for him in vain. But he was invisible, in this darkness, as he pleaded for an answer to his questions, “Tell me, Mom, please….. What rule do I need to follow to make this pain go away?”

I closed my eyes, shaking my head as if that could somehow help me figure out what to do, and then, like flipping a switch, it all stopped.

I opened my eyes wearily, only to find I’d been crying silently as I‘d held Riddle close to my chest. My cheeks were even still wet, judging from how cold the breeze was on my face.

Riddle himself was still asleep. His expression slowly relaxed from an upset that matched his tear-choked voice, which I’d just been listening to, to a more peaceful one that suited him far better.

And it was a relief to see him relax after having seen what I’d just witnessed in whatever that dream was.

One of his hands was still fisted in my shirt as he clung to me like a small child, causing me to smile slightly even as I shifted to better examine him. I froze mid-motion as I heard a sharp inhale from just next to me. It was then that I realized that both me and Riddle were not, in fact, being supported by one another.

Instead, it was the young man who knelt next to us who held us upright with his arms wrapped securely around the two of us in a sort of embrace.

I looked over and made eye contact with warm, honey-colored eyes that stared at me, relief sweeping through them as I managed to croak out the man’s name, “Trey.”

He let out an exhale, a relieved smile appearing on his face as his grip on my arm tightened ever so slightly, almost like he was trying to reassure himself that I really was present and that all was well.

“Thank goodness. You’re back,” His voice was soft, more of a breath than anything, and I couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by ‘back’.

But I didn’t get to ask, and he didn’t get to continue since I heard three familiar voices both yell the same name at the same time.

“Y/N!”

I half turned, finding I was still exhausted and slumping against Trey a bit more as I spotted Ace and Deuce both staring at me in wide-eyed relief before they both took off as Cater, who was right behind them, was still turning to look at me.

The two boys' feet dug into the still-inky ground as they darted towards where I knelt with Trey and Riddle.

Deuce reached us first, hitting his knees and grasping my arms as he scanned me for injury, “Are you alright?”

His voice was trembling as he questioned me, looking up at me with wide, panicked eyes. His expression was mirrored by Ace, who was desperately asking me what had happened while Cater appeared behind them. Carefully scanning both me and Riddle.

“Hey, hey. You’re crowding them. They only just came too,” Trey’s grip on me shifted in an almost protective fashion as he spoke, and I realized I was still relying heavily on him for support.

Crowley walked up far more slowly than the others, his eyes on me and a frown on his face as he began to open his mouth to say something.

But before he could speak, one of Riddle’s hands, which had been gripping my arm this entire time, tightened slightly, and he made a mumbling sound.

All eyes darted to the young man, who slowly opened his eyes, once more a soft grey not unlike that of a dove’s feathers, with a groan.

He looked up, making eye contact with me before looking at Trey and then back at me.

Cater was saying something to both of us, but I'd tuned it out almost completely as I scanned the boy for any injuries.

Riddle continued to look up at me with hazy eyes as I carefully scanned his small form, frowning as I noted exactly how exhausted he still looked.

After a brief moment, though, he pulled away from both me and Trey. Distancing himself as his eyes slowly cleared and the gravity of the entire situation sank in.

From there, the situation devolved fairly quickly, with numerous questions being asked and reconciliations being made. Trey swept in towards the end of things, with Cater by his side like two concerned parents. Demanding that me and Riddle both go to the infirmary for a checkup.

It wasn’t until we were alone in that cold room filled with cots that Riddle made eye contact with me once more, “My… memories. You saw them, didn’t you?”

I was silent for a moment as I recalled those strange scenes in flickering black-and-white before I at last nodded, “Yes, I don’t know what caused it but…. Yes, I believe I did…. I heard you too.”

He nodded, falling silent as we waited for the nurse to enter and give us a clean bill of health. After a few moments, he met my gaze again, “I think we…. Connected for a moment there. I don’t know how, but you saw my memories and heard my thoughts. And I… I felt you there.”

I watched him quietly, not sure of what to say as he fell silent. But I couldn’t blame him. I too wouldn’t know what to say or think if some had seen my memories.

After a moment, though, he looked over at me with a troubled expression before he spoke quietly, “If I were you, I would tell the Headmaster about this.”

I nodded, unsure of what to say since something told me neither of us knew what this meant for me or him.

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iamthemain-character · 2 years ago

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Sankt Milo

platonic! The Crows x reader

gender neutral pronouns (reader is referred to as “you” and the occasional “Y/n”)

TW: show-based, non-canon compliant, 2014-Avengers-Tower-fic-type of writing

a/n: milo is my favorite character. that’s all.

Shadow and Bone Masterlist

You had been absent for almost a week.

Sunday afternoon, you simply disappeared from the club and hadn’t returned since. The only reason the Crows hadn’t completely panicked yet was because you had left notes for all of them saying you had to leave but you would return (each with a special indication that you did not write this as you were being kidnapped). Nonetheless, The Crow Club felt emptier without you, and each member missed you terribly.

It was storming late that Friday, and after closing the club post-another successful night, all 6 crows were gathered around a table, enjoying a drink together. With a clap of thunder the group heard the back door slam open, then shut again. Everyone drew their weapons, hearing heavy footsteps slosh their way across the wooden floors. A figure, cloaked in shadow, stopped in the entryway from the storage rooms, and everyone waited with baited breath to strike.

With a flash of lightning, the figure’s shadows were cast aside, revealing you. A very drenched and bedraggled you, but you nonetheless.

“Y/n!” 5 voices cried out.

“Milo!” Jesper’s voice carried over the others, for even more astonishing than your return was the furry, black and white animal you carried in your arms.

The Zemeni man quickly crossed the room, but not without Nina, Inej, and Wylan on his heels. The latter three took your hands, throwing a dry blanket over your shoulders and Jesper carefully took the goat from your arms, pressing kisses to it’s head over and over.

“Oh Milo, I have thought of you every day.”

The group helped you sit down at the table, bringing more towels and blankets, and Kaz pouring you a strong drink. But despite your shivering, you couldn’t help the smile that cracked across your face as you watched your friend reunited with his emotional support goat old friend.

Wylan turned to you, an incredulous look on his face. “That’s Milo?”

Nina and Matthias had matching confused expressions on their faces, but it was Nina who spoke up. “So did you disappear without a trace for the goat or was that just a happy accident? Also why is Jesper in love with a goat?”

With a laugh, some help from Inej, and some quips from Kaz, you told the newer Crows of the treacherous and disastrous journey the group had taken through The Fold and how Jesper had formed a trauma-bond with this particular goat.

Jesper came back to your table, Milo still clutched in his arms, just as you were explaining yourself.

“Jesper was so sad to say goodbye to Milo, and I just wanted to get him back. But I didn’t want to tell you guys that’s what I was doing in case I wasn’t successful. But thankfully that sweet barmaid had sent him to her father’s farm, and I was able to buy him back.”

“Please tell me you didn’t spend too much for that goat.” Kaz’s voice cut, head turned with his classic look of disapproval.

No longer able to be scared by Dirtyhands, you waved him off. “No price is too much for our little Milo.” With a smirk you turned back to the club owner, “Perhaps we should rename this place The Goat Club?”

The table roared with laughter at the pure look of disgust upon Kaz’s face at your simple suggestion. Inej reached across and scratched Milo’s chin, a smile upon her face. “That’s not so bad, after all, Milo is like our own little Saint.”

Nina clasped her hands together, delighted at the Suli girl’s suggestion. “Sankt Milo! Oh how perfect. I am all for the changing of the name.”

Kaz’s voice broke through the laughter. “We are not changing the name, and we are not keeping it.”

Despite what he said, Wylan found himself grateful for Jesper’s arms around him as they fell asleep, because otherwise the former feared he would have fallen of the edge of the bed. Somehow, one small goat seemed to take up half the bed.

And even though Kaz swore that the goat would be sold in the morning, everyone turned a blind eye when he placed a plate of waffles down for Milo in the morning.

That was, everyone turned a blind eye until Nina realized they were her waffles.

#shadow and bone #season 2 shadow and bone #netflix shadow and bone #the crows #six of crows #the crow club #sankt milo #milo the goat #jesper fahey x reader #kaz brekker x reader #inej ghafa x reader #wylan van eck x reader #nina zenik x reader #matthias helvar x reader #the crows x reader

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ouiouimochi · 5 months ago

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happy super belated birthday to bbgurl abyss ( I deffo didn't just learn it and decided to write rn-)

I've had this prompt in my brain for a while so at least hey it's gonna be out now

warnings: a bit long (would need part 2), not fully proofread, and poopy writing. a bit messy. not everything I put in here is canon compliant since there's a lot of things I'm unsure of, like if he was born into only a normal commoner household or what— for the sake of plot, he's from a noble family

apologies in advance since it's been a very long while since I last wrote anything past prompts

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synopsis : you met abyss at a masquerade ball after a small stunt you pulled and basically dragged him into it. so you promise to make it up to him the next time you meet

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• abyss was wondering why his parents decided to drag him to a masquerade ball for high society all of a sudden when they don't even treat him as normal person at all

• they reasoned that they have to keep up with appearances of being a harmonious family even after how they treated him all this time

• they also strictly instructed— more of commanded— that he never take his mask of in fear that people would judge and criticize their family

• so here he was, in a completely unfamiliar environment

• despite being surrounded by people who wore masks like himself, he felt out of place

• not belonging in the event, never in society

• that's why he's alone in the peaceful back garden of the venue, basking under the blanket of stars as the bustle can be faintly heard in the background

• the boy walks around near the balcony of where the ballroom was, hoping to witness a semblance of lost belonging from hearing and observing the event from a distance

• clicking of heels quickly approached the end of the balcony overlooking the garden

• “my lady, please cooperate just this once!!” a panicked and exhausted voice of an adult exclaimed from the further side of the terrace from abyss

• “bleh!”

• it happened so fast that abyss barely reacted in time

• he never expected that the owner of the heeled footsteps earlier would recklessly jump down from the balcony

• while the girl was mid air, the two made eye contact— well it was obvious they were looking at each other even with their masks on

Surprise was evident on both of your countenances— your and abyss’ masks doing nothing to hide it. You actually had a spell prepared to smoothen your landing but you really didn't expect your escape route to have a person, so you kind of just forgot about the spell. Before both of you knew it, you directly flew— well landed on the poor boy as he barely managed to at least catch you before you both can get seriously hurt.

However, due to the abruptness, Abyss loses balance and you both land on the floor as the boy groans in pain.

“My lady!!!!” The same voice from earlier cries as footsteps quickly approached the railings of the balcony.

You panicked a bit at that and swiftly pulled the blue haired boy into the thick shrubbery

Abyss was a bit startled, almost releasing a yelp but you immediately covered his mouth up just in time. Right above where you two were hidden, your attendant cries to herself— muttering something about being dead meat if your father finds out.

Then the sounds of hurried footsteps faded away from your earshot, your attendant leaving to search for you, opting for a safer route.

You let a few seconds pass by before allowing yourself to conclude that the coast was clear. Releasing the unknowingly tight grip you had on the poor light blue haired boy’s mouth.

You breathe out a sigh of relief. Feeling a sense of accomplishment from a successful(?) escape once again.

You face the unsuspecting victim of your little stunt, quickly making an observation. He was quite tall and lean with long, light-blue hair pulled up into a high ponytail. Your eyes then quickly scan his face and immediately mentally comment on how pretty he is. He also seemed to be around your age.

He looked stunned— understandably so. Who in their right mind would jump off the second floor balcony just like that and pull a random bystander to hide with them?

Apparently, you would. Maybe not even in the right mind.

You laugh a bit, finding the situation a bit funny in the moment. You did feel bad for accidentally dragging him into your shenanigans though.

Picking up the fallen objects on the ground before standing up, you then offer the boy a hand which he wordlessly accepts as he stands up as well. Both of you dust yourselves off.

You were running out of time, so you also had to make the interaction quick.

You belatedly introduce yourself like how nobility would as he returned the greeting with his own name as well— albeit barely managing to stammer it out.

“Abyss, huh? I'd really want to apologize for dragging you into this since I only acted on impulse. You must have been surprised.”

Surprise was a huge understatement, to say the least, but Abyss nodded. It was the best he could do, having no experience interacting with people other than his parents, much less a girl.

You bring out a pocket watch and bit your lip upon checking the time. You really had to leave if you wanted to catch up to the auction being held nearby.

You look at Abyss, “I'd like to apologize once again, but I really have to leave. I promise to make it up to the next time we meet.”

You quickly hand him his mask that you picked up earlier from the ground then pulled out a cloak seemingly from nowhere. You then summoned a portal big enough for yourself from the ground.

You turn back to the light-blue haired boy as you put the cloak on, “‘til next time, pretty boy!” before jumping into the portal you made. It disappeared the moment the top of your hood got inside.

Meanwhile, the silence and isolation might've been serving Abyss better than earlier as he was completely red in the face.

First, he was angry at himself for having his ugly feature be seen by a noble lady due to him not noticing that his mask fell off. Then next, she hurries in leaving and complimented him— making him embarrassed. Lastly, he realises it's the first time someone directly saw his cursed Evil Eye and not even as much as bat an eye or comment on it.

He went through multiple emotions in such a short while that he was having whiplash.

Abyss didn't hate the experience at all. If anything, he might've been holding on to the hope that they'd meet someday and he can have someone who'll treat him like a normal person.

He stared at the mask in his hands before looking up at the sky, wanting for his hope and wish to come true even if it would take a while. He'd be willing to wait for that moment to come.

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Part 2 - Part 3

#mashle #mashle x reader #abyss #abyss razor #abyss razor x reader #abyss x reader #mashle magic and muscles

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thistlecatfics · 4 months ago

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Thistlecat Summer Fic Recs

After a bit of a fic reading drought (and some binge purchasing books), I've been finally getting back into reading fic. Here are some I've been enjoying this summer.

Wolfstar:

Come Healing by BrujaBanter (46k, E, wolfstar)

They'd never quite intended for kink to be anything more than fun. Then, Sirius went to Azkaban. He comes out a different man, and Remus wonders if they might just use kink for some other purposes as well. In the process, he does some healing of his own. OR The ways of breaking, reuniting, and healing through sex.

It's a kink porn with lots of plot fic! I'm normally so picky about Dom Remus/sub Sirius fics because they tend to go with a fanon characterization that doesn't work for me but this one *absolutely* works for me. Canon divergent with a happy ending <3

your heart is heavy and red by moon_seas (1k, E, wolfstar)

Sirius has Remus on his back moaning beneath him and it’s almost enough, almost.

Not much to say about this one except it's super hot wolfstar (c)nc and if that description interests you then you'll be into this delicious little fic.

hold you, enfold you by iamsiriuslyriddikulus (9k, E, lesbian wolfstar)

“Remus,” the woman says. “Nice to meet you… ?” It’s a nice name, Remus—one that suits her. Sirius nods and belatedly realizes she has to answer. “Sirius.” She holds Remus’s gaze with a feral intensity, hoping something in her recognizes that they are the same. - - - OR: On a summer day in the South in 2001, Sirius Black went on a campus tour of the conservative college she would attend in the fall, expecting to be bored out of her mind. No one told her the tour guide was going to be hot—brown curls and snake bites and freckles and visibly queer. She stood out against the manicured hedges, a sharp contrast to the traditional values of everyone around Sirius. What followed was one long day of sticky summer heat and a house party that changed the course of her life. Poor Evan never stood a chance.

@fvckyouimaprophet sets such an incredible immersive scene of an elite southern university and utterly sucks you in. This fic swept me up into that heady feeling of being a baby gay in queer spaces for the first time. It's like the time of your life you feel most yourself (can I show the real me??) and most conscious of your performance at the same time (I need to pretend I know what I'm doing!). Plus, lesbian Sirius is everything to me <3

Other marauders era characters/ships:

A Slow and Stopping Curve by aegle (16k, M, remadora)

Concerning Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks. Set during Order of the Phoenix and Half-Blood Prince.

Gorgeous canon-compliant Remus/Tonks.

i hope this comes back to haunt you by humanveil (29k, M, gen)

Severus Snape, from first curse to first kill. Or: The making of a Death Eater.

It's been a while since I read something Snape-centric, and this is SO good and gives such a clear through line on his character. His relationship with his mother is incredible in particular.

the tiger's lady by basketofnovas (slashmarks) (5k, T, bellamort)

In early 1974, one of Bellatrix's sisters is getting married, the other is pregnant, and Bellatrix is occupied with making sure the war escalates as planned. But a story from the Dark Lord reminds her of other concerns.

I always love @slashmarks's Bellatrix, and the portrayal of the mix of intense magical devotion and mundane domestic violence that is the bellamort relationship is particularly sharp and arresting.

Drarry & Drarry adjacent:

Way to go, Tiger by houndsinheaven (2k, G, Draco & Scorpius (& Harry))

Scorpius Malfoy's seventh birthday.

I'm not normally one for kidfic but my goodness I cried. Good dad Draco.

Closing Time by Anonymous for MaesterChill (18k, E, drarry)

Draco’s been invited to Neville’s stag party in Bristol, and he's confident he knows what to expect. There’ll be too many Gryffindors, for starters, plus a few humiliating team-building activities, some dodgy clubs, and a truly preposterous level of alcohol consumption. But… a drunken Harry Potter climbing into Draco's bed when he’s having a wank? No, he definitely didn't see that coming…

(For HD wireless, not yet revealed) This fic is so much fun! This feels quintessentially drarry to me - they all feel so young and human. For whatever reason I need all of my drarry fics to have someone to have a complicated relationship with alcohol, and this delivers!

If you have similar reading tastes and want more of my recs, check out my bookmarks and collections on ao3 <3

#thistlecat fic rec #wolfstar #drarry #remadora #bellamort

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whiscey · 5 months ago

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drop your devastating banana fish fanfics list bestie 🙇🏻‍♀️

AHSHWJEVJ YES OMG thank you so much for this ask!!! i have a very very long list of fanfics that i love so im not gonna put every single one here, but here’s a list of my favorites :)

note: 1) of course please be mindful of the tws— most of these have the usual list of the tws associated with ash’s trauma; 2) i don’t read anything that complies with the canonical ending cause i cannot handle that lol; 3) the first half of this list is just purely devastating, and then the second half is mostly just hurt/comfort; 4) the order in this doesn’t mean anything

I fell in love with a war and nobody told me it ended (by ihavenomorals): very shorter-centric; retells the canon events in his perspective (with it being heavily implied that he’s in love with ash); definitely very devastating, i cried multiple times while reading it

dead birds and bloodhounds (by ihavenomorals): also very shorter-centric lol; incredibly devastating for similar reasons as the last one (i also really really loved the ending of this one)

Streetlight angel. (by chaos101): this one’s also shorter-centric; a lot of pre-canon shorter’s thoughts about ash; i do not have words to describe how much i loved the whole “streetlight angel” thing

New York, New York 1980 (by wbss21): ash-centric; talks about precanon ash living on the streets (no shorter); genuinely so so heartbreaking

Just offscreen. (by chaos101): focuses on ash; please be very very careful with the warnings, this really graphic and can be very triggering; i almost feel weird recommending this one cause it’s not really meant to be read for enjoyment, but it’s very well-written and really really impactful so i do want to include it; almost threw up the first time i read this (and i mean that as a compliment to the writing, not in the sense that i personally found it triggering), it was so incredibly devastating and gut-punching

how strong the blood (by ihavenomorals): nadia-centric; it’s about nadia’s experience raising shorter on her own; one of the only fanfics i’ve read that focuses on nadia and i loved it so so much

Odour of Chrysanthemums (by nyanja14): eiji’s-mom-centric; eiji’s mom’s perspective on ash and his relationship with eiji after they move to japan; this was so cool ahdhwje, i loved how much depth and backstory they gave to eiji’s mom; one of the less devastating ones on this list, but it’s still so sad in its own right

like a peach (by Quintessence): asheijiii; eiji takes care of ash’s wounds (canon-compliant, takes place around when they rescue ash from dino) and they talk about how he sees himself; definitely a lot more hurt/comfort than pure devastation but the way ash sees himself is so heartbreaking :(

Hydrangea (by Bleed_Peroxide): jessica-centric; first half is jessica’s thoughts as she gets to know more about ash and then second half is an expansion on that one scene where jessica asks ash about what foxx did to him; also more hurt/comfort lol, but i love found family sooo much

Even that could be forgiven. Even Ash. (by chaos101): focuses on max and ash; obviously had to include this since i literally requested it lmao (don’t get me wrong tho– that’s not the only reason why it’s here; it’s here cause i love this fic a lot :3); ash thinks max is going to punish him for talking back to him and max comforts him; hurt/comfort

You’ve paid this world more than enough. (by chaos101): also focuses on max and ash; pretty similar to the last one but i just had to include this cause i love it so so much; hurt/comfort

Safe and Sound (by Dodici): focuses on shorter and ash; pretty short but so so impactful (literally took my breath away ahdvwjeh)

I wish that things had been different. (by chaos101): focuses on ash and griffin; it’s about ash’s reunion with griffin after he starts recovering from the effects of banana fish; this was so emotional and well-written abdvwjbd

Down toward the Healing (by Dodici): asheiji; part of a series (i recommend the series as a whole honestly, but definitely this fanfic in particular) called Eight Million Gods; it’s about ash struggling to find a therapist who works for him; the writing is so beautiful in this and i personally find it somewhat devastating in the sense that it’s a big reminder that healing takes time and a lot of effort

Feed My Body. Feed My Soul (by Wings_and_Feet): asheiji; it does have one (consensual) explicit scene, which is important to the plot but can also probably be skipped over if you’re not comfortable reading that; talks about ash’s relationship with food through eiji’s perspective (please be careful with the trigger warnings)

To Sleep; Perchance to Dream (by Wings_and_Feet): asheiji; it’s about ash and eiji’s post-canon life in japan and eiji’s family’s reactions to eiji being ash back home; literally one of my favorite post-canon japan fics ever, it’s soooo good; a lot of hurt/comfort

Pain Management (by Wings_and_Feet): asheiji; discusses ash’s struggles with addiction as a result of his experiences at Club Cod (not elaborating on this cause of the triggering content); i haven’t read many fics that talk about this, so i thought this was really interesting lol (and also it was very well-written)

Just because I love you. (by chaos101): asheiji; ash sickfic combined with ash and eiji talking about the horrible “he’s not your salvation” stuff blanca said to ash; genuinely one of my favorite sickfics ever (although that’s not really entirely the focus of the fanfic but like still)

How to love someone back. (by chaos101): asheiji; i saved the best for last :3; this is a character study of ash and it’s literally one of my favorite fanfics ever – please go read it, it’s so good aksjdke

bonuses :D (these count as bonuses since you requested devastating fics and these are pretty fluffy lol):

What you’ve been waiting for. (by chaos101): professor ash!! this fic is so sweet 🥹 i love it so much, it’s one of my comfort fics

the Childhood at Eighteen series (by armjail): asheiji; these are my other two comfort fics, they’re both so incredibly wholesome 🥹🥹

#woah this took a lot longer than i thought it would #literally spent hours combing through my bookmarks to make this list #also oops this kinda just became a master list of all my favorite fanfics #but anyways i hope you enjoy :3 #there are a lot more amazing fanfics that i couldn’t fit on here #so if you ever want any more recs then i got you 😌#banana fish #asheiji #shorash #and more™️#banana fish fanfiction #fanfic rec #fanfic #ao3

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zaebeecee · 2 months ago

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Drowning in Stardust

🦌 RadioDustTober: Short Story Edition 🕷️

Day 07: Reach Out

Canon-compliant (queerplatonic/romantic)

CWs: None

Alastor has never been the best at making unprompted romantic overtures, nor recognizing when one should be made. However, whenever Angel Dust ends up stuck at VoxTek overnight, Alastor always makes sure to let him know that he’s on his mind.

Word count: 636

•••

“That fine little ditty was It Don’t Mean A Thing (If It Ain’t Got That Swing) by Duke Ellington and his eponymous orchestra, such an instant success when it first rolled out of Harlem in 1932 that the Mills Brothers, the Boswell Sisters, and Roger Wolfe Kahn all had their own versions slapped on a platter before the year was even out!”

The screams of the radio chorus howled and cried beneath Alastor’s words as he leaned back in his chair, feet kicked up on his desk and microphone staff in hand. Every radio in Hell was on, whether their owners wanted them to be or not, and Alastor’s smile widened as he imagined Sinners and Hellborn all across the Ring either reveling in the music he played or desperately covering their ears in an attempt to block out the wails of those more damned than they were themselves.

Behind him, he heard the tiny patter of feet rushing about, and he turned a little to watch as Niffty dusted off one of his tables. She had insisted she needed occasional access to his tower to clean, and no matter how many times he said he didn’t need it, he had known from the start it was a losing battle. She had, at least, agreed to only come up here while he was working. “Ah, Niffty, darling!” Alastor chirped into the microphone; she turned to him with one wide eye and scurried over. “The Hazbin Hotel’s delightful hospitality manager is here in the studio with me. Anything you’d care to say to the listeners at home and abroad?”

Niffty nodded, grinning, and leaned up as Alastor put the microphone near to her. “Kono bangumi wa, goran no sponsa no teikyou de okurishimasu!” she chirped.

Alastor pulled his microphone back up. “I have no idea what that means, folks, but judging by her expression, I’m sure it’s hilarious!” Cackling, Niffty ran off again, returning to her cleaning.

Alastor reached out to remove the record from the turntable and replace it, his eyes moving to the window, where he could see the far distant lights of VoxTek Tower glowing against the bloody darkness of the night sky. He could imagine Angel Dust now: possibly between takes or even on a rest between films, back in his dressing room and touching up his appearance. Angel had once told him that he kept a radio in his dressing room specifically for nights when he worked during Alastor’s show.

“I like still gettin’ to hear a bit of your show even at work,” Angel had said one evening while they were curled up together listening to Cab Calloway and drinking the rest of the wine from the dinner the spider had made. Alastor had reminded him that he’d said, once, he didn’t even listen to the radio. “I didn’t. I do now.”

Alastor smiled as he put another record on the turntable, poising the needle and raising his microphone. “And now, let’s have a change of pace, shall we? This one goes out to a sweet little daisy in a garden of thorns; remember, my dear, that it will all end soon, and I’m waiting for you to come home. This is April Showers by B.G. DeSylva and Louis Silvers, recorded by Al Jolson almost a decade after his performance in Bombo.”

Alastor dropped the needle and sat back as music filled the studio again, his eyes drifting shut for a moment. He let his head fall back and imagined Angel dancing to the tune, wondering if it would help him get through his shift under Valentino’s heel. He sincerely hoped it would.

I’m going to break that contract for you, sha… but until that day comes, I will always have music in my soul that sings just for you.

•••

Niffty’s line is the phrase “this program is brought to you by the following sponsors” that starts so many Japanese television programs (like every single anime). It’s basically the Japanese equivalent of the “and viewers like you” PBS line.

#my writing #drowning in stardust #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #radiodust #hazbin radiodust #writing challenge #writing prompt

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heylittleriotact · 1 month ago

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La Vie en Rose - an Emmrook One Shot

Oops my fucking hand slipped.

(Rated M for some casual embalming chat between professionals)

Mourn Watch Rook x Emmrich

Pre-Release, probably not canon compliant, I don't care :D

Her arrival was heralded by the sound of her heeled Orlesian shoes winding down the staircase to the study. He looked up from the workbench, hands stilling over a bowl of various herbs and powders as she came into view. She looked distant; concerned.

She stiffened when she realized he was looking at her, the fingers of her right hand tightening just a little on the hand railing.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you’d be down here,” she said, immediately turning to retreat up the stairs, the tips of her pointed ears going pink.

Emmrich frowned: Amina Rook had been a reclusive phantom haunting this curious place from day one: one word answers awaited any attempts made by himself or any of their other companions to get to know her, and she was eager to mutter rushed goodbyes if she found herself sharing space with anyone else.

She was clearly terrified, and if even half of what he knew of her was true and not just idle gossip between mortalitasi and Mourn Watch, she had good reason to be.

She was also nearly halfway up the stairs now and almost out of sight.

“Wait!” He cried out, rushing to the bottom of the stairs. “Manfred just put on the tea… won’t you stay for a cup?” Wide sage eyes stared down at him. “Only one… if it pleases you, of course,” he added.

Those green eyes narrowed ever so slightly with what was surely distrust. He couldn’t blame her for that either: considering the circumstances surrounding her ‘sabbatical’ from the necropolis, it made perfect sense that she would be wary around colleagues within the Mourn Watch.

“He always makes far too much tea,” Emmrich said in a stage whisper: he didn’t relish convincing her at the cost of Manfred’s reputation, but he had to at least try to help this blatantly unsettled woman. “You’d be doing me a great favour.”

She pulled a handful of sleek black hair over her shoulder and ran her fingers through it nervously. “Fine.”

One word.

It was something.

He stepped away from the stairs and unfurled his arm in the universally understood gesture: after you. She swept past him without a glance, and the scent of cedar, peppermint and rose water trailed in her wake.

She stood in the middle of the study, her arms crossed defensively, back to him, tapping her toes on the stone floor as she looked around at the rows upon rows of books that stretched from wall to wall, ceiling to ceiling.

“Manfred, would you please place another setting for tea? Amina has kindly agreed to join us.” Emmrich unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled up the cuffs of his shirt on his way to the wash basin at the end of the workbench. He dunked his hands in the water and soaped them up as Manfred creaked enthusiastically to the cupboard and rifled through it for another cup and saucer - such things were curiously difficult to come by in the Lighthouse for some reason.

He dried his hands on the clean towel next to the basin and chanced a smile at Amina. She caught the expression and her gaze darted back to the shelves of books.

Found in the crypts by undead as an infant - no parents were ever located - Amina had grown up in the necropolis, raised by the Mourn Watch. He’d never met her - not unusual considering the size of the city - but he knew of her. Everyone in the Watch knew of her involvement in the War of the Banners, and many did not look upon that involvement kindly.

Emmrich was of the mind that ‘encouraged to travel’ was a rather droll way to say ‘indefinitely exiled from the only place she’s ever called home’. Add to that this business with the Dread Wolf… it was little wonder she was in such a state.

The shared silence was broken only by the rattle of china and effortful grunts and chatters made by Manfred as he prepared the tea.

Best get that mystery out of the way first, Emmrich decided.

“I don’t share the opinion that some of our associates have in regard to your perceived interference in the matters of the undead nobility. It was a difficult choice to make, and unfortunately you were placed in a position where you were the one responsible for making it. I can’t claim that I wouldn’t have done the same, were I in your shoes… it was the right thing to do.”

Amina considered him with those wide eyes and drew her lower lip through her teeth thoughtfully before saying quietly, “Thanks.” She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her thin black coat that fell midway down her thighs and jerked her chin at the wall of books. “Read them all yet?”

That was an astounding four words.

Encouraged, Emmrich chuckled. “I’m afraid my ancient elvhen is a touch out of practice, but I’m making good headway… or I would be if I only had another century or two to spare.” He went to the table in front of the fireplace where they would take their tea and pulled out a chair for her. “Please sit, my dear.” He smiled again. No threat. He was accustomed to people in general being unsettled by him, but not people who lived in the same world he did… knew what he knew.

She visibly flinched at the gesture, but found it in herself to sit on the chair and let Emmrich push her up to the table. Her eyes followed Manfred as he shuffled over to the table holding the kettle and began pouring steaming water into the teapot. He replaced the lid with a ‘clink’ and leaned closer to Amina, cocking his head and cooing softly as he took her in.

“Curiosity…” she murmured, and she looked over the table at Emmrich who had seated himself across from her. “But you call him–” she caught herself and addressed Manfred, “Sorry, is ‘him’ right?” The skeleton chattered an affirmative set of gurgles accompanied by a nod and Amina continued. “You call him Manfred?”

“He calls himself Manfred, so it would be astoundingly rude of me not to do the same.” Emmrich winked at Manfred and helped himself to a tea sandwich and a biscuit.

It would seem Amina’s own curiosity was piqued.

“Fascinating,” she breathed, watching Manfred with rapt attention as he poured tea into a cup for her and and a cup for Emmrich. “I’ve encountered spirits of curiosity on occasion, but they’ve never been keen to take a physical form. And he just… follows you around and… helps?”

“There is no better way to satisfy curiosity than by actively participating in the world around us, wouldn’t you agree?” His heart stirred with affection at the sight of Manfred offering Amina the plate of sandwiches. “He is not bound to me - he is free to come and go as he pleases… leave if he chooses, but he seems to be quite content rendering his tremendously valuable aid as my assistant… and I am eternally grateful for it.”

Amina took a sandwich and Manfred set the plate down. He picked up the bowl of sugar and held it out to her with an inquiring chirp.

“Uh… two please.”

Two cubes of sugar were dropped into her tea, followed by cream, and Emmrich saw delight in her eyes for the first time as Manfred stirred her tea for her.

“Thank you,” she actually smiled at his assistant then, and Emmrich’s heart was lightened at the sight of it. She sipped her tea. “This is perfect, Manfred.”

Manfred’s bones quivered with excitement and he sidled over a pace to see to Emmrich’s tea next - he knew how he took it: one sugar, no cream - simple and without fuss.

“How we met is a delightful tale, and I’ll be happy to tell it to you one day, but for now I’d like to focus on you: how are you?”

The remnants of her smile vanished and her cool, collected visage returned as she cradled the rather battered teacup in her hands. “I’m fine,” she said just a little too quickly. “No need to worry about me.”

Emmrich nodded his thanks to Manfred who had finished with his tea, and the skeleton shuffled off. “Spoken like a true disciple of the Mourn Watch.” He watched her brow tighten and took a moment to lift his tea to his lips and blow on it gently. “But as it happens, I too am familiar with the fact that we tend to put the welfare of everyone else - including the dead - ahead of our own almost habitually.” Was that a scowl? “You are safe with me, Amina… you can trust me.”

She sipped from her tea again. “Manual suture, or needle injector?”

Emmrich raised an eyebrow, his own tea inches from his lips. “I beg your pardon?”

“When closing a decedent’s mouth, which do you prefer: manually suturing with a needle and twine, or the needle injector?”

Truth be told, Emmrich hadn’t really been expecting to talk shop over tea with Amina, but she was talking, and that was leaps and bounds better than her skulking around the Lighthouse in terrified catatonia.

“I have a strong preference for manually suturing where I can. It’s easier to control the placement of the sutures, and the resulting mouth position and shape tends to look more natural than when one uses the injector.” He reached for his biscuit. “Of course there are cases in which the injector makes for easier work, but I find the amount of time it takes to get each needle positioned correctly doesn’t make it much more efficient at the end of the day: I favour quality over quantity.” He dunked the biscuit and smiled at Amina again. “And you?”

She studied him over the rim of her tea cup before saying, “Suture. All the way.” She tossed her head back, downing the hot drink in one go before saying. “Perhaps I can trust you after all, Mr. Volkarin.”

“Please call me Emmrich.”

“Perhaps the next time I join you for tea.”

“The next time? So you’ll come again?”

Another smile - this one with a rather mischievous tilt to it. “So long as Manfred is the one making the tea.” She stood from her chair and Emmrich shot to his feet as well.

“Allow me to escort you back to your room.” He extended an arm to her. Amina breezed past and made for the stairs, her heels clicking over the stone.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said, beginning to ascend the stairs. “Farewell, Mr. Volkarin. This distraction was… appreciated.” She shot him one more smile over her shoulder before disappearing from view, leaving behind only her lipstick stained tea cup, forgotten sandwich, and the lingering scent of cedar, peppermint, and rose water as evidence of her ever having been in the study.

Much to Emmrich’s surprise, she returned the next afternoon at precisely four, given away by the clicking of fashionable Orlesian shoes on spiral stairs.

“Hello, Emmrich. May I join you for tea?”

#dragon age #dragon age: the veilguard #da: tv #da:tv spoilers #emmrich #emmrich volkarin #emmrook #emmrich x rook #this is an emmrich thirst post #i just want to make them fall in loooooove already #they're gonna be so good for each other #v writes #ao3 #archive of our own

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mitsuristoleme · 6 months ago

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cw: gojo x geto, canon compliant, shoko cameo, angst, NOT proofread

“Satoru!”

“I love you, Satoru.”

“Satoru, you’re the love of my life.”

Satoru sinks to the ground next to bed, curling into himself. What had just happened?

Are you the strongest because you’re Gojo Satoru or are you Gojo Satoru because you’re the strongest?

What the fuck did that even mean?

His glasses had come off a while ago, lost somewhere in the streets of Shinjuku.

He wants to cry. He wants to cry so much. The tears just wouldn’t leave his eyes, his heart heavy in his chest, burning a hole through his body.

“I’ll never leave you.” Suguru had said, his nimble fingers tracing patterns under Satoru’s shirt.

Lies.

He lied.

He left him.

“You’re the love of my life.” Suguru had said for the first time, the words whispered in Satoru’s arms as he passed out after eating his first special grade.

Was that a lie too?

Did he ever even love him?

Why would he leave him behind?

Satoru has no idea how long he sits there spiralling into the dark cavern of his thoughts before the tears start to roll down his face, before his sniffles turn into sobbing and hyperventilating, pulling sharp breaths into his nose for no reason than his body’s need to live on.

“Satoru~” Suguru had almost purred, his eyes crinkling into that signature half moon smile , waving him over, his bag slung over his shoulder, the setting sun behind him making him look ethereal, angelic even.

“Why?” Satoru questions aloud, his voice cracking, a fresh round of sobs forcing itself from his mouth once more.

His chest hurt.

Was it from crying too much? Was it heartache?

He vaguely registers his the door clicking open and shut.

There’s a hand on his back. It’s warm, comforting.

The other hand slides between the cage he’d made with his arms, to grip onto his chin, forcing his head to lift up.

His eyes are full of tears, he doesn’t know who he’s looking at. His six eyes are sluggish, all he knows is that he knows this cursed energy.

His heart soars for a fleeting moment.

“Suguru?” he croaks.

“No man, it’s me, Shoko. ‘M sorry.”

Satoru wails, “Shoko. Shoko, he- he left, Shoko. He left me.”

She sighs.

“I know. C’mon get up, get in bed.”

She somehow manages to haul him into bed.

Satoru hears her mention a sedative through his sobs. He doesn’t care what she does.

Theres a prick on the base of his neck. His head swims.

Shoko runs a hand along his forehead. He doesn’t know if it’s to get his attention or soothe him. Both maybe.

“I’ll be here tomorrow. But you need to sleep right now.”

He nods. He doesn’t know what else to do.

Suguru’s face flashes through his hazy mind. The millionth time tonight.

He would’ve followed him anywhere. Why didn’t he take Satoru with him? He would’ve died for him. But now? Now he was just dying inside.

There would be an order for his arrest sent out tomorrow. Satoru would be told to capture his own best friend, his boyfriend- was he his boyfriend anymore?

He loved Geto Suguru.

He loved him.

Satoru passes out at that.

a/n: IM SO SORRY!! if anyone was curious, i was listening to loml and the smallest man who ever lived by taylor swift while writing this. i also almost cried. so. hope you had fun??? comment and reblog mayhaps please?

also i wrote this in like 20 something minutes pls forgive me for any errors

#satosugu #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk angst #satosugu angst #stsg angst #gojo x geto #gojo satoru x geto suguru

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cozy-mp3 · 2 years ago

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hard feelings

abby x gn!reader

the aftermath of seattle is proving hard to deal with

word count: 1.6k(ish)

warnings: angst/hurt + comfort, abby is bad at processing feelings and so is reader, they're trying tho!!!, everyone cries, lev is mentioned a couple times, mentions of nightmares, kind of canon compliant?, not intended to be ellie bashing, only briefly proofread

a/n: honey, i'm home :D i promise i didnt mean to be gone this long!! i just got out of the habit of writing + using this account, i'm sorry :( i wrote this to help ease back in to everything, i missed u all and i'm gonna devour all the stuff in the ellie + abby tags that i've missed tomorrow

abby is tired. she’s so tired she can feel the weight it, the way her limbs feel like they’re almost too heavy to maneuver, the way her mind feels fuzzy around the edges like she has to pause before each passing thought in order for it to make sense. she can’t let herself sleep though, because sleeping means she has to let down her guard. she knows couldn’t live with herself if something happened to you or lev, she couldn’t save her father or manny or owen, she couldn’t protect them and she lost them and she can never make that mistake again.

a smaller, weaker, more ashamed part of her can also admit it’s somehow easier to sit out here on the deck, to watch the peaks of the cliffs for the shadowy figures of scars or wlf even though seattle is far behind you all. it’s easier to sit and watch and defend because that’s what she’s good at, she can’t listen to the way you and lev whimper in your sleep from nightmares, the way the two of you toss and turn and thrash to get away from things she can’t see.

she doesn’t know how comfort you, she can’t lie and say everything will be ok, she’s never been good at lying to you and she’s hesitant to fill you with false hopes, even more so lev, to treat you both like you’re too slow to see some vague, distant goal even, if it would bring you some comfort. but she can do this, she can sit out here with her gun in her lap and a mug of shitty instant coffee by her side and protect you both so that you won’t have anything to add to the things that scare you from your sleep.

she startles when the door to the cabin open and you slip through, you footsteps muffled by your thick, fuzzy socks. she can almost pretend nothing over the past week happened as you shuffle over to her in your old checkered pajama pants and a hoodie that’s soft and worn and smells like the detergent they used at the stadium. she can’t ignore your tired eyes though, the way they’re bloodshot from lack of sleep and haunted in a way she hadn’t seen before the girl from jackson and her friends had come to hunt her down. this is the only time she’s ever been glad she’s argued with you, that she hadn’t given in to your instance that you travel to find joel with her despite the fact you were healing from an injury at the time. she doesn’t think she believes in god or whatever prophet the scars worship, but when she thinks about that day too long she knows she could get on her knees and thank whoever, whatever, for preventing you from going on that trip.

you hesitate when you’re in touching distance from her and it takes you making a hesitant, aborted step towards her for abby to finally relax her posture enough to reassure you. she sets the gun down beside her cold mug of coffee, and with practiced ease, spreads her legs enough that they’ll be a comfortable cradle for your body before she holds her hand out to you. it doesn’t take long for you to get situated in her lap, your chin resting on her shoulder and your arms wrapped tight around her ribs, it’s a position you’ve been in countless times before.

“what are you looking for?,” you ask quietly, your voice tired and worn even to your own ears, it makes your brows furrow in discontent but there’s not much you can do to fix it. you shift and press your cheek to the firm muscle of abby’s shoulder, your eyes trained on the vast expanse of ocean behind her, it’s still dark enough that the moon casts a white reflection on the small waves that crest and break gently against the side of the boat.

“nothing,” abby replies, her head tilting so she can feel more of your skin against hers, you’re soft and warm and familiar in a way that makes an uncomfortable knot form in her throat, “there’s nothing there,” she continues, clearing her throat instead of acknowledging the urge to cry.

you nod, not quite knowing what to say in response to her so you shift one of your hands to stroke the tense plane of her back instead. everything has been harder than it should be since you’d left seattle. you’d dealt with loss and pain before and you thought you’d grown out of nightmares about people and what they could do to you, it’s frustrating, feeling these emotions that you’d dealt with so easily before threatening to overwhelm you the way they are.

“you should be in bed,” abby tells you after a few minutes of silence, the continued lapping of the water at the hull of the boat and your combined breathing the only sounds in the quiet still of the night.

“so should you,” you counter, shifting backwards on her lap so you can look at her face, your hand cupping her jaw, “come back with me?,” you question gently as you stroke the pad of your thumb over the skin beneath her right eye, she has tired bags that look dark enough to be bruises and the left side of her face is partially covered with gauze to protect a cut that you know hurts more than she lets on.

“i can’t,” she starts with a frustrated pinch between her brows, “i need some fresh air, i’ll come in later,” she sighs, unable to bring herself to tell you about the way her chest seizes with anxiety whenever she isn’t within arms reach of a weapon, that she convinces herself that behind every hill and peak along the coast the sniper who killed manny is waiting to take you away from her too.

“then i’ll stay,” you say, ignoring the long, suffering sigh abby lets out at your response as you lay your head against her shoulder again, “i feel better when i’m with you, so i’m staying,” you add softly to quieten whatever argument she was about to level you with, though you question if your honesty was the best response when her arms tighten around you and she makes a choked sound in the back of her throat.

“don’t say that,” abby mumbles, her lips brushing your hairline and her eyes burning with tears, “god, please don’t say that,” she says a little louder as she shakes her head, “this is all my fault, i ruined your fucking life, you should hate me,” she continues and with a start you realize she’s crying, her tears falling hot and wet against your skin.

“oh, abby,” you whisper and once again you curse the way your mind seems to want to work against you, the way you can’t come up with comfort for her the way you could before, “i don’t blame you for any of this, abby, listen to me,” you plead, your hands desperate as they find her jaw once again, your fingers clumsily wiping away her tears, “listen to me, abigail, none of this is your fault,” you persist as sympathetic tears sting at your own eyes.

abby doesn’t reply, though she allows you to guide her head against your shoulder, to rub soothing circles into her back and hold her against you as she sobs. you find yourself carding your fingers through her hair the way you would after a rough patrol, your nails scratching lightly at her scalp in a way that used to make her sigh in contentment but now only makes her cry harder.

she cries for long enough that your knees are beginning to get stiff where they’re bent either side of her, but the pain is dull enough to be ignored, especially as her sobs quiet down into strangled, hiccuping breaths that she lets out against your neck. you don’t force her to speak but you do steer her head away from you, just far enough that you can use a knuckle to wipe away the tears that cling to her lashes and to the tops of her cheeks.

“i love you,” you tell her a few moments later as she reciprocates the gesture, her calloused thumb brushing away the wetness on your cheeks, “i’ll always love you, ok?” you ask, using your hold on her jaw to finally force her eyes to meet yours so she can see that you aren’t just placating her.

“i love you,” abby replies, her eyes red rimmed and puffy but her gaze genuine and steady on yours, even as you bend down to kiss her forehead, “god, we’re a mess,” she mumbles with a wet laugh after she’s pressed a brief kiss to the corner of your mouth, her grip on you loosening as you stand up and tuck her hair behind her ears.

“it’s ok, we’ll work it out together,” you reassure her, giving her the best smile you can muster, weak but honest, “come back to bed with me?,” you ask again, wrapping your fingers around her wrist to gently tug her to her feet. she makes a face like it’s painful but allows you to help her to her feet and lead her inside the cabin, her steps clumsy enough that it gives away her exhaustion but willing to follow you regardless.

it’s warm and dark inside despite the dawn that was lightening sky you’d left behind and lev’s sprawled out across the mattress you share, his breathing deep and slow as he sleeps. it takes a moment to manoeuvre yourself and abby around him without waking him but you manage, settling under the covers and letting abby tuck your head beneath her chin. she insists on sleeping with her back to the door and you’re both so exhausted that you can’t fight her, but as you close your eyes you promise yourself you’ll talk about it with her in the morning, all of it, you’ll work it all out.

#abby x reader #abby anderson x reader #tlou2 x reader

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sexybabystevie · 2 years ago

Note

hurt/comfort steve thought (if you’re still accepting them!): he really hates crying in front of ppl so throughout the beginning of your relationship you try to gently remind him it’s ok if he cries in front of you, it’s not a sign of weakness etc. and when something happens that makes him break down in front of you for the first time, he’s like rly shy & embarrassed at first :(

A/n: Oh my gosh this took SO long to answer, I am SO SO sorry about that. Anyways, I enjoyed this thought so much that I decided to pair it with a running idea that I had in my brain lately, so this ended up Steve-Thought-turned-whole-fic, so I hope you enjoy it, lovely!! Once again, thank you for sending this in and partially inspiring this!

His Knight in Shining Armor

Boyfriend!Steve Harrington x Reader

Tags and Warnings: Post Volume 2 Setting, Mentions of Eddie's Death and Max's Coma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Missing Scene, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Guilt, Comfort/Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt Steve Harrington, Steve Finally Gets to Cry, Despite the Title Reader's Gender is Ambiguous, Episode: s04e09 "The Piggyback"

Word Count: 5527

Summary: Even as Steve's long-term partner, you've never once seen him cry. In the aftermath of the final battle against Vecna, and in the very hospital room where a barely-living Max Mayfield lies, that changes.

Steve Harrington Masterlist

“Steve!”

Your legs burn as you chase your boyfriend out into the hallway, black Converse tapping softly at the dingy grey tiles beneath you. Everything is a blur – white walls and white coats and white lights that are far too bright and probing at you; it’s all blending together – and the smell of chemical antiseptic gives you a nauseating headache. Still, all of your grievances are floating, fading, flying away at the sight of the man before you.

Steve Harrington is too strong for his own good. A lover, probably one of the most caring people you’ve ever known, and yet he carries so much. The guilt of being Nancy Wheeler’s bullshit for much too long, the awareness of Hawkins’ looming and inevitable doom, the instinct and need to be there to protect you and Robin, to protect the kids – all of these are things that Steve Harrington has placed upon his own back, heaving emotional weights that even a sumo wrestler would struggle to uphold, and yet you had never once seen him cry. Or, rather, he had never once let you see him cry.

You had cried in front of him several times – stress from work and just shitty days in general tearing you down – so it was difficult to imagine just how he was holding himself together. With the thinnest of threads, is what you would assume.

You had always told him that it was okay to be vulnerable, that you would be there to catch him if he ever fell, to hold him during his starless nights, but he was persistent. He shrugged off your offers, not in an unappreciative way, but in a manner that seemed to mean that he wanted you to be under the impression that he was fine. That he didn’t need you to sweep up the broken pieces of him and put them into the dustpan, because he had only ever tried being so defenseless with one other person before, and what had that gotten him? Bullshit…

You never pushed him, hoping with everything in you that he would absorb your words into his heart and come to you when the walls crumbled, but you had a feeling that the first cracks were forming in his foundation when this entire mess with Vecna started.

When you had stepped into Max’s hospital room together, hands interlocked, you almost felt his breathing catch as if you shared the same lungs. His palm stilled against your own, cold and clammy, and he was slinking away from you, back out the door you had barely stepped through to begin with. He was running down the hallway, towards the emergency fire exit at the very end, and you knew that the river was overflowing the dam.

“Steve, please–” you breathlessly call out to him, gaining a few confused glances from patients and visitors nearby, but he’s out the door before the words have fully fallen from your lips. Whether he’s ignoring you in the hopes that you turn away or he somehow just hasn’t heard you yet, you’re unsure.

Regardless, you’re still hot on his heels, your feet hitting the ground impossibly faster. The force of your speed causes them to go numb, nerves firing like you’re stepping on little knives, but you don’t care. You’re too focused on watching Steve’s hazy outline through the blurred windows to really notice. Everything in you hopes that his silhouette doesn’t get smaller – he’s not walking away into the parking lot, he’s not – and you must be really good at manifestations because your wishes somehow ring true. That, or maybe it’s the fact that you know Steve Harrington like the scenic backroads to your parents’ house.

You underestimate just how rapidly the door to the outside is approaching, too caught up in your own worry to think about your physical body. The breath is knocked out of your lungs as you collide with the exit, harsh metal bruising your hipbone as the force of your being sends the door flying open. Wincing and gasping for air, you wobble and step down onto the concrete landing below, eyes scanning for your boyfriend with the intensity of those futuristic pieces of spyware that Joyce Byers said local conspiracy theorist Murray Bauman owned. Maybe your eyes were as powerful as the spyware too, because you easily found Steve’s mop of ruffled-through hair even when it was barely visible over the stairs.

Posture slumped, a man – no, younger; he’s a helpless boy now, a boy who has bravely bitten off far more than he’s able to chew – with shaking shoulders, hollow and yet so unbearably full. His palms shield his face from the world, the only way he can go about holding himself up in this moment, and he caves in on himself, a statue who’s been pushed a little too far over the edge and who is now facing the irreparable consequences. Statues only are made for heroes, how did he end up with one anyway?

You tentatively approach him, walking a little over halfway down the staircase with each move forward feeling like a punch to the gut, and his despondence is like someone has taken your favorite sweater and tried to replace it, but the material isn’t as soft as before and the stitching on the inside isn’t in the same pattern. You stand three steps behind him – his shadow is on your shoelaces – and he says nothing. Three becomes two and two becomes one, and he says nothing. You sit down next to him, a gust of wind and your legs against the cool rock below making you shiver, and again, he says nothing. He doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge that you’re there or that your breathing is still heavy from chasing him, and a pit begins to form in the most sensitive area of your stomach. The tides are receding and the morning skies are red – Steve Harrington is becoming a tsunami.

You, then, say nothing. You’re afraid to reach out to him, afraid he will turn away from your touch like he’s been burned, afraid that you’ll try to mend his heart and it will scurry away from you forever, and you love him. You love him so much that you can’t risk it – the prospect of loving him so much that it drives him away is your very own circle of Hell – so you sit and you say nothing.

Minutes pass, and the air feels like it’s rocky – you’re inhaling pebbles when you breathe. There seems to be a mountain between you – better yet, he’s at the top of the mountain and you’re a traveler without the proper gear to reach him – and you feel as though your hand would have to go through lightyears of space and time to brush upon his shaking arm. The silence doesn’t seem like it will let up, and you’re growing to think that maybe he won’t open up to you at all.

Steve’s position shifts – he buries himself further in his hands, somehow – and that almost gives you the impression that his body isn’t violently shaking. He talks then, moreso brokenly whispers, and if you weren’t right next to him then you might have mistaken it for the whimpering wind.

“I can’t go back in there.”

You stay quiet, unsure of what to do next. Your most basic instinct in that moment is to wrap yourself around him like a warm coat, keeping him from the cold of the air and the cruel of the world, but you don’t even settle for resting a palm against his arm. Any move is a push too far when it comes to Steve Harrington and allowing himself to feel for once.

Instead, you pray that he continues on. To your luck, again, he does.

“I know they need me. The kids need me, Robin needs me…” His voice trails off, and he retreats from his hiding place between his hands. He doesn’t turn to you, but it’s a sign of acknowledgement that’s moving in the right direction, nonetheless. “She needs me. Max–” His voice cracks and he tries to cover his tracks by clearing his throat and biting his bottom lip, but you can already see the sheen of unfallen tears on his waterline.

All thoughts of moving too quickly thrown out the window, you shuffle closer and angle yourself so that your knees are inches away from one of his. The warmth from his body fades into yours, intermingles and creates a voluntary bubble of safety around the two of you, and you don’t stop your hand from reaching out and snaking its way down his forearm. A ghost against his skin, leaving goosebumps along your wake, you carefully interlock your fingers with his, and while he’s trembling and resistant at first – stoic – he seems to surrender to himself as his grip hardens against your own, leaving his knuckles white and your hand feeling a little cramped, but you know better than to say anything. Not now.

The reciprocation of his hand to yours settles his internal battle – it’s okay if he keeps going, keeps feeling – and so he finally lets out a long, quivering breath that is reminiscent of the steam above a volcano.

“I’ve already failed her once, and now I’m doing it again.”

The words are what you expected to hear from him, but that doesn’t mean that they make your airways feel any less constricted. Imagining the guilt that he must be carrying – the guilt of losing a friend, a sister, almost a daughter – somehow is more painful than when you collided with the heavy hospital door a few minutes ago.

Everything is suddenly too real. Just days ago you felt like you were on top of the world with your plans to take down Vecna, overconfidence being the sunlight that kept all of you on your toes, and now you were here. Here, with several of your friends gone and one on the verge, skirting the veil between life and death, and you hadn’t really had time to process it all until now. With Steve’s fear and guilt and grief bleeding into you via osmosis of the hand, reality is finally settling in.

It was easier to pretend that none of this was real when you were packing up all of your things to move into Steve’s – all of you had seen the empty ground where Vecna’s gunshot-riddled body should have been, so Steve wasn’t going to have you living in your place alone, even if it meant there was a minuscule chance his parents came back to awkwardly find you there – and it was easier to pretend that nothing had changed when you went to volunteer at Hawkins High, mindlessly going back over the clothes your boyfriend had folded to make sure that they were presentable. The days after the rift was created between Hawkins and its Upside Down counterpart were hazy; it was as if everything before had been some fever dream that all of you had shared, and your schedule was so busy with volunteering and moving that you didn’t have time to fret or to try and tackle what had happened and how that had made you feel.

Everyone had spent those first few nights in sleepless petrification. Joyce hadn’t surprised the group by returning and recovering Hopper yet, and Jonathan and Argyle were still making their way back to Hawkins with El, Will, and Mike. The party was broken, in more ways than one, and so everyone who remained stayed together.

None of you even bothered with packing up night bags or suitcases – truthfully, no one knew when you would all be returning home – and none of you complained when Steve led the rest of you back to his place on foot, ushering you inside the door with a pathetic attempt at a smile. Max had already been transported to the hospital then, and while Lucas had traveled with her initially, they sent him home after she went into emergency surgery. The home he went back to was Steve’s, and those who were inside – Robin, you, Steve, Erica, Dustin, and Nancy – greeted him with heavy embraces and unspoken solemnity. No one spoke at all that night; rather, everyone piled up on extra mattresses and couches in the living room and huddled together as the TV displayed movie after movie. Each time one went off, Steve got up to find another one to put in the VHS.

Once an old helicopter from Russia and a pizza van from California touched Indianian soil, the family reunion had begun. Some victories and losses were shared with one another, but certain topics remained unmentionable. Max. Eddie. Their names were like lava on your tongues, and saying them meant that it was real – Vecna was still out there and he was real, several innocent people had died and had been declared missing since the rift had opened and that was real, and just as Max was finally becoming more forgiving with herself, she was gone again, and that was real too. It was too much all at once, too much for a group of children who had somehow fought for the world and won, even on more than one occasion, and so, however wrong it may have been, you couldn’t dare utter a word.

It was still too soon when Wayne Munson touched his nephew’s missing persons poster at Hawkins High, but Dustin was more brave than anyone else and stepped forward. The rest of you watched with grief-stricken hearts as he stood up for one of his best friends and role models, and while you couldn’t say everything that Dustin did because the words wouldn’t stop getting caught in your throat, everyone else did give Eddie’s poor uncle the reassurance that his nephew was, in fact, innocent, and was, unfortunately, a hero.

It was still too soon when the hospital rang Steve Harrington’s house to let Lucas Sinclair know that Max Mayfield was now allowed to have visitors, but you all piled into Steve’s BMW anyway and rushed to the hospital. Steve broke several traffic violations and there were so many people in his car that you were genuinely shocked you could all fit, but none of that mattered. It was almost as if your chance to see her would be gone if you were even a fraction of a second too late, and none of you were willing to take that chance.

Despite how quickly you all bombarded into the hospital and into Max’s room, your feet never once hit the ground. You were walking on air, somewhere far above the earth that was dreamy and made your head spin, and all of that crashed and burned the second that Max’s mother opened the door.

The severity of your situation was so dark, so desolate that it took Steve Harrington’s hand squeezing the life out of yours and the declarations of exclamatory guilt coming from his lips to get you to finally adjust to how things would have to be from now on. The crushing weight of it all brought bile to your throat, and you subconsciously returned Steve’s death grip on your fingers.

“She relied on me.” You can hear Steve talking, you can still feel him right next to you, but you’re still floating. You’re still trapped in some kind of daze, and his words only make your chest ache with loss. “She relied on me, and I let this… I didn’t do anything to stop it. I promised her I’d make sure she’d be okay. I promised her that she would make it out of this.”

The pain and guilt of Steve’s voice goes right to your gut, making you feel more nauseous than the chemical scent of the hospital ever had, and dizziness overtakes your body despite the fact that you’ve been sitting entirely still.

Even in his current state, your boyfriend takes notice of the way your palms grow more shaky and rigid. By habit, he turns to direct his gaze towards you – always more concerned about anyone other than himself – and you have one small moment of eye-contact, a glistening of pain and anxiety and understanding between the two of you, before a single tear escapes the confines of Steve’s pretty brown eyes and he panics.

His stare widens impossibly further and he’s too quick to turn away, to shut down anything that might follow afterward. His head shoots away, focus lingering on some wilting bushes that are to his left – any scene without you is suddenly of intense interest – and gradually his body shifts away as well, his knees no longer parallel to your own. A gap is left on the concrete stairs between you, and just the sight of it makes you feel colder than you did when the unrelenting wind previously froze you to the bone. The gap doesn’t just freeze your bones, it erodes them too.

Steve takes what you can only assume to be an attempted deep breath, but he seems to be too forceful and instead lets out a strained half-gasp, half-cough. Sniffles and the sound of poorly restrained tears ring throughout you like a church bell, and you snap out of your stupor as your protective nature kicks into overdrive. You want nothing more than to whisper your mantras of love and reassurance to him, a hand snaking up to groundingly, softly, curl the delicate hairs on the back of his neck around your fingertips, but you hesitate. Again.

“You can… uh, go back inside now,” Steve says, so quiet that a ladybug landing on a four leaf clover would have been an explosion in comparison. The only reason you hear him at all is because the breeze carries his voice over to you like one of the gruesomely thoughtful dead mice a beloved pet cat would leave on your doorstep at midnight.

In another situation, you may have laughed out loud at his suggestion, but you know the significance of this moment. You know that things are delicate, as is Steve’s relationship with emotions, so you settle for subtlety, a choice that you’re hoping lets him know that you aren’t trying to be pushy, you aren’t trying to push him to the point of driving him away. Truthfully, the very last thing that you wanted to do was leave him, and you hoped with everything in your soul that he felt the same.

“I could,” you say, voice soft and matching his from before, quiet enough to be spoken between the two of you only – not even the swaying oak tree nearby can hear the words exchanged among you like a sacred secret. “But I’d rather be here with you.”

Your carefully chosen words imply more, other things you wanted to tell him on the tip of your tongue – I know you need me, I want to be here now and always, I want to be the one you go to forever, please let me. You’re all too aware that his previous offer for you to go back inside was more – that it was his way of letting you know that you can go back, back to the way things were before, when he hadn’t been vulnerable like this – and you hope that your answer speaks the same riddles he does, only in reverse.

Steve says nothing, which might be alarming any other time, but he hasn’t made any other covert suggestions about how you should be reacting to this situation, so you take that as the small victory that it is. His shoulders quivering, he still keeps his back to you, clearly not quite ready for facing you head on, and you ever-so-gently bring one of your hands to his back, hoping and praying that it isn’t too much too soon. His walls fall one at a time, castle crumbling brick by brick, and you hope that he’s let his guard down enough to finally let you comfort him. You’ll dig him out of the rubble and debris every damn time; you’ll be his knight in shining armor if he’ll let you.

The muscles in his back tense a little, making you hold your breath for what feels like ages, already expecting him to turn to you, a teary smile on his face as he tells you that he’s fine, he was just being silly, and aren’t you ready to go back inside now? like he’s said in the past. Like when you accidentally stumbled into the bathroom that first night, when he was wiping tears from his eyes in front of his aged, rusting sink. You couldn’t help thinking he was like that sink then, looking broken down and far too old for his true age, and the thought of seeing him like that again is enough to send a cold chill through your chest. Everyone knows what too much rust does to something – it corrodes and eats away at the source until nothing’s left – and it was with cruel irony that the very image of that happening to your ever-loving boyfriend made you feel like something was eating away at you.

You’re so in your head with worry that you barely notice that Steve hasn’t shrugged your hand away. You shake yourself out of your spiraling thoughts, away from the shock that fights for you to freeze up in uncertainty, and decide to test the waters. Your fingers trace small shapes into the material of his yellow sweatshirt like you’ve imagined doing thousands of times before, their movements a bit stiff and awkward but neither of you seem to care. Steve seems to relax into your touch, feeling his body loosen right under your palm in such a way that makes your heart partially melt – both at being capable of being able to do that for him and also because it was you that was calming him down, not someone else.

Even if it was only miniscule, to be the one to provide him a sense of comfort was an honor. Still, though, you don’t plan on moving away until he’s either all cried out or he asks you to back off. While you’d prefer the former, just this moment in itself is proof that you’ve made progress, and you’ll accept any kind of growth at this point, even if it means you don’t get the chance to hold him in your arms like you know he deserves. One step forward may be twenty steps away from that – your perfect fairytale ending where you can finally share the burdens that Steve has been carrying solo for far too long – but you’ll take ninety more days like this as long as Steve’s finally letting himself feel something.

A choked up sob escapes his throat, a noise that simultaneously relieves you and takes a chunk of your heart from your chest and stomps on it. If you really focus on the sound of him crying, on the way his body uneasily shakes, you begin to feel your own eyes prickle with the potential of unshed grief. Your first instinct is to shove it away, to try and be a rock for the utterly drained man next to you, and maybe it’s the exhaustion eating away at you post interdimensional battle – or maybe it’s just the heat of the moment – but, regardless, you let down the barriers and allow teardrops to cascade down your cheeks.

Steve doesn’t seem to notice you’re crying with him until he hears you loudly sniffle, and in his haste to check in on you, he forgets about his emotional hesitancy. His body shifts back towards you, a small sense of warmth crossing over your legs as his knee gently knocks into yours. His eyes scan carefully over your face, his eyelashes wet and clumped together and his eyelids slightly swollen and tinted pink.

“You’re even pretty when you cry,” you blurt out, the words tumbling from your lips before you can even think about having said them, and it takes a second for you to truly understand that you’ve spoken out loud rather than harmlessly thinking it to yourself.

You’re not sure how you expect Steve to react, but what you don’t anticipate is the soft and intrusive blush that begins to creep onto his cheeks. Gaze diverted to the ground, he takes in a long, deep inhale of air before quietly replying with a bashful, “Sorry about that.”

He doesn’t have to explain that, you know he’s talking about his vulnerability with you, and you instantly shake your head at him, the shine of the sun showcasing the half-dried and abandoned trek his tears fell from. With the burning light directly behind him, casting his brown hair a few shades lighter and leaving behind a residual warm yellow glow, he looks like a fallen god.

“Don’t be.” Your hand slinks away from his back and down to where his hand rests upon the concrete, and when you take it into yours, you feel the indents of the rock and gravel below in his palm. “Remember what I said before?”

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t have to scold me about it.” The sprinkle of playfulness in his tone takes you by surprise, and you’re relieved to spot the edge of his lips tilted up into the tiniest of smiles. Despite all the horrific events of the past few days, Steve Harrington can still have a smile on his face, and that makes you feel like maybe everything else is going to end up alright.

As abruptly as it was there, however, it’s gone, and your boyfriend’s voice is back to the quiet hoarseness of before.

“It’s just…” He trails off, features scrunched up as he appears to be struggling with words. Luckily for him, you know him better than the flavors of ice cream you had to painstakingly memorize when you were merely coworkers at Scoops Ahoy.

“Hard, I know,” you say, finishing his sentence for him. “But I’m happy you let me in. Even if it was only for a little while.”

Steve shifts to form eye contact with you, his own gaze softened as he drinks in your words, the gentleness of your hand, and everything about you. For the first time in his life, he finds true trust in another person. Your little smile holds a kind of affection that’s almost dizzying, the kind of dedication one only sees in those horribly cheesy romance movies he’ll never admit he likes watching with you, and he feels like being next to you, showing even the tiniest sliver of his pain to you, is like a baby being swaddled into a security blanket.

He stays silent, overwhelmed with his onslaught of adoration for you, and the two of you let the moment pass just like that. Hands entangled, gazes interlocked, and thoughts filled with nothing but one another, the comfortable silence filled with words unspoken but understood between you.

You know better than to bring up his guilty confessions from before. Your conversation has shifted and you’re afraid to backtrack, afraid that doing so might result in him hiding away from you again, so you decide to let it go. Even though the only thing you want to do is relieve his pain, reassure him by telling him that he’s taken on too much – that the best course of action anyone can take for Max is being patient, having hope, and kicking Vecna’s ass – but you let it go for now.

“Thank you.” Steve breaks though the quietude to beam at you, grin still small but never any dimmer, and practically offers his heart to you alongside it. He’s more than certain that you’ll be careful with it, especially after today. He thinks that maybe he can get used to this, to being vulnerable with you and to seeing your pretty smile afterward, and he’s almost looking forward to it. Almost, but not quite.

The way he looks at you, so full of love that it’s more obvious than the answer to some elementary math problem, is nearly enough to bring you to tears again. Never in your life had you imagined finding someone so soft, so genuine and caring for everyone around him, and your chest is beginning to ache as it longs to beat directly next to his.

Consumed by this feeling, you reach out with your free hand and grasp the sleeve of your sweater into fisted fingers before using the plush material to wipe away what’s left of his breakdown. Your motions linger as you shake your sleeve back into its proper place and scoot closer to him, index and middle fingers rising and tracing along his cheekbone. You can’t help but get lost for a moment, sidetracked and taken into another world as you closely examine the smoothness of his skin, the tiny little freckles that are sparsely scattered onto the side of his face. You already knew they were there, of course, but you never get tired of finding them. Sometimes you wish you could thank whoever it was that painted them there.

Steve’s breath is warm against your chin, causing your stare to automatically flicker to his. You’re not surprised when you find that he’s been looking at you all this time, absorbing this memory with you while he can make it, but it still makes your lips upturn nonetheless.

“You ready to head back in there yet?” he asks, voice low and a tad bit teasing as his ego undoubtedly takes a boost from how unintentionally hypnotized he’s made you. “Those shitheads are probably losing their minds right about now. Think we’ve left and they’ve lost their ride home or something.”

His joking tone is laced with worry; you both know that just talking about going in there means your minute of peace is over. You’ll be back into the throes of whatever new hell Hawkins endures next, back to living in uncertainty surrounding the safety of not only yourselves, but also your friends. It was true that people had been dying this whole time, the years being tainted with the blood of those like Barb who never really had a chance, but this was your first real taste of a different kind of loss. A kind of loss that’s more than just being sympathetic or upset for a few days; the kind of loss that’s felt in the absence of people at birthday parties, in the way that sometimes conversation seems normal until there’s a lull that should’ve been where someone else was cracking a joke. It’s the kind of loss that you can’t ignore because it’s felt everywhere, and just the minor glimpse of it that you’ve caught in the past few days has you feeling terrified.

You’d always naively thought that you and your friends were safe, untouchable, too relevant to the status of Hawkins and the world at large to be taken from this world. Eddie and Max had proven your beliefs wrong, and that meant that no one was really safe at all. Vecna could and would strike again, and it was only a matter of time before you’d be walking on eggshells and avoiding stepping on the vines of the Upside Down again.

A flash of yellow and a hand being offered out to you snaps you back into reality. You weren’t even aware Steve had gotten onto his feet and was no longer sitting next to you, no longer tracing his fingers on the delicate skin of the back of your palm, but you don’t get caught up in that.

Instead, you accept your boyfriend’s outstretched hold and let him help you to your feet. Your legs are wobbly, halfway numbed from lack of movement, but Steve’s right there by your side, iron grip on your hand like he’s seconds away from rushing forward to catch you, if necessary. You don’t need it this time – your body comes back to life quite quickly, leaving you with legs again in replacement of the jelly-like limbs you had prior – but something in the gleam of his eyes and the sureness of his hold tells you that he’ll be there to catch you next time and the time after that too.

You give his hand a small squeeze, noticeable enough to act as the okay to start heading back inside, and when he squeezes back, you know that you’ve got one another. Both physically and emotionally. The next move from Vecna is inevitable, but you feel a little more certain about things like this, fingers intertwined and with souls that you chose to be twisted together. When misfortune strikes again, Steve will be there to hold you close, and you’ll be more than willing to do the same for him. You know there’s years of trauma and pain that he hasn’t shown you, hasn’t yet informed you of, and you look forward to the days when he decides to open up. As long as he keeps letting you wipe the residue of his tears away with your sweater sleeves, of course.

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