#thread: snows that fall without reason

[rhiannonsknife]

── ❆ DAY 16: dating nat scatorccio in the wilderness

— summary: being nat’s significant other during winter hcs.

— warnings: some hurt/comfort. gn!reader. established relationship. some slightly suggestive content.

nat, who is uncharacteristically caring when it comes to you.

especially when the cold comes. after jackie dies, it’s like something inside her sharpens; she refuses to let you be next. she is always the first to notice if you’re shivering or struggling in the cold. she might not say much, but she’ll drape her jacket or blanket over you without asking. “don’t argue” she mutters firmly. when you open your mouth, nat cuts you off. “you’ll get sick”. “i was gonna say thank you” you whisper instead, watching as her hands linger, pulling the jacket tighter around you. it’s not much to keep the cold out, but it makes it bearable. “oh” nat whispers, her cheeks rosy. also: if you’re out on a hunt with her, she constantly checks to make sure your gloves and boots are secure, tugging them tighter if they’re just a little too loose. every few minutes, nat is glancing your way, scanning you for any sign of discomfort.

nat, who shares her rations with you.

during particularly harsh days, nat often sneaks you a larger portion of food. she brushes it off when you notice, saying she’s “not that hungry,” or “better at handling hunger than you”. “nat” you’ll occasionally try to reason when no one is around to hear. “you need this more than i do”

it’s true, rationally speaking: nat is the groups only chance of getting through the winter, her hunts the only source of food.

but nat brushes it off instantly. “shut up and eat” she instructs. her voice comes out a little harsh but you know she only has the sweetest intentions and that there’s no point in trying to fight her over this.

nat, who needs to be out of that cabin as much as possible.

no matter how cold it gets out there, or how exhausting the hunting can be, nat will rather spend time away in the cold that lose her mind in the constant company of the others. you’re the only one whose presence she genuinely appreciates. on rarer occasions, when there’s nothing else for you to do, she’ll suggest taking a walk out in the snow to clear both of your heads.

she jerks her head toward the woods, her voice gruff but softer than usual. “c’mon. let’s go for a walk”

you glance at her, puzzled. “a walk? in this weather?” she shrugs, already pulling her jacket tighter around her. “we’ll go crazy if we stay in all day. and you look like you could use some fresh air”

the trees are coated in frost when you step out of the cabin, their branches heavy with snow. nat walks a few steps ahead, scanning the woods like she always does, her hunter’s instincts never fully shutting off. for a while, neither of you speaks, she’s just leading the way through the trees. nat only pauses when you reach a small clearing, shoving her hands into her pockets and watching the snow fall around you.

but also: nat who, even in the cold, uses the walks as an opportunity to be alone with you.

“see?” she’ll say once you’ve reached said clearing. “that’s much better than the cabin, don’t you think?” she’s got a point there and you laugh softly, watching as she hesitates, her gaze dropping to the snow before flicking back up to you.

“what?” you ask, stepping closer

nat shakes her head, a rare smile curling up her lips. “nothing. just…missed being alone with you, i guess.” her hand reaches out on instinct, brushing snowflakes from your hair. things move fast from there: you’re suddenly pressed against the rough bark of a tree, nat’s freezing hands cupping your face before trailing down, her fingers curling against your waist and tugging you closer. the cold disappears entirely as her lips move against yours, urgent like she’s trying to make up for all the stolen moments the two of you couldn’t have. “missed this so much,” she murmurs against your lips, breathlessly.

you laugh, your hands threading into her hair as you tug her back into another kiss. nat’s cheeks are flushed, the tip of her nose a soft pink, but you don’t think it’s just the cold, not when her hands wander lower, tugging at the hem of your jacket, her fingers slipping just beneath the fabric to brush over your hip.

“nat,” you whisper, leaning your head back against the tree to expose more of your neck to her mouth. “what?” she grins, her hands not stopping once .“i missed this too” you mumble when you catch her eye, one hand reaching out to cup her cheek. her smile softens for a split second before her lips capture yours again, hungrier this time. that’s when you know you won’t head back anytime soon.

nat, who sits by the dying fire when neither of you can sleep at night.

you’ll often do that for each other, especially in winter. when one can’t sleep, the other will stay up to offer some warmth and comfort. the fire crackles softly still, casting flickering shadows on the cabin walls. you sit beside nat, knees nearly touching as the two of you huddle close to its warmth. she occasionally pokes at the flames with a stick, her expression distant. some nights, she’ll speak. others, you sit together until you drift off eventually.

“what date do you think it is?” she asks you one time.

you glance over at her, startled by the question. “i don’t know. it’s hard to keep track”

nat nods, lips pressing into a thin line, eyes fixed on the fire. “feels like it could be christmas,” you offer hesitantly.

she snorts softly, a breath of amusement. “christmas,” she echoes, shaking her head. “doesn’t feel much like it” finally, nat glances over at you. “maybe it is,” she says quietly, her voice carrying a hint of something you can’t quite name. “guess it doesn’t really matter out here, huh?”

nat, whose protectiveness can sometimes flare into anger.

out in the wilderness, you obviously try to be as helpful as possible. you might not be much of a hunter like nat, or capable of doing the gruesome stuff shauna does daily. still, you’re determined to try. this is when nat’s protectiveness can flare up, especially because she’s worried about you. if you push yourself too hard, whether from hunger, cold, or you chores, she’ll snap at you to take better care of yourself. when you try to get fire wood in the mists of a snowstorm, nat goes as far as to come out and get you:

your hands are numb despite the gloves you’re wearing, and the basket of firewood you’re carrying feels heavier with each step through the thick snowfall. that’s the state nat finds you in as she comes striding towards you. “are you trying to get yourself killed?” she snaps when she reaches you, cold hands feeling up your face. “why the hell didn’t you just stay in the cabin? it’s freezing out here!”

you bristle at her tone, even though you know it’s coming from a place of concern. “we need more firewood,” you reason. “i’m not just going to sit around and let everyone else do all the work” nat rubs a gloved hand across her forehead. “you think you’re helping? you’re barely standing. you’re gonna pass out out here, and then what? who’s supposed to carry your ass back?” her words sting, but before you can snap back, she grabs the basket from your hands. “give me that. go back to the cabin. now”

“i’m fine, nat, i-” you insist, but the look in her eyes stops you. there’s a rare flicker of vulnerability beneath the frustration, a hint of how scared she really is for you.

“just… please,” she mutters, her voice softer now. “go inside. get warm.”

nat, who still shares soft moments with you in spite of all the bitterness.

she feels that out of everyone who’s still alive, you’re by far the softest. the one most deserving, to her, of a good life, in a place suitable for your kindness and gentle nature she’s learned to love out there. so, regardless of everything (including herself), nat makes sure to share some soft moments with you. on those rare occasions when the fire crackles low and everyone else is already asleep, you’ll find her sitting next to you, a subtle tenderness in her actions.

you’ve grown used to the way nat holds herself, always on alert, always prepared to hunt or run, but in these quiet, shared moments, she lets that guard slip just enough to be with you. when the cold is biting harder than usual, she surprises you by sitting down beside you, resting her head on your shoulder for a moment. it’s not something she does often, and she’s clearly uncomfortable, but she wants this.

“i don’t know what i’d do without you here” the words come out quietly, vulnerable, even if she doesn’t fully recognize how important they are to you.

speaking of which: nat, who still struggles with open affection.

she isn’t the type to show her feelings with grand gestures or sweet words. she’s never been one for sentimentality, especially not after everything that happened. but when it comes to you, there are these moments where her affection comes through in the most subtle ways.

one particularly cold evening, after a long day of hunting and gathering firewood, you feel the chill settling deep into your bones. you didn’t realize how bad it was until you sit down near the fire, shivering. before you can even ask anyone, nat is there, kneeling beside you with a thick blanket in her hands. she doesn’t say anything, just drapes it over your shoulders. nat leans over, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, her hand lingering longer than usual. “you’re okay” she whispers so quietly no one but you will hear and sounding like shes reassuring herself rather than you. “you’re okay”

nat, who misses not the house she grew up in, but your shared hometown.

the days blur together in the cold, and no one really knows the dates anymore. the passing of time becomes irrelevant when every day feels the same: survival first, everything else second. but deep down, you both know that, one of these days, back home in wiskayok, your families are likely celebrating their first christmas without any of you. nat doesn’t talk much about it, but every now and then, you can tell she’s thinking about home too.

one time, while you’re laying curled up together, a soft snowflake drifting through the cracks in the cabin walls, you can’t help but mention how strange it feels: “one of these days, back home, they’re all celebrating,” you murmur. it’s not a question. it’s not even a wish, but a recognition that christmas is still happening, somewhere out there. nat grunts, from behind you. “who cares?” she mutters, her voice rough. but then, after a long pause, she adds, softer than usual: “i guess it’d be nice to be home for once”

chilly winter mornings with nat <3

obviously, waking up in the freezing cold is miserable, but nat’s there to make it bearable. she’s always up before you, moving quietly so as not to disturb anyone else, and by the time you blink awake, nat is already perched beside you with a cup of lukewarm ‘tea’ she’s managed to scrounge up, her expression soft despite the biting cold.

“c’mon, sleepyhead,” she murmurs, nudging your shoulder and holding the mug out to you. her voice is so low, you’re the only one who can hear the tenderness in it. “the fire’s going! let’s get you warmed up”

you grumble under your breath, reluctant to leave the relative warmth of your spot. nat sets the mug down beside you and leans in closer, pressing her cold nose against your cheek. you yelp at the chill, but it’s enough to pull you out of your sleepy haze, earning a quiet chuckle from her. “see? knew that’d wake you up,” she teases, pulling back and offering you her hand.

[belokhvostikova]

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | After five months of no reconciliation with the man whose lifestyle became too much for you to manage, you're met with your ex-boyfriend, the rockstar, after an accident leaves you in the hospital, and you face the realization that Eddie Munson is still your emergency contact.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, crying, mentions of alcohol consumption, hard drug use, insecurities, minor jealousy, fighting, breakup, brief mention of infidelity (no cheating, though), hospital setting, head injury, concussion, mentions of stitches, mentions of blood, and mentions of seizures.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Y'all, I'm 19! So, as a gift to you (whatever logic that is) here's a fic that takes place around Christmas, so I guess, also a belated Christmas gift. Happy birthday and Merry Christmas! Also, the extent of my knowledge on injuries is purely based on the fact that I took both Health Science I and II in high school, and, well, that's it. So, if anything is inaccurate, NO IT'S NOT (because I said so).

“Will you-” so vividly, you heard his boisterous laughter dense the air sweetly, his face glowing with the ever peaking sunlight that glimmered the sparkling snow outside each time you peered up to his extended height. “It’s like you’re trying to make me fall!” His dramatic accusations were merely met with your fits of giggles, something he so gladly wished to always be met with, as the graze of your cold fingers buzzed his skin with the excitement of what used to be your touch. “Seriously, baby, I can’t finish this if you’re attacking me.” 

But you made no effort to stop, continuing your precise placement of delicate ornaments upon the belt loops of his jeans, the links of his chain, the pockets of his backside, perhaps even one snuggly secured in the threaded rips of his pants. With your boyfriend at your mercy—stuck a couple feet higher atop the fifth step of the ladder to fulfill your dreams of draping green garland to surround your high rise windows—you couldn’t help the ebullient urge to decorate him as you pleased, bringing some loving festivities to the black denim ensemble he regularly sported. 

Effervescent balls of sparkling reds and yellows accompanied the hanging bandana of his back pocket. “You’re like my very own personal Christmas tree!” You beamed upwards, watching a smile that was personal to himself, as he lavished in the innocence this holiday expelled from you. “C’mon,” a fatuous whine that had him chuckling with strings of fake green leaving his hand to secure around the window frame, “have a little spirit!”

And perhaps, that’s all you were trying to have now: spirit.

Because in the blink of an eye, the purity of crystalline, white snow had turned into sludges of watery dirt to meet the once twinkling hues to stringing lights that now simply became the bane of your existence. Because to you, everything embellished itself as a mockery to the happily ever after you now no longer had. 

But it never hurt to try, and yet, trying became the very literal thing that hurt you. 

“…What occurred in the midst of their fourth track, Corroded Coffin’s notable ‘Goliath’s Wrath,’ left fans in a frenzy, when frontma…” Your eyes blurred with exhaustion, attempting to fight back the heaviness of your eyelids that left your vision impaired by spotty shades of blacks and whites. Various pitches of ringing clashing with static voices began provoking that throbbing ache in your head that pounded your brain to mush. “…Information falls scarcely upon accuracy, though there were mentions of a family emergency as to the reaso…” One harsh breath for your dense chest left your nose to be invaded by the artificial, bitterness of antiseptic. All more of a reason for your eyes to screw shut in a brutal endeavor to appease the gnawing of your head. “…Demanding refunds for a set that had to go on without the leading m-”

“You’re up!” Your eyes shot open. His aging skin told stories of his life, crinkling into an abundance of creases that welcomed your startled awakening. “I know things may seem a little scary and confusing here, kid.” Heaving became an understatement when your eyes accepted the burning tiles of white around the room, and suddenly, whatever news outlet that was recounting the upheaval of 90s Hollywood from the tiny television that served its purpose of passing time was becoming drowned out by the abrasive beeping of monitors that clung to your body with tubes. “But just bare with me, alright, everything’s going to be okay.”

Okay? Your body felt cold under the roughness of hospital linen. “I-I…” A reckless try at sitting up left your mouth soaring with an agonizing groan from the pain, your sore body all too weak for the heavy lifting at your head, that suddenly felt the density of a dozen bricks that smashed together. 

“Take it easy, alright.” The older gentleman smiled, urging you to lay back against the flat pillow with his simple gestures. “I know things are a little hazy here, but my name is Dr. Rosenthal, would you be able to tell me yours?” Your brows scowled at the disparaging child-talk the man thirty years your senior was showcasing you. 

With a roll to your eyes—something instantly regretted because of the pain in your head—you dryly croaked. “Y-Y/N.” It was all too bright. God, what would it give to flip off the overhead lights? You never really were a fan of overhead lights, but his excuse of, “we have money now, these lights can stay on,” had a knack for making you giggle. It’d been five months since those overhead lights were ever turned on again. You wondered how often Ed-

“That’s great!” Dr. Rosenthal smiled, and you accepted the scraping scribble of his pen against his papered clipboard to satiate the buzz of your brain. “Tell me, Y/N can you remember anything about how you may have gotten here? Any recollections you may-”

“Where is- is she here?!” You fought the throb of your head to snap into the direction of the door, where Dr. Rosenthal mimicked your concern. In truth, the smell hadn’t been all too great; beads of perspiration coated his body in part with the concoction of spiced cologne and the bitter bourbon he regularly downed before coming face-to-face with thousands in a packed arena. “Y/N- she’s- what, what happe- oh, shit!” Cindy Jaurick had been a renowned makeup artist in Hollywood, but with the dryness of his skin, even she couldn’t conceal the bruising of his sleep-deprived eyes; splotches of alabaster cream became patchy upon his bags that smeared with the waxiness of black liner. 

Eddie Munson, all leather and chains that clashed with his truest self of denims and tees. A facade so greatly curated by the hands of top executives that in a span of three years, millions were acquired to his name. Such a stupid name, you now thought. 

A heavy step forward left his booted foot clanking against the white tiles, a movement too abrasive for your liking, as his incoming hand has you pushing back from his reaching touch. “Excuse me, sir, you need to step back and calm down.” Dr. Rosenthal proclaimed, a man of loyalty to his position, clearly perturbed by any bothersome that came to his patients. 

“I just- what the hell happened, are you okay?!” His jewelry—the real kind, far from the fake silver he once adorned that periodically fused his fingers green, but loved them more than anything—jingled to the admission of his distress, hands harshly raking through the chunks of sweaty hair over the sight of your damaged self. 

An audible clap came with the hit of Dr. Rosenthal’s clipboard to Eddie’s exposed chest, where the buttons of his designer brand had been deliberate to showcase the permanent markings of his tattooed skin. “Sir, unless you are a relative or partner of-”

“Yes! Yes, I’m her boyfriend-”

Your memory hadn’t served you right for the occasions that brought you to the hospital, but you knew enough that Eddie Munson no longer brandished the title of such, given the circumstances that occurred five months ago. “N-No, he’s, um, not… anymore.”

“Then, sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave-”

“No, I- do you even know who I am?” Eddie watched your face scrunch with disgust at his language to the doctor, but whatever damage control he attempted fell short on your solidified opinion of a distasteful eye roll against him. “Shit, no- like, I mean you called me. I-I’m her emergency contact! I swear it, I’m Eddie!” 

And you slumped back against your bed. Clear as day, you remembered the cursive handwriting that marked the page with the name and number of your ex-boyfriend. When a year ago, months apart finally came to a halt as Eddie’s touring schedule cleared for the coming holidays. It would suffice to say the bedroom of your quaint Indianapolis townhouse saw little abandonment, with silk sheets becoming imprinted with the weight of your bodies that refused to leave the warmth of each other’s depraved company. In doing so, your judgment became clouded from the usual routine of bathroom care that came after a heated rendezvous. But could you be blamed? Believe it or not, there actually was a time when Eddie’s embrace brought you comfort and peace. What eventually transpired into a run-of-mill UTI had actually worsened quicker than expected. Over-the-counter medication did little to relieve you from the infection, and when your back suddenly began to ache, you knew a trip to St. George's Hospital was in need. With a close call, your kidneys were able to stay intact to your body, and the use of dialysis was spared from your future. And yet, who knew the most haunting occasion of that experience would come with the boyish smile of Eddie Munson, as he watched with lovesick eyes as you entrusted him as the man you’d want in the case of an emergency.

My god, how times have changed… 

“Um, yeah, yeah, he is.” You swallowed the dryness of your throat, hoping the commotion of everything would finally settle to alleviate the stress of your head. 

“Well, Ms. Y/L/N, it’s up to you if you’d like him here.” Dr. Rosenthal sighed, a harsh click to his pen that surely cemented his dislike for the gaudy man upon him. “Your neighbor has already left, but I can assure you that the nurses will make frequent routines to keep you in care.”

Neighbor? “I- um, Trevor?” Your head spun with the lack thereof details that painfully tried to piece themselves together. 

Eddie's hair flew with the snap of his head to your doctor, as his scowl silently demanded the explanation you both were desperate to hear. Dr. Rosenthal cleared his throat. “Ms. Y/L/N, you took quite the fall off a ladder in your home. After a while, your neighbor had found you, and did the deed of bringing you over. He mentioned you had borrowed his ladder to put up-”

“Christmas decorations.” What a wonderful feeling it was to have the epiphany that was as simple as regained memory. Where you no longer had a boyfriend to gladly bear the brunt work of Christmas decorations for your sole enjoyment, you now had to dish out yourself. Unloading dusty boxes had usually accompanied a teasing compliment to the muscles that bulged from his arms, though now, your back felt the strain of heavy lifting, because you refused to properly use your legs. “Um, y-yeah, I remember- well, I don’t remember falling, but, uh, I used Trevor’s ladder for the, um, y’know, what do you call them? The green, leaf stringy-”

“Garlands?” Dr. Rosenthal and Eddie spoke simultaneously.

And you perked up as best as your body would allow. “Yeah, garlands!” Your voice excitedly croaked. “You, uh, y-you remember?” For once, in five months, you actually acknowledged him. Eddie. “I-I like those garlands around our- my windows.”

He remembered. Your giggles ringing in his ears like magical sleigh bells. Your touch warming his skin against the burning cold. Your eyes twinkling over the simplicity of green garlands… something he couldn’t even provide you with now.

“That’s good.” Dr. Rosenthal smiled. “You’re recalling events and… history,” he pursed his lips against Eddie’s cold demeanor, “wonderfully. It’s a good sign of minimal memory loss, which falls quite commonly against those in situations as yours. When you fell, Ms. Y/L/N, your neighbor had informed us of a seizure-”

“Seizure?!” Eddie spat.

“Yes, seizure; fifteen seconds.” He clarified. “And with that, an immediate grade II concussion. We ran a necessary EEG and CT scan prior to your waking, as such classification can offer some findings. Fortunately, all we saw was the inevitable stretching of your neurons which caused a burst of electrical impulses in your brain explaining the seizure. Checking for any fracturing of the skull, or swelling, and bleeding, and you were quite lucky. Completely cleared.” His smile broke through his wrinkled face. “Though, you were brought in with quite the gash on the left side of your head, right between the parietal and occipital bone. Nothing too extreme on the severity scale, but in order to stop the bleeding we did have to repair the tissue damage with stitching.” A vapid explanation of the overly tight gauze that somehow felt like a ton of bricks around your cranium. “But other than that, your vitals are excellent.” Check, check, check off his clipboard. “It’s very likely you’ll continue experiencing a headache, perhaps some nausea, or dizziness. I do recommend an overnight stay to ensure secondary swelling doesn’t occur, and to guarantee your memory continues to function properly. But a morning discharge should be fine.”

A deep breath allowed your head to nod along. “Yeah, um, thank you… really.” You earnestly smiled.

But where you could muster a staid beam of politeness, Eddie Munson gleamed a smile so faux, even Dr. Rosenthal piqued him with a scowl—though miniscule for his professional aptitude. The heavy click of the door closing behind Dr. Rosenthal granted the heaviest breath to escape from Eddie before his attention scrutinized you. 

“What the hell were you thinkin’?!” He ambushed. Seriously, he knew you for seven years. Seven years of his fucking life, and not once had you ever dared to lift a finger for manual labor. Okay, call him old fashioned, but that’s exactly what he liked about you; you know, the whole damsel in distress that needed him whenever something fell loose or broken. That’s it, just the need for him. The need to want him around. “I-I mean, seriously, you- why couldn’t you just call me- or, or, like, Steve, or someone, so you wouldn’t get hurt?” Okay, so maybe calling him wouldn��t have been your first option. If the fact of being no contact for five months wasn’t enough, surely living across the country would have ruled him out. You stopped keeping up with his whereabouts weeks ago. But that wouldn’t stop him. It was you, for Christ sake! You wanted your garlands, Eddie would have given you your garlands. No matter the lack of communication. No matter the distance.

Eddie Munson would have given you everything. 

You dryly blinked. Twice. If only he felt like that when you both were still together. “Get out.” 

“Okay, no- wait, I’m not trying to blame you-”

“Really? Because that’s exactly what you’re doing. Get out!” Your tired voice tried to muster. 

“No, sweetheart, c’mon, I-I know- I just worded it wrong, okay? Please, I just- I don’t know why you would try to do something that would get you hurt like that. You could have, I don’t know, asked for help, like called me up, I promise I would have answered to help you-”

Your eyes rolled against his sentiment. “What, so I’m just too dimwitted to use a couple of tools?!”

“Well, you did fall.” By your stare, Eddie Munson had two seconds to live. “N-No, I didn’t say that- I, look, I just wish you would have called or someth-”

“And I wish you would just get out!” But your rash endeavor to sit up and shove him away legitimized the pitiless reality of your gnawing head hazing your vision and dismantling your balance, forcing Eddie to rush to your assistance. 

“I- okay, I’ll shut up, just lay back, relax, please, sweetheart. I don’t want you hurting yourself more.” 

“I’m fine.” You gritted. 

“There’s a chunk of your head missing.” Eddie retaliated with a deadpan so infuriating mocking.

A huff of disbelief rippled from your dry lips. “Dr. Rosenthal just said it was no big deal.”

“Like I care what that old fuck has to say.” Your scolding eyes ripped him a new one. “Okay, geez, didn’t know you two were such close friends.”

With no energy to fight back, you permitted his touch to push you back against stiff pillows, where his ink-engraved hands worked swiftly to cover your frail body from the harsh chills of the hospital air conditioning. “I’ll be quiet, promise.” He whispered, adhering to his words, as he silently watched you close your eyes away from him, now that his presence has garnered a throbbing headache. 

By the seventh beep, you no longer found interest in counting the indications of your working monitors. But where your mind lost the simple activity, you also gained attention to the whirring voices of the television. Sat by your side on the hardened chair, Eddie’s tapping toes forced your eyes to tear back-in-forth from his stance to the static colors of live footage coverage. 

“Man, all I hope is for a refund!” Drunk out of his mind, as the lights of cameras began emphasizing the drugged redness of the young man’s eyes. “Like, seriously, we’re all here for The Freak, and for him to just run off like that, dude, we paid for a Corroded Coffin show, and we’re gonna get it, or else we want our money back!”

A pan to the well-dressed reporter stocked drastically to the metalheads on scene. “Well, you heard it here first, folks. As we wait for more updates on the events that occurred that left Eddie Munson running off stage to what would have been his biggest performance in his home state, fans are pressuring for a refu-”

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere right now?” Eddie's head pulled itself from his intense stare that followed the grout of the tiled floors. 

“Huh?” His gaze followed yours which briefly led to the boxed television that delivered MTV’s insistent need to showcase a replay of Eddie “The Freak” Munson, lead guitarist and singer of Corroded Coffin, running off stage in the midst of their newest single, ‘Goliath’s Wrath.’ “Oh, um,” his hand waved you off, “my team will rip me a new one later, it’s fine.” 

You sighed. “And just for the record, I am self aware, so I did have someone there to help me.” You muttered, leaving his brows to furrow. “Trevor?” 

“Oh.” Eddie’s lips maneuvered awkwardly. “Trevor, right.” Knee bouncing, fingers tapping, Eddie knew he should have kept his mouth shut, but the question burned his mind for too long not to suddenly blurt out. “So what, are you seeing him or something?” And perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut, given the death glare you killed him with that had him reeling back his words. “I- sorry.” 

“Trevor has a girlfriend. And a ladder.” You scoffed. “And you of all people cannot be talking.”

Three weeks post the headlines that announced the separation between rockstar, Eddie Munson, and his longtime girlfriend, new reports were eager to air Hollywood’s newest romance between the amoral and Playboy’s finest, Lindsey Sawyer. To say you cried for weeks was quite the understatement, when your body physically impaired you from leaving the shielding comfort of your bed. While you rotted, Eddie danced on the grave of your love with his new girlfriend, whose six inch stilettos pierced your bludgeoned heart. Granted, it lasted nothing but a couple days, though it didn’t stop from the new pattern of recurrence in which Eddie found Hollywood’s new recycled “it” girl to accompany the image of a rager rockstar. Gisele Camarella, Pam Densely, Yvonne Huntsford; a new name, face, and body to compare yourself to. 

“I-” his shame flooded his cheeks crimsen, “those were never real- not, like- not like you, not you and me real. Just what management thought looked best.” Though, his quiet admission did nothing to soothe over painful memories. “I’m sorry.” Three scrapes of wooden legs scratching against white tiles was all it took to have Eddie Munson sitting by your side. “How do you feel?” His eyes fervently raked your face. “Honestly.”

“My head hurts.”

“About seeing me?” He clarified. 

Silence crept up in a suffocating manner, as Eddie watched your stoic lines revise his being. “I don’t like seeing your face anymore, Eddie.” How were you able to speak those words so calmly? Eddie’s throat choked him with unbearable bitterness that burned his insides. “You look stupid. You used to never look stupid.” 

Eddie Munson had a haunting past of failures; D’s and F’s marked such a bloody red over white papers, tainting any scribble of hard work he, at least, attempted at times. And what followed failed tests and quizzes only came with the taunting laughter of jocks and cheerleaders, jeering their distaste for his “kind” that branded his leather and denim as the epitome of all things they deemed nauseating. For a while, Eddie Munson believed himself to be nothing but stupid. The grades and reputation being all the evidence needed to solidify his self worth to him. Every compliment to your intelligence he gave you knew came with an underlying insecurity within him. Because you were smart, so smart. What was a smart girl like you doing with a stupid guy like him? 

So, yeah, your words hurt. As they intended to. 

Eddie’s eyes dropped with shame, his Adam’s apple following suit with a thick bobbing gulp of guilt. His eyes casted upon his tight leather jeans that felt insufferable under a building layer of sweat; too much eyeliner, at times clouding his vision from the very fans he loved seeing; sheer shirts waving in a draft of uncomfortableness, forcing him to long for prized t-shirts that gave him the movement to be him on stage; and a god awful personality detailed so preciously by management to make his name a headliner’s favorite. 

Yeah, Eddie Munson looked so fucking stupid. 

“I-I don’t like ‘em.” He stammered. 

“You used to.” 

-

July once brought Los Angeles, California a blistering heat. You hate heat.

Five months ago. 

“No, no, no, he’s full of shit, I was the one who came up with ‘Goliath’s Wrath!’” The cigar browning of Gareth Emerson’s scotch dribbled his lips wet with his drunken blubber, as men surrounding—all big money and titles alike—huffed out laughter worth millions to the men that provided them such wealth. 

Eddie’s nose burned with the ecstasy of white powder, dusting his beautiful features with the hedonism of all glory and power… for once, right in his hands. “Oh, fuck off, you were passed out drunk laying in your own piss when we wrote that god awful fucking song!” He laughed, joining in on the obnoxious cacophony of guffaws that held no sense of reality. 

A shoulder knocked into his. Greased slicked hair, gold rings, and a suit worth your car payment; Iverson Green. And Eddie had no fucking clue what he did. “You really don’t like the upcoming song?” He whispered.

And Eddie would never know. Information as such mattered little, as long as the man helped pay his check. “These braindeads approve of all this rock shit for the image.” Eddie bit back. “If I had it my way, I’d show ‘em real metal.” He smiled. 

A blood red stiletto acrylic stabbed at his shoulder before a cloud of Chanel °5 invaded his itching nose. “Got you booked.” She spoke, her breath tickling his ear over the sheer closeness needed over the vibrating base of stereos. 

Eddie turned his head to see her, a smiling Judy Carawan that had him beaming right back. “For what this time? I’m not doing some late night news bullshit again.” After the way Larry Parsons of Hollywood’s Friday Nights called out his delinquent behavior, executives were buzzing for another clash between Eddie “The Freak” Munson and talk show hosts to get the papers running. 

“Hilfiger.” Judy leaned in, a smirk of confidence for her work truly accomplished. “A fitting, then you wear one of his suits to the VMA’s, and that’s cash in your pockets. And mine.” 

Eddie’s face glowered with disgust, as he attempted to move away, her smell becoming too strong for his liking. “Save me a line.” He instructed to the man breaking rows of snow on the mahogany table. “Fuck no, I’m not wearing some posh-y model shit in front of the fucking cameras.”

“It’ll be one time, and a check worth a lifetime.” She rolled her eyes, a habitual stance against the troubles that came with personally assisting Eddie Munson. “Also, see.” Her slender finger pointed to the lengthy body of Cierra Kalahi, perched against the marbling chimney of your Hollywood Hills home. “Miss America’s Next Top Model will be wearing Hilfiger, too. You and some Shalom Harlow wannabe wearing the same designer is just enough to spark some attraction to your name.”

Eddie knew the venomous implications of her suggestion. “I’m not playin’ into your bullshit dating rumors.” A vicious cycle you two had to go through; you hurting more than the other, though. 

“Okay, fine, then we get your pretty, little girlfriend to wear a matching dress… that is if she’ll stop being a bummer.” 

“Don’t fucking do that, alright?” Eddie huffed, dragging his sweaty hands down the heat of his cheeks. His eyes felt like they were going to crack out of his skull from the dryness of being opened for the past forty-three hours. But the umpteenth swig of Old Fashioned was fueling him alongside the unstoppable fuel of crystalline cocaine. “She just- I- look, I’m not putting her out there where she doesn’t want to go. S-She’s too good- she’s too good for the cameras.” 

“She’s not good for your career.” Eddie felt her words echo into a repeated ringtone that irritated his ears. His vision grew blurred with his impulsive movements against her face. 

His hot, alcoholic breath fanned her bangs with each huff of his chest. “Remember who pays your fucking bills!” Nothing but the voices of Mötley Crüe tormented the background, as everyone but the music quieted to bask in the events of another Eddie Munson meltdown. “You say one more fucking word about her, and I’ll leave you to the fucking street.”

Judy Carawan cinched her eyes against his lost ones. Whatever bad boy facade he drugged himself into every night never scared her. Hell, she fed into it. “Eddie, I’m going to be quite frank with you, since no one else will be. You and your goody girlfriend will never last. If she truly cared for you like she says she does, she would do anything to keep your name in the spotlight. And if you truly cared for her like you say you do, you wouldn’t be snorting snow on your fucking anniversary.” Eddie's hardened muscles fell from realization. And Judy smiled such a sick smile. “And FYI, I was someone before you.” Eight years of work with Hollywood’s hottest clientele. “Can you say the same?”

Your lip wobbled under the harsh bite of your teeth to suppress the stinging tears from an embarrassing downpour. Despite his promises of a private evening, you braced your arms over your chest, where it became exposed from the strapless dress you uncomfortably endured, after too many magazine headlines criticized your lack of “looks” for the hottest rockstar in town. You’d never admit it, always brushing him off whenever he became concerned for your well being because of the tabloids, but he always noticed the subtle changes you made to look like the women in the city that felt like another plant from olde Indiana. 

And now, unwarranted flashes of cameras settled outside the Michelin Star restaurant that burrowed burdening humiliation into your skin, as a cautious peer around the setting allowed you to notice the pitying and gossip of the goers around you. 

Every minute that passed, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. But an hour and fifteen minutes just prevailed you to be a doormat. But could you be blamed? Seven years ago today, you ran into the man, himself, who turned the dreaded day of Hawkin’s High open house into a new adventure. Where you had the excuse of an actively involved mother, who became adamant on touring the unknown environment of the orange and green halls after your father’s relocation to the rural town, Eddie had an intransigent uncle who refused to watch his nephew lose another year of his life to failing high school, and imposed the young man to abide by the staff’s fake smiles, as they greeted parents and students for the coming school year. 

It’s funny how one sullen face can find another in a crowd of PTA parents and their goody-two-shoe children alike. Meeting eyes and a devilish smirk on his face was all it took for two strangers to find trust in one another, and sneak away in the depths of bushy, green woods. In retrospect, asking Eddie Munson to be your boyfriend after only three hours of knowing him was quite rash—he, himself, was quite taken aback, as well—but the worst that could happen was it didn’t work out. I mean, what high school relationship ever does? But his informative trek across lush grass, a shared cigarette, and talks that had your stomach cramping from fits of giggles was enough to solidify your decision at heart. And who was Eddie Munson to ever say no to a pretty face and soul like yours. 

And it worked out… surprisingly. 

It was quite the experience learning the ins and outs of someone you already called your boyfriend, but the pureness of it all bloomed into the most innocent love of two people navigating the world and finding themselves together. 

But suddenly, the world had a place in your relationship. The people had a say. In what you wore, what you looked like, who you had to be. And he allowed it. Allowed everyone to measle their way in. After the first promise to you that nothing would change, every single one to follow became a lie. 

Because he changed. 

You mustered the will to sniffle away any tears. He no longer became worth it to you. And it broke your heart. Your heels clicked their way out of the restaurant, where your being was blurred under the paralyzing flashes of people who invaded your life, capturing and exploiting your lowest moment for a check, and branding you the girl that held the greatest rockstar back.

Eddie stumbled back on wobbly feet, his mind too disorientated to care about the bodies he shoved that consequently left glasses of cocktails to shatter against the polished flooring of his home. Though, nothing mattered as long as he got to the door. But your crying self had beat him to it from the other side, swinging the grand doors that were always too heavy for your liking, and entering your home that was invaded by strangers and their substances, and Eddie… your Eddie standing in the middle of it all. 

His red, beclouded eyes had disallowed him the privilege of blinking your beauty straight, but through the haze of blear lines, he saw your face so clearly fall from disappointment.

From pure defeat. 

“W-Wait!” Eddie fought the incoordination of his legs to follow you outside, leaving his guest to watch in awe. “Baby, I- fuck! I-I’m sorry- ugh, I just- I forgot!”

Los Angeles’ humidity suffocated his airways that were already constricting from his sobbing chokes. His insides burned from the concoction of drugs and sweltering heat that only fueled at the sight of your broken face. “You forgot?!” You cried, swinging your body around to face the man you no longer recognized. “For the past seven years you’ve never forgotten, but now you do! What, is it no longer important for you?!”

Spit blubbered with his words, as his lips moved a mile a minute to keep your love preserved. “N-No, I mean- yes, of course, it’s i-important-” 

“Then why weren’t you there?!” Mascara stained the softness of your cheeks, now too darkened for Eddie to ever kiss the pain away. “Why aren’t you ever there?! For me!”

“I-It wasn’t my fault.” He heaved. “J-Jude, she-she said this s-stupid thing was scheduled, and-and she said it’d be quick-”

“Of course, it’s never your fault!” You bit back with the deflation of your arms. “It’s always the alcohol, or the drugs, or Judy, but it can never be your fault, can it, Eddie?!” His fist balled into his eyes, as snot caved down his nose. 

“N-No, it is my fault! I’m sorry, Y/N- I’ll fix it! I’ll do anything, I’ll make it up to you, I swear!”

“Don’t you get it?!” You marched up to his wrecked body. “Your promises mean nothing to me anymore!”

“Don’t, please!” Eddie sobbed. Shameful embarrassment ate him alive in the middle of your Hollywood Hills driveway. “I-I’ll stop all this, th-the drugs,” his arm smeared away the remnants of snot and cocaine against his nose, “the drinking, partying, everything, I mean it!” Because something deep within Eddie Munson knew this was the last straw.

You were done.

“Stop lying to me!” Your eyes stung with tears. “Why are you so comfortable lying to me, and h-hurting me?!” His head adamantly refused your words with a harsh shake to his head, but the history of abandonment that brought you to your wits end weighed more than his inebriated actions. “You touch me and it feels like a lie. You k-kiss me and it feels like a lie. E-Everything you do has become bullshit, Eddie! I don’t trust you. I-I just worry. Worried that anytime you’re not next to me you’ve drugged yourself dead, or-or knocked out somewhere, or… with women-”

“Don’t fucking say that! I’d never do something like that to you!”

“The Eddie I knew would never leave me to snort coke with strangers, but here we are!” You bawled in retaliation, forcing his mouth quiet in disbelief. “You’re not Eddie anymore! So, don’t stand here and tell me you wouldn’t do these things, when everything you do leads me to believe you are capable of doing something like that… something to hurt me! Because you do, Eddie! You hurt me.”

“I’m so fucking sorry! Please, Y/N, baby, I fucking love you, everything’s just been too much, a-and I forget things, I’ll be better!” You scoffed at his utter patheticism that grossed you out, turning your heel, but his large hand caught a tightening grip to your wrist. “No, I’m serious, sweetheart, I’ll change! I-I’m still Eddie!”

“Get off.” You quietly pleaded, exhausted from the sobs that wrecked your body. 

“Y-You can’t leave me, Y/N, no, I-I need you.” He choked. “I love you. So much. With everything in me. Please. We don’t do this to each other!”

“Then why do you keep doing this to me?!”

“Darling, Ms. Y/L/N?” Yours and Eddie’s head parted to the soft voice of Debby Weiser. Nearly a year ago, your elderly neighbor—who came into stardom in the 50s for her acts that revolutionized the spreading use of colored television—welcomed you into the gated neighborhood with a gluten-free muffin basket that had tasted like pure shit. But the kindness of her effort garnered a budding friendship with the mature woman who offered her wisdom on enduring Hollywood’s notoriety. “You alright there, sweetie?” Her southern accent never had assimilated to the Valley. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You turned to his eyes, staring down the saddened roundness that no longer held the precious life they once used to. “I was just leaving.”

That night, you left to your shared Indianapolis townhouse that became your starter home when Eddie’s career was first taking off. You were so happy then. 

And he hadn’t seen you since. 

Until now.

-

Eddie Munson had fallen quiet. 

Everything had, in fact.

The constant beeping of your medical instruments drove him to madness, but he figured the insanity was substantial punishment for the hurt he caused you. He’d been suffering for five months already, what’s a couple more minutes? If anything, he’d be suffering for the rest of his life should it continue without you. 

But it didn’t have to. 

Eddie knew he had no right to gain your love once more, and the vulnerability of your state worsened the situation tenfold, but there was a reason Eddie received that call. A reason why his heart sank amidst a phone call that identified your beautiful name in an emergency, that left him dropping everything in front of thousands that cheered his name. Whatever cynicism that tainted his heart had long left upon your sweet arrival; a ‘thank you’ filled with such gratitude towards his uncle, when Eddie busted into the trailer with a smile too large to be because of Hawkins High’s yearly open house. Wayne Munson had never asked, mostly due to the fact that his nephew locked himself in his bedroom, where the nineteen-year-old worked endlessly for his new upcoming Dungeons and Dragons campaign that followed the grounds of fate and destiny. 

In the mere three hours of your presence, you gave Eddie Munson hope.

He’d be damned not to devote his eternal life to you. 

“Y/N, I…” his eyes laid low, examining the threads of linen that covered you, as his fingers twiddled with his rings to appease the constant bounce of his anxious knee. “I need you to know how terribly sorry I am for everything I did. All the times I hurt you.” He sighed, as his teeth sunk into his bottom lip. “I- uh, I just really need you to understand that everything that happened to us was not your fault. At all. You-” his breath shook with a tremble, “You really were so fucking perfect during everything. So patience, so communicative, and I-I never listened to you the way you deserved, I just- I don’t know, I thought maybe-maybe if I gave it my all to this career, I could finally give you everything you deserve.”

His eyes attempted to blink away searing tears, but his emotions were getting the better of him. “A-And I know how fucking selfish that is, I had- fuck, I had no right to assume what you wanted from me, and-and put you in a position where you had to go through all my bullshit, all because I thought that in the end it would make you happy… without even speaking to you about it.” Eddie's voice cracked with a harsh sniffle to gather his strength. 

“I-I’m getting clean, um, it’s been really fucking hard, but I-I got the boys s-setting me straight everyday. Especially after I practically tortured them with my cries after you left.” His pity laughter softly broke through. “B-But yeah, sweetheart, I-I’m doing pretty good for myself- well, tryin’ to, at least. Still kinda always, constantly, forever feel like shit,” Eddie chuckled, “but I’m managing. T-The drugs n’ everything flushed n’ all, n-now just trying to hold off the booze, y’know? But fuckin’ hell does a beer get me through it.”

A smile began etching upon his face, where the history of all the laughter you provided him with creased his face with the lines of joy that only truly showcased in your presence. “Talked to our manager, he sure as hell was pissed when I insisted on getting rid of Jude. And she sure as hell went out with a bang, and smeared by name to the tabloids, but, uh, you probably already read about that- or not, I don’t, like, expect you to keep up with me or anything, honestly I kinda hope you didn’t, because, well, those first couple of weeks after everything real-really, uh… brought the worst out.” A deep breath escaped his mouth, as his fingers dug into the temples of his head to alleviate the dull pain. 

“I-I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m really… trying.” Eddie swallowed thickly. “F-For my fans, the boys, myself, a-and you, Y/N. And I c-can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am for taking, y’know, taking this long t-to get better, and for not trying better before, for having to h-hurt you just to learn, I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N. A-And I’m not askin’ for a second chance- well, I know I don’t deserve one, not now or-or ever if you feel like it, I just need you to know I’m Eddie, somewhere inside- I’m working really hard on just being me- oh, but, of course, I do want to be with you. T-That wasn’t me saying I didn’t. I do, I-I always wanna be with you, I just- I, okay, I’ll shut up now.”

The deliberation was excruciating. 

The process of his words that rambled on for an eternity was too much to process, especially with a head injury, and he understood that to the fullest, but the quietness was becoming deafening, as he waited for your words… your rejection… your reciprocation. 

Anything.

And he couldn’t dare look you in the eyes, the ones that pierced his soul so deeply, and he desperately urged you to say something. Anything!

“Y/N?” Beep. Beep. Beep. “Sweetheart…?” His eyes fluttered forward. “Jesus H. Christ, Y/N!” Your peaceful sleep had garnered a frightful reaction from Eddie, as he jumped to his feet to urgently caress your face awake. Of course, when doing so, your eyes tiredly awoke to his face all too close for your liking, and a frown broke your face, as you attempted to move from him. 

“Christ, Eddie.” You debilitatingly rasped. “What are you doing?”

“Me?! What are you doing? Are you okay? You shouldn’t be going to sleep, you have a concussion! I-Isn’t that, like, something you shouldn’t do?!” He cupped your face straight to the blinding ceiling light, that had you mewling with annoyance. 

“Eddie, I can remember Reagan’s speech, and the fall of the Berlin Wall.” You dragged, prying his concerned hands off your face. “I think I’ll be just fine going to sleep. God, did you just expect me to stay up all night?”

A shuddering breath left his strangling throat, as his hands flexed at the electricity of the touch of your skin. His body tensed, as his round eyes worriedly followed the contours of features. “You didn’t- did you hear me, like, anything that I just said? B-Before you- I woke you up?” 

Your brows concave with a furrow of confusion, as you peered up at him through wispy lashes. “What’d you say?”

A deep sigh left his dry lips, as he flashed you a small smile filled with sincerity. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It was nothing.” His hands gently worked to cover your body further with blankets to keep you warm, as your suspicious stare hesitantly nodded in acceptance to his words. “Y-You hungry, or-or need more blankets? Painkillers, anything?”

You delicately rejected his help with a shake of your head. “Just tired.” You softly answered. “And you should probably leave, too. Get some sleep.”

Despite his mind refusing your proposal, he knew your rest was vital for recovery, and he watched you slowly turn your back to him, as his slow steps marked his way to the door. So lonely, he gazed at your tired body curl up into itself like it once did when his presence was actually yearned by you; all safety once found in his embrace, as he promised to never let go. And though he never did, his actions forced you to let go, as he now had to bear witness to seeing you become content with yourself. Something he could never imagine doing so. 

His finger flipped the switch. You never were a fan of the overhead lights. And once so, a peaceful sigh buried its way from your parted lips, as your mind rested in tranquil darkness. 

Eddie’s hand wrapped around the doorknob that allowed the hallway light to bleed in. But his eyes couldn’t dare leave you once more. Five months of deprivation killed him every passing day, and one glimpse of your beaten self made him feel like an addict breaking their withdrawal. There was once a time in which he was beckoned with the devastating occurrence of you leaving him no choice but to watch you walk away. Now, he had an opportunity. A chance. To walk away. Or stay. Leaving you alone, hurting, in a cold, empty hospital room was too heartbreaking of an option to ever endure, and he was vowing to his words of never hurting you again. 

He gently closed the door with no intent to deceive you, but rather care for you. Right now, what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you. And his mind felt at peace knowing he could watch over you; his heart dissipating to the rhythm of calmness only you could bring him to. His quiet steps guided him back to the stiff chair that numbed his bottom and stabbed at his back. But it all became worth it, finally seeing you at peace, after the last weeks he ever got to see you your face had been permanently etched in distress, because of him. 

Despite being awake for nearly twenty-two hours now, Eddie Munson spared a couple more just to look at you.

The morning to follow, Dr. Rosenthal had commented greatly on the normalcy of your brain. And Eddie felt envious. You could take thirty more blows to the head, and your brain would still function far better than his ever could. You, unfortunately, had no chance to question his lingering presence, since your body had been awakened by the prodding of a nurse who kindly checked if your vitals were up to par. You figured you’d save her the awkwardness of interrogating your ex-boyfriend, the rockstar.

“If necessary, just some acetaminophen of your choice once every four to six hours depending on the instructions. But if your pain seems to not be improving, I’ll surely write you a prescription for a triptan, whichever one we can work out best for you.” You nodded along, subtly watching Eddie in the corner of your eye, who was listening too intently for someone who was bound to leave in a couple minutes. “And for your stitches, twice a day, remove the old coverage, clean off, and apply a new gauze. After a while, you should be okay with doing it once, and by the two, two and half week mark, I’ll have a referral to remove them when the time comes.” You sighed, taking a minute to let your head process the instructions of the older gentleman before you. “Alrighty, any questions?”

“No, really, you’ve been so helpful with everything-”

“She can’t drive, right?” Eddie butted in. 

Dr. Rosenthal took a long second to peer at him, before clearing his throat. “Wouldn’t recommend it under your symptoms. Nausea and dizziness can impair your ability, so we can call someone, arrange transp-”

“I already got that covered.” Eddie spat a smirk back in retaliation. 

“As long as it’s okay with you.” Dr. Rosenthal sympathetically smiled at you.

You drew out a defeated sigh, and watched Eddie react like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Fine.” You begrudged. 

“Alright then, you go ahead and take the time needed to gather your things, and you can check out at the front desk.” Your trusted doctor assured you. “Call me if you have any questions or concerns, and I’ll gladly help. You have a Merry Christmas, Ms. Y/L/N.” Eddie was spared from a polite holiday goodbye. 

You gently smiled. “Thank you, have a Merry Christmas, as well.” 

With a click of the door behind him, Eddie was quick to let out a breath of relief, as though Dr. Rosenthal lifted a burden off his shoulders. His hasty movements brought your bag of clothes from beneath your hospital bed to plop against your legs. “These yours?” He pried the drawstrings open. 

“No, they’re the lady’s who gave birth before this became my room.” Eddie deadpanned, continuing to rummage through your belongings.

He snorted. “Psh, no pregnant lady would wear an Anthrax tee.” Something that very much still belonged to him, as he threw your t-shirt to your chest. 

“Did you stay here after I told you not to?” Your eyes glared in a deadly squint that challenged his snarkiness. 

“N-No.” A big, fat lie. His gaze was avoidant of yours, as his hands worked hurriedly to empty the bag of your pants… a brown flannel… your right Reebok… then the left, of course… an earring that stabbed him… the other that didn’t, because he learned his lesson… and some pretty, pretty pink panti-

“Stop looking at those!” You snatched the lacy material from his hands, as he threw his arms up in defense. “And if you didn’t stay, why are you still wearing the same clothes?” You prodded further. 

“Oh, my god, I didn’t stay.” He huffed. And you hated the portion of your heart that allowed his words to hurt you, because how come he didn’t stay? “Just headed back to the hotel, took a nap, and came back here early.”

You allowed your hurt to bite back. “That’s gross, you smell.” But he’ll permit your chastising insults if it meant you wouldn’t be angry at him for going against your wishes. 

“Can you just hurry up and change, so I can take you home.” He rolled his eyes. “I arranged a car to have us picked up, and take you home.” 

“I hope you know how pretentious that sounds.” And Eddie Munson stared and stared, as you balled your clothes into the sanctity of your lap. “Well, don’t look, turn around.”

Eddie’s mouth gaped, laughing in disbelief. “Please, sweetheart, I’ve been staring at you naked for the past seven years of my life.”

“You know what? Just for that, you can go to the bathroom and wait, until I say so.” You smiled, so pleased to watch Eddie scoff incredulously. 

Eddie turned on his heels with an exhale of exasperation to match, as he strutted his way into the tiny bathroom. “Can just close my eyes, and picture you naked.” Luckily with his back turned, he wouldn’t dare notice the small smile that cracked your face. 

Eddie’s mind had been buzzing with thoughts for the entire forty-five minutes it took for the chauffeur to pull up and parallel park in front of your townhouse. Like clockwork, your brow arched upon seeing the movements that followed yours: Eddie clicking his seatbelt. “Look, don’t give me that look, I already know what you’re about to say, but please, just let me come in, and help you.” You huffed, letting your eyes bounce from the window to his face that was hardened with determination. “C’mon, let me make it up to you this one time.”

Another defeated ‘fine’ was murmured under your breath, as Eddie made the quick trip to help you out of the car. “Just head back, man, I’ll call you when I need to.” Numerous bills were discreetly slid into the hands of the driver, before he took his cue to leave the neighborhood. 

“Hey, Y/N!” The blizzarding winter left the precisely planted trees along the sidewalk to lose their green shrubbery; your one shield from the sun that still blazed its light down the Demember wind. But through the glares, you matched that voice to the friendly neighbor who lent you his ladder… and subsequently took you to the hospital once you fell off. 

“Oh, hi, Trevor!” You waved to him from atop of his stairs, as you caught sight of the reusable bags of groceries in his hand. 

“Hm, Trevor.” Eddie hummed quietly beside you. 

Despite the cold, he took the needed steps down to speak to you at a volume that didn’t require yelling. “Hey, I’m sorry for leaving you at the hospital so suddenly, Andreas’ car broke down when she tried to leave from work, and I had to go help her-”

“Oh, please, don’t worry about it, it’s okay!” You reassured him from any guilt. “Seriously, I was out for most of my time there, and you already helped so much with bringing me there.”

“Yeah, and I was going to head back to check on you, but they told me your partner-”

“Yeah, me! Y’know…” Eddie interjected with a wave, as you suppressed the roll from your eye, watching him proudly identify himself as such with an eager point of his finger. 

“Yeah, hey, Eddie, been a long time since I’ve seen ya, man-”

“Oh, Y/N! Trevor told me all about you!” Andreas' voice echoed from the front door, as her robe clung closely to her body in an effort to house any warmth she could. “How are you feeling? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, nothing to worry about, just a couple stitches and a concussion.” As polite as they were, your flannel was only doing so much to shield you from the cold, which was already in hand causing that throb to return from the sharp blinding of the sun. Why wouldn’t they shut up?

Eddie watched the twitch of your eye succumb to your expression. If anything from the last seven years taught him anything, it was that you were two sentences away from a fully engraved scowl chiseling your face; always so unaware of how blatant your emotions showcased. “Speaking of which, I should probably go get her to lay down, and rest!” Eddie smiled, as he took your hand up the stairs to your front door. 

“Of course, no problem.” Trevor kindly smiled. “And, hey, keep my ladder as long as you need, don’t worry about it.” 

An exchange of ‘thank you’s’ finally allowed your neighbor to leave you be, as the key slid into the lock of your door. “That was Andrea, his girlfriend. Are you gonna be jealous if I speak to her, too?”

His laughter warmed the chilled air that smoked his breath. “Fuck off, sweetheart.”

Your house had been all but welcoming upon the first steps. A puddle of blood had stained your wooden floor with the injuries of your head, as fallen garlands messily draped down your walls from your lack of skills with a hammer and nail. You’d never admit to him in a lifetime, but Eddie Munson was surely right that you, personally, were too dimwitted to use tools with no guidance. Turns out a leveler and stud sensor were actually quite useful in keeping your house from being hammered with the countless holes that now decorated your walls. You watched Eddie take in the amateur scenery, his will working overtime to stifle the chuckle that quivered his lips thin. “You make any comments, and I’ll kick you out.”

His hands flew up in defense. “I wasn’t going to say anything- although, how gnarly would a photo of your blood be as our next album cover?”

Giggles of shock coming from you rang in his ear like a catchy melody. “Listen, you came here to help, so please do. I want to shower, and sleep-”

“And eat. That hospital food was shit.” He prioritized. “Go shower, I’ll make you some breakfast,” his watch proved otherwise, “or lunch, I guess, and you can eat before you sleep- oh! And take your medicine, as well. I’ll switch out your bandages when you’re done showering. Don’t worry about anything here, okay? Just relax for me.”

And you did just so, following the words of his advice brought you to the warmth of your shower, where your limbs fell slack from destressing. You worked around the stitching of your head that stung under hot water, as you maneuvered your hair through the rainfall of the showerhead. But too much steam was beginning to blur your vision, and your shower was cut unfortunately short after you swiftly rid your body of any lingering antiseptic smell that clung to you. 

“Ow, Eddie!” Your hand squeezed his, as your forehead became cushioned by the tone of his torso, where he stood before you. 

As you sat on the toilet, he looked down, and caressed your head gently. “Sorry, sweetheart, just gotta get it clean, ‘s all.” A new square of gauze concealed your wound, before a long strip of bandage secured itself around your forehead. Your head lifted from the comfort of his belly, and he bent at the waist to examine your face. A smile grew so naturally. “There… beautiful as always.” There was no denying the lunge in your heart that soared at his words, but your stubbornness withheld the swoon that would have usually followed with a new inure look to your face. Eddie guffawed at your pertinaciousness. “Fine, I hope you know you have a bald spot on the back of your head.”

And he devilishly smiled at your sudden movements to feel around your hair. “It’s only because of the stitches.” You gruffed in protest. “Plus, what the back of my head looks like is none of my business.”

“Still, you’re balding before me.”

And you wanted so desperately to wipe that smirk off his face. “Push back your bangs right now.”

Touche. “You should really eat your food before I spit in it.”

You had the liberty of delving into Eddie Munson’s personally made lukewarm tomato soup, and a sandwich so untimely perfect, the burnt bread did little to match the cheese that surely did not melt. And yet, it did everything to fill that little hole in your heart, as one bite brought you back to the cozy trailer, where endless nights were spent concocting meals from ingredients that scientifically went together, but for some reason refused to work when Eddie touched them. 

He left you alone in the comfort of your bedroom that was once shared with him, as you quietly endured enjoyed your meal, and sat with the events that came about. Seeing Eddie had tumultuously screwed with your already bruised head, and set you back a mile on the path to peace. Where you blamed yourself over the rise of bubbling feelings, you also gave yourself the grace of remembering this man had been the love of your life for seven years. Facing him would be anything but peaceful, and yet, his stupid, round face managed to conjure that settling tranquility of deep contentment within your heart that only ever built under his hands of love and care. But he also managed to tear it, and that was something beyond the repairs of five months apart. No matter how brutal. Your pillow still stained with the tears of endless cries over the insecurities of no longer being good enough for him. But if you sniffed deep enough, his burrowed cologne would fume into your nose at night that allowed you to gain a safe sleep during the dark hours. 

How polarizing he could be was beyond the study of any scientist. 

Between the last slurp of your soup, your eyes succumbed to the heaviness of your eyelids, as what was intended to be a half an hour nap prolonged into a five hour doze, until the sun decided to rest for the evening, bleeding its red into a darkening sky. As advised by your doctor, a couple pills were to be popped to alleviate that ache that would haunt you for days to come, so with a march to the kitchen ahead, you called for the man you needed most. “Eddie!” Drowned by your tiredness, your voice did little to amplify his name from the second floor. “Eddie!” But a second call of his name proved to be useless when nothing followed in return.

Dr. Rosenthal surely hadn’t been lying about the aftermath of dizziness, as the simple event of walking down your staircase had turned into an olympic sport that nearly caused another blow to your head if it hadn’t been for the obscene tightness of your grip on the railing that descended. “Eddie, seriously! I’ve been calling you, can’t you hear?!”

The quietness of your home answered back, as you approached the bottom steps of the stairs, where suddenly soft lights straightened the blurred lines of your eyes to the clarity of a beautiful glow. Warm lanterns and sticks of candles kindled your chimney and center table, where red bows of various sizes decorated themselves along your living room to match the ribbon of your Christmas tree that had not been put up prior to your waking. Sweet scents of cinnamon and pines worked magically to calm the agitated nerves of your head, and your eyes dragged in awe to the breathtaking display of green garlands that dressed your home to the Christmas perfection you always dreamed of. 

Your eyes watered, and though you knew he wouldn’t answer, you still quietly spoke. “Eddie?”

So simple, yet so fulfilling, your heart soared at the work of his hands that ached for your happiness. While it did not amount to the pain he once dragged you through, a meaningful smile that hadn’t been flashed in months finally etched its place onto your face where it perfectly belonged.

And much to your dismay, but simultaneously your biggest hope… it was because of him. 

While it broke your spirit for his efforts to take so long to return, you smiled through your hurting cries, as you finally gained the wish for your Eddie—once lost, now running through the wooded path to be found—to return. And with it, a note to keep your heart content with the soundness of peace. Whether it be with Eddie. Whether it not be with Eddie. 

At the very least, you got your Christmas spirit. 

Management wants to bitch me out, I’m sorry I had to leave you :( but I’m gonna convince ‘em to let me stay in Indy for a while. Kinda hard to say no to a face like mine, you know? You know. Call me to make sure you’re okay, sweetheart, or I’ll break into your house! - Love, Eddie

P.S, gave Trevor his ladder back, so don’t speak to him :)

[deadhands69]

76 and 78 for the three-word prompts!

By a Thread

Tomura Shigaraki x reader

Thanks for the prompt requests Grace! Here's 78: “the dog’s cuter.” Working on 76 soon, you and Kisa both asked for that one! [prompt from this list of three word prompts, feel free to send requests and I'll be working on them in the evenings over the next few weeks!] fluff implied tw: blood, wounds

It’s well past sundown in the dead of winter. A dusting of snow coats the surrounding trees, silencing your little world. You've been reading the book you picked up on your last visit to town. The words swirl around the paper as your eyes grow bleary with exhaustion. 

A singular knock against your wooden door sends your dog into a frenzy. You mark your page then approach cautiously, looking through a side window. It’s far too late for anyone to have made it through the deep forest without a strong reason. The people don’t come here at night. Not unless they’re not afraid of you and those people are typically violent.

Or desperate. 

The man outside appears to be both. You’ve never seen him before but you know exactly who he is. The townspeople speak of him in hushed whispers, even lower than those they use to refer to you. He has many names, most notably: the symbol of fear. But hunched over on the doorstep to your cottage he doesn’t look so fearful.

Tentatively, you crack the door. Your dog stops barking and nudges her way out, licking any exposed skin she can find on him. Having been raised in the forest with you, she’s usually weary of strangers. Falling to his knees, he reaches one hand up giving her a few gentle pats. The man doesn’t seem to be a threat.  

“You the witch?” he groans.

“Come in,” you grumble, stepping out of the doorway. 

The light of your fire casts a warm glow and allows you to get a better look at him. His stark white hair hangs in clumps over his scratched up face. The blood red eyes you've heard terrified whispers of stare up at you, pleading. 

He's in bad shape. 

Most of his clothes are in tatters. A deep red stain marks the front of his shirt, only barely visible through the dirt that's caked on him. From what it looks like, he dragged himself through the muddy slush for a while. He stumbles a bit further into your home before slamming the door shut and collapsing onto your floor. 

You can sense that there's not much time to waste. Pulling your grimoire from the shelf, you flip frantically to one of the last spells. Even across the room can feel the curse coming off of him. This is more than a simple wound to heal. Still tired, your dazed mind struggles to pull the letters together into words. Finally you find it: an enchanted healing potion for the most extreme cases. It's strong enough that it'll be hard to pull off, even for you. 

You'll try anyway.

Rushing to grab the ingredients, you mumble their names under your breath. 

“Calendula. Agrimony. Mugwort. Arnica. A length of red string or thread. Thread?” 

You check the last one, making sure you read it right. “Huh,” you mutter to yourself, tucking a piece into your pocket before collecting a few more items from your shelves. 

With your arms stacked with jars, you bring them to your cauldron already hanging above the fire. While throwing a few crystals of acacia resin into the flames, you hear a creak behind you. 

“Off,” you snap at him over your shoulder.

“What? It's a couch. People sit on these.” Well, it's kind of a couch. It's a few wooden boxes stacked with tufted mattresses and a makeshift back. But it's your furniture and you would prefer it not to be ruined. 

“Not covered in mud you don’t,” you glare back at him.

“Your dog’s covered in mud and she’s up here,” he grumbles.

“The dog’s cuter.”

He really can’t argue with that, so instead he stands with a grimace and moves closer to the fire. Taking his long black jacket off, he hangs it near the warmth. Followed by his boots. Then he begins to unlace his pants.

“What are you doing?” you ask, sounding more startled than you mean to.

“You told me I couldn't go on the couch covered in mud. I'm fixing that.”

You're about to protest when you see it. “Oh fuck,” you exclaim at the sight of three massive slashes across his chest. Black spiderwebs radiating from each of them. 

You get back to work. 

Mixing the salve together is relatively easy if you follow the instructions. It's the last few parts with the added spells and intentions that get tricky. 

Meanwhile, the symbol of fear has collapsed back onto your couch in a worse state than before. He's conscious, but listless. His breathing has slowed and become more labored. Along with the minimal clothing left on him, he’s pulled your blanket over his legs. Your dog lays by his side, continuing to lick his face. It's a good effort. Even as a small furry witch's assistant in training, there's only so much she can do. 

“And lastly…” you trail off, staring hesitantly at him.

“What?” he huffs meekly from the couch. 

“Oh, you’re not going to like this.” His eyes crack open at you in curiosity, “I need your blood.”

Weakly, he points at his stained shirt hanging from your mantle. 

“No, fresh blood.” Without a fuss, his open hand reaches out to you. “Take it,” he whispers, closing his eyes and settling back into the mattress. 

Grasping his hand in yours, you're shocked at how soft it is. With the bits of stories you've overheard of the reign of terror he inflicted with his hands alone, you expected something more horrific. You're finding him to be anything but that. His pale fingers lightly twitch in reaction to your touch. They're cold but hold an odd warmth that you don't completely understand. 

You can't recall the last time you felt the skin of any other human, it's been so long. Most people only interact with you out of necessity and certainly never dare to come close. They're afraid of you. 

You wonder the last time anyone touched him. Right now, he looks like he could be any other boy. Tired and trying his best. Falling short and needing help. Who cares for the man that everyone fears? 

He coughs then grips his chest with a groan. You'll need to finish this quickly. 

Grabbing your knife, you hold it above the skin of his palm. Moments like these make you wonder how people allow you to do this. With a quick slice, he winces but doesn't pull away. You're able to collect the few drops you need. 

And now you add your blood. It appears this magic relies on sharing a lifeforce momentarily which allows you to be more forceful in banishing the curse. 

With a cost. 

There's always a cost. 

You glance over it, reading the important parts a few times. It's fine, you're already this far. Plus, the man breathing shallowly on your couch won't make it through the night if you stop here. So, you keep going. 

With the same quick motion, you leave a cut on your own hand. When your own blood drips into the mixture, it suddenly stops frothing.

It's ready. 

You think. 

The potion has turned as white as his hair and doesn't smell like anything. It’s warm to the touch but not nearly as hot as it should be for the amount of time it spent cooking over the fire. You ladle the goop into a smaller pot. 

“Lie still,” you instruct him, moving to his side. He lays flat on his back, giving you a nod to continue. You pour the mixture over his gashes then place your hands on top of them like the drawing instructed you to. He holds his breath in pain, occasionally sucking in air between his teeth. A few drops of sweat trickle down his brow. 

You adjust your hands, standing to get a better angle. With every ounce of energy left in you, you concentrate hard on pulling the curse from him. 

The milky white salve turns to grey then black before your eyes. Your hands begin to sting and your head is spinning. Suddenly, the exhaustion of everything overwhelms you. 

The world goes black. 

Golden light spills through the window, waking you. Based on the lack of sound and how bright it is, you would guess more snow fell last night. Your cheek is pressed into the chest of the man underneath you as he takes slow deep breaths. Last night when the spell was complete, you must have passed out on top of him. He must have been out cold as well, leaving you like this. 

Your dog snores soundly while the weight of her rests heavily on your legs. You try to wiggle your way free, but your furry friend won't budge. All you succeed in is waking him up. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, “I must have passed out on you last night.”

Rather than recoiling in horror, he throws an arm around you.

“‘s fine, just stop moving,” he grumbles, still not fully awake. After a few more attempts to extricate yourself while he growls at you, you give in. It's difficult to get comfortable now that you’re aware of the situation and feel awkward. Laying with another person is a foreign feeling and your back is killing you for having slept like this.

His skin feels dewey against yours and warmer than you remember another human being. It’s not so bad, if you’re stuck here. The close contact is making you giddy so it’ll be impossible to fall back asleep. 

When your powers showed up as a teenager, you fled to the forest. Missing the days when most people were courting each other and exploring, you spent your time building your skills in near exile. Some part of you has always been curious what it would be like. The cute little existence you’ve built with your dog is comfortable, but you still find yourself missing a closeness you’ve never known. This is by far the most human contact you’ve ever experienced. You wonder if it’s the same for him, if he’s spent his time as alone as you. If he ever longs for more from a world that only shows him fear.

Eventually, your dog stands to adjust herself and you roll off the couch.

“Cold,” he mumbles as you move away. Seeing her opportunity, your dog snuggles up to his chest. He pulls her close, rolling over and falling back asleep. Muscles stretch over his back, toned but you can still see every vertebrae running down his spine. You should probably feed him before he goes. 

You laugh at the thought. This is the opposite of your usual interaction with people who come to you for help - they bring you money or trades and you provide them with potions and charms. It’s an exchange, nothing more. The townspeople are also weary of you, leaving as quickly as possible so there’s never been a reason to care for someone before. With him it feels different.

You throw on your cloak and boots to head outside. The air is brisk but fresh with the new-fallen snow. Throwing a few pieces of wood against each other to knock the bugs off, you bring them inside and add them to the fire. As the flames grow, you pick up the stray jars from the floor, placing them back on the shelves and pulling out something more edible. A sack of crushed buckwheat from your last venture into town. Some dried huckleberries you picked last summer. A pinch of cardamom. After cleansing the cauldron of all magic, you begin breakfast. 

Soon, the food is simmering and the smell wakes him up. You watch the muscles of his stomach ripple as he presses himself to sit. Your dog wraps around him, laying her head in his lap. In response, he mindlessly pets behind her ears while watching you. 

“What was the trade?” he asks, voice still gravelly with sleep. His free hand runs over the large white scars on his chest where the slashes had been. When  you don’t immediately answer, he continues, gesturing at the slew of scars and rough patches over all of his skin. “There’s always a trade.”

Giving the porridge a quick stir, you turn to face him. “The spell needed to form a connection between us so I could share my life force with you and hit the curse more aggressively to pull it out. It was strong.” He nods. “Even after the effects end and the curse is lifted, the connection remains.”

“Like we’re together now?” he asks curiously, you note that there’s not a single trace of disappointment in his voice.

“Not quite,” you add, “it means our lives are intertwined in some way. It could mean anything. We could be enemies or just always affecting each other from a distance. It’s not anything in specific, just that our fates will always pull us back together.”

“Hmm,” he considers, scratching his shoulder without thinking. “That’s not so bad.”

“It’s not,” you smile back at him as the snow begins to fall gently outside the windows.

part 2 - masterlist

taglist: @shigarakislaughter

[throneofsapphics]

Hello, can I please have a honey hazelnut marshmallow cappuccino with cinnamon and cold foam? Iced, please. 😈

summary: feysandriel, amnesia, dark, with spice 

warnings: dark!feysandriel, injury, amnesia, light smut, foreplay, dubcon

a/n: this was foul bestie. I loved it. I hope you enjoy <3

coffee bar celebration

Something must have knocked you in the temple, that was the only reasonable explanation for the pounding headache currently splitting you in two.

Eyes fluttering beneath your lids, you tried to take in your surroundings without sight, the additional sense would only serve to drive your headache further. Soft sheets, high thread count, a comfortable quilt, a breeze hitting your cheeks. Open window? The scent of snow, freshly fallen, and hot chocolate somewhere. No other signs of life you could detect. The entire ritual took you several minutes to complete.

“We know you're awake,” a rough, hard, male voice said. An angry voice. “You might as well open your eyes.” You'd missed that very important detail somehow. He must've been shielding himself. Heart pounding in your chest, sensation ricocheting through your body, you listened to the voice and blinked your eyes open.

You were greeted by the most beautiful male you'd ever seen, leaning against the wall next to a half-open window, his arms crossed, eyes dark with fury. A beautiful nightmare. The second after the thought registered, his expression changed.

-

Rhys knew the moment you blinked those pretty, traitorous eyes open that you had no idea where you were. Your thoughts practically screamed at him, he didn't need to slip into your mind.

'Play along,' he spoke wordlessly to Azriel and Feyre, receiving different forms of agreement and caution coming back. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he crossed the few feet separating the wall from the bed.

“That was quite the fall you took,” he changed the tone in his voice to something softer, something a lover might take.

Sitting next to you on the bed, he bent over to inspect the wound, perfectly shaped like truth tellers pommel.

Barely ghosting his finger over it, you still winced away from him, covering it with your own hand, shoving yourself up to sit. He caught your shoulder, hand warm against your cool skin, steadying you as you swayed.

“Who are you?”

“Rhys.”

“Who are you to me?” You added, voice sharp and suspicious. That wouldn't do, if this last minute change of plans was to work.

“We're your partners,” Feyre said, expression perfectly sweet and melancholy. You blinked, eyes tracking from her to Azriel who assessed from the back of the room, his shadows swirling around his wrists and neck, nearly corporeal.

“I need a nap,” you slid yourself back down, curling onto your side. Rhys had an idea on how he could fill your dreams. It wasn't too early to start planting you back into your new reality.

-

The woman, from earlier, was at your side. Her name popped into your mind, Feyre. It rolled perfectly off your tongue, would sound even better if you were - you cut off your line of thinking, she might know you but you hardly knew her. Still, you couldn't deny she was absolutely gorgeous.

Her hands ghosted down your sides, stopping to grip your hips, pushing them down into the bed as she climbed in between them, her mouth pressing kisses over the fabric of your clothing, nipping in some areas. You gasped with each new sensation, each new press of her fingers.

Other hands joined, Rhys's slipping up your shirt, cool to your skin. Pleasure built and built as he idly, lazily, circled the peak of your breast.

Rough hands, the other male. The name, like magic, popped into your mind - Azriel. He rolled one nipple between two fingers, before leaning down over your to take it in his mouth. His soft hair brushed against your skin as his teeth tugged. Tightness coiled in your belly, Feyre's hands gripped your waist band. You gasped.

And woke.

Alone.

[spaceflower07]

Your blog is so lovely 😭😭😭 i esp love your cardverse and the little twins aww! 🥺🥺🥺❤️❤️❤️❤️

aww thank you!! i do indeed love the twins as well, and i will take this as the perfect time to yap about them.

Alexei:

He is the bigger twin, and the reason why Alfred had to get an emergency c-section. He's always been big for his age, inheriting Ivan's size.

From Ivan, he got: hair color, skin color, size (height and build), quiet, stoic, cold, resilient, responsible, shy and awkward. Loves the cold, hates the heat.

From Alfred, he got: eyes, nose, easily embarrassed and flustered (he was a shy crybaby when he was a toddler), prudish, hardworking in the good and honest way, strong morals, always takes the high road, never says no when someone needs help.

He is the oldest (by a few minutes lol) and takes the role very seriously. As a mama's boy, he takes it upon himself to help Alfred. Even when he was a toddler, he'd waddle after Alfred in the supermarkets, carrying the basket and being very proud of himself for helping his mom.

He respects his father so much to the point that they're awkward around each other. Ivan and Alexei are a bit distant because Alexei doesn't want to seem weak or emotional in front of his strong father. He takes pressure silently and resiliently.

He looks after his siblings, and among his brothers, he is the one who does most of the chores around the house. Partly because Viktor shrugs his work off to him often and Alexei can't say no. He also never asks his parents for anything because he feels bad, so he just uses his things until they can't be used. His laptop is hanging by a thread. When his airpods broke he soldered the wires and fixed it himself. His phone case is chipping at the edges, and he had to double-side tape it to the phone. His bag has a broken strap so he used a handkerchief to tie a knot and reconnect it to the bag instead of asking for a new bag.

He's very awkward. People think he's cold and serious, but really, its just that he freezes up when people talk to him and doesn't know what to say, so he ends up saying nothing at all.

As a baby, he adored the crunching leaves of fall, as he was born around early November, and he associates it with his birthday season. When he was a baby, Alfred would take him out in the fall, and Alexei would squeal in delight every time his stroller wheels crunched the leaves. He also loves the snow, and often crawled out the backdoor when he was a baby just to bury himself in it. A maximum of an hour would pass before his frazzled parents find him.

He is extremely susceptible to the heat and easily gets heatstrokes. It was especially bad when he was a baby, as his parents couldn't take him out of the house during the summer without him burning up and needing to be in front of an aircon immediately or he'd faint from the heat. The first time it happened, Alfred never left the house until he was old enough to withstand heat longer. Alfred coddled him so much as a baby that daycare was a literal nightmare for both of them.

Viktor:

The polar opposite of his brother in every way. From a young age, he already had the self-assured confidence of a baddie

From Ivan: hair color, eye color, skin color, arrogance, cunning, manipulative cleverness, dubious morals, a hint of sadism, nonchalant

From Alfred: facial features (eye shape, nose shape, basically his entire face), build, extroversion, social butterfly, sympathetic, outgoing, rebellious

He's like, the cool one. He's not obnoxiously loud, but he certainly talks more than his brother and is more suave. He's not emotional like Alexei, who is easily provoked. He is also less up-tight and more go-with-the flow, never stressing about anything because to him, everything works out eventually.

A papa's boy through and through. He clung to Ivan like a barnacle when he was a baby.

He could be independent, but selectively chooses not to be. He could handle things on his own, but why do that when there are other people to do it for you? He calls Ivan and Alexei for everything at the drop of a hat. He's lazy and prefers to work smarter, not harder. He's too clever to live such a simple life, but he doesn't want to give himself more work.

He has a sadistic side where he enjoys watching people struggle. This means making Alexei's life harder for the fun of watching him stress out. But don't worry, most of the time he helps Alexei with anything he needs him for. Whether this means talking to the cashier when Alexei is too shy, helping him cover up a mistake, helping him socialize, or trying to bridge the gap between Alexei and Ivan.

Very clever. Uses it for the wrong reasons. He uses these abilities to get his parents to spoil him. Ivan knows what Viktor is doing but still pays for him anyway. Alfred is the one Viktor can't fool.

As a baby, Viktor loves the spring. He loves the flowers and the rain of this season. As a baby, Viktor was fond of wandering off in parks only to return with flowers for his parents.

More independent than Alexei when he was a baby. He thrived in daycare and made it his own personal kingdom. He was holding up his own bottle at three months old, when Alexei refused to drink anything but mother's milk until after he was one years old.

He's very fun and caring despite his flaws, considered as the "cool" older brother by Aurel (the baby of the family).

Overall, I'd say both twins are a perfect mix of their parents, it's hard to say which one they take after the most.

[vivsinkpot]

Motifs That Make Your Story Stick With People.

Motifs are more than vibes — they’re threads your readers follow without even realizing it. Here are some powerful ones by genre:

Romance

1. The Unfinished Letter

A confession that was never sent, a page torn halfway through — the kind of silence that says more than words ever could.

2. Worn-in Clothing

A lover’s coat still carrying their scent, a scarf borrowed and never returned. Intimacy without touch. Presence in absence.

3. The Empty Chair

Always set, never filled. Waiting becomes a quiet ritual. It’s not just about who’s missing — it’s about who you’re still hoping for.

4. Dancing (but not quite together)

Spinning at opposite ends of a room. Always out of sync. You almost touched, and didn’t — and that almost is what lingers.

5. A Shared Song

The one that plays at just the wrong time. In the supermarket. At a wedding. On the radio. A melody that aches like memory.

6. The Locked Drawer

Something hidden, maybe for protection, maybe out of fear. A love letter, a photograph, a ring. What’s kept secret still speaks.

7. Ghosts of Firsts

First glance. First argument. First goodbye. The early moments replay — not because they’re gone, but because they still matter.

8. Parallel Lives

The two of you live close — same café, same bookstore — but never meet. Until you do. And suddenly, everything clicks too well.

9. The Rain-Soaked Confession

A classic for a reason. It’s not about weather — it’s about chaos, vulnerability, cleansing, and raw emotion colliding all at once.

10. The Held Breath

Before a kiss. Before a touch. Before a truth. The pause between. The suspended yearning. The moment you want to live in forever.

Fantasy

1. The Prophecy Misread

Everyone thinks they know what it means — until it’s too late. The chosen one, the foretold fall, the wrong name. Destiny misinterpreted, yet inevitable.

2. Blood on Ancient Stone

A ritual, a sacrifice, a curse reawakened. Magic that demands a price — and history that bleeds into the present.

3. The Forest That Whispers

It’s alive, not with words, but memory. Paths shift. Trees remember. If you stray too far, you might never leave — or come back changed.

4. A Name That Holds Power

Speak it, and the sky cracks. Bind it, and a person is no longer free. The right name can open doors, or destroy worlds.

5. The Mirror That Lies

Or tells the truth too cruelly. A reflection that isn’t quite yours. A twin self trapped behind glass, waiting to be let out.

6. The Star That Falls

Not a wish — a warning. A guide, a lost god, a life flung from the heavens. You’re not meant to touch it, but you do.

7. The Blade That Refuses You

Not everyone can wield it. Not because you’re not strong, but because it knows. The weapon chooses the worthy — or the damned.

8. The Disguised Royal

Crownless, cloaked, quietly watching. They move through the world unknown, until the moment they must rise — and rule.

9. The Last Dragon Egg

Forgotten, fossilized — until it pulses with warmth. Legacy, extinction, hope. One life that could reshape an entire world.

10. The Map That Draws Itself

You wake, and a new line has appeared. Paths shift, dangers emerge, and someone — or something — is guiding your journey.

Mystery/Thriller

1. The Missing Hour

A chunk of time no one can account for. It’s not just gone — it’s hiding something. And the truth lies in what’s been forgotten.

2. The Locked Room

No windows. One entrance. No way out. Yet something — or someone — disappeared. It’s not a puzzle. It’s a trap.

3. The Photograph That Shouldn’t Exist

Everyone claims they were never there. And yet, there they are — in the background, staring at the camera. Smiling.

4. The Phone That Rings Once

Just one call. Just one word. No caller ID. And when you try to call back, there’s no record it ever happened.

5. Footsteps That Stop Midway

A trail in the snow. Mud tracked across the floor. And then — nothing. As if the person vanished, or was taken.

6. The Case Gone Cold

A file gathering dust. A girl who vanished. A detective who can’t let it go. Everyone’s moved on — except the one who matters.

7. The Voice On The Tape

Distorted, but familiar. Breathing between words. A secret only they would know. And they’re supposed to be dead.

8. The Key With No Lock

Left in your mailbox. Hidden in your coat. Ancient, brass, worn by time — and it doesn’t fit any door in your house.

9. The Red Herring

It’s so obvious, it has to be true — until it isn’t. The character you trusted. The story you followed. And now, you’re lost.

10. The Fog That Won’t Lift

It clings to everything. Cars vanish inside it. People say they hear voices. But the worst part? The fog smells like smoke.

Stories stay with us because of moments — not just plot twists, but symbols, patterns, echoes.

Motifs are more than decoration — they’re the emotional fingerprints of your story.

The way a name repeats. The fog that returns. The touch that doesn’t happen.

These are the threads readers don’t forget.

So plant them with care. Let them whisper. Let them haunt.

Let your story echo in the silence after it ends.

[the-sun-and-the-sea]

what I thought about SOTR

I finished the book yesterday so here's what I liked and didn't like! spoilers under the cut

What I liked:

I liked the twist on events that we're already familiar with--we already are so familiar with how the reapings and tribute parades usually go that it was nice to see it go differently

I know Lily's touched on this but I loved that you could tell that Haymitch was Appalachian

I also love that we got more d12 culture as opposed to only covey culture

the moment where Haymitch throws the chocolate to Silka. Lovely!!

I liked the continued thread of the Games evolving; it's less primitive than tbosas but the tributes aren't treated quite as well as they are in the 74th

Generally I liked most of the name reveals we got

Maysilee!! I loved everything about her. Not the Maysilee I envisioned but this version is even better. let her be mean!

Love that Haymitch is starting to build connections with other victors

The way Mags was the first person to actually apologize for Louella's death

I liked getting to see Plutarch even though I thought he would be a Gamemaker

seeing Effie was honestly really surprising but I do sort of like how she was introduced

I like the background info we got on the rebellion and the scope of it

I enjoyed the parallels we got between Haymitch and Katniss and how similar they really are

What I didn't like

In general I didn't feel very connected to Lenore Dove. I think we were supposed to like her because Haymitch did but honestly all I saw was Haymitch saying he loved her without any substantial reason why. She just kind of felt like a general covey girl to me. Maybe she just didn't have enough scenes to really build a personality for her

I didn't like how she died. I'm sorry but that just felt so stupid to me. Maybe that's the tragedy of it but I was imagining something more brutal.

We were getting namedrops left and right and yet we never saw Chaff or Seeder. I really thought one of them were going to mentor Haymitch or at least be mentioned considering how close d11 and d12 usually are

We also never saw Tigris which means we have no idea what caused her falling out with Snow

I felt like the beginning of the arena dragged on a bit

since they didn't describe Haymitch's appearance I think he will be whitewashed in the movies which is very disappointing

I would've liked to see the Careers developed more as people instead of just killing machines

Overall I had a good time reading the book but there are definitely some things I did not like. More thoughts to come probably

[ohhcinnybuns]

I'm here to yap

Hi, I'm here to yap about one of my best Tumblr friend, @anticidic

I am here to provide her and you with my top 10 Rosie ficlets because I need to gush about what an amazing writer she has become and how I'm very proud of her. Have you read her work? It's amazing! You should give them a read if you haven't yet.

So, if you don't mind my yap fest, here it goes.

TOP 10 ANTICIDIC FICLETS THAT DROVE ME INSANE AND HAD ME SCREAMING LIKE A BOILING KETTLE (a thread????)

I once created a mechanical butterfly so I could watch it soar through the sky,  the springs clink, a bolt fallen from its... – @anticidic on Tumblr The steamiest of steamiest steampunk au. When I tell you that I ROLLED in my bed, kicked my feet, gasped into my phone, giggled like crazy, this is it. I know we talked about this AU, and I can't remember how it spawned to save my life, but I LOVE everything about it. If this was read as a podfic, I would keep it on repeat. Easily, #1.

ONE DAY I WILL RETURN TO YOUR SIDE by @anticidic You've often annihilated my feelings, but a true writer becomes a writer when the feelings overtake them. You cried. I cried. I think everyone cried. I was an emotional wreck, BUT what I love about your fics is that they always have some comfort, and you did this just right.

ONLY FOR THE STARS IN YOUR EYES – @anticidic on Tumblr This AU has tortured me because we talk about it often BUT HE'S ONLY BEEN WRITTEN ABOUT ONCE. But the fear that comes from Snakezai being found out by Chuuya... the suspense kills me. Literally, you did the suspense so wonderfully here that I was on the edge of my seat.

Dear writing muse, Here is a writing prompt to help get you into the spooky mood: "Don’t you want to be consumed by what loves... – @anticidic on Tumblr I believe I came to you with this prompt to help you with your Halloween spooks and man, did I. eat. THIS. UP. Your kitsunes have altered my neurons, and I will SWEAR to have your kitsunes with their happy ending, or so help me, I WILL come for your knees. I will walk your halls like a zombie and pop out of your TV. I still GRRRRRR GRRRRRR BARK when I read it. Which reminds me, did you know she added more to her Halloween zine piece? heheehehhehe... check out her ao3.

UNSPOKEN PROMISES – @anticidic on Tumblr Snowzai, my dear Snowzai, he's the love of my life. Of course, a top 10 fic wouldn't be top 10 without Snowzai's mentions. The sun to my moon. I BREATHE him, and you know this; this has had to be the most wholesome Snowzai you've written yet. I love him with his flowers and little animal friends and being cared for. The fluff, the comfort, the little things that make him happy. He's everything, and we gotta protect him at all costs.

SO SHALL THE RIVER OF TIME FLOW Snow White!Dazai dreams a most peculiar dream about the Queen's magic mirror. He blows away the... – @anticidic on Tumblr Now... the downside of Snowzai is the overwhelming amount of angst, and we've yapped about him for what feels like centuries now, but this absolutely hurt my feelings and had me internally screaming and falling to my knees. This little paragraph alone was enough to remind me that... I really do love to hurt my own feelings, and you are too good at ANGST. Maybe I should give you nicer prompts from now on, lol. "Then, the sound of glass breaking. The same kind he heard back at the castle, far down the corridor and to the left when Mother dropped her crystal glass and screamed wordlessly. The anger that filtered through the halls and attached itself to the walls."

In a kingdom not too far away, where love blooms like early spring, there is a ball for the royal ladies and gentleman that... – @anticidic on Tumblr Snowzai. That is the literal tweet. But the reason I have this snowzai at #7 is because I love how you capture the moment - Dazai done with his heels and Chuuya still as princely as ever. This is what I love about romantic fairytales au's. Your post inspired my writing, and I can't tell you enough how much I love it.

hello! if it’s not to late to ask and if it hasn’t already been asked for, number 6 + ssk? – @anticidic on Tumblr This one is skk on a mission but Dazai being the most playful Dazai in existence. There is a playfulness to your SKK Dazai's that always have me giggling and kicking my feet, and I think you encompass his assholery just right, ehehe. This one was fun to read!

It often goes like this in movies, someone abandons reason over fear, A little interesting if you ask me. So to warm up your... – @anticidic on Tumblr Another kitsune mention, but this one is just one of those that hit me with gut punches. You beat up my feelings with your kitsunes. The psychological turmoil with Chuuya taking some of Kitsunezai's memories and how it affects them both... What is real? What is yearning? What is psychosis?

Metamorphosis by @anticidic Speaking of Psychosis. You just dropped this and it's already here with my top 10. I love Swan Lake. I love ballet aus. Something about the emotional turmoil in Dazai and how much Chuuya has become his obsession to reach yet toss away... omg... imma go slide down a wall after posting this. I KNEW IT WAS AN EMOTIONAL TRAIN WRECK, BUT I'M OKAY. EVERYTHING IS OKAY. EVERYTHING IS FINE (it's not fine). But, I reiterate my earlier statement: when you write with your feelings, it shows, and this was wonderfully written. From the mental turmoil to the physical injury, I felt that.

I guess this ends my yap fest, hehe. If you've made it this far, you are a trooper, and I hope you learned a little more about Rosie and why I think she's a wonderful writer, and why I love her ficlets. Don't forget to follow her ao3 for more SKK content. You'll always be in for a treat.

[krovscastlerpg]

LOVE IS IN THE AIR

The castle ballroom has been decked out for the evening –– hearts and rose bushes with all sorts of pinks, reds, and golds covering the room from floor to ceiling. Outside the expansive windows fresh snow falls on the already covered castle grounds lit by moonlight, only adding the cozy and romantic atmosphere inside. There's magic lingering around the room for those who can detect it that will discreetly generate feelings of happiness and desire to only enhance the evening for everyone's enjoyment.

Servers in uniforms with trays of various hors d'oeuvres are wandering around offering out samples to guests. An open bar is situated off to the side for drinks with special Valentine's Day cocktails being served along with the usual wine (including blood), beer, and other liquor. A live band plays instrumental music right in front of the dance floor for everyone to gather round and find a partner. Dance cards have been handed out to everyone upon entry for them to use as they please (or not at all).

The slaves from the Undercroft have been brought up dressed to the nines in hopes that they fetch a lonely master's attention this evening. What better way to meet someone new?

On behalf of the council, we thank you all for joining us tonight and we hope you enjoy. Happy Valentine's Day!

DRESS CODE

Event dress code is black tie/formal wear. Tuxedos, suits and ties, formal dresses, and ball gowns are all acceptable attire for anyone attending. Outfits can be "sexy" and showing skin so long as it is considered tasteful enough and fits within the code. Anything deemed inappropriate will be turned away from joining the festivities by the chief of staff. Masks are required upon entry.

Masters, staff members, and villagers all have the luxury of choosing their own outfits for this event. Claimed and purchased slaves should rely on their masters to supply them with whatever they prefer for their claims so long as it abides by the dress code. Unclaimed slaves will have attire chosen for them by the castle (players will choose these outfits themselves from the castle).

EVENT TASK

Post your characters’ Valentine's Day outfits now that the event has begun! Make sure to tag these posts as #krovscastletask so we can all see and enjoy them.

OOC RULES

Our Valentine's Day event will run until February 17th. In game, this event will take place on the night of Valentine's Day (February 14th). Like always, players are free to choose if they wish to participate or not (although we highly encourage this as an opportunity to seek out new interactions between characters).

Players should only post starters that are related to the event now that it has begun. Please tag all open starters only with #event starter and #krovscastlestarter. Make sure to mention @krovscastlestarters​​ as well! Our rules on open starters in terms of limits and response requirements still apply; please see here for information. Please do NOT use the #krovscastleevent tag so that players can easily find event information without starters clogging this tag. Keep in mind to reply to other open starters being posted. Open starters that are not related to the event will be reblogged after it has ended. Any starters prior to the event needing five responders will be advertised after our event ends.

Players who are participating in the event MUST put non-event threads on hold during event week. This is to ensure that event time is used for event things. If players have one or two non-event threads they've discussed with a partner to keep moving during an event for specific reasons, that is acceptable. Otherwise we should be seeing a dash of more event threads than non-event ones during the event. All non-event threads can be picked back up again once the event is over.

Rules for masters, slaves, staff, and villagers still apply in Krovs Castle! This means anyone, regardless of their role, who misbehaves or breaks rules in the castle will answer to the enforcer. Villagers who cause problems in the castle may be escorted out by castle guards and banned for the rest of the evening from the event.

Unclaimed slaves are advised to behave their best and follow any orders they’ll receive. They are allowed to wander around the ballroom unsupervised but the rest of the castle is off limits. Guards on duty are posted by the entry points and watching. Any unclaimed slave that misbehaves or attempts to leave the ballroom without an escort (a master, staff, or villager) will be reported to the enforcer to handle. After the event, all unclaimed slaves will be returned to the Undercroft unless they have been rented.

Claims and purchases will stay intact throughout the event and all individual collars and marks will remain as well. Unclaimed slaves and staff members will continue to wear their usual collars, which can only be taken off by a master.

Applications will still be accepted during the event week.

Players, please LIKE this post so that we know it has been read.

[valy-gc]

Chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

The Resonance Unfolds

The images still burn in your mind: swirling lights, vivid scenes, the strange mark seared into Hatterick’s hand. Your thoughts spin uncontrollably, refusing to make sense of what you just witnessed.

This can’t be real.

Your breathing grows shallow as panic sets in. You stammer incoherently, words spilling out without purpose—fragmented questions, denials, anything to claw your way back to rationality. You grip your head with trembling hands, tapping at your temples in a futile attempt to wake yourself from this impossible dream. It’s not real. It can’t be real. You mutter, desperate to wake-up. The world around you feels distant, the chatter of the students drowned out by the pounding of your heart.

Then, without warning, a sharp flick lands squarely on your forehead.

The shock jolts you out of your spiraling thoughts. Your hands drop, and you blink up at Solon, who’s now standing directly in front of you. His blue eyes hold yours, steady and unyielding.

“Stay calm,” he commands firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Let the ceremony proceed.”

His words ground you, though your confusion lingers. Before you can even begin to piece together your next thought, Solon turns away, his attention shifting back to the pond.

“Elric Briarthorne,” he announces.

Another student steps forward—a noble figure but clearly nervous, maybe as much as you but for different reasons. As Elric reaches the edge of the Ethereal Mirror, the room seems to hold its breath.

The ceremony begins again.

The pond glows faintly at first, then erupts into brilliant light. The spiraling images this time are entirely different: an ornate ballroom, a figure towering over others with a cruel smirk, and a shattered glass slipper glinting like shards of ice. You recognize the story instantly: Cinderella’s wicked stepmother.

The figure materializes, imposing and regal, her expression sharp as she offers her hand to Elric. He hesitates, his unease written plainly across his face, but he eventually accepts. The process continues, and soon a mark etches itself onto his hand. The glowing light solidifies into the shape of a glass slipper.

Elric winces as the mark settles into place, his discomfort unmistakable.

Solon steps forward again, his tone reassuring. “The Resonance doesn’t dictate who you are,” he says, his voice calm yet firm. “It reflects potential and traits, not destiny. You are not bound to the choices of your Resonance. Your destiny is yours to shape.”

Elric nods faintly, his tension easing slightly.

One by one, the ceremony continues. Each student steps forward, their Resonance revealed in a dazzling array of images and figures:

A graceful woman draped in shimmering silk—Princess Kaguya.

A grim man with a bow in hand—Snow White’s hunter.

A young fawn rubbing its head on the hand of a young lady—Little Brother.

A mischievous imp spinning golden threads—Rumpelstiltskin.

A regal figure holding a frog in her palm—The Princess.

A pompous man draped in invisible finery—The Emperor. Some are familiar, stories you’ve heard since childhood, while others are complete mysteries. One student, Kadar Serpenscale, is greeted by a snake coiled protectively around a young mouse—a Resonance with “The Snake.”

The ceremony feels endless. Dozens of students become hundreds, each revealing their Resonance in turn. Your mind drifts, dissociating from the overwhelming spectacle. The sheer impossibility of it all leaves you detached, your thoughts circling back to the same conclusion: none of this can be real.

You’re snapped back to attention when silence falls over the room as the ceremony appears to end. But then Solon frowns, glancing back at his list.

“There’s no one else listed,” he mutters. His sharp gaze cuts through the crowd, landing on you. “You.” His voice pierces through your lingering haze. “What’s your name?”

Your stomach twists in knots as every eye in the room turns to you. You stammer out your name, barely audible.

“Micah Calloway?” Solon repeats, his tone skeptical as he scans the parchment again. “M. C…. There’s not even a single name on this list with those initials. Where are you from?”

You mumble a response, your voice faltering under his intense scrutiny.

Solon’s frown deepens. “I’ve never heard of that place,” he says, glancing around the room. “Has anyone here?”

The students shake their heads, murmuring quietly among themselves.

After a moment, Solon exhales, his expression softening slightly. He places a hand on your shoulder, the gesture surprisingly gentle.

“You must have come from another world,” he concludes. “I don’t know how or why you’re here, but the fact that you appeared in the Hall of Echoes, here in Fablewood Academy, means you’re now under my responsibility.”

His voice takes on a reassuring tone, the weight of his hand grounding you.

“You’ll be fine,” he says. “But you’re here now, so you must complete the Resonance ceremony.”

Your pulse quickens as Solon gestures toward the Ethereal Mirror. “Step forward,” he instructs.

Every instinct screams at you to stay put, but your feet move hesitantly toward the pond. Finally, you stand at its edge, the glow of the Mirror reflecting in your wide, uncertain eyes.

~~~~

Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

[mr-nauseam]

Practice 1.

TW: Manipulation. Emotional dependency. A character was murder out of scene. A character tried to unalive themselves out of scene. Light violent sex.

...

A visit to his convalescent, bedridden friend was an almost perfect alibi but Sejanus still eyed him suspiciously. Which was worrying because if in his annoyance he refused to lie to them about his arrival time, perhaps the agents would make the connection between the cold corpse and the scratch on his hand. It was a bummer to have to worry about loose threads, and Coriolanus berated himself for allowing himself to make such a reckless slip.

But this was no time for regrets. The avox arrived with his tea and thanked him against his better judgment, in an attempt to soften the sick man's expression. It helped a little, he seemed proud of his feigned kindness. Good. Now Snow is asking him questions about the accident. He couldn't let Sejanus be comfortable for long, a relaxed version of him, could read the signs in Coriolanus, as he was the only one who had seen what he looked like after committing a murder.

Plinth lowers his head. And begins to apologize before offering an explanation. His wrists bandaged, like his neck, hiding the scars from his suicide attempt. He says he really doesn't understand why he did it, Coriolanus knows that's a lie, and he points to the Capitol as the culprit, tells him he wishes he could take him back to District 2. It's not kindness, but as usual Sejanus muddles his words and his big brown eyes are soaked with tears. He can see the guilt eating him alive.

Snow doesn't comfort him right away, enjoying seeing his pitiful expression and he does it also to grant him a bit of sincerity by letting him see a part of the indignation he actually felt. Who had given him permission to slit his wrists and try to hang himself in a closet? Not him and that should have been enough for him to stop, but Sejanus was a spoiled brat. Always thirsty for more and for that very reason he ended up being reckless.

Oh.

An idea popped into his head as he approached his side to offer him a handkerchief and reassuring words. Snow thought about refraining from dating after this failed attempt, to give himself some time to plan things better, but he had a near-perfect suitor right here. It needed some tinkering, but nothing impossible, and fortunately over time the idea of Sejanus being born in District 2 was less repugnant to him.

After all, he was already more of a citizen of the Capitol, after living there for a decade and more here, even if he kept denying it. That's why he came out of his usual stoicism to give him a couple of compliments. "Of course you are valuable Sejanus," "My life would be very sad without you."

And, brushing his ear with his lips he drops the bombshell:

"I always knew you would be special to me."

You can see him get dazed. It's true, he thinks Coriolanus still has a girlfriend. And he is not blind, nor so foolish, as to ignore Snow's gaze and the way his arm runs down his back. It's now or never, before Sejanus thinks it through and his kindness pulls him away from his own happiness.

Coryo kisses him.

Gently but as soon as it is reciprocated the gentleness disappears, replaced by longing and desperation. They were already in a bed, so they must do nothing but lie down. The garments fall, and there is something in Snow's gestures that make him look similar to a white fox about to tear his prey apart.

The image was fitting, because the force of his grip will cause bruises on Sejanus' skin, and there is a fervent desire to tear the other to shreds. It is ruthless, because he wants to know if he will flee in the face of his wrath. At one point his hands get too close to the other's neck, and he wants to see how he would look gasping for air, but only for an instant.

He didn't want to deal with another dead lover today.

...

The next morning Coriolanus waits anxiously for the call. He knows they must have found the body by now, and he can't stay much longer at Sejanus' house, but he can't leave him alone either, without Snow by his side to contain his reaction. He might try to hang himself again, and it was in his best interest that his future husband not ruin his beautiful neck any further.

It almost broke his heart to see Sejanus so smiling. If Coriolanus could isolate him completely in a dark room maybe he would break the news to him later.

Snow's phone make a noise and he and answers, standing up, his voice a whisper and drops hist his shoulders. He hangs up and slumps slightly. Sejanus rushes to his side.

It was cute the way his voice trembled. Asking Smow.

"They found Livia dead."

There it was. That look of horror on Sejanus' face when he realized what he did. As Snow predicted he neeed support, to process that Coriolanus was unfaithful to his betrothed the night before she died.

For now it would delay their eventual relationship with little Plinth for a couple of months but something like that in his background would be useful to Coriolanus later on.

[creative-classpect]

The Land of Wire and Fog

The world is cloaked in mist and shadow. Howling winds scream through the valleys. The mountain peaks, titanic crests that scrape the sky, tower over the world far below. Windswept tunnels and a myriad of wind chimes decorate the mountains, creating a strange melody deep beneath the fog layer. In the lowest portions of the fog, far below the mountain tops and deep into the gloomy river valleys, lies a web of wires and threads, a delicate, world-spanning design that gently pulls the wind chimes with each passing breeze.

Welcome to LOWAF! The Land of Wire and Fog!

The world above is an endless horizon of clear blue sky. The world below is a treacherous maze of wire. While the mountains of this land are breathtaking (often literally with their elevation) there is a growing crisis building, a growing rift between the mega mountains and the valleys that lie between them.

Up beyond the fog and clouds is a terrifying freedom, nothing but clear skies and endless horizon. At the price of terrifying wind storms so great that they can tear flesh from bone at their worst. While much of the sky is open, if a tad tumultuous at times, there is a perpetual storm surrounding the highest peak, a point that has become the center of myth and legend to the consorts.

Down below the mountain tops, covered in thick clouds and fogs, lies a dense world of river valleys and old growth forests. The air here is still and calm. But the earth, however, is not. The mountains themselves have begun to crumble. Earthquakes have begun to shake the shrouded land as avalanches throw stone and snow down into the darkened depths. In the shadows of the great mountains, entire consort villages are destroyed in an instant. The more daring (and desperate) consorts have been pushed to mountaineering, ascending to great heights to escape the looming disasters below. Many others have taken to hiding in the middling mist, above the great fog, but below the treacherous, windy skies. These consorts have all but disappeared into the mountain caves and have not been heard from in quite some time…

Now is a time of great change for LOWAF as the distance between the top of the world and the bottom seems to expand with each passing day. This burden of tension will ultimately fall upon a hero, one who can master the roaring winds and the secrets that the ultradense fog below holds. One who will master the skies and all which lies beneath them. Should they fail, LOWAF will surely be torn asunder.

The Witch of Breath must traverse the fearsome peaks and mysterious valleys, explore the lost tunnels of wires that scour the planet, and find the denizen that has caused the world to spiral into ruin!

Denizen: Oranos, primordial of the sky, and father to the Greek Titans.

Features

The Pinnacle

While the towering heights of the land can easily outclass most mountains found on earth, even these mountains pale in comparison to the Pinnacle. The tallest mountain on LOWAF and in fact, the tallest non recursive point in any Sburb game.

The Pinnacle is a testament to the endless bounds and horizons of LOWAF, it is as if a continent has been uprooted from the world and pointed skyward. This mountain, scarred but uncompromising, holds with it a terrible weight. Its mere presence calls winds to swirl around it and create hurricane super storms across it. Its storms can even breach beyond the planet's atmosphere into the rest of the session.

This storm force is so great that it is the sole reason for the fog across the planet. Such a structure can not exist without consequence.

The Pit

For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Beneath the behemoth that is the Pinnacle lies the Pit, a massive cavern system that runs across the interior of LOWAF. It is here where the wires originate and where much of their true nature is revealed.

The Pinnacle seeks to rise, to ascend beyond all else. To leave LOWAF behind. It is held in place by hooks and wires, binding it down to the surface. This tension and strain is the cause behind the planet's erosion and slow destruction.

Side quests

Song on the wind

Difficulty: 3/10

Mysterious winds on LOWAF is nothing new, not by a long shot. Strange songs and melodies carried from lands unknown to destinations obscure? That, however, is cause for curiosity. 

A number of mysterious wind chimes and bells can be found across the land, all inscribed with ominous scripture of the denizen and almost prophetic accounts of the session, both past and future. 

In isolation they hold singular notes and stories, but together they weave breathtaking songs and epics of what is and, more importantly, can be.

Rewards

Resonant wind chimes: These small bells always chime with wind, regardless of actual weather conditions, and appear to be linked, allowing sound and wind to pass through each like a portal. Any items alchemized with a chime is permanently linked to any other item

(Ok creator's note, I really like the idea of a big bell as a wind grenade, that's just so cool to me)

Wind wire: Some of the threads found in the particularly windy tunnels have started to erode and fade, becoming ultra thin and light. These wires are near imperceptible to sight, sound, or feeling, as if they are made of thin air. They are deceptively durable.

Jet stream

Difficulty: 9/10

A mysterious surge of howling winds have begun scraping through the land, bringing with them a storm of destruction wherever they roam. This rogue jet stream waves and bends all across the world, reaching the highest points in the atmosphere before plummeting through the deepest valleys. This would be intimidating and a bit peculiar, but there is another factor taking this rogue wind and making it into a serious problem.

It has begun to roam the session. Rocketing across the Battlefield of Skaia, across the moons of Prospit and Derse, and crashing through the various lands of the session. This rogue wind has begun causing havoc and destruction *everywhere*

Where has this wind come from? Why is it so unlike the others? And how can it be stopped?

Rewards

Aether: Known as the ‘pure upper air of the gods’, parts of the rogue wind can be siphoned off, processed, and transformed into a powerful new elemental state of matter. This element is extremely volatile to anyone lacking a Breath player’s unique connection to it. 

Shard of the heavens: In the very center of the jet stream, protected by the storm surrounding it, is a pure shard of the firmament. A glass-like crystal shard taken from the sky itself. It powers the jet stream as its heart. The shard is mysterious and near deified by the consorts of LOWAF and it is believed to have some sort of connection to Oranos himself.

Mini bosses

Storm Giant

A hulking giant made of raging storm clouds, the Storm Giant is a unique monster of incredible proportions. A behemoth of near unparalleled size and with nigh incomparable power, the Storm giant is the ever present guardian of the Pinnacle and protects the lair of the Denizen. It does so by blasting anything or anyone the denizen demands it to. The Storm Giant is a cruel tyrant over the skies and a loyal bodyguard to Oranos. 

But loyalty can only go so far. Orders are not the way of Breath. The Storm Giant has begun to travel away from the Pinnacle and has even been seen riding across the jet stream across the session.

Ranking: S

Strengths

- Incredible size and physical power. A top tier tank and bruiser

- Devastating thunder and lightning magic. They know every spell in the book

Weaknesses

- Short sighted and brash. To say they think things through is an overstatement at best

Loot drops

Storm shells: Various jars, urns, and other vessels can be found littered across LOWAF, hidden by the thickest layers of fog. These ancient damaged containers react strangely to the rogue wind and have a strange affinity for lightning and thunder magic. 

Crown of Cumulonimbus: This audacious crown gives its wearer the 2nd fastest flying speed, behind Oranos. Those unfamiliar with such speed and elevation can suffer extreme burns from wind resistance.

Viper of the valley

Hidden in the caves and tunnels, blending into the stone and disappearing into the thick fog, a serpentine monster lurks. A unique basilisk, the monster feasts on unsuspecting consorts foolish enough to seek refuge or attempt to ever leave the lowland river valleys. Its 

A basilisk that terrorizes those in the depths

Ranking: B

Strengths

- Intelligence. The Viper is remarkably aware and has shown higher thinking and complex problem solving.

- Basilisk biology. The viper's bite and prolonged stare can turn flesh to bone.

Weaknesses

- Cruelty. The Viper feeds on fear and traps its prey. This makes it predictable and resistant to adaptation

Loot drops

Basilisk scales- extremely sturdy, surprisingly lightweight, and deceptively quiet

Stone venom- a crystal blue liquid that causes a creature to slowly, and surely, lose all momentum. Physically, mentally, and spiritually. Any excess is released into the surrounding are

Denizen's lair

Hidden upon the precipice of LOWAF, towards the very peak of the Pinnacle, lies a castle obscured by the father of all storms. A place unseen for untold centuries, protected (or perhaps imprisoned), by the treacherous mountain below. These ruins, scarred and marred with erosion and age, cracked by thunder and scorched by lightning, are a testament to their prisoner. 

Sburb is a game of extremes, of ideology and power. The aspects, as raw and unfettered primordial concepts, could easily eat away at the very foundations of reality. Nowhere has this been more clear than with Oranos who strains against their purpose in this world. 

The ruins of this once great palace show a scene of antiquity, modeled after the greatness of Oranos. Monuments and sculptures that emanate incredible storm magic. Great statues of ancient heroes (underneath Oranos, of course) who stand as loyal centurions, throwing lightning and thunder to any intruders and any consort foolish enough to reach up towards the skies. Great basins of cold water, almost frozen by the chills of the upper atmosphere, whose winds sweep down and form the thick, obfuscating fog across the world.

This hollow place is dedicated to Oranos’s glory and is the seat of power in which Oranos would see himself rule over Skaia itself. Should the anchors keeping the denizen’s lair tied to LOWAF ever yield, Oranos will be free to do as they please.

- - -

This post was commissioned by @panopticonsys ! If you want to commission me or support my content, you can find me @ https://ko-fi.com/kesscal or over at https://linktr.ee/Skywhale09 !

[ohifonlyx33]

sorry i just had to get this out of my system

even though i've made a poste like this before, I am still struck by the depth and poetry of Ryan O'Neal's songs

Keep your chin up, as you untangle God From cold blood and bruises We are X-rays of something broken

Wrists get tired rewriting futures Our bodies beg us to be creatures of habit

-

"Fast-forward motion Will gracefully show The flickering story That all of our sketches unfold."

-

When we were young Our words were innocent Whiter than snow, Awkward and slow.

Now when we speak, We risk an avalanche. But that's not enough now To reroute our plans.

-

Change is slow, but I feel it taking shape Folding over us like waves On origami ocean tides, we sway Like blueprints constantly being rearranged

-

So we wrestle with it all The concept of grace And the faithful concrete As it breaks our fall.

Like firewood, Burning bright In the dead of winter, By only a flicker We cling to this life.

We study our story arcs: Inherently good, Or were we broken right from the start?

Our hesitant fingerprints Trace every mountain, Lace every valley Until we're convinced That we know it all by heart Every blade of grass Bears our mark, In the name of being brave, Though it's just another word for being afraid.

-

While collecting the stars, I connected the dots: I don't know who I am, but now I know who I'm not I'm just a curious speck that got caught up in orbit

-

No one can unring this bell Unsound this alarm, unbreak my heart new God knows, I am dissonance Waiting to be swiftly pulled into tune

-

We'll build new traditions in place of the old Cause life without revision will silence our souls

-

Stitch by stitch, I tear apart If brokenness is a form of art I must be a poster child prodigy

Thread by thread, I come apart If brokenness is a work of art Surely this must be my masterpiece

-

I had the most vivid dream My feet had left the ground I was floating to heaven But I could only look down My mind was heavy Running ragged With worst-case scenarios Emergency exits And the distance below I woke up so worried that the angels let go

-

Bodies fashioned out of dirt and dust For a moment, we get to be glorious Ice sculptures, adorned in light Sand castles built tall, in between the tides I'm stuck swimming in shadows down here It's been forever since I came up for air Flashlight in hand, determined to find Authenticity only poetry could even begin To try to describe

-

It is the calm water In the middle of an anxious sea Where heavy clouds part and the sunrise starts A fire in the deepest part of me So I let go and in this moment I can breathe

-

Where there is light, a shadow appears The cause and effect when life interferes The same rule applies to goodness and grief For in our great sorrow, we learn what joy means

-

It all spills out Reckless but honest words leave out my mouth Like kerosene on a flame of doubt I couldn't make it right Alarms will sound But it's too late for holy water now Sooner or later the fire dies down I'll open up my eyes again And I'll try and find the image of God In mountains made of ash and clouds of smoke

-

She drew in her first breath, I learned what love meant And my heart, reconciled all the darkness and light inside my chest

-

You begged and begged for some kind of change Maybe they'd wake up tomorrow and regret the pain That they've passed down to you like DNA But no luck, no luck It seems only by the hand of God or death Will they truly change their silhouettes For a miracle or a consequence You wait and wait

-

"You're alive, quit acting like you're dead" Like a mirror, it spoke so clear "Don't you recognize the reason why you're here? To be enchanted."

-

A bright sunrise through shattered glass A fountain of youth slipping through the cracks I drag my feet through perfect sand Toward a future I no longer understand

In the water, we remember That nothing, even death Lasts forever I want to swim, I want to swim, I want to try To trust in the mercy of the merciless tide My mother taught me all will be reconciled God, what a gift to be my mother's child

-

Just a little longer Everything will make sense Broken things will be remade But what about the meantime? How do I ignore the signs that one day Everything I love will fade? I'm too tired to fight In a civil war of faith

There's some kind of Heaven Just around the corner And all this pain will be replaced With unimaginable grace

-

I am the sail, the plank The mast that breaks and gets replaced I am remade, repaired, reshaped But somehow, still the same Even after every cell in my body changed I know my name

[sakurarisen]

Meet the Mun.

ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘɪᴄᴋ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛ ᴍᴜꜱᴇ(ꜱ) ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ?

I've actually had Sera as a muse for well over a decade. She's easily one of my oldest muses and ocs, and came about in a period of my life that actually helped contribute to (then unrecognized) PTSD. While she's been through a HELL of a lot more than me, Sera is something of a comfort character and forever my strongest muse, and I don't think there'll ever be a day I'm not writing her. <3

ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ?

I'm not really fond of cheating plots, especially ones taken as a 'just handwave it off' kind of thing? Just not my cup of tea. I'm also not really fond of horror and violence for the sake of violence, again especially when just shrugged off or thrown in for no reason other than shock value/no reason at all, and I definitely don't like plots where all it is is 'A antagonizes B, B has to deal with it with nothing else going on aside from A antagonizing them' - I've had a lot of encounters where I literally couldn't do anything without my muse being shit on every time they showed up or opened their mouth, and it was treated as a joke my muse (and I) should just deal with. Shit's not funny after a while. I also don't like turning EVERYTHING nsfw it the same vein as that, either, being it sexual or not - It's exhausting trying to write a conversation between muses and it boiling down to/derailed into a slew of dirty jokes and innuendos, or a trauma dump in reply to something "what do you want for lunch". A bit is fine and funny, but there's a time for it, in my opinion.

ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ?

I do love softer things! Give me relationship building! Give me lore building! Give me meaningful and impactful moments - Some of my favorite threads are ones where I've walked away and learned something new about the muses! <3 I love writing fluff, I love letting the muses just be, but I also love touches of angst occasionally and serious moments just as much. <3

ʜᴏᴡ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴜᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ?

Oftentimes they're things I've been thinking of for a while and just had a breakthrough on, or a sudden realization - Things like Sera being a snow phoenix fall under 'sudden realization', while others, like her scars, were a breakthrough from thinking about. A good chunk of the time, they come around via threads making me see something in a new light or my love of reading made me think, or a video game sparked up a few thoughts, and it always tumbles into something massive the more my muse nodes her head and finally opens up in a 'you finally figured me out, here's more detail' babble.

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ɪɴ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴏʀ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ?

Both - I usually do better with silence, but if I can't get that, I'll slap on some instrumental type music, oftentimes Lindsey Stirling. Things with lyrics usually serve as a distraction because I want to listen to the vocals over writing. XD

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʟᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇᴘʟɪᴇꜱ ᴏʀ ᴡɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴍ?

Both! A LOT of them are winged, especially since I just let Sera (and Shayan!) do her own thing usually and oftentimes she ends up doing things I didn't expect her to do anyway, but I also like to plan out a little bit a lot, too. That's usually as simple as looking to a partner and going "I think this is going to happen" or "I'd like to touch on this", or even pointing out "hey, here's how my muse feels after that" - But from there it's usually winged, never planned out word for word.

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ꜱʜɪᴘᴘɪɴɢ?

I love shipping, but unfortunately I've had some pretty horrible experiences with it outside of an incredibly tiny handful of close friends, which's really dashed my desire to jump into it with anyone aside from them. This is actually why I've gone totally singleship and exclusively shipped with @honorisen - I've been burnt so badly over the years I'd rather just keep romantic shipping to a super close friend who knows me and I know just as well in return.

ᴡʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀʟɪᴀꜱ/ɴᴀᴍᴇ?

I go by either Lita, Pom, or Pomberry, the later being a mix of Pomeranian and Tonberry! Though to be fair I also regularly answer to just 'hey you-' as well, and used to go by Pomsky before it got shortened to just Pom! I'm not super picky in which I prefer, so hit me with any of them <3

ᴀɢᴇ?

A good bit over 30-

ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ?

October 13th <3

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀ(ꜱ)?

Purple, dark green, and probably a little mid-ranged blues in there too-

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴏɴɢ(ꜱ)?

I spent my childhood in the 90's, so I've gotta say most songs by the Backstreet Boys and NSYNC - With special nods for the later to Bye Bye Bye and Space Cowboy. I also really, REALLY love Lindsey Stirling's Shatter Me and Roundtable Rival, as well as What You're Made Of, and Breaking Benjamin's I will Not Bow and Breath - I could list a ton here, but that's because I'm usually fond of songs and less so of groups in general!

ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ?

Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2! It happened to be on tv, and I can never turn down GotG <3

ʟᴀꜱᴛ ꜱʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ?

...Prooobably Jeopardy? I don't watch a whole heck of a lot of TV aside from old re-runs of 90's/early 2000's anime, but we watch Jeopardy and Family Feud here during dinner most days, so-

ʟᴀꜱᴛ ꜱᴏɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪꜱᴛᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ?

Currently have on Space Cowboy by NSYNC! <3

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ꜰᴏᴏᴅ?

Toss up between chicken tetrazini, meatloaf, and bbq ribs <3 Not really a food, but I finally got to try bubble tea/boba and I'm falling in love with that too-

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ?

Anything that isn't hot as all getout, which is most of the year where I live, unfortunately. x.x' I like spring and fall for that reason especially? And while my health doesn't agree, I LOVE winter and miss it since moving to a warmer climate several years back-

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ?

Yep yep! <3 @honorisen / @yoroiis, @waltzofphoenix, and a friend who's unfortunately no longer rp'ing here, but I talk to daily! <3

Tagged: Saphie said steal it SO <3 Stolen from @azure-steel and replaced with cupcakes <3

Tagging: @yoroiis, @waltzofphoenix, Grab it! <3

[tenfoldtranslation]

Phew, first draft of volume 1 turned in!! I'm so looking forward to once this gets announced and I can actually talk about it!! Hopefully it'll have more readers than the last series I worked on ^^; Especially because we really need to make it to some of the later volumes, like people need to buy it so we can get to at least, like, volume 8!

To celebrate, here's a short list of translation quandaries/thought/notes that would be too stupid to put into print!

’Bowl’ is better but I think it says ’皿’ so we’ll go with ’dish’

When the original says "evolve" but that's not how evolution works

’shitsuke’ is hard to translate

(ahh now I see why my editor was complaining about the apostrophes, they only show up as pointed the wrong direction when I copy-paste them out)

Apparently lay is transitive and lie is intransitive, who knew??

Silly owner! -> Tricks are for kids! (changed it to Stupid owner!)

KIDDEN (I can explain once the series gets announced)

Looking up the difference between sardines and anchovies

"Thanks" with your mouth full: could be "Danks" but that looks too much like "dank" (went with "Fanks")

MC is really great but there are several lines the get borderline creepy if you look at them wrong ("SFXCreep", "Ahh. You smell so clean.")

you KICK Miette?! (but that’s anachronistic to when this first came out ;o;)

Translator’s notes I can’t include: this reminds me of the eromanga days ("I’ll make sure it’s not scary. So relax, okay?")

(Followed by "I’m not blushing. Not blushing!!" It do be like that sometimes)

This series has a lot of one-page gags which is way different than the ones I worked on before, it's kind of nice to have it all condensed like that!

(It took me like, a dozen reads to finally get all the tiny story threads with the art and the jokes I think)

Oh wait I forgot to send this!! "[Page 36: The joke was originally a play on ’hayaoki wa sanmon no toku’, meaning ’there’s benefit to getting up early’, and [character] heard ’sanmon’ as ’salmon’.]"

(Same character) ohhh, [redacted]-yuki, light snow fall; small snow flakes (like her tips)

へーい -> Mmkay.

It's kinda refreshing, I guess, that we see [main character] without a shirt on a lot...?

About さんきゅー: lol I’m gonna says ’thanks’ is okay since it’s in hiragana (and then I changed... and snuck in Purrfect, thanks; that'll probably get changed. There's actually a spot where it says "Perfect" later, but I think changing it would interfere with a joke there.)

Translator’s notes I can’t include: since it doesn’t actually say body horror ("Like body horror?" -> "Like a horror movie.")

Translator’s notes I can’t include: ("don't make up a man to get mad at" -> "Don’t judge what you don’t know!")

thank goodness for Katekyo Hitman Reborn so I know what a 仮定教師 is

There's a panel that just says マーキング that kinda squicks me out for some reason.

doesn’t specify which meal but, dinner? could be both…? ("今日のご飯なぁに？" -> "Yuya, what are we having today?")

SANMA SAURY

oh same problem here actually, it’s not necessarily rice… (ご飯)

[character name] is named after another character I like from Ajin and acts like another character from D.Gray-man, so those influenced my first draft, but I think I have a solid enough grasp on his own character now after reading up to volume 10

see ’picked you up’ really doesn’t work here (for 拾う, because it means 'took in', but it could get confused with 'lifted off the ground')

too sexy for his shirt

if boku is uke and 俺 is seme, is オレ switch? >>

[main character] really doesn’t strike me as someone who’d say ’Tch’??!! -> "Got me."

oh, cat fight, I hadn’t noticed (I get so focused on the words sometimes it takes me way longer than it should to notice the art)

meager? flimsy? sparse? skimpy? paltry? *scant?

Translator’s notes I can’t include: also now it’s a sneaky Ajin reference (right?) OH that's why I wanted 'play ball' and not 'play catch'... (it did get changed to 'play catch' as of now)

LOTR potato song

just realized [character's name] looks like [redacted] Street

"ass backwards" would be really funny too (went with "Do you two know the phrase ‘cart before the horse’?)

Things on Walmart are called ’senbei’ so that means I can use 'senbei' too right

we were just doing this to Panda (scaring my friend's cat and her tail puffed up)

OMg the jisho example sentence for gikuri… 圭はその問いにギクリとさせられたが、頭を何でもないといいたそうに横に振る。 [redacted] is startled by that question, but shakes her head as it to say that it’s nothing

two very conflicting purposes for this line: not revealing [redacted]'s gender, and also conveying what the line means >>

not to mention it's about おっぱい and this isn't that kind of manga

I mean I guess we could just say 'buns' (instead of dango) but since we're launching directly into Otsukimi that seems unfair to the reader

(It was really funny how frequently things I was doing irl overlapped with what was happening in the manga as I worked on it! Christmas, mochi, snow, cats being cute...)

hey their names all use different writing systems

もみもみ-> knead knead, directly followed by こねこね→knead knead

"Super" seems too girly for [redacted female character]?

"You know, in other countries, they say a lion lived there [on the moon]." I swear I searched for at least half an hour and I cannot figure out what this is talking about. Hopefully someone else can figure it out.

oh like the wood getting in the mochi?? (from the thing you pound the mochi in, we had just been talking about that)

"The moon’s so pretty." -> I love you?

"now I’m translating and I don’t want to get up bc of the cats…"

Staying with my host sister in Tokyo-Chiba gave me perspective on what really counts as ’inaka’ LOL

I probably posted about this already, but over the 2.5 months of translating this, I've become hyper-aware of dekopons. They're everywhere! Even in the U.S.! Trader Joe's just featured them in their latest flyer!!

Translator’s notes I can’t include: deception by orange: ("OK BUT THEY HAVEN’T EXPLAINED THIS YET… god am I going to be sucked into ANOTHER red herring about oranges XnX" -> after Code Geass many moons ago)

"ああしてるとやっぱ男の子だな" -> "Boys will be boys." I dislike this line but I feel like this is an okay solution…? except [main character] isn’t like that XD is that making a new point? I mean I guess what he said in JP would be making the same point… < ah that’s funny because [main character] is supposed to be (speaking?) more feminine

"やっぱユーヤはかっこいいね" -> "You're handsome." this feels like a huge stretch but also supremely in prince [redacted] character?? like she says it offhand. okay well the first word on jisho for kakko ii is ’attractive’, so maybe handsome works? I still think this is the right choice

Tara-> cod means you get poetry like "I think we’ll do hot pot with cod for dinner."

Translator’s notes I can’t include: moyashi (?) ! (like D.Gray-man) -> string bean

is that too SpyxFamily? -> Borf (from わふん) (Went with WORF) (I did borrow "shock" for ガン though)

I thought it sounded dumb but I’m getting attached to it… ("Alarm of cuteness blast")

uptight? careful? particular? mindful? cautious…

Translator’s notes I can’t include: Knitting doesn’t work that way. Also even if it does, the clothes would look more knitted...

仕事、おつかれさま -> "We know you worked hard today." is this what gets me cancelled

最高気温10度 well actually that one works both ways XD XD XD whether it's Celsius or Fahrenheit, 10 degrees is still cold!!!

I don't think the book they're reading about Santa is any existing book in particular

"I’m not a kind" oops -> "I'm not a kid" (silly typo)

"It’s no fun receiving without giving in return." "Prepare yourself!!" (this is about presents, but... is that too sexual or am I just a bad person? it’s fine. bad person confirmed)

lol that puts "Roger!" in two of my series too

Heh sounds too lecherous but hmph sounds too dispassionate…

I really should be writing this 100% in caps all the time huh (since manga is usually lettered in all caps, it might be better to have an idea of what it might look like)

[officialleehadan]

Lover's Festival

Trading Secrets

+++

“River Sprite.”

The household had mostly settled into the new normal of having Saber and his retinue staying at the dutchy. It was almost the end of winter, but they had gotten a late snow that very thoroughly closed all but the biggest roads down and turned even those into a soupy mess of mud and slush. Saber, of course, had taken one look at the frankly terrible weather, and extended his stay until the roads were better.

Knowing what she did about the roads, the weather, and Saber’s own motivations, Aliea rather suspected that he planned it intentionally just to have an excuse to stay longer.

She couldn’t say that she was unhappy about it. She had missed him, and while they still had to be very careful when they met up, it was a joy to be able to see each other every day nonetheless.

It was also a joy to share a bed more often than not, but Aliea was keeping that to herself. A few people either knew or had figured her out, but none of them were willing to reveal her without a good reason.

Saber was as cautious as the rest of them, wary of revealing his fondness for her to his courtiers who might try to use her against him, and unwilling to put the fledgling rebellion in jeopardy. Both were true dangers, and were more than enough to make sure they never failed to watch themselves. Aliea had already come close, too close, to disaster when her grandmother caught her returning from Saber’s rooms one morning.

So if Saber was using his nickname for her, it was because he was certain it was safe to do so.

Small wonder. Aliea had removed herself to one of the small workrooms that the maids preferred, with a whole pile of mending to keep herself busy. It was one of the few places in the castle that she could get some solitude, and that was a rare treasure. The mending was less exciting, but Aliea had been a maid longer than she had been a queen, and she didn’t like having her hands empty. The mending would have to be done by someone, and she might as well be that someone.

She hadn’t locked the door, but when Saber slipped in, he bolted it behind himself. Upon seeing him, Aliea immediately set her mending aside and went to stood, but he waved her back down into the comfortable window seat. Before she could decide what to do, he slid onto the padded bench behind her and sighed when she leaned back against his chest.

“Being noble is a test of my patience,” he said after they sat long enough for Aliea to pick up her mending again. She was almost done with it, and there was no reason to fill their comfortable silence with chatter until they had something to say. “There are several ladies here who are pursuing me like a cornered hare. It is not my preferred pastime.”

“Did you inspire their ardor in any particular way?” Aliea asked, much amused as she didn’t doubt his love for her, or his distaste for the ladies in his retinue on this occasion. “You’re usually able to keep them from chasing you about.”

“It’s the Lover’s Festival,” Saber grumbled and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He told her back in the mountain cabin that he liked to watch as she did the mending. It was a task he vaguely knew happened, but had never actually seen until his brief stay with her. The festival he had named was a Court event, although the common folk sometimes celebrated it in their own ways. It was a time for showing admiration for ones’ lover. No few babies were born nine moons after the Festival. “I have never showed any preference for any particular lady, but they all hope that each year I will suddenly come to my senses and fall in love with them on the spot.”

“Love doesn’t generally work like that,” Aliea noted and tied off her thread so she could toss the mended shirt into the pile of laundry. The fine steel needle went carefully into the needle case on her chatelaine. Good needles were expensive, and she only had a few. “Although I suppose I can’t cast many stones, given how we met, and what happened after.”

“It’s no fault of mine that I heard a river sprite singing in the forest and lost my heart on the spot,” Saber joked as his mood lightened in the peace and quiet of their little sanctuary. “But I do have something to ask you, here with just the two of us.”

“Alright,” Aliea said curiously. Her mending finished, she turned in his arms so she could lay her head on his chest. “What’s on your mind?”

“You will be queen when this rebellion succeeds, and my father is dead,” he said slowly. Aliea got the impression that he was selecting each word carefully. “But I know you’ve read enough history to know that the years after that will be… trying. It will be impossible to kill everyone who has ever been loyal to the king. I… have a way to bring them to your cause peacefully once you sit the throne.”

Aliea thought she might know what he was coming at, but she wanted to hear him say it. “I’m listening.”

He hesitated, and kissed the top of her head again before tangling their fingers together as he abandoned all of his polished artistry all at once.

“Will you marry me, River Sprite?” he asked softly in he quiet of the empty workroom and the thin winter sun. “Not just for the good of the kingdom, but because I love you, and I want little more than to spend our lives together?”

“It’s going to be so complicated,” Aliea whispered, although her breath was coming short and tears were in her eyes. “There’s going to be fighting, and political problems, and probably a lot of people trying to kill me. Are you sure? It won’t be peaceful, maybe for years.”

“My life has never been peaceful, but with you, it has been happy,” Saber promised her hopefully. Despite his nerves, and the way his heart pounded under her ear, he held her gently. “Wedded or no, you have my heart and everything that comes attached, but I hope that you would be my wife as well as my queen.”

“My uncle will be furious,” Aliea said, but her mind was made up already. Had been made up ever since she spoke to her grandmother. She, at least, would approve. She would understand. “But if I am to give my life to the service of this kingdom, if I am to be queen, I will have no one but you by my side. Yes, Saber. I will marry you, and damn anyone who disapproves.”

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Trading Secrets:

Raise a Hand

River Sprite

Up the Cliffside

In the Mountains (Subscriber Only!)

Over a Long Night

Swamp Water Tea (Subscriber Only!)

A Breath of Rebellion

Whispers of War

Helpless No More (Subscriber Only!)

Lessons for a Lady  (Subscriber Only!)

Silks and Secrets

A Discussion of Family  (Subscriber Only!)

Cousins by Candlelight (Subscriber Only!)

Suspicions Raised

Words of Warning

Summoned to Crown

Echo Blade (Subscriber Only!)

Carriage Secrets

Fine Threads

Trusted Shared

Meeting Gazes (Subscriber Only!)

Getting Lost (Subscriber Only!)

Lady's Approval (Subscriber Only!)

In the Garden (Subscriber Only!)

Under Branches

Dramatic Library Moments

Lover's Festival (New!)

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MASTERLIST