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steviesummer · 11 months

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inspired by and as a direct follow up to this post by @strangersteddierthings:

Eddie is horrified. He remembers the day Steve is referring to, though clearly not as well as Steve does. He calls out as Steve raced up the stairs and hears his door slam.

“Fuck.” He stares blankly at the wall in front of him. He can’t believe things went so bad so quickly. He’s been trying to get to know Steve better, get closer and damn if he didn’t just blow the hole thing. He’d shown up early, told Steve he needed to prepare as an excuse to spend some time with him. Despite everything that happened over spring break, Steve had remained guarded, standoffish no matter what Eddie tried. At least now he knew why. He’d fucked things up before he’d known there was something to fuck up.

He feels even worse about calling him a bully. Sure, Steve had looked the other way and even laughed at some of the mean jokes others had made, but he was far from the worst. That dubious award went to Billy Hargrove, but even without him, there was plenty of people who did far worse than Steve did. Especially because Steve is right. He did hit first, metaphorically at least. He can justify it all he wants as trying to protect himself, but that doesn’t make it right. Steve all but admitted that as he said the same thing. He feels nauseous at the realization that maybe he was just as bad as those he decried. That for all his talk about accepting outcasts and defying convention, he was just as prejudiced. Swallowing hard, he heads back to the dining room and looks at the clock. There is no way he is going to be able to run the campaign today. He’s not going to be able to focus or even play without thinking about how things might have been if he hadn’t driven Steve off all those years ago. He grabs the phone and dials Gareth’s number. “Emerson house, Sheryl speaking.” “Hi Mrs. Emerson, it’s Eddie.” Eddie is proud that he manages to keep his voice even. “Is Gareth there?” “Oh, yes! Let me go get him for you.” “Thanks Mrs. Emerson.” Eddie focuses on breathing while he waits. “Eddie? Hey man, what’s up?” Eddie breathes out. “Hey Gareth. Look, I know its last minute, but we’re gonna have to postpone Hellfire. Something came up.” He could hear Gareth’s frown through the phone. “Postpone? What happened, did Harrington do something?” As if he couldn’t feel worse. “Nah. I’ll explain later, but can you call Jeff and Frank, let them know? I gotta call the freshman, too.” “Alright, but I’m going to hold you to that.” “Fair enough. Talk to you tomorrow.” Eddie promises before hanging up. He weighs his options for how to tell the Party. Eventually, he decides on calling Mike, know that the younger teen won’t push too much. He’s dialing the Wheeler home before he can second guess his decision. “This is Mike.” Eddie feels a rush of gratitude that Mike is the one who answered, rather than Nancy or one of their parents. “Hey Mike, it’s Eddie. Listen, Steve’s not feeling great and having Hellfire here isn’t going to help. Can you call the rest of the Party, let them know we’re gonna move it to another day? I’ll keep an eye on Steve.” Eddie knows Mike is a confused, given how adamant he’s been in the past about not canceling or moving Hellfire, but as he expected, Mike accepts what he says at face value. “Sure. Need us to bring anything?” “Nah, I’ve got it. Pretty sure he just needs some peace and quiet so he can rest. But thanks.” They say their goodbyes and Eddie puts the phone back on the hook. With that done, he checks that the door is locked and faces the stairs. Now for the hard part. He’s not sure what he’s going to say, if there is anything he can say that will fix this, but he has to try. Even if doesn’t change things between him and Steve, Steve deserves at least that much. Every step feels like it takes effort, chest heavy with guilt, but it only takes him a few moments to get to Steve’s door. It’s closed, which doesn’t surprise him. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before knocking. Nothing. “Steve?” If it wasn’t for the quiet sound of Steve’s breathing he could hear through the door, Eddie would think he had left. He glad that he at least didn’t drive Steve out of his own home. He rests his forehead on the door. “I’m sorry.” Eddie hopes Steve can hear how much he means it. “You’re right, I fucked up. I made an assumption and took out my anger at other people on you. And that wasn’t fair and it’s not okay. But I want you to know that I’m sorry. Even if it wasn’t you, I shouldn’t have done that.” He lets out a hysterical laugh as he realizes - “And despite that, you still humor the kids when they talk about D&D and agreed to let us play here and didn’t punch me in the face, which makes you a better man than I.” He falls silent, listens as Steve’s breathing slows. He isn’t sure how long he stands there. He wonders how many other people he hurt this way, without even realizing. Knows he wants to do better, be better. He sighs, feeling his shoulders slump. “Anyway, I canceled Hellfire for today. I told everyone something came up, don’t worry about that. I’ll make up some story, make sure they know its not your fault. And uh, let me know if you want to hang out again or something. I know I’ve been around a lot; didn’t realize that I was making you so uncomfortable, which is probably another thing I should apologize for. Anyway. Yeah. I’ll see you around, okay?” He waits a moment for an answer, but when none comes, he backs away from the door and walks downstairs to gather his stuff. It hurts, but he knows Steve deserves space and to be the one to initiate contact. He has some thinking to do, anyway.

#steddie #my writing #fic #legit read that fic like 6 times in a row and had to write a follow up #have a handful of extra pieces as well #or thoughts anyway #like steve telling eddie about christopher #and eddie helping steve make a character and play in the future #after lots of talking and eventually getting together #his character is a dwarf paladin named after christopher #i haven't written in forever this felt so good #barely proofread so apologies for any mistakes

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transmascissues · 3 months

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i absolutely cannot believe people are trying to start discourse about whether nex benedict was actually nonbinary / whether it was okay for him to describe himself as nonbinary to some people if he didn’t actually identify that way as if he isn’t literally DEAD because he was KILLED. this is a MURDERED CHILD and these monsters are so busy getting mad at the possibility that he might have been a trans boy who described himself as nonbinary to his family because that was easier for them to take that they’re turning a CHILD who was MURDERED into fucking discourse. even when we die at the hands of cis people’s violence, our own community finds a way to make us the villains of the story.

and all of this bullshit on top of the ways that cis people are already trying to say our grief over his death is unjustified. all of this on top of people claiming he wasn’t murdered and speculating on other causes of death (i literally saw someone say he “clearly went home and took the coward’s way out” and i have never been more disgusted) or claiming that he started the fight as if any action on his part could’ve been enough to justify his death. i am haunted by the sound of his father screaming that his child was not filth because that is what people have been saying about this poor kid, that’s how cruelly his memory is being treated, and even the trans community can’t get it’s shit together enough to look past the stupid discourse and see the tragedy in front of us. did you all forget that it was supposed to be up to us to grieve him in the way he deserves when the rest of the world fails to care if people like him live or die? did you all forget that this child was our sibling, the future of our community, a life that we should have had the chance to know and treasure while he was still here but that we now have a responsibility to hold close to our hearts in his absence? nex’s life was precious and it was ended far too soon and if you truly believe that anything is more important than mourning his life and fighting for a world where no more trans people have to meet such an awful fate, you’re a traitor to this community and you do not deserve the place you occupy within it.

i’m so tired. i can’t even imagine how tired his family must be, to see the public treat the child they’re grieving so horribly, to see the world fail their baby again. leave him alone. he was already robbed of peace in life; the least you can do is let him finally have it in death.

#as a trans man whose family still uses they/them and neutral terms for me and would describe me as nonbinary #because that was how i initially came out to them and me being a man is a much bigger hurdle than i have the energy to help them get over #it’s SO deeply disturbing to know that if my life ended in violence #my own community would be more concerned with how my family referred to me in death than with the fact that i was killed #how fucking dare you turn this poor child’s existence into discourse fodder when they aren’t even here to defend themselves #when you only even know who he is in the first place because he was killed #tw transphobic violence #nex benedict #tbh it feels wrong to even add my usual tags to this but i need people to see it so. here we go #transandrophobia #transandromisia #transmisandry #virilmisia #virilphobia #anti transmasculinity #transmascphobia #exorsexism #trans men #transmascs

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lipringlrh · 10 months

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look who's staring now | LN4

summary: your boyfriends so pretty whilst he sleeps, how could you not stare at him?

pairing: lando norris x genderneutral!reader

an: short and sweet. more dialogue than i'm use to so please do let me know how you find it!

word count: ~800

warnings: cuddly lando, (pretends to not be) cuddly reader, fluff

feedback appreciated!

...

It wasn't late at night but it wasn't exactly early either. Lando was asleep - completely knocked out, or so you thought - in your arms, on top of your chest. You were meant to be asleep but you just couldn't help but stare at your boyfriend. He looked so peaceful and relaxed with a small hint of a smile on his face, how could you not stare at him?

Lando had been drifting briefly in and out of sleep for a while but he didn't particularly mind. He'd gone to bed rather early and whenever he was awake, he was comforted by your arms. This time though, he felt compelled to actually open his eyes instead of just falling back asleep; he swore he could feel eyes on him and god forbid he miss a chance to tease you about it.

He was quick to open his eyes and meet yours, making sure there was no chance you could hide the fact that you'd been staring at him.

"Hi, baby," he whispered teasingly, his voice slightly croaky from sleep.

He caught you staring and you did not like it at all. Usually in the relationship, you weren't the touchy-feely one, as much as you wanted to be. You held back a lot, trying to be independent. Lando didn't really care and often became extra touchy enough for the both of you or so he liked to claim.

Along with this, you pretended to never be the lovey-dovey kind, always making Lando persuade you into hugs and cuddles. He knew it was just an act though, with you being happy to cuddle at any point of the day.

"You okay, sweetheart? Got a nice view or something?" He whispered, grabbing your hand and moving it to scratch his head. It was almost subconscious now, making you scratch his head, but you both secretly loved it.

You looked away from him, knowing he could tell you were flustered, another thing he would tease you with.

"I'm perfect me. Yeah - completely. You - how was your sleep going?" You asked, still turned away.

You took one glance at him and you knew instantly it made you seem more flustered. He was looking at you with a knowing gaze, spilling his thoughts of "I know what you're thinking, don't hide it.

"It's just really hot at the moment," you tried to justify, not ready to give yourself away just yet.

"Isn't that just me next to you, hmm?" He murmured, pressing short but sweet kisses to your chest.

You couldn't help but laugh lightly at him, "I'll just let you believe what you want to believe."

"Okay, baby," he smiled, moving his trail of kisses up to your cheek, "you do that. I know it's true,"

He left a peck on your lips just in time to cut off any reply you thought about giving, "I love you, sweetheart."

He couldn't express enough his feelings for you and it felt wrong to squash them down into three small words. But even with every word from every language, and telling you in every lifetime, he doesn't believe he'd ever get to convey it fully. You knew the feeling because it was the exact way you felt too.

"I love you too, Lan," you whispered, kissing him once more, "go back to sleep, before you get too big-headed though."

"Got to stop staring at me then, baby, could just feel it. I know I'm too sexy but-"

He was cut off by you lightly swatting him, then giggling to yourself. He couldn't help but watch, solely enamoured by you.

"Look who's staring now."

"It's 'cause I think you're beautiful and pretty and sexy," he gulped, not being able to describe you as well as you deserve.

"Yeah?"

"You gonna tell me I'm sexy now?" He looked up, wiggling his eyebrows slightly.

"You're really sexy, Lan, you should know that." You smiled at him, running your thumb across his cheek.

"So that's why you were staring at me whilst I'm asleep?" He titled his head, mocking you again in the way you both loved.

"Go back to bed."

"But-"

You cut his off, pressing your hand over his mouth, "Shush, bed."

You waited a moment before removing your hand.

"One last kiss please," he leaned up, almost pouting at you.

Of course, you had to comply, why would you not, and gave him many sweet pecks all over his face.

"I love you, Lando."

"I love you too angel," he promised, lowing his head back on top of your chest, smiling as your hand moved to his hair, and you both finally shut your eyes.

"Don't worry, your staring's cute."

f1 masterlist |

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we-out-here-simping · 2 months

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You, Me, Lonely.

(s.h. x reader)

from the river to the sea (educate yourself and help however you can)

Summary: you love Steve, Steve loves you. But maybe you both want different things from life.

Warnings/tags: reader menstruates (reader has uterus), abandonment issues, the ‘six nuggets’ talk, suggestive

Word count: 3.4k

masterlist

a/n: huge huge huge thanks to @procrastinationprincesses for helping me out with this fic and giving it an ending (ur amazing sanjana <3)

writing and posting something because i might have to go MIA for a lil bit (miss me while I'm gone will ya?)

fic is inspired by ‘You, Me, Lonely’ by FIZZ i absolutely love this song like its so close to my heart ughh what can i say I'm a little bitter about the six nuggets scene

also if you couldn't tell already I have major abandonment issues and an anxious avoidant attachment style. It will reflect in what i write soz :(

In the quiet of the night, you wish for this to last forever. That you'll have him forever.

When you came out of the shower you found him asleep on his side of the bed. His side– the one closer to the door. ‘so I can protect you from anyone who'll try to steal you from me’, he had justified it when you asked him why he was adamant on that side.

you had turned off the bedside lamp ten minutes ago, slipped under the duvet, as quietly as possible so as to not wake him up. on your side of his bed. your bed.

He always sleeps on his stomach, one hand under his pillow and the other extended a little towards yours. His body moves with steady and slow breaths, back rising and falling under the covers, head peeking out from under the rumpled up duvet. his cheeks are squished against the pillow cover. His hair is a mess from the lack of hair product, and still damp from the shower he took before you. There's a few strands of his brown hair sprawled across his forehead too. With your softest touch you brush them away from his eyes.

You wonder what he was dreaming. you hope it was something nice. He looks calm, at peace, and very, very pretty.

You look at him and you know you love him. You want to love him forever.

Love had never seemed like the type of thing you’ll get– like it wasn't meant for you. But then you met him. This boy. This boy who you never thought to be your type. You never thought you even had a type. But his boyish charm and stupid grin won you over.

Your heart doesn't skip beats around him anymore, and you’d think that that means he doesn’t have that same effect on you anymore but that would be wrong. You don’t think you’ve ever loved anyone as much as you do to him. You don’t look at him and get butterflies in your stomach, you look at him and… you’re sure. your heart is quiet and sure. You don't think you’ve ever been sure before.

You want to be sure forever.

He feels like the comfortable still of rain after a scorching hot summer, like the calm and cold breeze that cools you down. Like standing at the top of the mountain, looking at the clouds and valleys below, he feels like the crisp air that fills your lungs. Like the comfort meal your mom makes– the one you can never really recreate, the one that tastes the best when it comes from her.

You love him and you know. You know. You know he likes you, loves you even.

Steve Harrington loves you like a dream, and you're worried that one day he’ll wake up, look at you and realise that he deserves so much better. He’ll wake up and he’ll leave for work and he’ll bump into a pretty angel of a girl with a disposition as bright as his. And he’ll never return. people fall out of love. People fall out of love all the time.

You wish for him to love you forever.

How long is a forever anyway?

You wonder what it'll be like. When you're older, with wrinkles, white hair and weaker limbs.

It's like you see it.

You and him in a bed– just like now but older, wiser, more tired. His back turned to you. There'd be distance between you two, you’d want to move closer and hold him– but you wouldn't. You’d just stare at the back of his head, counting all the grey hairs you’d memorised like all the moles and wrinkles on his skin.

You’d notice his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest and you would have known him so long and so well that you'd just know that he wasn't actually asleep. you'd know why he wasn't asleep.

there'd be a pain in your chest. You would know what it is, why its there. You would gulp and try not to think about it.

“Do you always stare at me in my sleep?” his groggy voice pulls you out of your own head.

You blink, multiple times. Forever, right.

He softly smiles up at you. You blink away before moving to lay on your back, the sheets rustling with your movement. “sorry I woke you up”, you mumble an apology, staring at the ceiling, you fail to hide the shake in your voice.

“Y’kay?”

“Yeah.” the sheets beside you ruffle but you keep your eyes trained on the ceiling. it seems inevitable. You know, one day it'll happen and despite having expected it, it’ll be the greatest heartbreak of them all.

“Thinking ‘bout somethin’?” he sounds a bit more awake.

“When am I not?” you shake your head and laugh hoping he doesn't notice that it isn't real, thankful that the curtains didn't let in any moonlight and that you had turned off the lights.

“What is it?” but this is Steve, he doesn’t need to see you to know how you’re feeling.

“Nothing.”

“Were you lying about liking the pasta I made?”

“No, Steve it was good”, a real laugh slips out of you, and you finally look at him. He’s leaning on his elbow, the messy head of hair in his hand, looking down at you. You suddenly wish it wasn’t so dark so you could see the colour of his eyes, the moles and freckles on his skin.

“Then what?”

“Nothing.” your gaze moves back to the ceiling.

“Must be something if it's keeping you up”, you feel him shift closer to you. He smells of fresh shower, mint, shaving cream and washed laundry.

“No, I'm just…. not sleepy.”

“Yeah?”, he raises his eyebrows with a sly smirk, “Well, I know a way to make you sleepy”, he leans down– both arms caging you in, landing a kiss on your neck before trailing further up to your lips. and its lovely, so god damn lovely, you don't want it to stop but this hurts.

“Ste– mmph– Steve stop”, you turn your face away, because if he keeps going, you think you'll cry, palm pushing flat against his bare chest, “I’m– I'm not in the mood.”

“Okay, I'm sorry”, he moves back onto his one elbow. The silence gestates for a while, you can feel his eyes on you. The ticking of the clock is the only thing heard through the room before he softly says, “Hey, please tell me what's happening?”

“Nothing”, you shook your head, “I’m just tired.”

“You just said you're not sleepy.”

“J– just go back to sleep okay? sorry for waking you up”, you turn onto your side, face away from him.

He sidles up behind you after a second or two, warm breath across the back of your neck, you squeeze your eyes shut. “yeah, like that's gonna put me to sleep", he mutters behind you.

His arms snake around your waist, pulling you in closer, “C'mon, you know I wont be able to sleep after fighting”, burying his nose in your hair– he sighed.

“Did you just sniff my hair?”

“Yeah, I do all the time. smells s’good."

"You pervert", you both laugh lightly at that, your hand going for his around your waist, before your smiles fall and silence takes over once again.

You lick your drying lips, you forgot to put on lip balm again, “We’re not fighting, Steve.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You take in a deep breath in, fingers drawing patterns on the back of his hand, you breath out, “m’sorry.”

His arms squeeze tighter around you, he lets out a quick sigh before placing a kiss on your shoulder, “I’ll forgive you if you tell me what’s going on with you.”

“Steve…”, your voice trails off, you're not even sure what you were going to say.

“Is it— Is it your…. Uh, that time of the month?”

That makes you want to roll your eyes at him and smack his chest but you restrain yourself, you’re not sure if you want him to see your eyes right now anyway. Instead, you sigh, “I had it last week, Steve.”

You got it in this very same bed. Awoken by cramps in the middle of the night. and Steve, your lovely Steve had given you a hot water bag while he took off the sheets and put on fresh new ones and then gave you a soft massage that put you to sleep.

“right... yeah, sorry," he says all sheepish, “So what is it then? Did someone say somethin’ at work?”

“No.”

“Did I.. " he hesitated a little, "did I say something?”

“...no”, you curse yourself for pausing before saying it.

“I did, didn't I?”

“No, no. you–”

“honey, you should tell me if I ever say stupid shit– you should call me out immediately–”

“You didn't say anything stupid or whatever. I'm the one who's being stupid.”

his hold on you loosened, he shifted back to give you space to turn around, “What did I say? Hey, look at me,” you finally turn in his hold, facing him “what did I say?”

“We’d have the cutest little kids, won't we?”

“..what?” You stood infront of the kitchen sink. your hands stopped their scrubbing at the pot you were washing. You tilted your head towards him who had his head rested on your shoulder, his arms around your waist.

“Little Harringtons”, you could hear the smile on his lips.

“Harringtons?”

“Or maybe we get our names hyphenated. That works too, it’d be cute”, his hands hold your waist, his duty of drying the plates abandoned. “They’d have my fabulous hair, and your pretty, pretty eyes– cutest kids around the block”

“Our kids?” you repeated dumbly.

“Yeah, and six of ‘em. six little nuggets. They’ll make up half of a football team”, he giggled, warm air hitting the side of your face, “Doesn’t that sound lovely?” he smiled at you.

“...yeah. Yeah, it does.” you smiled back at him which only made him grin wider. His arms tighten around you again, and lips start a trail from behind your ears to down your neck.

You scoffed softly "You’re supposed to help me wash dishes you filthy animal."

“Oh, fine,” he gave you an over dramatic sigh, before his hands left your sides, skin feeling lonely as ever.

“No, it's fine. I’m almost done anyway", you went back to scrubbing at the bottom of the pot, "Just go and take a shower, you reek.”

“Alright, fine, I’ll go!” he groaned, playfully as a kid, before he leaned against the counter, looking at you with his ‘Harrington charm’. His voice is silky when he asks, “Will you join me?”

“Steve." you said it almost as a warning.

“I don’t hear a no.”

“Okay then, no.”

“Tomorrow morning…?”

“I have an early shift tomorrow, you horndog.”

“We'll make it work.”

“No.”

“Okay", he sighs, “come up quickly though, I wanna be the big spoon today”, pecking your cheek before leaving for the shower upstairs.

Looking at him, you brush the now mostly dry hair falling on his forehead, tucking it behind his ear. Your fingers lingered there, you smile, “nothing, Steve.” your thumb rubs back and forth on the apple of his cheeks. “You didn’t say anything. it's stupid.”

His hand reaches up to hold your fingers in place, he turns his head a little to kiss your knuckles, “okay, I didn't say anything” he kisses your knuckles again, gaze stuck to your face, “but could you tell me what it is you think you’re being stupid about?”

God, I love him, you think. “Don't worry about it”, your voice barely a whisper as you attempt to give him a smile. You move closer, planting a slow kiss on his lips which are so much softer than yours– he never forgets his chapstick.

And god, you needed this, your brain stops when you kiss him. thoughts quelled and its quiet again. After some time though, your throat starts to burn and your chest is on the verge of a sob. So, when you pull away, you fail to hide the stuttered breath that you take in.

Steve knew there was something to worry about, but when he hears your breath that almost sounds like a sob, he’s immediately on high alert. Before he can brush your hair out of your face to look at you, really look at you, you bury your face in his chest.

It takes him a second to realize that you’re crying and it breaks his heart because you’re trying to hide it.

“Baby..” he feels you curl in further, your face warm against his skin. He moves to pull you in closer, palm holding the back of your head. He just wanted to take away whatever it was that was bothering you. He tried to pull away to get a look at your face to help you calm down but you wouldn't let him. He settles on carding his fingers through your hair, rubbing circles on the little sliver of exposed skin between your t-shirt and shorts, hoping it gives you some sort of comfort.

"Honey", it is then that you finally let in a shaky breath. he feels the skin where you hid your face get wet maybe with tears, sweat, snot, he didn't care-- he just wanted to take all your pain away.

You both stay that way, and you're suprised by how much you sob, how hard you heave. You weren't sure how long you stayed that way, maybe minutes, maybe hours, however long. It feels like forever.

At this moment, encased in Steve's arms, breath hot against his skin, despite the nose plugged with snot, lashes clumped with tears, eyes squinted shut, you think this is comfortable. Yet it hurts. Because you'll have to pull away. It hurts so damn much because you know how this can go, you know it can hurt so, so much more. You know it will hurt.

You want this to last forever, however fucking long one of those is.

So, you hold on longer because, you’re selfish with your love for Steve. You're selfish because despite the heartache, you’ll have him, for as long as you can.

His hold on you gentle yet firm, as if afraid he'd break you. In your head, he already had. He tries to pull away again, to look at you but you can't. Your eyes still squinted close, willing it all to be a stupid dream. “Honey, I promise you whatever it is, you can tell me”, he says, voice soft as feather. Of course it's not a dream.

Your tongue betrays you, “Its…s–” stupid. Silly. It really doesn't feel stupid or silly, but god, you're so scared that you can't say it, you didn't want to say it because if you do it’ll come true, wont it?

“Whatever it is that you think is stupid," he assured you as if he could read your mind, "I still want to hear it because I know I won't think it's stupid."

suddenly it burns, and you need air. you sit up and try not to think about how ridiculously not pretty you probably look with snot running down your face, “What if- what if we- we end up hating each other?” you manage to say through hiccups.

“What?” he sits up as well, he says as if you had said the most ridiculous thing, “I'll never hate you, honey.”

For some reason, tears fill your eyes again at that, “Steve, you don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“No. Ste– people fall out of love, Steve- all the- all the time.” It terrifies him how convinced you sound of it.

“Do..... do you think you’ll fall out of love with me?”

The question startles you, its evident in your wide eyes, “Wha– what?”

“Do you think… you’ll fall out of love with me?" he repeats, "You think you’ll hate me?”

You shake your head, the tear that had been sitting on your lower lash finally slides down your already tear-stained cheek.

“Good." he wipes the wet trails left behind with his thumb, "then, why would I hate you?”

Your face twists into an expression that Steve wasn't sure what to describe it as. a deep frown on your lips, chin wobbly, brows scrunched up together, eyes red and tired yet nostrils flared. “‘Cause", you start but before you could continue another sob leaves you. you look down at your lap, trying to catch your breath. it takes you a minute before you begin again, "do you remember.... what you said about our kids?”

He nods, heart clenching at the way your voice breaks, “I don't think I can… do that”, he doesn't think he's ever heard you sound so broken. “I– I don't think if I– if I want that.”

He sits silent and you think this is it. maybe forevers aren't that long after all.

More tears fall, more sobs leave you, you don't bother to wipe them. What's it matter anyway? He hates you already. He's probably thinking of a way to let you down easily because he is kind like that “Honey.. I want a family..” you feel your heart ripping in two and you just can't look at him.

“And I want you to be a part of that family. I– I want you to be the person I built a family with, no matter the size." He wipes at both your cheeks again, making you look at him, "even if its just us.”

The relieved smile he expected from you isn't there, instead, you frown, the crease between your brows deepens. the part that hurt the most was that you push his hands away, “you’re saying that now, but what happens when years down the line, when we’re old, you– you end up resenting me. Y- you love me right now, I know. But how do you know you wont end up hating me like, ten years later?”

“I dont want to watch you grow old and hate me and then leave me, Steve. I’d rather end this now if we’re destined to just end up unhappy together.”

“We’re not. Okay? We’re not. I know I wont hate you, ever.” He reaches for your hands again. He kisses your fingers before continuing, “And I know that I want you, just you and whatever that– that that comes with. We could never have kids and I would never hate you for it.”

“You won't be happy", you say meekly, like he'd be mad at you for speaking what was on your mind to him, “You wont hate me but you wont be happy either”, you muttered, chin ducked into your chest.

“Honey”, he hooks a finger under your chin, tilting your head to make you look at him, to make you understand. “you’re what I need to be happy. You make me happy. And.. I’d hope you need me to be happy too”, a wet chuckle escapes you at that. A hint of a smile on your face despite the tears.

“You do, don’t you?” he clarified with a soft smile of himself.

You nod, "yeah", letting out a loud sniffle.

“Good. I know its scary but you’ve gotta put your trust in me. Trust me enough to believe in me when I say that you are what makes me happy. and I am happy."

He wipes away gently at your face, ridding it of the tear stains, “Sometimes, you’ve just gotta trust. I promise I’ll never break it.”

You sob again but it's lighter than before, you wrap your arms around his neck and feel the weight you felt get lifted, you sniffle into the crook of his neck, "thank you."

You feel his lips on your hairline, "Let's go back to sleep, yeah?"

"Yeah. You still wanna be the big spoon?"

"yeah, I think you need to be the little spoon today." he pulls you down with him, your back to his chest, kissing the skin behind your ear he finally settles in beside you.

You call out his name, he hums in response. "how long do you think a forever is?"

"I don't know, honey."

"Can we stay like this forever?"

"Um.. if you mean us staying forever then yes, definitely forever. But, if you meant me being the big spoon forever, baby, I'm not sure if I'll be able to commit to that."

You laugh, "I love you." you confess.

"I love you too."

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader angst #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x you #stranger things x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfiction #Spotify

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verysium · 5 months

Note

PLEASE DO BLUE LOCK ICKS IM BEGGING🙏😭🌹

😏 coming right up anon. gonna channel my inner critic and not hold back on any of these.

RIN

brother complex. not much else to say except that he needs to get a life. not everything is about metaphorically crushing your older brother's dreams and brooding in the dark hate of retribution.

competitive but only because he is a desperate whore for external validation. ignores everyone but craves the attention of a sole person named sae itoshi. was defeated by isagi once and has never let go of it since. has a one-track mind that is impossible to derail. stubborn when he wants to be.

probably a virgin and will continue to be one until his late 30s.

has not known a single day of peace ever since sae ditched him for the popular girlies. as a result, he has developed a very concerning case of social awkwardness. his idea of a conversation involves a brick wall and thirty minutes of you staring at his resting bitch face. constantly looks like that one grumpy cat meme. judges you for your poor decisions but then gets aggressively defensive when you point out his own mistakes.

reeks of so much teen angst that even metallica can't save him. the problem is that he has nothing to back up his emo persona. his insults lack creativity and, unfortunately for him, phrases like "lukewarm" and "half-baked" and "hell" do not make his words carry more weight. uses the f-word but in the most embarrassing context that it makes you facepalm and internally cringe.

SAE

zero social awareness. this boy's head is empty. the lights are not on up there. there are no picture frames or furniture. the curtains are drawn, and there is not a sliver of clouds or sunshine. cannot read body language and does not know what a filter is.

the source of all of rin's stress. he is the original trauma projector, creator of generational cycles. not even subtle about it. "turns out i was wrong. i thought japan was incapable of ever giving birth to decent forwards." sir....with the way you worded that, you knew exactly what you were doing when you gave rin false hope.

swears but it's even worse than his brother. literally called his elders a "fatso and bob cut duo" and "insect turd." i mean....there is a line between what is considered a legitimate burn and what is a first grader making up insults in his coloring book.

has a horrible haircut and no fashion taste. i already talked about this previously, but it was so bad it deserved a second mention.

a freak but tries to justify it rationally. like what do you mean you can tell a person's athletic ability from their buttock size? just admit you have a kinky fetish already.

somewhat of a coward but i'm gonna give him some leniency due to his tragic child genius backstory. tbh he's just an eighteen-year-old boy who needs a goddamn break.

KAISER

alexa please play clown music. this man sets himself for failure and then wallows in self-pity when he actually fails. like what did you expect? you knew what was going to happen the moment you challenged isagi like that. it was most definitely your fault you got violently humbled.

has a borderline god complex (currently calls himself an emperor but has not evolved into a deity yet.) unfortunately, he does not stand on business. cue the dramatic meltdowns when he realizes there is an actual gap between his ability and his reputation. if you're going to lie, at least make it believable.

insecure and mentally unstable. he probably cuts and re-dyes his hair every single time shit happens. no wonder his locks get shorter every time.

lazy when it comes to anything that is not football and expects others to do it for him. demands princess treatment wherever he goes. unfortunately, not all of us have servants with no self-respect like ness.

"it is not enough that i should succeed, others should fail" type of person.

does not wear shoes and even if he does, it's sandals. put them grippers away.

NAGI

a literal sloth who has so much potential but uses none of it. has no intrinsic motivation of his own, so if he's going to do anything, it has to be you behind the wheel, making sure he gets put to work.

does not have a close relationship with his parents, and so he has no sense of community, holidays, or traditions. no fun at all if you want him to do things like christmas shopping or birthday celebrations.

rots in bed all day and then has to nerve to ask you to carry him around. your back better be strong because his 190 cm body is not going to be light.

not loyal (need i say more.)

REO

second male lead syndrome. also known as that one popular guy who's always picked last.

acts like a victim but then when you realistically tell him to how to change his situation he refuses to do so. you cannot ask for advice and then take none of it to heart. no wonder you're still not over your ex.

"i can fix him" mentality. no, you can't. you are a seventeen-year-old child, not a licensed therapist and nagi isn't even all that.

NESS

touch-starved to the point he will stay in a toxic and abusive relationship in order to gain some scrap of affection. just because you were the black sheep of your family does not mean you can lose all sense of personal dignity.

probably stalks all the people he hates. has a burn book like regina george from mean girls. cuts out and glues little pictures of kaiser all over his bedroom. doodles hearts all over it with glittery gel pen. isagi's face and name are scratched out of every team photo.

delusional and prone to mood swings. medicated but at this point, he is beyond saving.

ISAGI

a home wrecker. has ruined more relationships than he can count on ten fingers yet still manages to smile like he's some angelic saint.

solves jigsaw puzzles for a living (not very cool if you ask me.)

has some unresolved anger management issues. probably repressed all his negative feelings when he was younger, so it all comes out when he's on the field. unfortunately, his twilight-sparkle-friendship-is-magic agenda is not going to work if he keeps cussing out his teammates like that. but then again, he is the main character, so i guess his plot armor makes up for his pitfalls.

says that he's a good guy but then holds personal vendettas against rivals he doesn't like. boy was so ready to throw hands when #kaisagi was trending on the internet. but when you actually think about, he's similar to kaiser in more ways than he'd like to admit.

BAROU

has the worst case of high and mighty "holier-than-thou" attitude. isagi put his ego in check, but it still peeks out from time to time.

he was the ugliest baby when he was born. i am not going to hold back on the child barou slander because it is true. no, he was not a cute and lovable bundle of joy. he looked like a demonic gremlin.

he needs to take more risks in life and try cross-dressing. simply imagining him in a maid uniform will not suffice. it needs to be made into a reality.

with how nit-picky he is, i doubt people can realistically stay within a 1-meter radius around him. unless you are a clean freak yourself, his constant complaints will start to get annoying after a time. even if he does have good intentions, he needs to let people have a little breathing room sometimes. a messy room is not going to kill you.

BACHIRA

this boy's brain is smooth. no folds. no gray matter. no intelligence either. his pencil and eraser have been left untouched since day one. if he wasn't crazily good at football, he would be unemployed and homeless in the future. not even a mcdonald's wants him.

one of those people who will do the literal opposite of whatever you say. you want him to stop talking? well, now he's never going to shut up. you tell him not to step on a pile of dog shit? well, now he's going to walk right into it. you want him to quit running around and act normal? well, now it's his life's mission to make you as annoyed as possible. please pray for your hair follicles because at the end of the day, you're not going to have many left with how much he makes you want to tear your hair out.

has the cerebral capacity of a toddler. if he thinks monsters are real, he's going to think anything is real. super gullible when it comes to any form of scam, ploy, or trickery. the only way he would not be fooled is if he's also played the same prank before.

SHIDOU

a brazen pervert. says the most out-of-pocket things and refuses to apologize for them. sometimes it comes out a little too sleazy for your liking.

"to me a goal is fertilization! a shot is the seed and the goal is the egg!! and the birth of that joy i call an explosion!! my genes are gonna knock you up!" let us give ourselves a moment of silence to digest this quote. only shidou ryusei would come up with a sperm and egg metaphor to describe football. (i guess protection means nothing to him.)

has no empathy. if you dislike him or cannot keep up with him, you're a literal nobody in his books. no sportsmanship. no compassion. no self-awareness.

you cannot say "balls" to him in a serious tone without him misinterpreting it as something dirty. that alone should tell you enough. stay the hell away from him.

where do men get the audacity? right here. from this little bastard. he invented the term "shameless slut." boy was getting off during the u-20 arc and on live TV too. no wonder sae said he was disgusting.

and finally, he comes from a long line of cockroaches. he's even got the antennae to prove it.

i think this might have been a little excessive, but i have no regrets about it. you're welcome anon ♡

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lunargrapejuice · 1 year

Text

drunk confessions

alhaitham x fem!reader | 3k words

warnings: drunk alhaitham, a bit of unwanted touching from another character

the unpredictability of love was perhaps alhaithams worst enemy, at least when it came to you, and as he watched your skin flush under the gaze of another man that was more evident than ever.

he's forgotten why he even came out this way, if he had been seeking you out like he often did or was just trying to get his mind off of you before he spotted you in the distance, wearing that flowy dress that he can’t get enough of, accompanied by another scholar who stood much too close to you, who caressed and grabbed your arm to get you to look at him before leaning toward your lips. alhaitham didn’t stick around to watch you kiss the man. he hadn’t prepared himself for the feeling of tightness in his chest as he walked away or the deep breaths he’d need to take all the way back to his office to try to stop it, though it was to no avail in the end. this annoying lick of flames that kept his chest feeling annoyingly uncomfortable at the thought of another man taking you as their own didn’t disappear simply because he had walked away.

he had struggled, or maybe it was more so avoided, processing the fact that he had indeed fallen in love with you and even after he came to the conclusion of love, he still chose to do nothing about it. love was everything he was not; irrational, illogical, the act of following one’s heart. and you were..

kaveh had once told alhaitham that he couldn’t understand why someone as bright and lovely as you would want to be around someone with such an unlikeable personality, who never saw anything for its true beauty but instead at face value and even then found them unnecessary. you found beauty in everything and gave everyone the kindness he had come to adore, even if he thought most were not deserving of your caring nature. but that never stopped you from being around him, never stopped you from enjoying the peaceful silence as you read books side by side or walked around the city and pointed out the worldly beauties he had not cared to note until he met you. you had blushed at his bone dry teasing and fought with him many times trying to justify such lovely things and why they were important to life. he loved to fluster you, to rile you up, see that pout on your lips and the determination in your eyes as you tried to rationalize that which wasn’t rational at all. but even more than that, he loved to see you smile and a part of him wondered if someone with such a cold, seemingly unfeeling, personality like his own could continue to make you smile.

as irritated as it made him feel, as he sits in his office chair and runs a hand through his hair, he can’t help but think, would the man you were with today be able to keep you smiling and happy in ways he could not?

“gods don’t you look to be in a terrible mood,” kaveh voice breaks alhaitham from his thoughts. apparently he had been so caught in them he had failed to hear his roommate burst through the door or even walk in until he spoke and made himself comfortable on the chair in front of his desk. “want to talk about it?”

“get out.”

“now hold on! i may have a better suggestion and i think you’ll like it,” kaven smiles mischievously and alhaitham already knows what he’s about to say. “want a drink instead?”

“fine but you’re buying.”

your palm stung from the impact against the cheek of the man who had tried to force himself on you. even minutes after walking away, with your chest in knots and your eyes full of unshed tears of anger, you could still feel the tingle of pressure throughout your fingertips. just who did he think he was trying to kiss you unprovoked in the middle of the street like that?! archons you hated arrogant scholars who tried to take what they wanted without actually hearing your own words simply because they thought they were above you.

“my position at the akademiya will make a comfortable life for you. i know i could make you a happy housewife.”

blah blah blah.

it was all pointless drivel when your heart already belonged to someone else, another scholar who’s position in the akademiya never mattered to you. being the scribe never swayed your feelings, was never even a component as to why you fell in love with him and he would certainly laugh at the idea of making you a housewife. but it didn’t matter because you have never confessed your feelings to him and you aren’t sure you ever would.

surely he would find love a waste of time, unnecessary to his own goals. and even if he didn’t think that way about love, didn’t he deserve to be with someone of his same status, someone who could share his wealth in knowledge? the fact he was a genius didn’t escape you and it only made sense that he deserved to be with someone who could share that with him or at least be on a similar level but you didn’t feel like you quite met that bill. so you’d kept your mouth shut and held down the lid of your affections for him, even if it did spill out from time to time when you couldn’t help but reach out to touch him or caught yourself staring at him for longer than you should have.

sometimes you wished to let it all out even though you knew it meant he’d leave your life, to spare you both- it was the most logical action after all- and that was the last thing you wanted. but as you lock the door to your apartment and flop onto the couch face first into a decorative pillow you wonder, had spoken how you felt about him if maybe it could have been him confessing his feelings and trying to kiss you today.

you both hate and love the thought; it’s nothing more than a silly daydream but it was one that made your heart flutter nonetheless.

bang bang bang

the loud thumps on your door draw your attention away from your book and to the clock hanging on the wall. your eye twitches when you see the time, it's well past midnight and the moonlit night shining through the window also says as much. who the hell is coming to your door this late and why are they being so damn loud?!

placing a pressed flower bookmark on the page you were on, you leave the book to rest on the coffee table and go to give this person a piece of your mind and a lesson in the manners of which a person can come to someone’s house unannounced this late into the evening. but as you open the door and are met with seafoam eyes flecked with amber and the tall shadow of alhaitham engulfing your figure, any words you had got caught in your throat and were swallowed to join the butterflies that were doing somersaults in your stomach and the running thoughts that took over every inch of your body.

“y/n..” your name leaves his lips slow and you can smell the alcohol on his breath from here. it’s only then do you notice the glossiness of his eyes and the emotions you can’t quite make out behind them or how he slumps against the door frame, as if he’s using it to keep himself up right.

“let’s get you some water,” you say with a reassuring smile, some kind of attempt to help ease whatever is going on inside his mind that brought him to your door this late at night, and drunk of all things but your questions to why he’s here and what he’s doing this drunk could wait, at least for now.

as if your heart wasn’t already beating like crazy, it almost jumps right out of chest when you put your arm around his middle to help steady him on your walk to the couch and he wraps his arm around you, the muscles of his torso flexing against your hand and side. his grip on you is hardly for support, it seems he can walk fine for the most part but his arm around you is still tight, pulling you so close there’s barely an inch between your bodies.

with his strength, strength a ‘feeble scholar’ didn’t need in the slightest, he pulls you onto the couch with him. embarrassed to be almost on top of him, you avoid his eyes as you move a bit farther away but he doesn’t let you go far. the warmth of his fingers trail from where he held onto you, up your spine and to the side of your neck. warm calloused fingers rest there, feeling every hard thump of your heart and the heat that spreads throughout your whole body but he doesn’t comment or tease you about it. when you finally meet his eyes again, there’s no hiding his are staring directly at your lips.

your face feels so hot under this kind of attention from him, you don’t need to look in a mirror to know you’re flushed a bright shade of red but you couldn’t stop it even if you tried. not with the way he held you with such tenderness and looked at you with enchantingly soft eyes and what you now realize may be sadness shining through the cracks.

“s-stay here, i’ll go get you-“

you don’t get a chance to escape to the kitchen to regain your composure or even finish your sentence before he interrupts you. “does he make you happy?”

confused by his question and the hurt in his tone, your body stills. unable to stop yourself from wanting to comfort him, your hands rest on his arm, your fingers soothing over his skin. “what are you talking about? does who make me happy?”

he grumbles, as if hating to think about whoever it was he was talking about. “that man…” he looks just as muddled as you trying to remember who this man was. “the one who kissed you today.” his fingers resting on your neck tighten their grip, not enough to hurt but enough to tell you how urgent it was you tell him. you’re shocked he had seen what happened earlier but if he thought you had kissed him.. he must not have seen it all. before you can reply and clear the air between you, if you could even find words to speak, the pad of his thumb runs along on your bottom lip, gently swiping across it and back again. you can’t think, can hardly breath but all of it, all of your brain function and answers to his question are taken from you when he leans in close, his silver hair tickling your face, his heated breath fanning your already burning skin and says, “i wanted to be the only one to kiss your lips.”

it’s quiet for a long moment, only the sound of his heavy breaths and your heart beating rapidly filling your ears as he keeps you impossibly close. all this time had he felt the same way as you? your mind races with memories of these last few months when you’ve found your way to his side; times he made you smile, the moments you reached out to touch him and he didn’t pull away, when you swore you caught him staring back at you, even if it was only for a split moment.

“but if he makes you happy.. makes you smile..” his words trail off but he doesn’t let you go, doesn’t move from the proximity of your face. you’re so close your chests are nearly touching with every deep breath you both take.

“i didn’t kiss him,” you finally reply and his desperate grip on you relaxes, a sigh of relief escaping past his lips. “honestly.. his advances towards me weren’t all that consensual..”

quickly enough to give any normal person whiplash, he pulls away from you and stares at you more seriously than he ever has before, the amber of his eyes burning with a fierce fire. “did he touch you? i -”

“didn’t you hear me ‘haitham?” you reassure him, squeezing his arm gently and offering him a sweet smile. “i said i didn’t kiss him. he tried but i gave him my answer in the form of a quite lovely handprint to the face. some of my best work if i do say so myself.” you chuckle at the thought, how proud you felt of yourself for not letting him get away with touching you unwarranted like that and trying to push you into something you made clear you didn’t want.

“that’s my girl.” he says it so casually, like you truly were his and yeah, maybe you weren’t officially, you had never agreed to that with him, but your heart belonged to him all the same.

in your boldness, under the smile of relief and amusement he gave you, a smile that made you even weaker to the handsome man before you, you find your bubbling feelings can’t be held back and let a little more than you ever have before slip through. “i only want you to be the one kissing me too, you know.”

once again he pulls you close. this time resting his forehead on yours while his thumb caresses your cheek and cradles your face, your own hands resting against his chiseled chest, feeling the beating of his heart under your palm. the strands of your hair mix with his, your shared breaths becoming shallow and bated. it's hard to think straight, to not become a complete melting mess in his arms and keep your own feelings from coming out completely to a drunk person who likely wouldn’t even remember this in the morning.

you want so badly to kiss him, to feel the lips you’ve been yearning for against your own but the thought of his drunken regret, that he may not even remember this in the morning, that you may be getting your hopes up, stops you from closing the distance.

“not tonight ‘haitham.. not while you’re drunk,” of course he listens, doesn't kiss you despite how badly he wants to, his fingers flexing against you to stop himself. “but if you still feel the same way tomorrow, if you still want to then, you know where to find me.”

in the peaceful silence you often find with him, he rubs the tip of his nose against yours and keeps your head gently pressing against his. you don’t know how long you stay in that position, basking in this unusually soft and needy display of affection from him and as much as you’d like to stay here for longer, the clock continues to tick and you know you should get him to bed.

moving your hands from his chest to his shoulders, you pull away and feel your heart skip many beats at his response to pull you closer, to not let you go. “come on, let’s get you home.”

luckily he doesn’t live too far and even though he kept you pressed against his side, you didn’t have to help him walk all that much. you find kaveh drunkenly sleeping against the door when you arrive at the house, guess that explains why alhaitham was drunk, and with a knowing smile alhaitham pulls out both house keys from his pocket.

once inside, kaveh now passed out on the couch half covered under a blanket you found nearby, you get alhaitham on the other couch, helping him take off the headphones he usually wears so he can sleep more comfortably before pulling a blanket over him. he looks cute like this, you think. so unlike his normal stern, cool and calculating self and yet still the same man you fell in love with. you hope you get to see more of it, though possibly sober instead of drunk next time.

once he’s comfortable you go to leave, but before you can even take a step away from him, long fingers wrap around your wrist. you turn to face him and see a flash of that determination to see through anything he sets his mind to flash behind his tired eyes.

“y/n… i’ll come for you tomorrow.”

you try not to fuss, not to look eagerly at every set of footsteps that come your way that next morning. you know there’s a possibility it was all just a drunk mistake or that he hadn’t meant it, not that you think him a liar but alcohol did far worse things to people than make them say things they didn’t mean.

still, the way he acted.. what he said.. you wanted it all to be true and deep in your heart you felt like it was. so as patiently as you could, you waited and went about your day with thoughts of alhaitham lingering in the back of your mind. the way he held you last night, the words he professed at the thought of you being with another man, how he called your name like it was the only word he wanted to say.

you heard it over and over in your mind until you swore you heard it for real and with a racing heart, you turned around to see the man you loved making his way towards you, the early afternoon light at his back, that same determination from last night in his now clear, well rested, eyes.

“why do you look so surprised to me?” he asks, never stopping his long strides that close the distance between you. even when there aren't any more steps to take, he brings you closer to him. one hand snaking around your side to the small of your back, pressing you against his chest, while the other gently moves through your hair to hold the back of your neck, his words whispered against your lips as you lifted on your toes to reach him. “i told you i’d be coming.”

genshin impact masterlist | main masterlist

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #al haitham #alhaitham x reader #al haitham x reader #alhaitham #genshin impact fluff #al haitham fluff #alhaitham fluff

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nolongerapileofashprobably · 5 months

Note

Should the dev team have committed to Zelda's draconification being permanent and have her stay a dragon at the end, and would that have made for a more honest and poignant ending than the one we got? Some fans think that the ending we got renders her sacrifice completely meaningless and devoid of impact.

The dev team absolutely should NOT have committed to Zelda’s draconification. It would have ruined the entire story and narrative for Zelda’s character and Hyrule itself.

Some people think it made the sacrifice meaningless and devoid of impact. . . But it didn’t. Her choice was her own and it was a statement of dedication to Link and Hyrule as a whole. It was also utterly tragic that she had to do this in order to heal the Master Sword. I am still in utter distress whenever I play the game and watch the memories, despite knowing the ending. Because it’s the tragedy she endured willingly that makes the sacrifice meaningful, not the permanence of it. The sacrifice would hold no value had it been a choice Zelda made knowing she would be reverted.

She didn’t. She thought it was permanent.

And I’m honestly tired of some of these fans just not wanting a happy ending for her character. She deserves peace and a happy life. That’s what she got, which is absolutely justified. And those who think of a story so plainly and only at the big picture miss the details and narratives that point directly towards the ending we actually got.

Let’s talk about if she didn’t turn back.

Firstly, we can start with simple things that personally can be reworked in the future but would create a hurdle for the devs in the future— Zelda would never die as a dragon, she is an immortal being. The Zelda series is quite literally founded upon a reincarnation cycle between Zelda, Link, and Ganon. And only one of them is linked through blood: Zelda. That would cause a bump in the whole reincarnation foundation.

Beyond that, Zelda’s character development would suffer with this choice becoming permanent.

Any fan upset by the ending doesn’t understand the implications of Zelda being granted a second chance. She dedicated her entire life before the calamity to training and praying, only to have her magic awaken AFTER the champions, her father, and nearly Link are killed. Her efforts for the next century keep her body suspended in time and keeps Ganon at bay through her light power. When she wakes up, she is granted a ‘second chance’. In reality, it is simply the life she fought for and rightfully deserved.

So after she made Hyrule her home again, unifying the scarcely populated land and invigorating its culture, she is once again forced to sacrifice everything. This time, she does so as a leader and as one who holds such strong power. Her journey as a Queen leads her to become the very leader she WANTS to be, not the one she was constantly reprimanded to be by her father and the old kingdom. And she learns this throughout her time in the past, with Rauru as her guide.

And that leads us to this point: the belief that to rule is to give up everything.

But where others are punished for this choice (despite Zelda’s warnings, Rauru’s ignorance of Ganondorf’s power leads to Sonia and his own death), Zelda is REWARDED for her choices.

Because she did not just claim that another will defeat Ganondorf and seal him away until present day like Rauru.

Zelda did much more. She raised the sky islands, made a promise with Mineru, solidified the aid of the sages, collected the Master Sword and chose to give LINK the best chance he could have against Ganondorf. Zelda did every single thing she could to ensure Ganondorf would be defeated. She even aids in the final battle, as her will is to end that evil and grant Hyrule the peace she herself will (presumably, to her own knowledge) never experience.

So when she is rewarded for her efforts, by being bathed in sacred light and her body reversed to its previous state. . . It is entirely in line with the narrative thus far. Additionally, Rauru and Sonia present themselves as a ‘second chance parents’ for Zelda. A supportive, patient father in Rauru. A guiding teacher and mother in Sonia.

Tears of the Kingdom mirrors Breath of the Wild in terms of Zelda’s development and story. To give an ending where Zelda remains a dragon. . . It would have been tragic and dishonest to the story that we got.

If you want to read something more in depth and not written by someone with one eye open, this post grants a well rounded answer to this question.

#loz totk #loz totk Spoilers #loz tears of the kingdom #loz totk Zelda #totk Zelda #some people don’t want Zelda to be happy and for those people I hope their pillow is forever hot #I am protective of her because some people just want to misunderstand her and I don’t like that lol #anyway she got to have a peaceful life with link after all this so I am happy :)#zelink #botw zelink #loz botw #botw #the legend of zelda #botw link #link botw #zelda botw #loz tears of the kingdom spoilers #the legend of zelda breath of the wild #Totk zelink

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obsessivevoidkitten · 10 months

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(Here is a little drabble that popped into my head and I couldn’t get it out. I hope you guys like it. Male yandere with gender neutral reader, nothing too spicy.) Imagine having an obsessive warlock boyfriend, named Xedlio, who your family warned you against dating When he is just a bit too jealous you justify it to all your friends saying he is just protective of you When he is constantly with you, even smothering, you just say he is sweet and wants to spend a lot of time with you But when he starts really isolating you from all of your friends and family just so he can have you for himself, about a year after the two of you started dating, you finally break up with him Can’t you see he is just trying to keep you safe? Those people don’t deserve your time, only he can give you everything you need and protect you! You have had enough though, so you leave him anyway. Xedlio sees he has to do something drastic. You’ve been poisoned against him and he has to wipe the slate clean. One dark night when you are alone and all asleep he takes the form of mist and effortlessly enters your room and looks over you, admiring how peaceful you look as you sleep. When you wake up you are snuggled up to him in his new home. A place he has built far away from all those who knew you so they can never poison you again. You are confused. You don’t remember anything. Not even your own name! But don’t worry. Xedlio is there to remind you of everything. He reminds you how you were childhood sweethearts. And how your family had all died tragically leaving him the only one there for you. And how the two of you had been happily married for years. And of course how he was the only one you could ever love and depend on.

#yandere drabble #yandere imagine #yandere warlock #yandere imagines #yandere boyfriend #yandere x reader #male yandere x reader #gender neutral reader #My OCs #My OC Xedlio

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stargirl-and-potts · 7 months

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Ed called himself the devil, and the crew his kids, like he was making them into some absurd legend of the high seas. And he kept up a hell of a theater. Everything the crew had asked Stede for at the start, everything they’d seemed to revere in Ed — he produced it tenfold. He looked just like the myth, the monster, the terror, and he made them the same. He did everything to show the world that caricature Izzy demanded. And Edward watched his step, and cried behind closed doors, and didn’t speak. Edward wasn’t seen on deck once after Izzy told him to put him away.

And then after they “talk it through,” and Ed knows decisively he’s failed even this — even his best performance — then he washes his face, and puts his hair up, and shows up smiling and soft-faced to steer them straight into the storm. I think that was Edward on deck, giving up at last on watching his step. Not the Kraken — Edward in despair, because his best bravura performance of the theater of fear couldn’t save or satisfy anyone. And he knew it never would — if they went on like that they’d all die anyway, on someone’s sword, or on the end of the noose.

When he asked Izzy to enlighten him on where he’d gone wrong I do think he wanted to offer Izzy one last chance to admit he didn’t want what he’d demanded from him. But I don’t think he had any real hope that Izzy did regret that. He believed Izzy was going to continue to believe in brutality, to require his performance of Blackbeard until they all mutinied or died, and that no one would stop him; that no one wanted just Ed.

And Izzy then says again to his face that it’s love that ruined everything, not the monstrous performance overtaking their humanity, and that’s what puts Ed over the edge.

He wants the crew to kill Izzy for saying love has ruined them, since he can’t. And when they don’t, he wants Izzy to kill him. (Izzy seems to love that he wants that from him; he beams, and he seems flustered to find he can’t quite do it. He adores that Ed wouldn’t ask anyone else — one final intimacy of shared despair, the death of both their humanity, and he can’t pull it out of himself. He pretends it’s Ed that’s the coward, still.)

And since Izzy won’t end him, Ed steers into the storm, puts on his brightest, bravest performance of Ed the madman, but for once it’s a performance he believes in. He wants the crew to despair of him, the way he has. He wants them to fear him the way he does. He wants their horror, their hatred, as well as his own, if he can’t have anyone’s heart.

I think he wants Jim to fight him instead of Archie — to prove to him that love means something to someone on this ship. And maybe he thinks Jim and the rest deserve to die with him if they won’t put him down and save their loves and spare the world from him. But his euphoric “Finally” makes me think he trusts they will — that they’ll see he shouldn’t live and spare him the decision. That anyone can see he’s earned his end.

It’s horrible, but it’s all he believes is real any more — that there isn’t a place for him on this earth, that the albatross can never land, and that the only peace he’ll get is to be sent under the waves like his father before him, like Hornigold and Jack and the rest — to go down to where the monsters sink when the world is done with them. And when Izzy decides Ed’s request for death is justified, and returns shot for shot, instead of saying he was wrong — Ed is glad. When the rest of the crew finishes what Izzy can’t, Ed welcomes their despair of him. He can’t keep tallying the days on his wall. He can’t bear any more hope.

Which is why I love that we saw in the end, in the in-between, he wasn’t really ready to go. In the quiet of his own soul, without any eyes on him, he was still trying to kill the Hornigold in him who said this is all he was, that he would never be good for anything else, that dying was all he could hope for.

And it’s why I love that Stede didn’t meet him at the surface, in the open air— he dove down into the depths with him. He brought the light with him; he changed the waters from a nightmare into a dream. Ed went from sinking to weightless, just because he realized that there in the depths one person still wanted Edward — one person believed in his love.

#ofmd #ofmd s2 #edward teach #I really don’t know if I can ever watch that part again #because it’s so close to the bone #my god the relief in his voice when he sees someone will end it for him #it’s utter horror #and my good god the relief it was to me to see him admit that after all that he still didn’t really want to go #tw suicide #suicidal ideation

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arabellasleopardcoat · 10 months

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Eyes wide open (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: As you settle into life as a married woman in Westeros, you try to escape and outsmart Daemon. It goes as well as one could expect.

Warnings: Kidnapping, forced marriage, violence, starvation, torturing (Not the reader, at least physically), gaslighting. Very much housewife kink.

A/N: I think you are not going to like this. Might be too much. If you think I missed a TW, please tell me.

Check the previous parts here.

It's not a fun affair, your wedding. Nor does it have many guests. There is a Septon, and Viserys. You would like very much to claw his eyes out. You are not sure if he is a guest or acting as another officiant, but you despise him.

Perhaps a witness. Who knows? Not you. You were not the most observant person on the planet, as the last few months had shown you.

Daemon waves over to some people entering the throne room. There are two young girls, and as they approach, you realize one is Alicent and the other Rhaenyra. In between them, probably to ensure the peace, stands the man from before, the one that tried to help you. Not the young one, the other. The one who was Hand.

Alicent carries a silver haired baby, perched on her hip. You wonder which one he is. The eldest? Maybe? The drunken one.

How disgusting can men be? Really. As Alicent comes closer and closer, the more she looks like just a young girl. Rhaenyra it’s not much older, either. Viserys deserves every second spent in suffering from his illness, marrying hid child's friend. Alicent regards you with sad brown eyes, no doubt pitying you. There is nothing she can do for you, though. Not at this time.

Perhaps you are judging him with modern morals, and she was not as shocked by it as you were. She probably expected it, considering medieval girls married young, and medieval men often did not. Yet, you cannot help but be angry in Alicent’s name. Here is another woman, like Rhea, like you. Trapped into marriage to a monster.

You want to scream and scream and never stop. Until your throat is unable to make more sounds, until you cough up blood and choke on it because surely, it is a better fate than this. A world without Rhea. You open your mouth, turning towards Daemon. A hand on your shoulder it’s all it takes for you to shut up.

Your experience in the throne room showed you all you needed to know. The more barbaric parts of Westeros, the ones that Rhea had shielded you from. In her castle, she did as she pleased. She was a married woman with an inattentive husband in the Middle Ages. Rhea had much more leeway than others.

In the end, what you had liked about Rhea had been that life with her was similar to modern life. Or what you think life must be like for aristocrats in the twenty-first century, only without phones and the Internet. You wouldn't know, having been middle class all your life. But if you closed your eyes, you could pretend you were back where you belonged. Rhea was as free spirited as any woman from your time, if a bit conservative. You never understood why she feared her husband.

Now you did.

Daemon had frightened you. It was just starting to sink in how much power he would have over you now. You were little more than property, and he had a right to discipline you as he saw fit. To take you as he saw fit. After all, marital rape here was no rape.

No one questions that you are being hand fasted with still cuffed hands. Rhaenyra glares daggers at you and at her father, no doubt hurt because of her crush on Daemon. How you long to have access to Wikipedia to see when she falls for Harwin Strong and stops hurting.

You can't make up your mind about if she is a victim too or not. Daemon has groomed her into wanting him. That doesn't seem right. There is no doubt in your mind about it. Her treatment of Alicent could be justified, too. In an internalized misogyny kind of way. But wouldn't that be taking away her agency? But judging Alicent as a victim only… Isn't taking away her agency too?

Can you truly judge them with modern standards? You never spent much time thinking about the ethics of fictional characters. You surely would have been more concerned if you knew what was going to happen.

Too in your head, you barely notice when it's time to say your vows. Daemon, ever dutiful, reminds you of it by unsheathing his sword.

Someone, probably Alicent, gasps. Then, she goes quiet. You repeat your vows, glaring at Daemon the whole time. You would find a way to escape. This was only a temporary setback. And he would hurt, the asshole.

You ignore the voice in your head that tells you it's no use. Not when you have already failed at step one. You have spent a year searching for a way to go back to your world, and have made zero progress. If you run from Daemon, what would you even do? If he found you, no Lord would deny the Prince his wife. He would just have to talk to the liege lord in charge of wherever you are hiding and ask you to be handed back.

Daemon leans in to kiss you. As soon as he is close enough, you bite with all your might. The coppery taste of blood doesn't dissuade you. You keep at it.

“Should have expected that.” He mutters, through a mouthful of blood. His lips don't leave yours. “You Royces are hostile environments.”

Despite being hurt, Daemon keeps kissing you, moaning into your mouth. You are uncertain if it is pain or pleasure. Disgusted by the thought, and the hungry way he licks into your mouth, you stop. He gives you a big grin and kisses you again, biting into your lower lip until he draws blood, too. You yelp, trying to push him off.

“A true Valyrian, this one.” He boasts, grabbing your waist. Viserys and Rhaenyra look transfixed by what just happened. Apparently, something on yours and Daemon's blood stained faces is of significance to them.

Alicent and the man look at each other. Suddenly, baby Aegon gives a tiny, uncoordinated clap. The rest of the guests follow, and you beg to the skies for patience and fortitude. It seems you will need it, with these in–laws.

The cuffs never come off. Daemon shoves you in a room. Feeling oddly like the ghost of the wife in the attic, you decide you need to plan. You have little to your advantage, here. Your hands remain bound, and there is nothing to use as a weapon.

Your head hurts. You have cried too much. First, mourning Rhea, then pitying yourself. No more. You have read enough novels and watched enough awful movies to know how this might end if you succumb to weakness. This is not a love story, and you won’t develop Stockholm syndrome. You refuse.

You will keep repeating this phrase to yourself in the days to come. Feeding your anger, your treatment is not bad. It’s probably a bad idea to alienate your captor, but you decide to go on a hunger strike. Despite how hungry you are, not having eaten since the day Daemon arrived at the Vale, you do not trust him to not drug you or poison you.

He might think you valuable, but he is also known for being a rogue. He might change his mind at any moment. If it were up to you, you would not drink water, either, but you know you can’t survive without it. So you drink as little as you can. It also saves you from the indignities of not having the privacy of a bathroom.

Daemon comes to you on day six of your hunger strike. You are weak as a kitten, and half delirious with thirst. You have lost quite a few pounds. Your head hurts, you are dizzy, you want to go home. Never had you been as starved as now, or as dehydrated. Modern life meant you went hungry to bed, sometimes. Either for your financial situation or because of diet culture. But you had never felt as weak. One thing was skipping a meal, another refusing food for six days.

He enters the room with another man, one that wears noble clothes, but you have never seen before.

“… Not eating. Nothing. And barely drinking water.” Daemon explains, approaching the bed. Too weak to really fight him, you conform yourself with sitting up. As you are, you cannot be any kind of serious resistance. It’s the first time he has seen you since the wedding and by the look in his face, you look terrible. “Cries in her sleep, too.”

The other man approaches you. He reaches a hand towards you, and you scream, backing up quickly and nearly falling off the bed. You don’t know who he is, but you know you don’t want to be touched. Panic bubbles up in your throat. Bound hands. No escape, no way of fighting back. Is he here to hold you down? For Daemon to…? The thought is too horrible to finish.

You scratch at the man’s face, trying to aim for his eyes. This close, you can tell he is older both than Daemon and you. He looks kind. But looks can be deceiving. You resume your efforts, as the man screams, and you feel blood under your fingers.

Daemon grasps at your shoulders, but you only trash more. It’s a weak attempt. His arm wraps around your waist, firmly.

“Seven Hells.” The older man mutters. You have managed to lift skin around his forehead, three clear impressions of scratches marrying his face. With Daemon holding you firmly down, the man presses down on your stomach. Then, over your womb. He examines your face attentively as he does so. You snarl at him and try to kick him off. Daemon’s grip gets harsher.

Is he going to sell you now? Is the man checking you over because he is a potential buyer? You would rather not be sold, and so resume your trashing. People trafficking was bad in your time. It’s even worse now, with no laws to defend you. You could become a slave, or worse.

The man, the slave trader, tries to check your teeth. You bite down on his fingers hard.

“Your wife appears to be fine, physically.” The man finally says. A doctor? Healer. Physician. Whatever they call them here.

“Fine?” Daemon asks, tone absolutely enraged. “Fine! She is starving to death.”

“Her ailment is not physical. It’s grief and rage.” The healer, as you have now decided to call him, answers in a soothing tone. You wonder if he was chosen to visit you for that reason. Both you and Daemon must be maniacs in his eyes. You can’t bring yourself to care.

“I see.” Daemon says, tone dangerously low. Then, he grabs you by the cheeks and forces you to look at him. “What do you think you are doing, refusing food? Are you trying to kill yourself?”

You grin at him as best as you can with him squeezing your face. He makes a frustrated noise.

“It’s called a hunger strike.”

“Strike? Strike?” Daemon shouts, shaking you harshly. You let your body go lax, hoping it makes you less dizzy. You feel like you might pass out. “What in the world does that mean? You little…”

“My Prince…” The healer sounds concerned. “She looks like she is about to throw up.”

“Hell if I care!” Oh, it seems like you really angered him, you think to yourself. The thought feels distant and cloudy. Your vision starts to blur. Are you about to pass out? A sharp sting to your cheek brings you back to your senses. You blink, trying hard to focus. What have you done to yourself? Daemon has his hand raised, as if about to slap you again. The healer is making distressed sounds. ��Listen to me, little brat. You will drink your tea and eat, or else I will force food down your throat until you choke.”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. You start shaking your head.

“Broth. She will have to have broth, if you want her to be alright. Her stomach will be unable to handle more at first. We can lace it with Milk of the Poppy.” The healer says, in a low voice. It’s clearly aimed at Daemon, but you sit up straighter. You recognize that name. It was something like an opioid, right?

“No, no. That's a sedative. No. I don’t want it. You will poison me.” You start tearing up in sheer terror. Panic is choking you up, making you unable to think clearly. Daemon laughs, humorlessly.

“That’s the problem?” Daemon’s voice is harsh and loud, making you wince. He grabs a carafe of water sitting on your table. He takes a big gulp, making sure you see. Then, he passes it to you. His hand goes menacingly towards his sword. With no other choice, you drink. That’s how your hungry strike ends. Defeated not even a week in.

It takes you a few days to go back to your previous strength. Daemon’s visits become more frequent. He eats with you twice a day, always tasting before you the nutritious broths and milk glasses you are given. With no excuse and under his watchful eye, you have to eat.

As you recover, you get the strength to explore. Your new rooms were not bad. It could even be called a vacation. You didn’t have this, with Rhea. You had had a nice room for a servant, which was in reality a normal room for a person of the twenty-first century. A bed, a small table and a chair. With a window because you had told Rhea you were unable to stand closed spaces.

This room was not like it. There was one window, high enough for you to need a chair to reach it. You had no chair or table, only a bed. The bed was comfortable enough, the room spacious. It allowed you to pace a lot. You had books on Old Valyria, written in High Valyrian. If you thought Middle English was hard, it was because you had not met this terrible language.

You were determined to crack it, though. If High Valyrian was the Westeros's equivalent of Latin, perhaps you could find something more about how to get back to your time. All books of greater knowledge had been written in Latin, that you knew. It had been the language of intellectuals. Perhaps High Valyrian was the same.

It provided a good distraction, seeing as the room was bare aside from the bed and stack of books. And… Well. The candles. It looked more in here like the altar of a church, with how many there were. There was also incense, always burning. Perhaps as a way to amplify your powers because you had not seen anything like it during your year in Westeros. You wondered how much it had cost.

Your powers. Good God, what a joke. You had tried telling Daemon and Viserys, but it was no use. At most, they patted your head and said the poor little dreamer was confused with so many visions of the future. No one would listen to you.

Both of them seemed to think there was something sacred in you. Daemon had gotten you new clothes, thin white shifts. To you, it looked like a sluttier version of a roman toga.

“As the priestess of Old Valyria used to wear.” Daemon had proclaimed, proudly. You had rolled your eyes, but you were soon wearing them. Your clothes just got too dirty to stay in them, and the silk felt cold and soft on your overheated skin. Allowed only one bath per week, there is not much you can do about your cleanliness apart from changing clothes.

It takes time, getting used to your own skin again. After a year of nearly wearing as many layers as an onion, you were back to simpler clothes. No undergarments had been supplied, but you couldn’t stand the feel of your dirty ones, too worried about getting a UTI and dying because there were no antibiotics here.

Daemon visits you daily. He sits there and stares, fascinated by you. As if you were an exotic animal. It’s one of those days when you speak your first word to him. It’s difficult to build the courage for another escape attempt.

“I was wondering if I could have some ointment for my wrists.” You say, very quietly. He is sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at you with absolute fascination. It’s a bit creepy. “My Prince.”

That’s what you have heard other servants call him. You are uncertain if you should do as Rhea did and call him husband. Both of them had had rather creative nicknames for each other and so, whatever protocol they used might be incorrect.

Rhea. Poor Rhea. You don’t want to share her fate, but you would rather not surrender to Daemon either. You feel guilty for even thinking about it.

Rhea appears in your dreams, every night. Her laughter, her voice, her corpse. Did he cremate her? Bury her? You can’t remember, and no one has told you. You wish you could visit her resting place, perhaps leave her flowers. Maybe get her advice. You miss it dearly.

“What's wrong with your wrists?” Daemon steps towards you, and you flinch. His past treatment of you is still too fresh. He is a ruthless man, you remind yourself. Play nice.

"They are sore.” You try to look relaxed, forcing the tense line of your shoulders to drop. Relaxed. Nice and pliant, for your psycho husband. Polite, and just the slightest bit whiny. He fetishizes immaturity, you remember. Younger girls. Laena and Rhaenyra both were. “I have been chained up for days. I don't want the cuffs to cut my skin, I might get an infection."

He takes your wrists in a very gentle grip. You don’t know why, but his hands on the cuffs make you start to tear up. Too much. You are overwhelmed, suddenly. It’s as if the grief has come crashing down all at once.

“You hurt yourself.” Daemon says, looking at your wrists from all angles. There are raised lines on them, from all the tugging you and him had been doing. “I’ll get you softer ones.”

He brushes a thumb over your cheek, and you sob even harder. Daemon does not seem bothered by your fear or your tears. No. He presses his wet thumb to his lips, as if he is barely conscious of it. It sparks an image in your mind. Under him, crying, his lips drinking up your tears.

You shake your head, as if you could vanish the image from your mind. You need to be on your best game, tonight. Head clear and not scared anymore. Fear clouds the mind, and you can’t afford that if you hope to deceive him.

“You don’t want softer cuffs, Dreamer?”

You don’t answer. You give a tiny sniffle.

“I… I miss my sister. I miss my home.” You look up at him, with a tear stained face and big sad eyes. Daemon brushes your cheek, again. “I want to go home.”

“You have to be calm, little one.” He whispers, kissing your forehead. You feel cold all over, as if submerged in a pool of despair. Focus. You need to focus because you can tell he is close to breaking. You need to take a mile when he gives an inch if you want to survive.

“I wish to go home.” You repeat, starting to pout.

“This is your home now.” Daemon kisses your cheek, softly. You whine, low and sad. All bratty princess. You hope he falls for it. Daemon’s non-existent brows pinch together. Hook… Line… “What about this? If you are good, and share a useful secret with Viserys, we can go back to Runestone.”

Runestone! Finally, finally. To be near Rhea and perhaps the chance to escape. You have him. You have him by the balls, and he doesn’t know it yet. Fool.

“I’ll try, husband.” You force yourself to smile, as if you were the happiest girl in the world. He looks pleased.

You wait a few days to drop the bomb on Viserys. It would do no good, if you share all your limited knowledge of the Dance and end up losing what little leverage you have. It wouldn’t be good, either, if Daemon thought you could summon visions at a whim.

“Alicent will misunderstand your words, and Otto will take advantage of it to place Aegon on the throne. He will grow into a fine drunk.”

As Otto Hightower falls, you rise. It feels like a dirty thing to do, but you want to go back to Runestone more than anything. You know the terrain there, you could have a chance at escaping. From what you remember, Otto’s only sin had been being too ambitious and pimping Alicent out. But he is Daemon’s enemy, and if you drag him down, it pleases him. A pleased Daemon is a better Daemon. He gets sloppy when he is smug.

Daemon has no choice but to take you back. Dreamers must be kept calm and cared for. And you would be very upset if he goes back on his word. Your power could wane. You make sure this is clear to him.

It’s back at Runestone he makes a mistake. He has had the guards that opposed him replaced. But he has given no thoughts to the servants.

Mina is the one assigned to serve your food, out of all the kitchen girls. Perhaps Daemon handpicked her because he thought her easy to intimidate after their first meeting. Perhaps it’s just sheer luck.

“He has ordered for you to have a special diet, milady.” She explains, as she places a tray down by your bed. You have yet to acquire a table, Daemon thinking it too much of a risk. He has no idea.

“Mina, I’m not…” You hurry to correct her. You would never want to be called by Rhea’s title. It feels like disrespecting her memory. And it’s strange, too. To be treated with such deference. Not even in your time had anyone treated you as if you were royalty.

Had you pulled a similar stunt as you did with the healer with a doctor, you would have probably been institutionalized. If the doctor didn’t press charges for assault and battery first, of course.

“Not a Lady? You own this castle. That man might be parading around like a peacock, but I much rather serve you.” Mina says, sitting on the edge of your bed. She is not meant to, but neither of you care. This is the only normal conversation you have had in nearly a month.

“What’s all this about?” You point at the tray, when it’s clear you won’t be able to convince her. It’s filled with a strange array of food. Used to your broths and cups of milk, and light soups and bread, you wonder what this is all about. There is a cup with warm milk, as always, but this time smells of clover. There are also eggs, and seafood.

“They are meant to stir desire and aid conception.” She points to each item. “It should all be eaten warm, or so Thea says. Else it will cool you.”

“I think I will never…” You start saying, but Mina grasps your hands, urgently shushing you. Her jaw jutts towards the door, seemingly aware of something you are not. Heavy footsteps. Boots. They pause at your door, before resuming their path.

“Don't say that. Don't. We might joke around about it, but he always gets his way. Men like him, they don't know how to lose.” She whispers, urgently. Trying to look out for you. You think of the possible consequences of saying such a thing in front of Daemon. It’s not a pretty picture.

“They really don't.” You agree, sadly.

Daemon does not know how to lose. That much is true. But neither do the two of you. It is only a week before Mina slips you the key to your room, taken from an unsuspecting guard.

It’s not easy, waiting for the right time to use it. You have to do it before breakfast is served, so no one notices the key to be missing. Acting too soon means endangering Mina and you.

The hour of the witch, then. Fitting. These people actually believe there might be ghosts roaming the halls at three am. With your white shifts and chains, you could pass as one if not looked at closely.

When the sky looks dark enough, you open your door and run. Runestone is silent, in the quiet of the night. Servants would rise at the first rooster's crow, you know because you used to, the first days before meeting Rhea. You make sure to stick to their passages and corridors, and not the main ones, less some guard is still roaming the halls.

It feels like an eternity, the time spent running as silently as you can. Your pulse pounds loudly in your ears. When you finally exit the castle, you nearly sob in relief. It’s astonishing that no one has caught you yet.

Now comes the hard part. You have to find a way to get out of the Vale, fast. Somewhere far enough that Targaryen influence will not touch you. And get rid of the cuffs while you are at it.

Rhea had a hunting lodge, on the edge of the grounds. There she kept all sorts of weapons and knives to skin animals with. Perhaps something there can be useful to break your chains and protect yourself while on the road. You decide to head there, but do not dare take the path, afraid of discovery.

The moon shines brightly, the sky clear. It’s a good night to escape because you can actually see where you are going. You know the forest, having rode with her many times through it. Even if you found hunting disgusting, Rhea liked to take you with her. If you go through it, you could get where you need to be and avoid the path.

You give yourself a silent pep talk, reminding yourself that at least the grass and moss will be gentler on your feet than the earth. You try to ignore your doubts about if you will actually be able to get there, reminding your way in the middle of the night.

As soon as you could, you were so getting shoes. A sudden, shrill screech makes you rush into the forest, hoping the darkness conceals you. You know that sound. Caraxes. He shouldn’t be here. The dragonpit Daemon had ordered to build for him is on the opposite end of the grounds, to avoid him setting the whole forest aflame.

It can only mean two things: He either escaped or Daemon took him out for a ride. Neither are good for you.

You pray to whoever that’s listening to cloak you, let the darkness be enough to be kept unseen. Your heart beats even faster, muscles tense and ready to dart away. Ducking behind some bushes, you try to muffle your breath with your hands, silently starting to cry.

It’s not quiet enough. The tree next to you catches fire, and you scream. You were so close! So close, you could almost taste freedom. And it was taken away from you, again.

“Ah, Wife! Come to lure me back to bed?”

You shiver. Daemon urges Caraxes to fly lower and extends a hand in silent demand. He can’t actually land here, not without ruining half the forest. But it’s clear what he wants.

Is there something more terrible than being forced to climb back into your captor’s arms, with bound hands? You don’t dare ask. But probably. You don’t want to know what he will do to you in punishment.

The scandal rises all the castle. Confused servants and guards pour out of the rooms to watch the ruckus occurring in the dining hall. You feel absolutely humiliated, in the sheer shift, barefooted and dirty, while Daemon scolds you as if you were a child.

“What in the Seven Hells were you thinking?” He shakes you, roughly. For a moment, you fear he might kill you right there. You look at the crowd of servants and shrink into yourself. Daemon follows your gaze.

“Ah.” He pulls out a chair and pushes you to sit there. You go meekly, too embarrassed to drag it further. You feel like you stink of failure. Slowly, with each thwarted escape attempt, hopelessness is starting to take hold of your heart. “I suppose I can't blame you, for taking an opportunity when it arose. Question is…” Daemon pulls another chair and straddles it backwards, perching his chin on the backrest. He glares at the servants. “Who allowed it?”

The servants stay in silence. You close your eyes fearing giving Mina away. No one speaks for a long while, all of you frozen in the face of Daemon's rage. His chair creaks when he gets up. You keep your eyes firmly closed.

There is a sudden weight in your lap. You open your eyes and there is Mina's terrified face, looking right into yours.

“I have found a traitor. Do you know what happens to traitors here?” Daemon asks you. Your eyes widen. You shake your head. “Oh, I think you do, Lady Wife. But I will be merciful. After all, she is your little friend.”

He gestures for a guard to approach. The man does, and Daemon whispers something in his ear. You look at Mina, still on your lap, whose lips are silently moving. Praying. You squeeze her hands. She squeezes yours back. She can't see that the guard has returned with a whip.

You try to say something, but Daemon is faster. He cracks the whip against the back of her nightclothes, which do little to soften the blow. Mina's eyes widen, filled with tears, and she screams loud and shrill, nearly falling off from your lap.

“I'm thinking… Fifty?” Daemon smirks, raising the whip again.

“Daemon, please.” You beg, as Mina desperately clutches at your shoulders.

“I'm not really in the mood to listen to you.” Daemon brings the whip down again, making Mina scream. Oh, how you regret now trying to escape. You should have never tried. “Next time, do not be so familiar with the help.”

The next time he hits her, it's you who starts crying. Mina shakes her head and pinches you, but you still beg.

“Daemon, please. Please, no more.”

He ignores you, cracking the whip again. You scream with her. The coppery scent of blood fills your nostrils, and you know he has to be hitting the same spot on purpose because there is no way he is drawing blood this soon without being cruel. The next time the whip goes down, you throw both of you on the ground, trying to protect her from more hits. The whip hits you around the shoulder.

“You just never learn, do you?” Daemon pulls you off Mina, kicking and screaming. “Willing to do anything to protect this whore who has done nothing to help you.”

“Please, please. I will take it for her. Please, she only got me the key, surely that's not…” You keep on pleading because while you might not have known Mina a lot, it was a horrid thing, watching someone be whipped because they tried helping you. Her only crime was trying to do the right thing, when no one else dared to. Bravery.

“Oh? You wish to trade places? As if you were some worthless little whore?” Daemon taunts, still holding you in his arms.

“Daemon, please.”

“You are my wife. Perhaps once you were to be a worthless little whore. But you are mine, now.” His hand brushes the curve of your neck. A threat and a caress, all rolled into one.

“Something else! Something else! We can negotiate, please.” At this point, you would agree to anything, desperate as you are to save Mina’s life.

His eyes glimmer. He has what he wanted.

“Put the girl in the cells. I will see to her in the morning. Right now… I have to tend to my wife.”

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x oc #house of the dragon fanfic #daemon x reader #daemon x you #daemon x oc #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #divine intuition series #also known as cristi angers her followers part 2 #asoif fanfic #daemon targaryen x y/n

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grapejuicestyless · 11 months

Text

I Just Want To Be Loved.

Harry Styles x Fem!Reader

Summery: It’s been the long haul for you and Harry. You spent everyday together for years. Recently, all you’ve been doing is spending your time apart. Is it so much to ask for him to come home?

Love on tour was there full definition of love. The atmosphere was filled with warmth and a kindness that seemed unique purely for the shows within it. Friendships blossomed in every section and fans showed their appreciation with projects projecting rainbows and meaningful messages to prove it. It was everything you’d think love could be.

So it made sense as to why Harry kept adding more shows, prolonging the inevitable end of the years he’d spent away from home. He, just as much as anyone else, loved to be loved. I couldn’t blame him. If I was him, I would’ve done the same.

Yet still, even though the tour was pure fluff and happiness, it drew a bubbling sadness from deep within every time he frolicked onto that stage. A sparkly, blinding reminder that once again, he was out making a name and I was at home, holding onto the ounces of love he shared over the phone each night.

The excitement coursing through me when he announced the final shows was extreme. Though I pretended to be bummed for the sad ending, and the tough parting from the band and the fans, I couldn’t be more happy to get my Harry back.

I longed for those peaceful moments in the mornings, my hands tracing his nose and his fingers playing with my hair until our touches became lazy and we dozed back off into a light slumber. I missed those loving times that were stolen from me with every new date added.

It felt selfish, to want to take such a core memory from the fans, people who Harry adored like his friends. People I’d grown to love throughout the years of our friendship and eventually our relationship. I’d had Harry at my fingertips for years, they only had him for a night. Yet it was so hard to share him.

Thinking deeply, I fought with my inner thoughts about the delicate line that was selfish and justified until my phone buzzed in a heartbeat pattern on the kitchen counter.

Turning it over, I watched Harry’s name pop up, hearts decorated around his name, “H,” as I had set it as on my phone.

I leaned forward, forearms resting against the cold countertops and the ripped collar of Harry’s shirt twisted between my fingers while I waited happily for the image of Harry to load up on my screen.

“Hi, Baby!” He called excitedly in all his post show sweaty glory. He had curls stuck to his forehead and his cheeks were shiny and sparkling under the yellow lighting of his hotel room.

“Hi, H. How was your show?” I laughed at his exasperation. He made it obvious that he had rushed into his room to call me, the heavy breathing he tried to muffle and the quickness of his chest giving him away.

“Amazing, baby. It’s just so crazy that it’s real, you know? They all came for me and my band! It’s always so surreal seeing sold out stadiums with people who came for my music.” He rambled, the same speech every single time. How he felt so lucky that something so grand could have happened to someone so average like him, even if he was far from average in my eyes.

Still, my cheeks hurt from smiling. Seeing him happy was the greatest happiness of all, to me.

“You know you deserve it. Worked so hard these past few years and now you get to celebrate it with the people who love you. I’m so proud of you.” Our eyes met, a comfortable silence forming while our smiles turned into shy giggles and eyes averting from each other like school children in love.

“I love playing for these people. I cant believe how lucky I am to be with them almost everyday of the week.” I nodded, not feeling the need to respond.

“So, that’s why my team and I were thinking…” He led me into it with false hope. Hope that he was going to say something about coming home to throw a party where I could remain attached to his hip and love on him as he did to me.

“We’re going to add a few more shows before we finish off the tour.” I nodded, still smiling.

“Like in between? Don’t you think that will be too many shows in a week?” I asked, blinded by my excitement to see him. Silence fell over the phone call, this one heavier and more tense.

“Well, not exactly.” He tried to start explaining. The smile hurting my cheeks slowly faded into a confused gaze, proudness and glee turning into hurt and a heart breaking realization.

“We were thinking of adding a few more shows in Asia and Italy around September time. Maybe even have another Harryween in the states!” He explained, looking at the ceiling. His hands eventuated his explanation dramatically, like always.

All I could do was stay silent, heart pounding into my ears and a lump in my throat expanding into a dull ache that only seemed to rise.

“Y/n, isn’t that great?” My face was frozen, eyes widened and looking straight into the blurry green ones on the glitchy FaceTime call.

“Y/n?” He called again, his voice sounding more concerned.

Maybe it was my lack of response, or the tears welling in my eyes. Maybe it was that he thought I was frozen and couldn’t hear him, or maybe all three. But I was stuck. Stuck between wanting to support all of his decisions, trying to do what was best for him and wanting to just be selfish for just a moment.

I wanted to scream at him not to add anymore shows. I wanted to yell at him for making me wait for him for so long. I wanted to be overly emotional until I turned into putty in my own hands. Yet, even in my own conflict, I couldn’t find it in me to say no to him.

“Yeah, that…that sounds great, Harry. Really, I’m excited for you.” He nodded, not fully convinced.

“O…okay. Y/n, are you okay, you look a little pale. Have I said something?” What haven’t you said? You’ve just told me your leaving me yet again.

Stay? Just stay? Please, I want to be loved. I just want to be loved. I want to be loved by you and only you. I want you to forget about everything and just let it be us again.

“No, no. I’m just getting tired. It’s getting late over here. I’d better get to bed. Goodnight, H.” My tone was monotone, lacking any emotional depth behind it. It was obvious everything I said was a lie, but he let himself accept it halfway.

“Okay, sleep well. Call me when you wake up, okay? I love you. Goodnight, baby.” I hung up the phone, throwing it as soon as it beeped to a silence. The rage I felt was ungodly. It was pent up, having been stuffed down like a gross mass of phlegm bubbling up, waiting to be spat out.

Suddenly, the lump in my throat expanded to a broken cry, a painful rip rippling down my body. An ache that had been dull for the past few months coming full surge at me in one painful swoop.

I just wanted to be loved, was that too much to ask for?

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Part 2 will be coming 🫶

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst

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