#black sheep crook

[corellianhounds]

Concept: Peli Motto’s ex-husband. He’s a rascal, scoundrel, and general ne’er-do-well, landed himself in prison more times than she can count, and the last time he got put in she left him there. He’s not too happy about that

They’re both terrible to each other and with each other, arguing and sassing in a non-stop stream of consciousness dialogue between having nasty passionate sex on any available surface, kind of like Ron and Tammy 2 in Parks and Rec. They also have so much dirt on each other that threatening to turn the other in for [insert crime of choice here] is only a semi-valid deterrent because they know the other would immediately start spilling the beans and they’d both land in jail

He’s a loud-mouth braggadocio with big promises and a lot of attitude, a taste for the fun things in life and with basically zero sense of responsibility or drive for honest work. He was a barber who spent most of his time playing dice and cards in the square with the other men in town instead of cutting hair, and his general defense against being caught pickpocketing/cheating/conning is that “heeeeeyyy, I’m just a little guy, c’mon it’s my birthdayyyyy—” bit, which pretty much never works

He and Peli got married by drunken mistake in Mos Espa one night out on the town but if you were to ask Peli why she stayed with him (even for as short as their whirlwind time was), and if you were somehow able to get the truth, she would say “Because he makes me laugh.”

#His personality is basically that of the Centipede in James and the Giant Peach #and a bit of my black sheep crook of an uncle who once stole a computer and gave it to my cousins in high school #only for the cops to show up half an hour later to repossess the computer and lock him back up #hounds speaks #the mandalorian #Peli motto #Star Wars oc

[milkiane]

I WAS MADE FOR LOVIN' YOU. eddie munson.

navigation - masterlist - taglist

summary: the four times eddie knew he was a goner and the one time he told you.

warnings: no spoilers! don’t worry, you’re safe here. profanities. gif credits to @his-name-is-ed <3

word count: 5.1k

i. the first time eddie knew he was a goner was when… he found out that you love mötley crüe. 

eddie knows his presence is hard to miss. aside from his wild hair and clothing choices, which apparently do not fit the social standards, he makes it exceptionally difficult for people to ignore him. 

and yet, on a particular, normal, chilly friday in the school field, you effortlessly grab his attention. you didn’t need crazy hair or seeking clothes or loud eccentric speeches on top of a cafeteria table. you’re just… sitting there with a frown on your face and eddie thinks…

eddie can’t think. his mind draws blank as he continues to stare at you.

so like dominoes, his abrupt stop results in the rest of the hellfire club bumping into him, which causes a streak of groans and complaints, but eddie pays them no mind because as if his legs have a mind of their own, they bring him right to you. “carry on without me, my little sheep, destiny awaits!”

you groan in annoyance, slamming your hand onto your malfunctioning walkman. “stupid, stupid, little shi-”

“y’know, i don’t think mauling the poor thing will make it work.” 

you look up at the voice with a glare, your face softens just a bit after seeing it was eddie, but the glare prevails nevertheless, still frustrated with your walkman.

“i mean, sure, i guess that could make it work, too,” eddie shrugs, hopping on top of the picnic table instead of sitting on the benches like a normal person.

“it will work,” you grit your teeth, hitting the side of the device as it did nothing to fix the distorted voice of vince neil. “it just needs a bit of tough love.”

after watching you for a few more minutes with an amused smile, eddie snatches it out of your hands, convinced that you would break it if it doesn’t revive the next second. he ignores your objections as he opens his black metal lunchbox.

“it’s not a lunchbox,” he absentmindedly retorts to your murmur as he goes through his things, silently muttering a quiet no, not this, nope, what the hell is this? and finally, aha!

he raises a mini screwdriver before you as if it will magically take your problems away. “this, my lady, will magically take your problems away.”

huh. 

you hesitantly watch as eddie pops open your walkman, taking out the mixtape to find the tape itself burst out of its case. he tinkers and meddles with it carefully, doing wonders as he manually rewinds it. 

you use his current distraction to take a good look at him. you’ve seen him around the school; in class, in the hallways, at the cafeteria, but you’ve never crossed the borders of his personal bubble or actually spoken to him until now.

he isn’t a bad sight to see. 

his hair, although gone rogue, looks so soft that you physically have to restrain yourself from touching it. he has tattoos inked on his skin, slightly covered by his hellfire shirt as if teasing you and leaving you wanting to see more. beautiful silver rings graced his fingers making you want to study each intricate detail that embellished the jewelry.

his tongue is poking out of his lips, brows furrowed in concentration. his nose is slightly crooked as if it’s been broken before. he has dimples piercing his cheeks and the lightest of freckles sprinkled over his face, only noticeable if kissed under the sun.

all things considered, eddie munson is a sight for sore eyes.

“are you done staring, sweetheart?” eddie teases, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “if you’d like, i can pose for you on this table.”

you were too deep in your reveries that you didn’t notice he was done. you blink up at him and scoff. “shut up, i wasn’t staring.”

“it’s fine, y’know, it’s normal to stare at pretty things.” he encourages you, satirically playing with his hair. “especially if you’re one of those connoisseurs of art.”

“wow, someone learned a new word today.” you praise him sarcastically.

“now, now, y/n, is that a way to treat someone who just fixed your lil walkman?” eddie chastises, grabbing your headphones from your neck and putting it on his ears. “what were you listening to anyway?”

he gives it a few seconds before the familiar music comes in. he whips his head towards you with a slack jaw. he winces, his hand coming in contact with his neck, massaging the pain from snapping his head towards you too fast.

… i've been a poet always tongue in cheek,

i've seen some scenes man you'd never believe,

and like a supercharged rocket ride,

you know they'd have gasoline if they had the time.

“you- you listen to mötley crüe!” eddie blurts out, standing on the picnic table and pointing an accusatory finger at you. “you’re one of us!”

“shut up!” you pull him back down with a yank. you can still hear angela blasting through your headphones. you look at him with a sigh before muttering. “i love mötley crüe.”

eddie lets out a choked laugh, jumping off the table and squishing your cheeks with his hands. “you’re a cute little metal freak!”

“shut up, munson! you better get your hands off my face or so help me god.”

it came out as gibberish but the point came across. 

“you say ‘shut up’ too much, is that your favorite word?” eddie calls into question, leaning closer to you with a roguish grin. his gaze flickers down to your pouting lips before staring straight into your eyes. “i can teach you more ways to shut me up, y’know?”

“scout’s honor that it’s even more efficacious than the words itself.” he winks at you before grabbing his lunchbox, leaving you bewildered and baffled beyond belief. mötley crüe did not do anything to blur the forming thoughts in your head.

that was strike one for eddie munson.

ii. the second time eddie knew he was a goner was when… you knocked someone out cold with a box of frozen waffles.

you shouldn’t have been out at an ungodly hour, quite frankly, but you really, really, wanted some eggos. so clad in sweats and an oversized shirt, you walk out of bradley’s big buy with three boxes of mini waffles in hand.

and as if the universe wasn’t satisfied with only one interaction, you hear eddie munson’s voice. “hey, come on, man. you’ve been my client for over a year now and you’re only doubting me now?”

“we talked about fifteen grams, munson, so i’m expecting fifteen grams.” 

eddie sighs, rubbing his tired face with his hand. they’ve been going back and forth and he was starting to get annoyed. he wasn’t even supposed to be dealing right now, but when money calls, you answer it. 

“look, man. it’s fifteen. if you don’t believe me, give me the money, go find a weighing scale, and weigh your shit. it’s fifteen grams.” he says, grabbing his lunchbox, but just as he wrapped his fingers on the handle, he gets shoved to the ground, his things crashing with him, skin scratched from catching himself on the rough pavement.

motherfucker.

“hey!” you didn’t want to. you really didn’t want to, but before you can think twice, you get in between eddie and the ridiculously tall buff guy.

you should really start thinking twice.

said guy, although high as a kite, looks at the box of eggos on the floor and back at you. you had thrown a box of waffles at his head.

“take your fifteen grams and leave,” you order calmly, ignoring the whispers of objections of eddie, who immediately stands up at lightspeed, startled by your sudden presence.

“i don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but this is between me and your little druggy friend, a’ight?” he sneers, pushing you aside to grab eddie by his shirt. “besides, the fuck do you know about packing shit right?”

“i know how to pack a punch, for starters.”

you didn’t give him or eddie to process your words before, CRACK! your fist comes in contact with his nose — a sickening crunch and a cry had them both freezing, well, except for the junkie clutching his nose.

“you bitch!” 

with the throbbing pain of your knuckles, you could only whack him across his face with the box of waffles in your hand as he leaped to get you. 

eddie, still frozen in his spot, can only watch in both horror and amazement as the guy gets knocked out cold, face kissing the sidewalk. 

“holy shit…”

“how much did he owe you?” you huff, clutching your victimized hand as you stand over the guy. 

“twenty.” he blinks.

you shrug, digging a hand in the jean pocket of the junkie and placing the crumpled bills in eddie’s hand. “twenty-five for being a shithead.”

eddie took you out for some ice cream treat after that.

“remind me to never get on your nerves, you scare me,” he said, but there was no real fear behind his words, just a twinge of wonder in his voice and a sparkle in his eyes.

you didn’t say anything. you didn’t need to, so you just grinned at him before taking a scoop out of his ice cream.

and at that moment, under the moonlight with frozen waffles aiding your knuckles and discarded ice cream cups on top of his van, eddie just knew that you would stick around. 

and the rest was history.

that was strike two for eddie munson.

iii. the third time eddie knew he was a goner was when… traces of you were slowly starting to bleed into his life, and he didn’t mind.

“is this… MADONNA?”

eddie snaps his head towards the curly-headed boy in his passenger seat, eyes widening at the sight of the manifold of mixtapes that sits on dustin’s lap.

he splutters incoherent excuses as he chucks them back into his glovebox, a hand still on the wheel as he tries to keep the van steady. 

dustin watches in amusement as eddie fumbles with the mixtape that fell from his grasp. he snatches it out of his mentor’s hand and snickers, “wow, abba, too? didn’t know you were such a pioneer of music, eddie.”

eddie thwacks him with the d&d gazette before turning his eyes back on the road. “those aren’t mine.”

it was his. you left it for him.

dustin squints his eyes at his friend as if staring at him like that will force him to tell the truth, and it almost did, but thankfully, he chooses to go through the mixtape-filled glovebox again instead.

you brought half of your mixtapes with you when eddie had asked you to accompany him on a spontaneous road trip out of town one day. he always looks back to that moment.

you were passionately talking about the songs that graced your diverse music taste, hands animatedly moving around as words spew out of your mouth every millisecond. he understood every single thing you said, though.

just because you love mötley crüe doesn’t mean you don’t love starship. you love kiss but you also love the beatles. you love metallica but you also love bee gees, and maybe he was starting to like it, too. 

if you ask eddie, he’ll choose cyndi lauper’s time after time as his slow dance song. absolutely irrelevant yet very relevant.

“why the hell are you smiling like a crazy man?” dustin pokes his cheeks, effectively snapping him out of his daydream.

eddie slaps his hands away from his face.

aside from mixtapes in his glovebox, eddie also has a special drawer with the clothes you often leave at his house, and with the best detergent he has – a discounted brand from a dollar store – he voluntarily washes it for you to wear next time.

 “did… did you wash my clothes?” he remembers you asking the first time.

he turns away from his notebook to look at you. “uh, yeah. you left some of your stuff here and i decided to include it with mine last wash day.”

“oh,” you beam, pulling the material to your nose and breathing it in. “thanks, babe.”

eddie ignores the warmth of his cheeks and goes back to doodling in his notebook. “‘course, would you like me to wear a maid outfit while i’m at it next time?”

you laugh. “i’d like that very much.”

you bring the soft fabric back to your nose, it smells just like him.

you start leaving more clothes in his room after that.

that was strike three for eddie munson.

iv. the fourth time eddie knew he was a goner was when… he wanted to be the best version of himself whenever you’re around.

“okay, so i have a bag of those honeycomb cereal you like, some pringles, juice boxes, pints of ice cream…”

as you continue to list off the snacks you brought for the d&d campaign with the boys, eddie leans forward to buckle your seatbelt, letting you catch a whiff of his cologne. he tugs it twice to make sure it’s fastened properly. “safety first.”

you pause. “you literally never wear your seatbelt.”

“that’s because i sold my soul to the devil for immortality,” eddie pats your thigh before backing out of your driveway. “and because it will cause a decline in my precious reputation!”

“what, common road safety?” you snort. “do tell, kind sir, what would the great eddie munson be known for?”

“you don’t know?” he scoffs in mock disbelief. “i’m an evil self-proclaimed attention whore – i’m known for a lot of things, sweetheart.”

“speaking of being an attention whore,” you gravitate towards him to sniff him again. “are you wearing a new perfume, munson?”

“sit back down, dumbass! and it’s cologne, not perfume.”

“same shit. are you trying to impress someone?” you tease, settling down back in your seat before letting out an overdramatic gasp. “is it dustin? is it because he’s been hanging out with steve the past week?”

“what? no!” he wavers for a moment before sniffing himself. “why? does it smell bad?”

you laugh. “no, no. i actually like it better than your old one.”

“good, i bought it especially for you.” he winks, turning the volume of the music up before you can even reply.

“i can’t believe erica rolled a d20!” eddie exclaims, packing up the boards.

“and twice,” you agree. 

as usual, you and eddie stayed back after the campaign, ushering the kids — and gareth and the group — out of the room as soon as you heard the distant rumble of the sky. you knew they’d be biking home, so you asked them to leave early, much to your best friend’s displeasure.

you pick up the empty chip bags and discarded juice boxes, prolonging the chat you’re having with eddie.

mid-conversation, you lean against his throne, garbage bag in your hands. he was talking animatedly and you’re not quite sure what he’s even talking about anymore.

the lights of the room give him a glow that makes your heart beam. the perfect combination of green, orange, and blue; it makes him look like a fallen angel. a devil in disguise. the right fusion of both.

his eyes are soft, it’s kind. his smile is, too. everything about him is. he doesn’t show anyone, but you always get the opportunity to see a part of him that makes you fall in love with him even more.

“…and then just as i was about to dream of rubbing their loss in their puny little faces — she slaps me with a crit hit! that’s twice!”

“yeah,” you whisper, a gentle smile on your lips. you push yourself off the chair and start helping him around the room. “maybe it’s a sign that you’re getting a bit rusty, buzz.”

“drop it with the nickname! it’s been years and i was only forced to have it shaved after stupid anthony chopped my hair nasty in history.”

you double down in laughter. “and wayne has been so gracious enough to show me the pictures.”

eddie glares at you before running towards you. you only advance two steps away from him before he catches you from behind and pulls you against him.

“salvage yourself, you insolent little minx.”

“no! i shan’t yield!”

giggles escape both of your lips, sounds slowly getting muffled by the drops of rain starting to patter one by one, making you and eddie stop in your tracks.

you exchange wide-eyed glances before hurrying with the packing.

you run out of the building, shoes splashing over the formed puddles, you didn’t even notice eddie shrug his jacket off to shield both of you from the rain. 

a few meters from his van, you pull away from him and let the water hit you, dampening your clothes all within a second. 

“what the hell are you doing?” eddie shouts over the loud pour.

“come on!” you pull him towards you, cold hands grasping his warm ones, you dance in the rain.

eddie watches you in disbelief, though there’s a smile on his face. “fuck it,” he mutters. “wait here.”

he runs to his van, almost slipping on the wet ground. “i’m okay!”

“idiot.” you snort.

eddie opens the door to the passenger seat and opens the glovebox. he grabs a random mixtape and fumbles to put it in the player, only then realizing that he didn’t even start the van. 

a minute or two later of waiting, you hear a bees gees song blast from eddie’s van. 

“come on, baby,” he whoops, grabbing your hands as he starts shimmying. “let’s dance!”

you let out a blissful laugh as he twirls you around. you jump around in the puddles, soaked clothes slightly weighing you down from being drenched. you attempt to twirl eddie around, too, which was a struggle due to his height.

he sings along to the song and you gasp in surprise. “you know this song?”

“do i- do i know this song?” he repeats in incredulity. “of course, i do! i’m in-”

adrenaline getting to his head, eddie realizes what he was about to say so he rectifies it. “you only sing it every second of the day. that damn song is engraved in my head!”

he pulls you back against him with a grin, a hand intertwined with yours and another supporting your back. he dips you, and you yelp in surprise.

the both of you are panting from all the dancing, but the smiles never left your face. you stare at his face, he stares at yours. you tuck a wet strand of his hair behind his ear, letting your hand rest on his jaw. he has a light stubble.

his eyes flicker to your lips, you do the same.

should i kiss him? should i not kiss him?

the loud boom of the thunder makes the decision for the two of you. the sound startles both of you, resulting in jumping away from each other faster than the next flash of lightning.

“we should head home if we still want to have this movie marathon,”

“yeah.”

eddie goes over his thoughts for a moment as you adjust the heater of the van. he recollects the resolution he made earlier, pondering over the idea of being the best version of himself though he already feels like he became it the first time he met you. how can one become the best-est best version of themselves?

that was strike four for eddie munson. 

but for you… you lost count of how many it’s been because every day with eddie adds a tally to your strikes.

v. the time eddie tells you how he’s a goner for you.

“harrington? fucking harrington?”

“it’s a friendly date, buzz,” you point out, hand steady as you do your eyeliner in his bedroom mirror.

“with harrington?” he stresses, his own hands tugging at his brown locks.

“yes, eddie.” you sigh, it’s been a repetitive back and forth. “it’s not a date date. it’s friendly, as i said. robin will be there.”

he sits up against the wall, lips moving before his brain can process his words. “well, if buckley’s gonna be there then what else does he want with you?”

you pause, dropping your hand to look at him. “okay, ouch.”

“no, i-” he groans dramatically into his hands. “i didn’t mean it like that. i just- i don’t understand why you have to spend a perfectly great night with harrington-”

“and robin.”

“-and robin, when you can just spend it with me.” eddie pouts. he sounds pathetic, he knows, but he’s jealous. what if you decide to leave him for steve? – and although he understands; it’s steve harrington, for god’s sake. he would, too, if he can – life would have no other purpose for him if you do.

“aww,” you mimic his pout, walking over to him to pat his cheeks. “don’t worry, hotshot, you’re still my favorite boy.”

“whatever,” he swats your hands away, though the grin tugging at the corner of his lips persists. he takes his time admiring you properly. you looked gorgeous, as always.

“c’mon, you big baby,” you protested. “robin will be there! plus, you can always come wi-”

“well, why didn’t you say so?” he exclaims, leaping towards the door clad in his hellfire shirt and boxers. “let’s go! we better get goi-”

you throw his jeans at him. “for your modesty.”

eddie was glad he came along. he looks at you with clear fondness, watching as your eyes light up like a child on christmas day. you jump in excitement, dragging him into the fair. 

“hey, you made it!” steve jogs towards you, but then his eyes flicker to your company. “…and munson.”

“harrington,” eddie grins, a hint of mischief in the glint of his smile as he bows to him.

you roll your eyes at them. “where’s robin?”

“right here, lovebug,” she smiles, offering you a pink cotton candy as she takes a bite off the blue one. steve’s mouth slowly falls slack in bewilderment.

“aww, my favorite,” you pout your lips as you clink your sweets like glasses of wine. 

“that’s mine!”

“buy your own cotton candy, dingus,”

“you paid for those with my money.”

eddie pays them no mind as they continue to bicker. he snatches a piece of cotton candy as he wiggles his eyebrows at you. “i see a kissing booth we can go to… the marriage booth, too, maybe?”

“stop,” you smack his arm. “let’s start with the basketball — eddie, they’ve got those big teddy bears!”

“well, the night is young, sweetheart,”

the night is young, indeed. you go around the fair with the group, steve has the giant teddy bear propped on his shoulders as if it was his child — “he is!” he argued. “his name is harry harrington.”

“harry harrington?” you had asked in incredulity. “that’s a shit name, steve!”

he gasped in mock offense, bringing the bear down to cover its ears. “don’t listen to her, harry, she’s just jealous you aren’t hers.”

eddie’s jealous he isn’t yours, too, but he wasn’t going to say that. 

you felt as if you’ve managed to go through every single booth but according to the map robin had somehow snatched, there were more than half of it you have yet to explore.

“c’mon, there’s a ball toss over there,” eddie says, grabbing your arm to drag you away from steve. “gonna win you that giant fucking elephant.”

although as soon as you stop by before it, eddie does a double-take. “six dollars?”

“six dollars.” the merchant confirms.

he looks at you and whispers in disbelief. “six dollars?”

you shrug at him, letting out a chuckle at his expression. “capitalism, baby,”

eddie sighs. he’s glad he brought his wallet with him. he’s willing to spend all of his income if it meant getting you that elephant — and he will.

“we don’t have to, you know,” you reassure him, eyeing him as he reaches out for the dollars. “there’s still a lot of booths we can go to.”

“nah, i’m getting you that elephant.” he slams the money on the counter. the merchant smirks. three balls.

eddie grabs one and exhales. “wish me luck.”

he throws the ball, and again, and then again. and then he slams more money onto the counter, and then again, and again. 

his aim’s good, but not enough to knock all the cans down. steve and robin managed to do a round before returning to the both of you with corndogs in hand.

with his promise of a last round, he sighs at the sight of what’s left of the standing cans. he gives you the last ball.

“are you sure?” you hesitate.

“do the honors, my lady,” eddie smiles, eyes so soft that subtle crinkles show at the corners. 

and with a swift throw, you somehow manage to knock down all of the cans. you and eddie whoop in excitement, jumping up and down as the merchant sighs exasperatedly, grabbing your oversized prize.

“oh my god,” you whisper, hugging the elephant to your chest. “it’s so fluffy!”

eddie looks at you with a dopey lovesick smile. maybe it was the sparkling fairy lights overhead, or the distant music playing, or maybe it was because you’re practically bouncing off the balls of your feet, a giddy smile adorning your lips… or maybe it was because eddie cannot take it any longer so he says, “i’m in love with you.”

you falter for a bit, uncertain if you heard him correctly. “what?”

and steve, who had initially asked you on a date — although as friendly as he claims — leans against the wooden pillar, face contorting in realization, lips forming into an unmistakable o as he grasps what is happening.

robin grins, a quiet finally! unleashing from her lips. to give you two some privacy, well, as private as a conversation in a public place can be, she drags steve to a very friendly competition of high strikers. steve lets her, sending eddie an encouraging thumbs up. 

“i-i’m in love with you,” eddie repeats, voice wavering at your blank expression. he couldn’t read you and it’s making him anxious. “i’m so terribly and undeniably in love with you – i knew i did the moment you said you love mötley crüe.”

you let yourself feel all the emotions bursting in all at once. he likes you. eddie munson likes you, so you ask stupidly, “are you sure?”

eddie scoffs a laugh. “am i- am i sure? are you asking me if i’m sure about my own feelings?”

you shrug.

he looks at you before breaking into a run without another word.

“eddie, where are you going?” you call out frantically. 

eddie eyes the haystacks in the center of the park and clumsily mounts on them and nearly falls. he catches himself before he can tumble down. his eyes flicker to yours as he cups his hands over his mouth. “fair people of hawkins, i have an announcement to make!”

“what is he doing?” steve asks as he and robin appear from beside you. 

“i have no idea.”

some people stop by to watch, some go on with whatever it is they were doing, and you just stand where you’re planted, unsure of what he’s about to do and what you’re supposed to do.

“i, eddie munson, a self-proclaimed attention whore, have something very important to say.” he starts – “well, get on with it now!” a guy exclaims. eddie ignores him – “i am in love with y/n l/n. i’ve been in love with her since i found out she loves metal, i’ve fallen for her since she knocked a guy out cold with frozen waffles–”

“frozen waffles?” robin questions.

“– i fell for her even harder when she introduced me to madonna –  that’s right, i love madonna! but most importantly, i knew i was a goner when i wanted to become the best version of myself for her. i wanted to become the person she deserves because i am in love with you, y/n, always have.”

you soften and the world disappears around you; it was just you and him. there is an ache in your chest, but not because of heartbreak, it’s because it feels as if it will burst out of your chest out of love. 

“we can’t help who we fall for,” eddie breathes out, walking down the stack. “but honestly, i’m glad it’s you because there’s no one else in this world whom i would love to love if it’s not you.”

you shove the elephant in steve’s hold and walk straight to eddie. 

he sends you a small smile, arms extended. when you’re a step closer, he whispers. “i’m sorry, i just had to-”

“shut up,” you command, pulling him in for a heated kiss, fingers getting lost and tangled in his hair, his arms snake around your waist to pull you impossibly closer, no gap left unfilled.

your lips dance a fast-paced song, it’s all but intense and passionate – a hint of eagerness and the satisfaction of longing. you forget that it wasn’t just the two of you, that there was a crowd watching you both kiss. you can hear the faint coos of the moms by the corner.

“get a room!” a guy barks out. simultaneously, you and eddie flipped him off but the kiss decelerates into soft and sensual, a contrast to the shared feverish one, now easing up to the feeling of content and delicate love.

you pull away a second later, forehead touching his as you don’t dare to open your eyes yet. “i’m in love with you, too, if it’s not obvious yet.”

“well, i should hope so,” eddie laughs. he gives you a quick peck on the lips before fixing you with a teasing grin. “how about that marriage booth now, sweetheart?”

“take me out on a date first, loverboy.” you interlace your hand with his as you walk away from the spotlight.

“how about a kiss on top of the ferris wheel?” he proposes instead.

“sap,” you scrunch your nose up with a smile. “but i’m not opposed to the idea.”

that was strike ??? for you and eddie.

“just to let you all know, i am not going to sit next to steve on the ferris wheel.”

“what do you mean? i’m an amazing ferris wheel companion.”

“would you like to get shoved off the seat once we’re on top?”

“... how about the bumper cars?”

“deal.”

© milkiane 2022. I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO MODIFY OR REPOST MY WORKS ON ANY OTHER PLATFORMS.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x fem!reader #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x steve harrington #stranger things eddie munson

[trappolia]

OLD COWBOY’S REPRIEVE — pre-canon!boothill x gn!reader, 543

the light from your shared room casts boothill’s figure in shadows and angles as it streams through the curtains and spills across the covers — in the silence of the bed, you hear the distant bleating of sheep and mooing of cattle somewhere far in the fields. the sound reminds you of a childhood trip to the countryside that you had long forgotten, lost and muddled somewhere in the back burner of your mind, but with this moment and these sounds it comes rushing back to you.

“oh, for fuck’s sake,” beside you, your lover’s foul mouth indicates that he is less than pleased to have forgotten to draw the curtains close last night, again. boothill grunts beside you, stirring in bed and burrowing his head underneath the pillow in effort to hide from the sun.

“mhm,” your own bleary eyes blink in the light that filters in through the gaps between the curtains. deciding that yes, it is indeed much too early for it to be so bright, you turn over and away from the window, burying your face in the broad expanse of boothill’s back.

boothill grumbles tiredly, and you — sweet you, darling you, the love of his life and the fire of his loins — just hum. the tension coiled around his wide shoulders eases when he feels your lips press against an old scar on his back, your softer, uncalloused fingers curling along his pec, where the unshaven scruff of chest hair continues to grow.

“c’mere, ya,” boothill rolls over with a shift of the mattress beneath your bodies as you press against him.

your sweet affection towards him in the morning light never ceases to make him weak, and his heart aches from the tenderness of your touch as you press against him, running your hands over his chest while he grunts softly and pushes himself against your hand. he wants to shift closer, push himself against you till he can make a home in the soft warmth of your skin, and the two of you can forever be one entity so he would never have to part from you.

eh, an old cowboy can have his dreams.

you raise your head so boothill can slip his arm underneath, letting his bicep act as a pillow for your soft head. when you do not open your eyes, he nudges you lightly.

“y’ gon’ wake up, toots?” he rasps, voice still groggy from sleep.

“five more minutes,” you groan, which roughly means it’ll be an hour or two before boothill can properly get you out of bed.

boothill sighs as he lets his arms pull you to him completely, your head laying on his bicep now while you remains with your eyes closed. his own head falls back heavily against the pillows, hair cast over the simple linen in a mess of black and white.

he buries his face in the crook of your neck and inhales deeply — it is your perfume now that is an irresistible bouquet, the scent of sunshine and something sweet, and boothill relaxes into the embrace he holds you in, closing his eyes as he too lets sleep overcome him.

his chores out in the ranch can wait a lil’ longer.

#boothill #honkai star rail #hsr #boothill x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #boothill fluff #boothill angst #boothill imagines #boothill scenarios #boothill drabbles #boothill oneshots #boothill fics #honkai star rail fluff #honkai star rail angst #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail scenarios #honkai star rail drabbles #honkai star rail oneshots #honkai star rail fics #hsr fluff #hsr angst #hsr imagines #hsr scenarios #hsr drabbles #hsr oneshots #hsr fics

[daze4all]

Imagine HSR Black Crow of the Family Outcast!Halovian! RavenReader x Yandere!Sunday

Spoilerish element maybe for Penacony 2.1 . Extra: Raven! Reader x Yandere Sunday& Family as Dreamjolt Troupe + Siobhan

Imagine Readers as the Raven aka Sunday's Messenger crow/ lackey

You were the black sheep or rather the black crow of the Family.

Born with black, not the pure white wings that adorned Halovian's heads and halos.

Even yours seem crooked and dull in comparison an ill omen many whispered as they kept their distance

Except for Sunday the Head who had to deal with you along with his sweet sister who took you in raising you as part of his family and fellow sibling.

Robin was a melodious robin to your crow's croak.

You couldn't even make it in the Iris family where only talent and a sweet singing voice are required.

Bad luck seemed to follow you. No one wanted you working in their family.

However, the Oak family head, Sunday took you in and made you his messenger raven

So you watched and reported his rival's every move. Even if you had to remain hidden in plain sight in another form.

Another stain on the family is secretly hidden in the shadows.

Yandere! Sunday x Raven! Reader

Yandere! Sunday was the wings of the family that lurked in shadows ever watching and promising you safety and security on his side

Yandere! Sunday said "It is best to enact change for the family inside the shadows on my side"

You still had to show him your gratitude after all for taking you in when no one else wanted you...

"For your sake. As well as for your friends. It is in your best interest to work with me not against me." Yandere! Sunday had said with an extended gloved hand and shady smile when you had challenged him when he tore your family apart to get to you.

You don't want them dismantled, do you? Don't worry they will be safe as long as you act as my eyes and ears. - Yandere! Sunday

Imagine Family as Sibone & The Dream Troupe: A Long Gone Dream

You had tried working with the dream troupe as a dancer or comedian maybe. (or maybe Raven is a Machine bird or nightingale gone wrong raven or origami bird type toy made into spyware instead of a toy entertain crowds.)

As a black crow you were another misfit that fit in with the eclectic casts of outcast toys.

Dancing and performing with them on stage. Perhaps ballet ( black swan vs white swan giselle)

Another toy to be wound up to dance and entertain guests for the family's amusement and doing the dirty jobs no one wanted

You fit in with the dream troupe with your dark humor and deathly references leaning into the omen of death with your black-as-night wings to spook your fellow Halovians who deride you.

However, the nightmares came and they left for the reverie contaminated and warped by the nightmares. though what warped them was the animosity they endured from rude guests and scornful family members who refused to see them as equal.

Siobohan your friend was demoted to serve them at the barside to keep them from falling apart though she took on the job know not what els to do to help the,.

You wanted to follow in her footsteps and become a barista like her mixing drinks for your lost friends but....

"For your sake. As well as for your friends. It is in your best interest to work with me not against me." Yandere Sunday had said with an extended gloved hand and shady smile when you had challenged him when he tore your family apart to get to you.

Side Note Best Squad so far in Penacony where everyone sus that so innocent pure and aww such a cute fam

...falling into tragedy...

Yo but if SUnday Raven this turns out to be true and the raven is new charecter I'd be so happy. Or even sundays skills he better be pullable

Spoiler guesses

but i suspect...the robin may be robin hidden in plain sight for safety and sunday is not dead but up to somthing the true culpirt maybe as he still feels sus despite what happend in the end with gallagher.

Like robin is he really dead? Or did death come from him as wing?

looking forward to next update and penacony secrets!

side note their is a character called raven in hsr3 and archelino looks like her too cross over maybe?

lol edited this wat happens when write at 3 am at night lol

#honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr blade #robin hsr #hsr sunday x reader #sunday x reader #sunday hsr #hsr sunday #yandere sunday #genshin impact honkai star rail cross over #hsr 3 x hsr star rail crossover #raven hsr #yandere x reader #yandere hsr x reader #hsr siobhan #dreamjolt troupe

[bluejayblueskies]

ten thousand flowers in spring | bluejayblueskies

[ID: Three photos of a hand-bound book from different angles that show the front, side, and back respectively. The book has dark green bookcloth, a decorative red and gold ribbon along the front cover and a black ribbon along the back cover, and a gold painted cherry blossom design on the front and back covers. The title and author name are also in gold on the front cover and spine and read, "Ten Thousand Flowers in Spring" and "bluejayblueskies." /End ID]

Last November, I got a Silhouette cutting machine for Black Friday. This weekend, I finally got the chance to use it for a bookbinding project! I bound my fic ten thousand flowers in spring as part of one of my Fandom Trumps Hate typesetting gifts, and I had a lot of fun going all-out with the flower iconography.

[ID: Two photos of the interior of the book. The first is the title page spread of the book, showing a pastel-colored painting of a cherry blossom-scattered hill with sheep and a shepherd that spans both pages. On the right page, there is the title "Ten Thousand Flowers in Spring" and the author name "bluejayblueskies" in a sans serif font. The second is the colophon (left) and table of contents (right) of the book. The colophon has details about the binder, the original fic, and the fonts and image sources used in the book. The table of contents has each chapter title and corresponding page number listed in a grid format with flower icons above each chapter title. /End ID]

Each chapter is titled after a flower that has a specific meaning that ties into the chapter content. I decided to style this bind after old botany books. Along with the cover, which is inspired by the covers of old botany books, each chapter header has an image of the titular flower pulled from public domain botany book scans, along with the flower's name and meaning below it.

[ID: The inside of the book, showing a page of text on the left and the chapter header on the right. The chapter header has an old-style image of blue salvia on it, with the name "blue salvia" and the meaning "friendship, family, thoughtful gestures, thinking of you" beneath it. /End ID]

Each chapter also begins with a faux-excerpt from the book Jon is writing throughout the fic:

[ID: The inside of the book, showing the introductory faux book excerpt on the left and the beginning chapter text on the right. The faux book text has an image of a flower beneath it; the beginning chapter text has a drop cap with a floral design at the beginning of it. /End ID]

Some more notes and pictures on process are below the cut!

The binding style of this fic is sewn boards binding, which I like for thinner books as the spine is much less fiddly to work with. It's also a really nice binding style in general because it eliminates my least-favorite part of the binding process: casing in. When casing in a regular case-bound book, you construct the entire case separately from the text block and then attach the case to the text block via the endpapers. Inevitably, I always end up just a little bit crooked, and because my brain currently refuses to let me try using paste instead of PVA, it's very hard to fix once the endpapers are pasted down.

With sewn boards binding, the boards are attached to the text block via an extra signature of folded cardstock on the ends of the text block. The case is then constructed directly onto the text block, and glueing the endpapers down is very, very easy and near-impossible to mess up.

The ends of the boards do end up exposed with this binding style. The first time I did it, I covered them with paper. This time, I painted them gold to match the cover:

[ID: A side view of the book, showing off the exposed boards near the spine which are painted gold. The front cover of the book can also be seen at an angle. /End ID]

I plan to experiment more in the future with potentially adding endbands to this binding style, as that's one thing I wish this book had that it does not.

For the cover design, I first cut out the stencils using my Silhouette:

[ID: A cutting mat with white vinyl stuck to it that has been cut and weeded to expose the backlit cherry blossom design. The title "Ten Thousand Flowers in Spring" and author name "bluejayblueskies" can be seen in the designs for the front cover and spine. /End ID]

I'd heard a lot of things about weeding, positive and negative, but I actually enjoyed doing the weeding on this 😂 it was like doing a puzzle in a way. I think I would like it less if I had to keep all of the tiny little pieces and make sure they looked nice, but as it was, all I had to do was remove them and it didn't matter if they got bent in the process.

The fabric paint I have dries very quickly, so I got very little bleed on my stencil and was able to remove it almost right away:

[ID: The back cover of the book with the vinyl stencil stuck to it, painted over somewhat messily with gold fabric paint. /End ID]

Overall, I was very happy with the stenciling process and will probably continue to do stencils as opposed to heat transfer vinyl unless I want to do some bigger, blockier designs in the future.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #ficbinding #bookbinding #jay's bound books #fanbinding

[charliemwrites]

Character File

Name: Castle “Daddy” Alistair Aliases: Daddy, Captain Daddy, Big Daddy Age: 38 Gender and pronouns: AMAB using he/him/his Marital Status: officially unmarried; unofficially – very taken Surviving family: mother, father, sister

Physical description: Standing at 6’3” (190.5 cm) and weighing 225 lbs. (102 kilos) Captain Alistair is all around built strong and thick. Broad shoulders, slight tapering at the waist, and thick thighs. His hair is dark brown, shaved close at the sides and longer at the top – if he allowed it to grow out it would curl. His eyes are a very deep brown with a strong, square jaw and aquiline nose. Teeth are straight and even, though he has prominent canines. (face claim: John Bernthal)

Identifying/Unusual features:

Two facial scars; one across the bridge of his nose and one high on his left cheek. Both required stitches, though they were acquired separately.

Tattoos: The SpecGru symbol on the left side of his chest An ouroboros snake around his left thigh A rook with daisies on his right bicep (for his little sister) A full back pieces of the Grim Reaper with ravens

Two crooked fingers from a break that didn’t set correctly

While he has several scars, the worst of them is crisscrossing circles around his left calf; a steel cord wrapped around it multiple times and almost took the entire leg

Early Childhood:

Castle was born to Clancy and Helena Alastair in Michigan. Clancy had always wanted a boy, so after a difficult delivery, he and Helena were happy to stop at one and focus all their attention on their son. The first twelve years of his life were spent in a quiet suburb that was developed in the 50s.

Clancy owned fifty percent of a construction company that he built from the ground up with a childhood friend. When Castle was old enough, his father began to bring him to construction sites, teaching him the basics of both business and carpentry. Castle grew up with a strong appreciation for hard work and building things from the ground up, instilled by his father. He greatly admired Clancy’s dedication and hands-on approach as a leader.

Castle also had a deep love and respect for his mother, a music teacher at the local high school. She was both charismatic and eccentric, with a love of silly dresses and jewelry. She embodied kindness and compassion without compromising her own self-respect, the people she loved were her whole world. Family was everything to her and Castle feels that she taught him what love truly is.

In middle school, Castle developed something of a temper. Love, he thought, meant protecting his family. Insults or jokes about either of his parents were met with swift and violent responses. He spent many afternoons in the principal’s office (and many nights without dessert) from brawls in the lunchroom or curses traded across classrooms.

In the spring of sixth grade, Clancy got into an accident that left him with permanent damage to his knee and lower back. He chose to sell his half of the company to his business partner, then bought a small farm that he moved his family to that summer. While Castle initially was angry about the move, and angry that he had no say in the matter, he found that he really enjoyed the wide-open spaces and all the animals they now had to tend to.

Seventh grade brought better friends and a better attitude. Working on the farm gave him a physical outlet for all his growing hormones.

That winter brought a little sister.

Clancy’s younger brother (the well-earned black sheep of the family) had had an affair. When his affair partner died of birth-related illness, he was left with an illegitimate child. Neither his affair partner’s family nor his own wife wanted anything to do with the baby. So he brought her to his eldest brother, Clancy.

Even past their prime and with no particular desire for another child, Clancy and Helena took the baby girl in without hesitation. (Though Clancy did kick his younger brother’s ass quite soundly while Castle sneakily watched from the window.) She didn’t even have a name yet. Helena jokingly suggested naming her “Rook” to go with “Castle,” but then their son latched onto the name, and it stuck.

Rook became Castle’s whole world as he helped his parents care for both a baby and their new farm. He often sat with her when he came home from school – kept an eye on her while he did homework, giving his parents a break to take care of things they hadn’t been able to with the baby. While they weren’t technically siblings, they were blood, and Clancy insisted that the age gap between them meant that Castle needed to act responsibly with her. That she would look up to him since he was so much older already.

In high school, he would often walk (or carry) Rook to and from preschool on his way to his own classes. Clancy wanted him to join the football team, and while Castle enjoyed it to an extent, he preferred to be helping at home.

It was in his junior year that he began to seriously consider joining the military. By senior year, he had decided. When he graduated, he went into an ROTC program at the state college an hour away. Once he graduated, he joined the marine corps.

Military Career:

Alistair rose quickly in reputation and rank during his time in the marine corps. A level-headed and disciplined man, he became known for his leadership prowess early on. While not outgoing, he was well-regarded by his comrades and often a morale-booster, excelling in any unit he was placed in. He excelled in stealth and infiltration but had an impressive record as a sniper as well.

Unfortunately, his career was cut short when information leaked on a high-risk mission. The mission was a failure, with two teammates sacrificing themselves for the sake of the unit. At the safehouse, the remains of the team were ambushed just as exfiltration arrived via helicopter.

While trying to help a comrade up, a steel cord tangled around his leg and nearly dragged him from the aircraft. In the pain and panic, he dropped his teammate to his death. Alistair would have lost his leg if not for the quick response of his sole surviving team member.

Alistair would later discover that very teammate was the one to betray the unit. The man mysteriously disappeared, and Alistair was honorably discharged from service.

A year later, he was recruited for the PMC known as SpecGru.

SpecGru:

Keegan Russ is credited with coining Alistair’s callsign, “Daddy,” though his fellow teammate Nila “Nova” Brown quickly adopted it as well. They claim this is due to Alistair’s close observation, concern for health, and deep protectiveness for his squad. His adaptive and lenient leadership style has endeared him to even the most standoffish of his team – Nikto.

The addition of the fifth and final member to his unit has skyrocketed them to one of the highest success rates in SpecGru.

#cod #thoughts™️ #my writing #fanfiction #captain daddy #Castle Alistair #OC #my oc #cod oc #Castle “Daddy” Alistair #specgru reader

[iridiss]

I want a (non-canon compliant) Narinder whose gentle.

I want a Narinder who was once a kitten, newly crowned immortal, under Shamura’s careful mentorship. Who grew up the hard way, who learned you have to be rough, loud, mean, manipulative, and maniacal, you have to be bloody and violent and cruel, in order to survive in this world. In order to survive against Leshy and Heket’s brutality and Kallamar’s back-handed cunning. He learned from a family cruel and cold that love was a fool’s game, that sentiment was insignificant, that caring was weakness. So he scoffed at caring for anybody at all and learned how to break and toy with people as if they were dolls, made only for his own consumption and desire. That’s what his siblings told him, that’s what Shamura told him, that’s what his subjects and the fight to survive told him.

But he never saw his toys fit for anything more than the most necessary use, he never let them come any closer than professional arms-reach business, and he made sure to throw them away the second they were no longer strictly necessary. And he hated the cruelty of his siblings. He hated how they treated him, he hated how they made him fight for his fair share. And then he kept rebelling against the doctrine of the Old Faith. He would take the cruel, old, traditional rules of how one was supposed to act, and he would take them more as loose suggestions than anything severely concrete that you had to live by. He would start making up his own rules, or ignoring other rules that he simply didn’t like or deemed “inconvenient.”

He quickly became the black sheep of the “family.”

And then the Gods of The Old Faith betrayed him. And everything he was ever taught became a horrible lie. Everything became unjust. Everything turned into a false, corrupted kingdom that had to be torn down, that he could fix, that he could replace with something better. He tore it all down, violently lashing out against the family he had trusted, the family he had followed to the end of the road at his own expense, tearing them apart with his own two hands, because the scars he bore over the years became far too fucking loud to bear. Because everything had been a lie all along. Everything had been wrong, this whole damn time.

And they killed him for it. He screamed so loud about their lies that they simply had to smother the sound. They murdered their own brother—if he was ever a real “brother” to them at all, or nothing more than another religious heir to a crooked throne.

He was a God turned exiled heretic.

So he’d make his own fucking kingdom instead. He would undo everything, and start anew, following the doctrine he always knew was better. What he thought was superior. But problem is, it’s not that easy to shake off the entirety of one’s religious upbringing overnight. He was still clinging on. He would scream and shout about the incongruities and arrogance of The Old Faith all damn day—but then he’d keep Aym and Baal, a gift from his old mentor and oldest sibling, close to his side. He would call them fools and tyrants and wretched liars, but he’d remember the Darkwood flowers with a fondness, yearning to stand in his brother’s flower fields again someday. He would stay in the Lamb’s cult, when he could easily become a constant dissenter and leave like any other follower, when he could attack them, maybe even kill them, at any given moment. He doesn’t. He stays. He clings on to the fondness. He never fully let go of that old sentimental feeling.

I want a Narinder who doesn’t understand what love looks like, because the closest thing he’d ever known to true, honest love growing up was the scraps he’d receive from a withdrawn and uncertain Shamura. Those rare moments where Shamura was kind, warm, gentle, full of love, when he’d listen to the lullabies and the poems that they would weave to put him to sleep, when he’d be wrapped up in the blankets of their webs and their nests. When they would give him gifts.

When they gave him their final gift.

He doesn’t understand love. He was trained to view it as weakness. He still feels deeply, severely insecure about showing said weakness, he doesn’t want to face the severe and violent consequences of welcoming it. There’s a part in him deep down that understands devotion, that already internally understands what real trust, respect, loyalty, and integrity looks like. But it’s buried deep, under layers upon layers of indoctrination, manipulation, fear, insecurity, doubt, ungodly amounts of pain, and rage. He has enough of a natural moral compass to be able to tell when someone’s entire belief system is flawed or fucked up, and he has enough justice in him to want to tear the entire damn world apart from the ground up. Even if it’s just in the name of avenging the kitten in him that was forced to die all those centuries ago.

He isn’t aware of it. He doesn’t understand what’s going on inside of him. He’s never even taken an introspective glance at himself and why he feels everything that he does, he’s never even asked himself why everything hurts so much beyond the simple “my siblings betrayed me, therefore they all must die as they killed me” surface level. Frankly he’s too scared to look, so he pushed it all away and easily leans on the grinning, devilish, mean mask he always depended on before.

Then I want a Lamb that’s everything he ever needed. Literally, yes, as the vessel prophesied to save him, but also emotionally.

The Lamb had everything taken away from them by The Old Faith. They were killed and thrown away to Narinder’s feet like a broken toy. They want to destroy the doctrine of the Old Faith, they want to rip the world apart from the ground up and completely start anew. They share Narinder’s moral core, his drive for justice, his drive for revenge.

But they also learn, through their own cult, how to rule with love and mercy. They save and spare each follower individually, they marry their own followers, they cook for them, clean for them, house them, decorate for them, they love their followers. They learn that there is value and strength in utilizing the “sentiment and care” that the Bishops deemed as weakness. Literally: one of the best and most overpowered mechanics of the game is building your friendship level with your followers. You can’t live without them. You are their servant as much as they are one to you.

And when Narinder demonstrates his upbringing at its fullest by betraying Lamb and throwing them away like they were nothing more than a toy—The Lamb spares him, too.

I want to express to you how much that means, especially to him. I mean, hell, Narinder wasn’t spared by his own family. But instead, this tool, now proven Almighty God, gave him a level of grace that he wasn’t even allowed to fathom before. There couldn’t be a stronger, faster way to take a wake-up-sledgehammer to someone’s childhood manipulation. The Lamb was sent to destroy every last trace of the Old Faith, and I don’t think Narinder ever considered the extent of what that entailed.

He’d been lied to his entire childhood, being told that heart was weakness, that kindness would be his downfall, that sentiment was heresy. And yet here was a God besting him and every other deity/bishop in the land, and still cleaning up their servants’ shit with a broom. And I like to think that Narinder would undergo a massive change during his time in the cult.

He’d start off hostile and vicious and mean, because he’s still convinced that the Lamb betrayed him and “betrayal” is kind of a very emotionally heated topic for the guy right now. Even if the Lamb actually did the opposite of what his siblings did to him. He’s also terrified, confused, lost, and he certainly doesn’t trust any of the flowery, overly friendly mortals getting all touchy-feely with him.

But maybe he starts to show a little more wistfulness and nostalgia through his side-quests, maybe he’s trying to gauge how trustworthy the Lamb is by asking them to bring him special items from his childhood, and when they follow suit, he dips his toe in the water and shows just a little bit more of his heart, a tiny, itty bitty fragment. And then they don’t hurt him for it. They treat him with the same kindness they give to all of their followers.

And over time, he starts to see that the Lamb’s dominion is one of safety. All of their safety had been violently torn from them in the hunt for the last lamb, so now they do everything in their power to make their cult a home. And they welcome Narinder into that home, and Narinder is safe, and he’s loved, and he’s taken care of, and he’s respected, and he becomes one with the community. The Lamb is able to rule like this and still keep their power. And actually, their power is tripled by their bond with their people! Their kindness literally becomes a strength, and Narinder has never seen anything like it before, but they pull it off! In fact, the Lamb literally defied and beat Narinder into the ground because they weren’t willing to give up their home and their people.

I think he’d come to see The Lamb very differently over time. He’d go from seeing them only as an insignificant weapon for someone else’s use (possibly projecting a lot onto them), to bring in total awe of them, to learning that they’re trustworthy and safe, to seeing them as an equal.

I think they’d be two halves of the same whole. They understand each other in ways that no one else ever will. They’re the Gods of Death, past and future, they belong to the same power. They sit on this throne together. They teach each other everything they ever needed. They’re immortals together. Lamb once served Narinder in total devotion, then Narinder served Lamb in total devotion, and now they’re equals in every conceivable way. They have literally trusted each other with their lives. They were forged in very similar religious trauma and bloodshed, they were there at each other’s darkest time, working as a team. They’re vengeance-bonded. They saved each other. They spared each other, gave the other a second chance. They made each other better. Bonded in blood, divine vows, death, and resurrection. They are THE POWER TEAM.

As their bond grows, Narinder would end up letting his repressed soft side shine through. I can see him allowing himself to be kind for the first time, learning to recognize that not only is it safe for him to care here, it’s fully embraced and encouraged. The Lamb will punish him if he’s too mean to one of their followers. He can be gentle here, he can let his guard down and unwind. So he does, and he becomes a whole new cat. The Lamb eventually trusts him with leadership positions in the cult, until they’re ruling side by side, as they should. Narinder moves on from any desperate reach for power, because he’s secure enough in himself to know he doesn’t need to fight for it anymore. He would fight and die for Lamb as much as they would fight and die for him. They’ve given him true sanctuary, true family. True devotion.

#Narinder my symbol and my sponge for all religious trauma #tw religious trauma #tw religion #tw religious abuse #they are ‘wow I’m not crazy’ by AJR #true devotion #cult of the lamb #cotl Narinder #cotl lamb #narilamb #but it also works for a platonic or other relationship between them #cotl headcanons #iridiswrites

[anchoeritic]

hi i absolutely adore your little blurbs and rockstar!ellie has awakened something

she totally plays every instrument like drums guitar bass and she’s very good with her fingers if you know what i mean

thank you baby!! and i totally agree so here are some hcs.. ♡

• she’s a fucking monster when she plays the drums. likes to be in her own lil world when it comes to playing musical instruments, jamming away to whatever song’s playing in her headphones and matching the beats of the bass. sometimes you’d walk in on one of her sessions and just watch in awe, loving the amount of passion she shows towards her music.

• to add to the drums part: she absolutely loves teaching you as well. having you sat on her lap, putting a drumstick in your hand and letting you play your own stupid beats. “c’mon, play with me.” one hand is firmly gripping over yours while the other is holding onto your hip, making you stay in your place.

• “dunno what to do.” you mumble, looking at all the different drums you could hit. ellie chuckles, digging her face into the crook of your neck. she could hear your breath hitch with every one she took getting closer to you, the hand on your hip itching lower and lower. “y’know what to do, gorgeous.. don’t let me stop you from playin’.” let’s just say it leads to more than just a drum lesson.. by the end of the night, your legs would be wrapped around her waist, begging for her to let you cum just once.

• moving onto guitar/bass; this is the area she feels most comfortable in. not only because she grew up on strumming those very strings, but because her love for the instrument is very, incredibly symbolic to her. she was just like every other little girl, hoping to create something bigger than her dream. hoping for a life without being known as the black sheep. “joel, i don’t understand.” “watch this, kiddo. you got it.” young girl learns guitar from step-dad, crawls out from her shell, and runs along the seashores of the beaches out here in california. there was no easier way to describe her upbringing.

• every time she plays, he is the first thing to come to mind. her win was his and his loss was hers. it was such a beautiful yet disappointing scenario. after the loss of joel, she lost herself. drowning her sorrows away by diving head-first into a body of water filled with badgering sharks, ready to sign her off from being an independent artist. they wanted to get her brand purely just for the money.

• “um, hey?” a new voice. your voice. “sorry, i just wanted to come by and say hi?” blinking a few times, she turned her body to face you, surprised to see a younger looking woman other than a clean-looking businessman waiting to get her on one of those stupid contracts. your smile was the first thing she noticed, and her guitar was the first thing for you. well, her guitar and the sick ass tattoo on her arm. “yeah, yeah, hey.”

• “sorry, let me just—“ “oh, i’m so sorry to burden you—“ ellie stands up to put her guitar away, nearly tripping over her own two feet. you noticed her flushed cheeks once she finally looked up at you under the blinding rays of the sun, her freckles growing warmer too. “hi, i’m ellie.” she smiles back at you awkwardly, brushing away all the fallen strands behind her ear. “i’m y/n. just thought you sounded great, that’s all. i heard you from one of the other rooms.” you sent her a wink. god, it’s been too long since she’s talked to a woman. especially, a pretty one. she didn’t know whether to shake your hand or ask for your number, or— well, you had different plans.

• a hug. she should’ve expected that. it didn’t take long for you to wrap your arms around her stiff figure, warming up to her before she could do so. she felt at peace in your embrace. oh dear, y/n, y/n, y/n. your name was racking up on her brain, engraving into it until she sees you the next time around. little did she know, that was only the beginning of your love story and you’d be travelling across the globe as the rockstar’s girl.

• “you did fuckin’ amazing, holy shit!” you scream, jumping into her arms. she only laughs when you quite literally wrap your body around hers, engulfing her into a tight hug. “you think so?” “god, you know i fuckin’ know so!” she was covered in rose petals and sweat after her concert; your favourite look to date. luckily enough for you, you get to see that shit every night after every single performance. another pro: that’s your rockstar.

#rockstar!ellie #i got so carried away #….. #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams smut #the last of us #the last of us smut

[cannibalcaprine]

thinking about Hastur and the King in Yellow

Hastur the shepherd god, garbed in marigold yellow with the face of a sheep. Hastur with curling ebony horns, who carries the crook indicative of his station.

the King in Yellow the city god, adorned with sulphuric yellow and hanging jewels, with a mask of porcelain worn for so long that it's become his face. the King in Yellow with a crown of iron spikes, ram-horns worn in mockery of his past lowliness.

Hastur the god of mutton, milk, and wool. a common god of farmers, of people toiling beyond the walls of the city in the fields. Hastur, kind in his blessings and grateful of his disciples. Hastur, as naive as one of his lambs

the King in Yellow, the god of blood, wine, and death. a god of revellers, of nobles dancing the eternal masquerade within the walls of the city. the King in Yellow, cruel in his hedonism, crushing all who stands below to worship him. the King in Yellow, a starving, whimpering god

black ichor flows through his veins, now. it pours from his eyes, from every joint, staining his yellow robe and temple floor. was ascension like this before? was it worth the cost of the souls of Yhtill?

the shepherd is dead. long live the king

#hastur #the king in yellow #mostly inspired by rev's ideas for stuff

[monpalace]

written with black reader in mind, but kept vague. no pronouns used (you/your). ooc mike/micheal. 700 words.

It was three hours past the agreed time and half of your body had long since fallen asleep.

It was a tight fit, but you and Abby had managed to find some awkward yet comfortable position on your old pull-out couch.

You both lay on your sides facing each other, Abby tucking her face into the crook of your neck and shoulder while her head found cushion on your arm. The thick blanket and closeness did well to combat the chill Autumn air and your hunk-of-junk heating unit.

The lights from the TV flashed throughout the living room of your too-small apartment, only confirming your suspicions that Abby had begun drooling on your arm. Her nose had begun to whistle with snores, somehow matching the theme to whatever after-hours adult cartoon was airing.

If she would've let you, you'd fix her so that she laid on her back instead. Every time you tried to gently nudge her away, she'd just tighten her snake-like hug around your waist and tangle your legs further.

If it were any other kid, you would've pulled away regardless.

Pushing a piece of escaped hair behind her ear, you call her a lucky girl under your breath and press a kiss to her head.

Time is relative when it's the dead of night and there are no clocks around. You can't even hope to try and gauge what time it is when a soft knock hits your door without doubting yourself a thousand times.

You know it's Mike by the way he knocks out a gentle nursery rhyme— Garrett's favorite, "Baa, Baa Black Sheep,"— before he slips the key to your apartment into the lock.

His eyes are both wide and close to sealing shut. His feet barely lift when he steps inside, scuffed shoes trudging against the hard, wooden flooring.

He's rubbing at his eyes like they were a stain he just couldn't get off, the flashing light of the room revealing the skin around them turning pink like quartz.

"Hey, turtle."

Mike jumps, knocking his head on the door and dropping the keys when he jolts. It takes him a moment to lift his head and look to where you and Abby lay, but he visibly relaxes when he does.

He waits until he's done locking the door to address you, eyes flickering to the TV before thinning his lips when it shines too brightly. "You're still up?"

"I'm in pain," you answer, the hand resting on Abby's back escaping the confines of the covers to pat the small sliver of space available on the ratty mattress.

The frame creaks and bends under his weight, but Abby doesn't stir. Her body finally rolls away from you (not off your arm, though) and towards Mike.

"How long?"

"A while."

Mike huffs out a laugh while he brushes Abby's hair away from her face with a knuckle. He lowers his hand to find your own, clasping it around your clammy one.

It's fucking frigid.

Your lips pucker as though you had eaten a lemon, muscles forcing your arm to not snatch your hand away and accidentally hit Abby in the process.

"Mike!" Your voice is hoarse and barely below a whisper, but it's still enough to convey both shock and anger. "You dick!"

There's a fox-ish smile on his face that still drips with exhaustion. He awkwardly leans over Abby to reach you, the hand that previously held yours instead finding purchase on the back of your head.

Honestly, he should consider himself lucky your headscarf kept the chill of his fingers from reaching your head.

"You don't mind it," he rasps while pressing his lips to your forehead. It's a more welcomed change in temperature compared to anywhere else on his body, yet you lean and yawn into the affection. "Where're my clothes?"

"Where they always are," either mixed with your clean laundry somewhere in your hamper or just as equally meshed together with everything in your drawers. "'re you spending the night?"

"It's three," he answers, pulling away and doing an awkward stretch as he stands. "Don't wanna wake her up."

"Carry us to bed when you get out the shower?"

Mike hums and you know he'll do it regardless of his eye roll.

#i havent written in a month im rusty </3 #ik i usually post on saturday or sunday but..... happy birthday 🎉🎉🎉🎉 #can you tell ive rewatched the fnaf movie twice then let my adoration fanon michael take over #because it did #grim's scribbles #mike schmidt x reader #michael afton x reader #fnaf mike schmidt x reader #fnaf michael afton x reader #five nights at freddy's mike schmidt x reader #five night at freddy's michael afton x reader #fnaf x reader #five nights at freddy's x reader #x reader

[ride-thedragon]

One thing that remains to get worse every time Maester Gyldayn is that sexualizes Nettles as though it's an inherent part of her character.

It's so insidious.

He does it before with rumors and allegations against Rhaenyra and Alicent, but it's never as truly assured as he is with Nettles, it's purely based in assumption about the life he thinks she would have lived to the absurd degree of him using it as reasons against any romantic relationship between her and this Prince.

A while ago, someone had said that the point of this was to "make team black, Nettles and Daemon look bad for engaging with sex work and adultery" (a summary).

That idea is crazy because it doesn't deter from anything we know about Daemon. It doesn't lessen the stance of team Black either.

What it does is try to frame Nettles as undesireable for resorting to the predatory sex trade in Westeros to eat and then boldly assume she did it in the first place.

Then he calls her ugly because she has a mark for stealing, which if he pays attention, he'd realize it's a more likely story that she stole the sheep.

He's the one that adds the crooked nose and so on when he quite literally never saw her.

Nettles' characteristics are always in some way contradicted in the narrative to show really how little is known about her as an individual and to give people more room for her interpretation with adaptation.

I just think he's disgusting.

#hotd #house of the dragon #nettles #nettles asoiaf #netty #nettles thoughts #maester gyldayn #a song of ice and fire #fire and blood

[artsyunderstudy]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tag @bookish-bogwitch

Morning friends I'm posting from bed because I am hung! Over! But I have stuff to share. I am working on a Lil holiday getting together later fic (canon divergence) that I have dreams of posting before new years so that it's still at least sort of in season. But whatever if you get a christmas fic in January it'll be fine you'll survive. It'll come down to how much free time I can nab while I'm with family.

It's melancholy but also sweet. The way holiday things generally are as you get older.

I fumble mindlessly, restlessly, through apps—my near untouched Instagram profile, the Grindr messages I actively avoid—only to inevitably find my way back to the conversation with Penny. I read backwards until I’m staring myself in the face. 

Puffy, ruddy cheeks, a mess of scruff on my jaw, permanent bags under my eyes. Somehow more and less of a mess than I was a decade ago. 

Behind me in the photo I spot Rob making his retreat, and the blur of a few people sat at the bar. One catches my attention: A slender man in a deep burgundy suit, long legs crossed at the ankle, inky black hair falling in soft waves just past his shoulders.

I stop breathing.

I look harder.

It’s …not him. Right? It’s not. 

I can’t even count the number of times over the years when I thought it might be. That niggling, anxious feeling of hope and mild terror that I could just run into him on the tube, in a pub, in a bloody Tesco. I’d be in joggers, stains on the thighs, and he’d be in a suit. Perfect and untouchable and staring down his crooked nose at me.

He’d call me Snow, and I’d bristle and call him a prick for wearing a waistcoat just to pick up bread and PG tips. 

Tags under the cut!

@imagineacoolusername  @martsonmars  @valeffelees @bazzybelle  @ileadacharmedlife  @aristocratic-otter  @urban-sith  @letraspal  @palimpsessed  @whatevertheweather  @nightimedreamersworld  @carryonsimoncarryonbaz  @raenestee  @erzbethluna  @confused-bi-queer  @moodandmist  @yeonjunenby  @shrekgogurt  @thewholelemon  @whogaveyoupermission    @onepintobean  @ebbpettier  @orange-peony  @theearlgreymage  @ic3-que3n @captain-aralias @fatalfangirl  @prettygoododds  @stitchyqueer  @you-remind-me-of-the-babe  @forabeatofadrum @ivelovedhimthroughworse @mysterioussheep @rimeswithpurple @c0nsumemy5oul @facewithoutheart @hushed-chorus @blackberrysummerblog @larkral @j-nipper-95 @alexalexinii @iamamythologicalcreature @supercutedinosaurs @wellbelesbian @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @cutestkilla @youarenevertooold @emeryhall @best--dress

#snowbaz fic #wip wednesday #artsyfic

[bohemian-nights]

In the end, the brown dragon was brought to heel by the cunning and persistence of a "small brown girl" of six-and-ten, who delivered him a freshly slaughtered sheep every morning, until Sheepstealer learned to accept and expect her. Munkun sets down the name of this unlikely dragonrider as Nettles. Mushroom tells us the girl was a bastard of uncertain birth called Netty, born to a dockside whore. By any name, she was black-haired, brown-eyed, brown-skinned, skinny, foul-mouthed, fearless.. and the first and last rider of the dragon Sheepstealer.

The girl Nettles did not share their celebrations. She had flown with the others, fought as bravely, burned and killed as they had, but her face was black with smoke and streaked with tears when she returned to Dragonstone.

Yet was fear of Vhagar the only reason Prince Daemon kept Nettles close to him? Mushroom would have us believe it was not. By the dwarfs account, Daemon Targaryen had come to love the small brown bastard girl, and had taken her into his bed.

Nor could Netty truly be called pretty. "A skinny brown girl on a skinny brown dragon," writes Munkun in his True Telling (though he never saw her). Septon Eustace says her teeth were crooked, her nose scarred where it had once been slit for thieving. Hardly a likely paramour for a prince, one would think.

Maester Norren writes that "the prince and his bastard girl" supped together every night, broke their fast together every morning, slept in adjoining bedchambers, that the prince "doted upon the brown girl as a man might dote upon his daughter," instructing her in "common courtesies" and how to dress and sit and brush her hair, that he made gifts to her of "an ivory-handled hairbrush, a silvered looking glass, a cloak of rich brown velvet bordered in satin, a pair of riding boots of leather soft as butter." The prince taught the girl to wash, Norren says, and the maidservants who fetched their bath water said he oft shared a tub with her, "soaping her back or washing the dragon stink from her hair, both of them as naked as their namedays."

“As to the girl Nettles, She is a common thing, with the stink of sorcery upon her," the queen declared. "My prince would ne'er lay with such a low creature. You need only look at her to know she has no drop of dragon's blood in her. It was with spells that she bound a dragon to her, and she has done the same with my lord husband." So long as he was in the girl's thrall, Prince Daemon could not be relied upon, Her Grace went on. Therefore, let a command be sent at once to Maidenpool, but only for the eyes of Lord Mooton. "Let him take her at table or abed and strike her head off. Only then shall my prince be freed."

"It may be we shall be destroyed whatever choice we make. The prince is more than fond of this brown child, and his dragon is close at hand. A wise lord would kill them both, lest the prince burn Maidenpool in his wroth."

How the prince and his bastard girl spent their last night beneath Lord Mooton's roof is not recorded, but as dawn broke they appeared together in the yard, and Prince Daemon helped Nettles saddle Sheepstealer one last time. It was her custom to feed him each day before she flew; dragons bend easier to their rider's will when full. That morning she fed him a black ram, the largest in all Maidenpool, slitting the ram's throat herself. Her riding leathers were stained with blood when she mounted her dragon, Maester Norren records, and "her cheeks were stained with tears." No word of farewell was spoken betwixt man and maid, but as Sheepstealer beat his leathery brown wings and climbed into the dawn sky, Caraxes raised his head and gave a scream that shattered every window in Jonquil's Tower. High above the town, Nettles turned her dragon toward the Bay of Crabs, and vanished in the morning mists, never to be seen again at court or castle.

The singers tell us that the old prince survived the fall and afterward made his way back to the girl Nettles, to spend the remainder of his days at her side.

Sixteen men perished in the fight that followed, and threescore more suffered burns before the angry brown wyrm took wing and fled deeper into the mountains with "a ragged woman clinging to its back." That was the last known sighting of Sheepstealer and his rider, Nettles, recorded in the annals of Westeros...though the wildlings of the mountains still tell tales of a "fire witch" who once dwelled in a hidden vale far from any road or village. One of the most savage of the mountain clan came to worship her, the storytellers say; youths would prove their courage by bringing gifts to her, and were only accounted men when they returned with burns to show that they had faced the dragon woman in her lair.

-Fire & Blood 🔥🐉

#nettles #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd spoilers #houseofthedragon #nettles f&b #nettles fancast #jessica allain #nettles asoiaf #👩🏾🐑🐉 #no weapon formed against nettles shall prosper 🗡 #valyrianscrolls #netty #houseofthedragonedit #hotdedit #bnmoodboard

[mousetoe-wc]

I Got bored one time awhile ago and made a list of every prefix plus some into organised sections so I thought I might as well share.

All the ones that aren’t cannon to warriors, yet at lest are bold

Describing names

Colours: red, russet, copper, golden, amber, yellow, green, blue, violet, pink, white, gray, black, ebony, dark, pale, silver, brown, tawny, fallow

Pattern, Texture + Size: spot/ted, dapple, speckle, freckle, brindle, patch, mottle, ragged, tangle, kink, bristle, fuzzy, curl/y, wooly, soft, sleek, little, tiny, small, slight, short, tall, long, big, heavy, crooked, broken, half, stumpy, shred, torn, jagged

Actions + Character: flip, pounce, bounce, jump, hop, crouch, down, low, drift, flail, strike, running, fidget, mumble, whistle, snap, sneeze, shiver/ing, shining, flutter, fallen, lost, rush, fleet, quick, shy, sweet, brave, loud, quiet, wild, hope, wish,

Other: claw, whisker, dead, odd, one, spike, fringe, echo, song, hallow, haven

Elements

Time + Weather: day, night, dusk, dawn, morning, sky, sun/ny, moon, storm, lightning, thunder, cloud/y, mist/y, fog, snow, blizzard, ice, frost, dew, drizzle, rain, clear, wind, breeze, gale, shadow, shade, bright, light,

Earth/Water/Fire names: stone, rock, boulder, slate, flint, pebble, gravel, sand/y, dust, mud/dy, meadow, hill, rubble, river, ripple, whorl, float, rapid, shimmer, lake, swamp, marsh, wave, wet, bubbling, splash, puddle, pool, creek, fire, flame, flicker, flash, blaze, scorch, ember, spark, ash, soot, cinder, smoke

Plants

Trees: alder, aspen, birch, beech, cedar, cypress, pine, elm, willow, oak, larch, maple, bay, rowan, timber, bark, log, wood, twig, acorn, cone, seed, spire

Berry/Nut/Fruit/Herb: juniper, elder, sloe, holly, yew, mistle, bramble, hickory, hazel, chestnut, nut, apple, cherry, cranberry, olive, pear, plum, peach, chive, mint, fennel, sage, basil, mallow, parsley

Flowers: aster, poppy, primrose, rose, bluebell, marigold, tansy, pansy, briar, cherry, daisy, dandelion, daffodil, tulip, violet, lily, myrtle, thrift, yarrow, heather, lavender, blossom, bloom, flower, petal

Other: leaf, frond, fern, bracken, sorrel, hay, rye, oat, wheat, cotton, reed, pod, cinnamon, milkweed, grass, clover, weed, stem, sedge, gorse, furze, flax, nettle, thistle, ivy, moss, lichen, bush, vine, root, thorn, prickle, nectar

Animals

Mammals: mouse, rat, mole, vole, shrew, squirrel, hedgehog, bat, rabbit, hare, ferret, weasel, stoat, mink, marten, otter, hog, wolf, hound, fox, vixen, badger, deer, doe, stag, fawn, sheep, cow, pig, lion, tiger, leopard, lynx, milk

Birds: robin, jay, cardinal, thrush, sparrow, swallow, shrike, starling, rook, swift, dove, pigeon, crow, raven, duck, goose, heron, wren, finch, swan, stork, quail, gull, lark, owl, eagle, hawk, kestrel, buzzard, kite, hoot, feather, bird, egg, talon

Fish, Reptiles + Amphibians: pike, perch, pollack, trout, tench, cod, carp, bass, bream, eel, minnow, fin, snake, adder, lizard, turtle, frog, toad, newt

Bug type Names: bug, lady or ladybug, moth, spider, ant, snail, slug, beetle, bee, wasp, dragon or dragonfly, bumble, worm, maggot, cricket, fly, midge, web, honey

Skyclan + Warriorclan: Bella, Billy, Big, Harry, Harvey, Snook, Ebony, Monkey

#warrior cats #wc

[cositapreciosa]

Of wolf and sheep

Alejandro Gillick x gn!reader, (the usual for the movies, nothing too graffic) 1793 words

a/n : another Alejandro Gillick fic??, I hear you say, and to that I respond, do you mean sexy Alejandro fic, eat my children

Tagging the besties-that-might-like-this as usual @narcolini @drabbles-mc @anunhealthydoseofangst @hausofmamadas

‘’ Are you here to kill me? ‘’

You haven’t turned on the lights yet, boots still on, waiting in the entryway. Silence is heavy in your apartment, but you know he is here, Alejandro, you can sense it, waiting in the dark at your expense. You are not surprised you are next, not when you know how they handle deserters, when you know too much, when they are scared you might talk. It makes your heart beat faster, especially because you know they hold Alejandro in a tight lease like a dog.

If he hears you he doesn’t answer, and so you keep moving, what else is there to do? Removing your shoes, dropping your bag. Maybe you are just tired, maybe the doormat wasn’t that crooked, maybe the fingermarks on the handle were yours, maybe-

‘’ You know I couldn’t. ‘’ Alejandro sits on your sofa, his back against the cushion, your cat purring on his lap. ‘’ Such a pretty thing like you… ‘’

It is meant as a joke, probably, but it doesn’t make you laugh, doesn’t make your insides warm up like they used to. All you feel now is cold, a deep, freezing cold that seeps inside your bones, and tense your shoulders, making bile pill up in your mouth.

‘’ Can I feed the cat? ‘’

A simple question, one that he nods to, one that he understands means you are not jumping on a hidden gun or making a b-line for the bedroom window. The cat is up as soon as he hears the pantry open, rubbing on your legs, wet nose meeting your ankles. You put more kibble in the bowl, just in case.

‘’ Wasn’t easy to find you. ‘’ He continues, ‘’ Montana is large, it was pretty hard to track. You could have moved countries. ‘’

‘’ Just to have you catch the flight log? ‘’ You move to the armchair in front of him, taking a seat, ‘’ I thought I did well, everyone makes mistakes. ‘’

You cross your legs, tucking your feet. He watches your every move, like a hawk, barely moving. Alejandro doesn’t look much different than he was a year ago, black still looks great on him, his arms are bigger, the beard slightly longer too.

Your first mistake was getting recruited by the CIA, a consultant they had told you, something up to your added value. Talent, Matt had called it later down the line, interrogation is what makes the world turn. In a way it did, they all talked, and you went home, cashed your check, just to fly back out whenever was needed. A few months later, you met Alejandro on base, near the Mexican border. You liked his eyes, how he didn’t speak much, didn’t move air, a peacefulness to his presence, weirdly.

And then one day your contract changed hands, no CIA, just Matt, and whoever held the chains. Your second mistake was to accept it, not to ask for a transfer, and join the team. You could sense the heaviness in the interrogation rooms now, notice the dangerous glint in Alejandro’s eyes. The hours would be longer, the pay better, dirtier. Sometimes, Alejandro would join you, make you leave the room halfway in, cutting the camera before closing the door behind you. Everything was more hands-on, no more slowly gnawing at it, no more psychological tactics, just raw human nature, animals in cages. Most days would end with you screaming at Matt that you would quit, that this wasn’t what you had signed up for. Oh, but it is, sweetheart, do you know what happens to you if you break this contract?

Threats, every day, all of it, but you couldn’t allow yourself to find out, not after Kate, not when you had heard words here and there of what had happened. You had gotten to know Alejandro better pretty quickly after that. Maybe you had eventually gained his respect by being so out of bounds every time.

Between the long hours, the endless plane rides, inevitably running into him at the motel bar, even when you thought there was no way something would come out of it, you kept finding him around every corner. And then you kissed him one night, or maybe he did, one drink too much, pressing on you, bringing you up against the bed. Your third mistake. It felt different to be able to touch him, how he would accept it, initiate it even. A breath of fresh air compared to those stuffy interrogation rooms.

You found comfort in Alejandro’s arms, in the dark of night, letting him wrap around you, letting the sound of his breathing ease the voices in your head, letting him trace figures on your back with his fingers until you would fall asleep.

No one knew, no one suspected a thing, and you liked it better that way, as you are sure he did too. Matt wasn’t blind, though, you could see the crease between his brows when you would get on the plane together, how he had started to comment on your outfits, your hair. You could tell he was going fishing, throwing the bait, waiting to see if the wolf would bite. Still, he was always your colleague first, a good one, never late, easy to work with, and then he was something else. Something you couldn’t name, something you couldn’t exactly pinpoint, not lovers, not friends.

Then one day you cracked, like an egg, somewhere in the middle, slicing you in half. A long time coming. I can’t do this anymore, you had told Alejandro, sobbing, huddling in the tub, under the water. You could feel the water in your lungs, the tightness of your chest, in your throat. I can’t breathe, I can’t, I- You don’t remember him turning off the water, gently pulling you out, but you remember him wrapping the towel around you, hugging you to warm you up, brushing your wet hair with his fingertips, rubbing the water of your back. You can, of course you can.

You remember telling him you were done, that when Matt would receive your resignation letter tomorrow you would be long gone. You owed him that, the truth, the why, before leaving and never seeing him again. You couldn’t bear the thought of him wondering, the pain it could cause of losing someone again. Don’t do this, you know what they think when people leave, what they will do.

What they will make me do, he meant, and here he is.

You let yourself sink into the pillows, feel the tightness in your throat, let your shoulders drop. Now that you are closer, you notice more grey in his hair, a sign that time hasn’t stopped for him either.

‘’ Now what? ‘’ You breathe. The air is thick, the room dark. What will you do now?

‘’ I’m not here for you. ‘’ His eyes soften, and he readjusts himself in his seat. ‘’ I killed Alarcón. I’m here because I’m done, it’s over. ‘’

I’m not here for you. I killed Alarcón. It is just Alejandro in your living room, plain, simple, soft Alejandro, no wolf, no sharp teeth, waiting to pounce. Him, here, after that, you think maybe he wants to talk about it. A shoulder to rest on, after all the stress from those years, the hard work, repressing everything down.

‘’ How do you feel? ‘’

‘’ I don’t know ‘’ His dark eyes are back on you. ‘’ Relieved, I guess. ‘’

You are still not over the fact that he is not here to kill you, only looking for comfort, friendship. Your fingers are still tightly wrapped around the armrest, and the fabric bristles as you let go.

‘’ You want a beer? ‘’ A peace offering.

‘’ Hmm. ‘’

You can tell Alejandro is somewhere far away now, deep in thought, going back to caress the cat as it snuggles back into him. He must be there, you think, where Alarcón was that day, he probably feels the gun in his hand, hears the bullets hit the ground. You know the way he remembers those things so clearly as if he was hovering, watching. He had told you so one night on the jet, when Matt was fast asleep on the couch, when you were seated across from him, when you had asked him if he had dreams too, as vivid, as bloodied. I don’t, he had said, and then motioning to his temple with a finger, but it’s in here, I’m always there.

You are alone in the kitchen for a minute and then you aren’t, turning around, knocking into him who is now in front of you, with so little space to spare. Alejandro takes the beer from your hand, gently discarding it on the countertop. You let his eyes run over your face, let him observe for whatever he is looking for. He opens his mouth and then closes it, swallowing words that he decides are not meant to be said.

‘’ I came here because I’m not sure what to do now. ‘’

After all of it, he means, now that his goal is achieved, that debts are paid and revenge is cold and done.

‘’ You’ll figure it out, you always do. ‘’

You don’t flinch when his palm reaches up, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he cups his hand around your face, cradling your jaw between his fingers. You let his fingers warm up your skin, letting the familiarity of it submerge you.

‘’ I meant it, ‘’ he whispers, ‘’ so pretty… ‘’

‘’ I think you need sleep. ‘’ You caution back. It feels overwhelming, having him here, so close, after so many months.

‘’ I guess. ‘’

He trails off, but he is not listening, there is a hunger in his eyes, and you remember all the nights he would look at you like this, soft, tender, something you could mistake for affection. The tip of his fingers caresses your hair, running down the side of your neck, feeling your pulse underneath his touch. He knocks out of it after a few seconds, letting his hand rest on your shoulder instead.

There is a seriousness in his eyes, an int of doubt, something different.

‘’ I know what I need. I’m going to Bogotá, and I want you to come with me. ‘’

I need you to, he means, you’ll be safe with me. You feel as if the wind has been knocked out of you, the blood pumping in between your ears is loud and heavy, you can’t hear yourself think.

I can’t, I-

You can, of course you can.

#alejandro gillick x reader #alejandro x reader #sicario imagines #sicario imagine #benicio del toro x reader

[judasofsuburbia]

"Will? His name's Will right?"

"That's what Henry said."

"Uh, Will? C'mon kid, wake up."

Will's eyes open slowly and fuck, he's back. He's in the Upside Down. There are two figures standing in front of him, menacing in their shadows. He doesn't even let the light of the repeating red lightning reveal them to him. He screams, immediately wraps his limbs around himself, hides his face, and rocks back and forth.

"This can't be happening, this can't be happening, this can't be happening," Will chants, muffled by his legs.

"Hey...it's okay, kid," A man's voice says.

"You're gonna be alright," A woman's voice says.

He's never heard their voices before. They're not the warped, dark voices that he heard when El was projecting in the Surfer's Boy Pizza freezer. But he doesn't want to look. He can't. Because then it's all real.

"God, he looks just like the sheep," The man's voice says.

"Sheep?" The woman's voice says.

"What I called the Hellfire freshies."

"Oh," The woman giggles. "Cute."

The man laughs. "I think so. And I'm like their shepard, you know?"

Hellfire? No, don't raise your head, Will. Vecna knows everything about you, he'll pull from whatever he can to get you to look. You're going to lift your head and the shadows are going insert themselves into your body and suck the life out of you. You'll be another puppet in his game.

A clawed hand touches his arm and Will gasps, lifting his head and continuing to scream. "Don't touch me!"

"Shit, sorry," The man says.

Will's curiosity gets the better of him. He looks.

The man, creature (?), is dressed in a black bandana, a shirt with D&D symbols on it, jeans, a green puffer vest, and a leather jacket. He has long, brown curly hair and all black eyes. The man smiles at him and all Will sees is fangs. Will screams again, hiding and cowering further.

"You're scaring him," The woman chides.

"Oh, like a blind cheerleader is going to be more comforting?"

"Hey! Henry said the eyes will look normal soon," The woman whines.

"Right, like mine?" The man laughs darkly.

"Will?" The woman tries. "I'm...I'm Chrissy Cunningham. I'm a cheerleader at Hawkins High--"

The man laughs and Will hears her smack him. Chrissy...

Chrissy...why is that name familiar?

"I was a cheerleader. Eddie, here, also went to Hawkins High. We know your friends. Well, Eddie knows them better than me."

Eddie...his friends' Eddie? Hellfire. That's the club they joined. This is their DM. Chrissy is the cheerleader who died.

Will is shaking and trembling as his head lifts again. He gets a good look at the woman now. She is in a cheerleader uniform, her body bruised and a little crooked. Strawberry blonde hair tied up in a high ponytail. Her eyes are just pale orbs like someone wiped away her pupils and irises away. She smiles at him and it sends a chill down his spine. They're both...almost human. Uncanny valley type. Definitely puppets of Vecna.

"W-what do you want with me?" Will's voice shakes. Tears stream down his face and he wishes he were braver. He wishes he could stand and scream "Go away!" He wishes he were back up top.

"We're not gonna hurt you," Eddie says. He crouches down to Will's level and Will scoots back but is met with a wall of slimey vines. He winces and hurriedly wipes the muck onto his clothes. Eddie takes the bandana off his head and hands it to him. Will takes it hesitantly. Eddie and Chrissy both light up at him accepting it so Will defiantly throws the bandana to the ground.

"We've been waiting for you, Will," Chrissy says, crouching next to Eddie. "We've all been waiting for you."

"Waiting for me?" Will whispers.

Eddie smiles again, long fangs glistening in the limited light. "You're gonna save us, Will. You're gonna save us all."

#emily writes #will byers #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #stranger things #will byers fics #will byers ficlet #IDK IF THIS IS ANYTHING BUT ITS BEEN BOUNCING AROUND MY HEAD FOR TWO DAYS I HAD TO PUT IT DOWN