#narratively(I can’t think of the right word)

[lady-lostmind]

Transfixed (under your spell)

WC: 7,337 | Rating: E

Summary: Eddie Munson of Corroded Coffin hates popstar Steve Harrington. Their feud has been front page news after every event they've both found themselves at for years. What people don't realize is Eddie is just jealous of the girls Steve brings to every event, and how they don't have to hide like he does.

Written for: @steddiesummerexchange

Thank you @oh-stars as always for betaing this!

Read here on ao3 or under the cut!

Eddie moans, rocking his hips and grinding himself against Steve’s ass. “I fucking missed you.” 

Steve huffs out a laugh, turning to look over his shoulder, a gleam of annoyance in his eye. “Are you talking to me or my ass?” 

Eddie flashes him a cocky grin and gives his ass a loving smack. “Can’t it be both?” 

Steve rolls his eyes and wiggles his hips. “Come on, we don’t have a lot of time.” 

Eddie glances at the clock on the bedside table. He’s right. Eddie guesses he has about two hours before Chrissy comes looking for him in his room. He’s sure Steve’s team will be on a similar schedule. He wanted to do this last night. Wanted to soak up as much time with Steve as possible, hiding away from the rest of the world. But Steve’s flight didn’t get in until this morning, and they both had expectations to meet. Always somewhere to be, somewhere to go, people to meet. But they have this window. Two hours of uninterrupted time together, and Eddie is going to make the most of it. 

Eddie tugs Steve’s briefs down, palming his cheek to pull it to the side and groaning when he sees a plug nestled inside. He presses his thumb against it, grin pulling wide on his face when Steve gasps and shudders beneath him. “Is this here for me, sweetheart?”

Eddie can see the color flood Steve’s face as he nods. “Didn’t want to have to wait. Been too–”

Steve’s words dissolve into a garbled groan as Eddie tugs the plug out quickly.

“Been too what? Hmm? Too long since I fucked you? I wholeheartedly agree. Two months is much too long–” Eddie lines himself up, pressing in slowly, grin still plastered on his face as Steve moans loudly beneath him, hands scrambling to grab onto the sheets. 

Eddie doesn’t waste any time. Just starts slamming his hips forward and back. Knows it’s what Steve wants, knows it’s what he’s craving when he lets out a sigh of relief between moans, arching his back further to meet Eddie’s thrusts. Eddie leans forward and lets his hand slip into Steve’s hair, gripping roughly and tugging his head back so he can see the way his eyes flutter, and his mouth drops open on his next moan. Eddie leans back, keeping the tension on Steve’s hair and letting out a moan of his own, trying to keep it up as long as possible even though he’s already struggling not to fall over the edge. It’s been two months, okay? 

Steve lets out another low moan as Eddie slams in particularly hard and he knows he’s close too. Can feel the way he keeps clenching around him and the way his breath is getting quicker. If he can just get Steve there first then he can–

KNOCK–KNOCK–KNOCK

Eddie freezes, glancing at the door before locking eyes with Steve who huffs in annoyance. 

“Just ignore it.”

Eddie hesitates, rocking his hips slowly before there’s another, more insistent knock on the door and Steve groans, pulling away and pointing to the bathroom. “Go. Hide. I’ll get rid of them.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and snatches his clothes up before hurrying over to the bathroom. He could care less if they see him, honestly. But he knows Steve is in a bad spot with his label. They want to push the pretty straight-boy narrative. Think he’ll sell better if girls think he’s attainable. So he’ll hide away in the bathroom if that’s what he wants. 

Eddie shuts the door and leans against it, listening as Steve pulls on a pair of sweats and shuffles over to the door. 

“What?”

“We need you for wardrobe. The outfit we picked didn’t get here in time.”

Steve sighs and Eddie can guess that his hands have landed on his hips. “I was supposed to have a few hours off.”

“I know. Sorry.” 

“Okay. Give me ten. I’ll meet you downstairs.” 

The door closes and Eddie sighs, pulling his clothes on piece by piece. Trying not to be too disappointed. Maybe they’ll be able to get together after everything is done tonight. It would have been nice to at least finish so they didn’t have to go through this whole evening with that unsatisfied ache of an abandoned orgasm but such is life. Expectations. He opens the bathroom door and slinks out, a sad smirk pulling up the corner of his mouth when Steve looks at him from where he’s sitting on the bed. Eddie saunters over to him and uses two fingers to tilt his chin up, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Try again later?”

Steve grins and nods. “Yeah, sorry.” 

Eddie shrugs. “S’okay. Duty calls.” Eddie hovers in his space, knowing he should just walk away, but he can’t help himself. “So…who’s the lucky lady tonight?”

Steve sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. “Eds, please. Can we just not?” 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Fine. Whatever. See you there, I guess.” 

He turns his back on his beautiful boy and strides out of the room with a pit in his stomach. 

–

Eddie looks in the mirror as one of what seems like fifty people poke and prod at him so his hair is fluffed and curled in the perfect amount of messed and rumpled while someone else smudges black subtly under his eyes, and another clasps a bunch of delicate chains around his neck. He sighs, locking eyes with Chrissy in the mirror. 

“Chris–”

Chrissy flashes him a little grin. “Almost done, I promise. We’re out of here in five.” 

Eddie sighs, his leg bouncing as he does his best to sit still. To let these nice people do their jobs, even if he wants to swat them all away, his skin crawling from the sensory overload. When he’s finally released he jumps up, shaking himself out and hurrying away before anyone can change their mind and plop him back in his seat for more torture. He follows closely behind Chrissy as she leads him out of the hotel and into a limo with the rest of the Corroded Coffin boys. He’s handed a beer and Gareth passes him a joint, and even though he hates going to these stupid events, he loves these fuckers. 

He takes a long drag and claps Jeff on the shoulder. “Ready to play for a bunch of assholes in suits, fellas?” 

Jeff chuckles, pulling at Eddie’s jacket. “You realize you’re an asshole in a suit right now.” He gestures around to everyone else, also in fucking suits. “We’re all assholes in suits right now.”

Eddie grins, shaking his curls around him. “But we’re assholes in suits who are really fucking metal, Jeff.” 

Jeff rolls his eyes and Gareth bounces in his seat pointing at Eddie. “HELL YEAH WE ARE!”

They all laugh and Eddie passes the joint over to Grant. 

Gareth takes another swig from his beer and chuckles under his breath. “You not what’s really not metal? Did you see who’s opening for us tonight?” 

Eddie’s stomach drops but he tries to play it off, keeping an amused smile plastered on his face. Grant shakes his head and Jeff shrugs. “No, who?”

Gareth huffs out another little laugh. “Steve Harrington.”

Jeff groans. “Oh, man. What are these event planners thinking when they do shit like that? Who would ever think he’s a good pairing with us?” 

Eddie scoffs, taking the joint again as it makes its way back around to him, flicking ashes on the floor. “He brings in the mainstream appeal. They need a reason for middle aged moms and teenage girls to tune in.” 

Grant shrugs. “I don’t know. That new song he has on the radio isn’t that bad.” 

All three of them freeze and turn to stare at Grant in shock. Gareth shakes his head. “I don’t even know how to respond to that.”

Jeff points at him. “Five dollars in Eddie’s dickbag jar next practice.”

Eddie snorts, taking another swig of his beer.

Grant squawks in protest. “That jar is for when EDDIE is a dickbag.”

Jeff shakes his head. “I don’t care. Five dollars.”

Eddie laughs along with them, trying to ignore the pit of guilt in his stomach until they’re finally pulling up in front of the venue. 

–

As soon as Eddie gets inside his eyes scan the room, locking in when he spots Steve, leaning in next to Nancy, his arm candy for the evening. Eddie watches the easy grin that pulls across Steve’s face, his hand lingering on Nancy’s waist and rolls his eyes. That same hand was wrapped around something very different earlier. 

Eddie hears a sigh from behind him and turns to see Gareth looking at him with a pinched face. “Don’t start your bullshit tonight, Ed.”

Eddie’s mouth drops open and a hand lands on his chest in offense. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Gareth scoffs, crossing his arms. “Yeah, okay. Every time Harrington is at one of these things you start shit with him and you end up in each other’s faces, and then it ends up being a big thing. I don’t want to sit through a lecture from Chrissy because you can’t just avoid the guy for one night.” 

Eddie huffs out a laugh, turning to stare at Steve again, trying to tamp down the swell of jealousy that rises when Nancy laughs at something he says, her hand landing on his chest. Eddie squares his shoulders and goes to take a step in their direction when Gareth’s hand lands on his shoulder, holding him in place. 

“I’m serious, man. We’ve got a tour coming up. We don’t need a big scandal to deal with on top of that.” 

Eddie sighs, his eyes following Steve and Nancy, watching as they make their way to their table…right next to Corroded Coffin’s. A grin tugs at Eddie’s mouth and he turns back to Gareth with a nod, clapping his hand on his shoulder. “I hear you, Gare.” 

Eddie saunters off toward their table, laughing to himself when Gareth swears under his breath and follows after him. Eddie plops down in his chair, draping himself over the back to lean over to the table next to him, close to Steve’s side. “Harrington–” 

Steve jumps, turning to lock eyes with Eddie before he rolls them, a little smirk pulling at his lips before a scowl settles over his features. “Munson–” 

Eddie’s eyes flick over to Nancy, whose mouth pulls into a tight line, her body going tense. Eddie chuckles. “You can unclench, honey. I promised not to cause any drama with your boy here.” 

Eddie reaches over to squeeze Steve’s shoulder, flashing him a cocky grin when Steve tugs out of his grasp with a huff. Gareth clears his throat to Eddie’s left and he pats Steve’s shoulder again before turning back to his table to sit nice and proper. 

Gareth stares at him Eddie splays his hands out. “See, I can play nice.” 

Gareth scoffs, but lets it go as the rest of the band settles in around the table. Eddie watches as each of them clocks who’s sitting nearby with a groan. Jeff gives him a pointed look and Eddie just smiles widely at him and points to the stage where the host of the evening is making their way to the microphone. 

Eddie zones out while they go through their spiel. He hates these stupid events. He knows it’s good for the band, and if they win something they’ll have a little spike of new listeners seeing what all the hype is about. But they’re boring, and drawn out. And this isn’t even like, a big one. It’s not like they’re at the Grammys or something. But Chrissy got them booked as one of the performers, and the money is ridiculous to play three songs, so he’s here. He’s being good. Well, as good as he can be with Steve sitting two feet away from him. 

At the first commercial break Eddie leans back again, tracking the way goosebumps rise on Steve’s neck when he gets close. “You nervous, Stevie? You go on right before us, don’tcha?” 

Steve rolls his eyes, ignoring Eddie’s questions.

Eddie flashes him a cocky grin. “Just one song though, right? Not the main event this time, sweetheart.”

Steve’s face flushes bright red and he turns to him with a glare, opening his mouth to retort when the lights flash and the host comes back on stage. Eddie huffs out a laugh and pulls himself back up to sit forward, folding his hands in front of him and avoiding the warning stares from the rest of the band. 

Eddie behaves as long as he can stand. He watches the show, claps and smiles at the appropriate times when someone wins an award. Doesn’t even roll his eyes when some little teenie bopper wins best alternative artist. Drinks the shitty champagne they’re passing around and doesn’t even grimace. Takes another offered glass, and another, maybe two more. And then they get to the halfway point, and Steve is coming out on stage with his backtrack and ridiculous mesh shirt that’s absolutely not turning him on, and Eddie is being herded backstage because they go on next, and the rest of the guys are changing and grabbing their gear, but Eddie is drawn to the side stage, where he can see Steve. Watches as he bounces around with a pretty backup dancer, and jealousy pools ugly in his gut. And then Eddie is moving, striding out on stage, the audience breaking out into tense, confused applause as they try to figure out if this is part of the show or not. Eddie slides up on the other side of Steve who freezes like a deer caught in the headlights turning to look at Eddie with fire filled eyes. Another warning. He’s getting a lot of those tonight. But fuck. He can’t stand this fake bullshit. 

Eddie leans over and snags a backup vocalist's mic, taps it to make sure it’s actually on, and looks back at Steve right as the chorus approaches, locks eyes with him as he belts out the lyrics that sound like Steve wrote for a pretty girl like Nancy, or the little thing now cowering off to the side, but he knows were written for him. 

“I’m transfixed– under your spell.” 

Steve’s mouth drops open, his eyes going wide. Eddie’s grin pulls wide and he winks before turning to the front of the stage, rolling his hips to the music. 

“I can’t deny this spark, when we’re rolling in the dark.”

Eddie feels Steve saunter up on his side, leaning to drape his arm over Eddie’s shoulders, crooning into his own mic to sing the next line with Eddie.

“I want you so much, baby, and I wish I could tell.”

Eddie looks over and locks onto Steve, his eyes flashing mischievously as he leans in closer to Eddie, and then Steve’s mouth is on his. Eddie drops his mic, tangling his fingers in Steve’s hair and sliding their tongues together. The crowd erupts in cheers, wolf whistling at them as they give them a hell of a show. Eddie can feel all the eyes on them. Knows there’s a camera somewhere close, broadcasting this moment to millions. And he knows, this is a big deal. He knows this will be huge. But he can’t think about that right now. Not when Steve is smiling against his lips before pulling back and nudging Eddie away, back towards the side of the stage so he can finish out the song on his own. 

As soon as Eddie is off the stage Chrissy is smacking his arm and pulling him to the side. 

“WHAT WAS THAT EDWARD!?” 

Eddie’s face scrunches in disgust. She knows how much he hates being called Edward. He sighs, holding his hands up. “I know, I know.”

Gareth crashes into his side, smacking his arm repeatedly. Why are all his friends prone to violence when he messes up?

“OW! OW! Gareth– Stop!” Eddie swats Gareth back, trying to push him off.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT, MAN?” Gareth shoves him away, standing back and putting his hands on his hips.

A chuckle escapes from Eddie’s mouth before he can stop it. “You said not to pick a fight with him!”

Gareth and Chrissy stare at him in shock, mouth hanging open. Chrissy shakes her head and goes to walk away, turning to call over her shoulder. “I’m going to start damage control. You guys are on in five. Get your shit ready.” 

Steve comes backstage and is immediately pulled off by his own manager who shoots Eddie a furious glare before promptly tripping over her own feet. Eddie flashes her his most charming smile before being pulled over to hair and makeup for a touch up before he’s shoved back on stage with the rest of Corroded Coffin for their performance. It goes really well, the crowd still amped up from the spectacle a few minutes ago. And then it’s time for another commercial break and Eddie is being herded into a little room with the rest of the guys and Chrissy who is typing furiously on her phone, looking up at Eddie in annoyance. And yeah, okay. Eddie feels a little bad about her having to do damage control. But…Steve was the one who escalated the whole thing. He could have just let Eddie make a fool of himself. He didn’t have to play along. Didn’t have to kiss him in front of the whole world. And honestly, Eddie loves the chaos. So he can’t feel too bad. Not when he knows this will be all anyone is talking about for the next few weeks. 

Chrissy slams her phone down on the little desk she’s been pacing in front of and rubs her temples before turning to face them. “Okay, so the kiss is already going viral.” 

Eddie tries to suppress the grin tugging at his mouth, but from the glare he gets he thinks he’s missed the mark. The rest of the guys groan around him and Gareth swats his arm again in annoyance.

“I said I didn’t want a Chrissy lecture today, man!”  

Eddie rolls his eyes while Gareth and the rest of the band talk over top of each other, complaining about his antics. Chrissy leans against the desk with her arms crossed, waiting for them to settle back down when the door flies open and Steve’s lanky manager strides in with Steve slinking in behind her and plopping into a seat by the door. 

“Hello, Corroded Coffin. My name is Robin, I will be your cruise director through this absolute shit show of an evening.” 

Chrissy snorts, shifting to stand next to Robin. “Why do you get to take the lead? Your boy is the one who kicked this up to critical condition.”

Robin scoffs. “Oh bull–” she gestures to Eddie. “This one has been pulling shit for years. He’s a PR nightmare. He’s the one who interrupted the performance.” 

“By performing. We could have spun that.” 

Robin grins, a sparkle in her eyes. “We can spin this too.” 

–

The room is absolute chaos. Eddie is grinning wildly, soaking up the energy vibrating through the room. 

Gareth’s face twists in absolute horror, pointing at Steve. “You want us to feature him. On a Corroded song. Are you insane?” 

Steve face scrunches and Eddie’s chest clenches. He puts a hand on Gareth’s shoulder and nods toward Steve. “Hey–come on, man.” 

Gareth scoffs, staring at him with wide, crazed eyes. “You’re defending him now? A guy plants one kiss on you and you drop to his feet, Ed?”

Steve’s face flushes bright red and Eddie rolls his eyes, flicking Gareth his middle finger, a snarky smile on his face. “Fuck you, Gare.” 

Jeff wedges between them, pushing Eddie back with a hand on his shoulder. “You started all this shit man, don’t blame Gareth.” 

Grant comes up behind Eddie, clapping his hands over his shoulders. “Let’s just hear it out!” He shrugs. “A collab could be cool.” 

Gareth and Jeff’s mouths drop open, Gareth shaking his head, hands flying up to tug at his hair. “I can’t believe this shit.” 

A loud whistle pulls all their attention to Chrissy, standing on the desk. “ENOUGH! We’re at least going to talk about this. It could make the whole thing look like a PR stunt for the song. The kiss is going viral, but so is the clip of Eddie singing Steve’s song.” 

Gareth rolls his eyes and flops himself down in a chair, crossing his arms. “This is unbelievable.”

Eddie drifts over to the corner Steve is sitting in as everyone settles back into their seats, catching his eye as he nods to the chair next to him. A little grin tugs at Steve’s mouth and he nods. Eddie flashes him a cocky smile and perches in his seat, leaning in close to Steve while everyone else is busy listening to Robin’s plan. 

“Looks like we made quite the mess, big boy.” 

Steve looks over at him with a smirk, nudging him with his shoulder but he doesn’t say anything. Just turns his attention to Robin who is still rambling. Eddie isn’t listening. He tilts back in his chair, rocking back and forth on two legs, staring at the ceiling so he doesn’t stare at Steve. 

–

Eddie knocks on Steve’s door, fidgeting with his rings, hoping they’re still on after everything. Steve opens the door with a smirk, stepping back to let Eddie in. Eddie slides in and tugs Steve in close, pressing a heated kiss to his lips before pulling back, concern bubbling in his gut.

“So…are we good? Are uh– are you alright?” 

Steve nods, leaning back in for another kiss. “Mhm. All good. You?”

Eddie’s mouth tips up and he nods, murmuring against Steve’s lips. “I’m fucking fantastic, baby.” 

Eddie pushes his tongue into Steve’s mouth, devouring the satisfied hum that slips from his throat, backing him further into the room. “I think we have some unfinished business from earlier.” 

Steve’s backs into the mattress, going down easily with a smile and Eddie climbs over him, unbuttoning his shirt slowly as their tongues tangle together and Steve’s hands fist into the back of Eddie’s shirt. Eddie rolls his hips with a groan, tossing Steve’s shirt over his shoulder to crumple on the floor. Eddie leans back, letting his gaze rake over Steve with hungry eyes, reveling in the flush that creeps down his neck and over his chest. Steve’s hands come up to tug on Eddie’s shirt in a silent demand and Eddie grins, working to open his buttons while Steve’s hands drift down to pop open the button on his pants, gasping when his dick falls heavily out of the gaping fabric, no underwear to catch it. 

Eddie huffs out a laugh, throwing his shirt into a pile with Steve’s. “Like what you see, sweetheart?”

Steve rolls his eyes, nudging Eddie back off the bed so they can rid themselves of the rest of their clothes. Eddie climbs back on the bed, gripping Steve’s hips and flipping him over, chuckling at the little ‘Oof–” he makes as he lands on the pillows. Eddie hikes Steve’s hips up, kissing down his back as his hand trails up his thigh and squeezes his cheek before brushing his fingers over–

The plug. 

Eddie groans, his forehead dropping against Steve’s back. “You put it back in? Has this been in all night?” 

Steve whimpers as Eddie tugs on the plug a little, glancing over his shoulder and nodding. “Mhmm. Come on, Eds. Please–” 

Eddie pulls the plug out quickly, replacing it with his tongue and listens to Steve’s words melt into desperate moans. His eyes roll back into his head as he tastes Steve, the sweet tang of sweat from being on stage still clinging to his skin. Steve’s hips jerk forward, seeking out friction he can’t get with Eddie’s tight hold on his waist. Eddie grins into his next lick when Steve lets out a frustrated whine. 

“Eddie. Please.” He wiggles under Eddie’s hands, pushing back against him. 

Eddie’s restraint breaks and he shuffles up onto his knees, lining himself up behind Steve and sliding his dick between his cheeks until he catches on his hole, the tip slipping in, making Steve clench around him. “Oh fuck.”

Eddie presses in further, sinking into Steve’s sweet, sweet heat with a guttural moan. Steve shudders, hands fisting in the sheets as moans pour out of him, the sound of skin on skin growing louder as Eddie builds up a frantic pace. He’s been on edge since they were interrupted earlier. 

Eddie leans down to lick along Steve’s ear, making sure his breath tickles the wet skin as he lets his voice dip deep. “You were driving me crazy tonight, sweetheart.” 

Steve whines, clenching down as Eddie’s hand comes up and tugs at his hair, pulling him so they can lock eyes. 

“Having to watch you parade around with that pretty girl on your arm. Couldn’t help myself. Wanted your attention back on me.” 

Steve scoffs, a cocky little smirk on his face. “Like you have to worry about Nancy.” 

Eddie makes his next few thrusts a little punchier, wiping that smug look off Steve’s face as it drops in another moan. “Think it’s funny I got so jealous I had to make an ass of myself on stage, baby?”

Steve groans and nods, his eyes scrunching shut. 

“I wasn’t the only one who acted up tonight though, am I, big boy?”

Steve seems incapable of actual words at this point as Eddie pounds into him, only responding with moans that grow higher and higher.

Eddie tightens his grip in Steve’s hair. “Wanted everyone to know you’re mine didn’t you?” 

He knows this deserves an actual conversation. One they probably should have had before this. But he can’t help it. Steve kissing him in front of everyone like that has his stupid possessive brain flying high. He doesn’t care that their little stunt blew everything up. Doesn’t care that their managers and labels have to scramble to spin it now. Doesn’t even care that the band is pissed. He’ll make it up to them later. All he cares about is how good it felt to have all those eyes on them after so long of hiding. How this could be a tipping point for them.

Eddie groans, reaching around to grip Steve’s leaking dick, wants to tip him over the edge before he hurdles over his own. He presses rough kisses along his shoulder, hand moving furiously as Steve’s moans stutter, becoming breathier as he nears his–

“Fuck, Eds. Oh god.” 

Eddie’s thrusts lose their steady rhythm as he feels Steve pulse around him and he quickly loses his control with a loud moan, tension that has built up for hours unraveling as he spills into Steve. Eddie’s legs give out and he falls heavily against Steve, flattening him into the bed and making him whine as he lands in the wet spot from his own orgasm and they each try to catch their breath. Steve tries to turn, swatting at Eddie so he shifts his weight off him but wraps his arms around him before he can get too far. 

Steve huffs out a laugh. “I need to clean up. I’m laying in a wet spot.” 

Eddie groans, shaking his head and tightening his arms and shifting them so he’s laying in the mess instead of Steve.

Steve sighs, settling back against Eddie. “You’re disgusting.”

Eddie grins against his back and presses a light kiss to his skin. “You love it.”  

Eddie trails his fingers over Steve's skin, trying to stay in this moment for as long as possible. But he can feel the reality sinking back in. The heavy weight of unanswered questions lingering in the air around them. He presses another kiss to a mole on Steve's shoulder and sighs. 

“Big move tonight, baby.” 

Steve tenses under his hands and nods. “I know.” 

They sit in tense silence for a few minutes before Steve sighs and turns to look at Eddie with tears shimmering in his eyes. “I just didn’t want to hide anymore.” 

A lump catches in Eddie’s throat and he wipes gently at the tear sliding down Steve’s cheek. “Oh, sweetheart.” 

Steve sucks in a shuddering breath and shuts his eyes, leaning into Eddie’s touch and Eddie leans in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Are you sure?”

Steve pulls back to look into his eyes and nods. 

Eddie’s mouth pulls into a wide grin, eyes sparkling as a cackle escapes from his throat. “I can’t wait to show you off, baby.” 

Steve rolls his eyes, but Eddie catches the bright red that flares on his cheeks before he tucks himself against Eddie’s neck. 

–

Eddie strides into Chrissy’s office flopping himself down in the chair across from her desk. He leans back and plops his feet up, sending papers flying and ignoring how everyone’s eyes are on him. 

Chrissy sighs heavily and crosses her arms. “Eddie–”

Gareth leans over and smacks his arm. “She’s making us do the song, Eddie. Are you happy now? Was your little stunt worth it?” 

Grant mumbles about how he still doesn’t think it’ll be that bad and all of them start talking over each other. 

Eddie locks eyes with Chrissy so she knows he’s not fucking around with them. “It wasn’t a stunt.” 

Chrissy’s mouth drops open, and the guys fall silent around them until Chrissy composes herself, all business. “Do you want to go forward with the current PR plan or should I call Robin again?” 

Eddie’s lips tilt in a sly smirk. “You should call Robin. Whatever Steve wants.” 

He can feel the guys staring a hole in him. Eddie turns to Gareth with a shrug. “Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. Steve wasn’t ready.” 

Jeff and Grant start asking a million questions, talking over one another. But Gareth just stares at him, face serious. “This is real? You two–”

Eddie nods, his grin spreading across his face. “I love him, Gare.” 

Gare takes a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fuck– lets do the fucking song, then.”

—

Eddie gives Steve a reassuring smile before grabbing his hand and stepping out into a stream of flash bulbs, pulling him in close to his side as his other hand comes up and flips them off all the cameras as they hurry to the car waiting by the curb. 

They climb into the back and Eddie glances over at Steve, rubbing his thumb on the back of his hand. “You okay, sweetheart?” 

Steve takes a deep breath before flashing Eddie a wide smile. “I’m fucking great, Eds.” He launches himself forward, plastering his mouth to Eddie’s as he climbs into his lap. 

Eddie groans as Steve’s weight lands on him, his hands flying up to grip tightly at his waist, licking into Steve’s eager mouth as they roll their hips together and the car pulls away from the curb. 

Eddie snickers against Steve’s mouth when he lets out a low whine. “Did it turn you on having everyone see you on my arm, baby?” 

Steve nods, letting out a little ‘uh-huh’, dragging his lips over Eddie’s and grinding down on his lap. The car slows to a stop as Eddie kisses along Steve’s jaw. They pull apart just as the door opens to annoyed sighs and groans as the rest of the band climbs in the car and Steve slides off Eddie’s lap and into his own seat with bright cheeks. 

Gareth rolls his eyes and flops down across from them. “Is this what it’s going to be like now?”

Eddie flips him off with a smile and Grant scoffs. “Like you were any better when you were going out with that girl last year who stole the dickbag jar when you broke up with her.” 

“ – at practice.” Jeff interjects with a pointed glare. 

Gareth glances between Steve and Eddie with a huff. “Fair point. Proceed.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes and drops his hand on Steve’s thigh, leaning over to press an only slightly inappropriate kiss on Steve’s lips. “That’s Gareth’s version of ‘Welcome to the family.’”

–

Eddie knocks on Steve’s door, bouncing excitedly on his feet. As soon as the door opens he rushes in, wrapping Steve up tight in his arms, leaning back to lift him and swing from side to side. “NUMBER ONE, BABY. NUMBER ONE!” 

Steve chuckles, swatting Eddie’s arm. “Put me down!”

Eddie sets Steve down and stares at him with bright, shining eyes. “We’re at the top of all the fucking charts you little crossover genius.” 

Steve rolls his eyes but his mouth tugs into a shy smirk. “Even the rock charts?” 

Eddie nods vigorously, sending his hair flying all around. “Baby, it’s already Corroded’s number one streamed song on Spotify. It blew past our Grammy winner in two days.” 

Steve’s smile stretches wider and his eyes take on a menacing gleam. “How pissed is Gareth?”

Eddie cackles. “Oh, he’s fucking fuming.” 

Steve huffs out a laugh, tugging Eddie forward by his shirt. “Good.” 

Eddie grins, reaching up to trail his finger along Steve’s jaw. “I personally think it’s something worth celebrating.” 

Steve nods, creasing his brow very seriously. “Oh, absolutely–” His face drops into an innocent pout. “What should we do?” He trails his fingers down Eddie’s chest. “Go out for drinks?” His hand slips further down, teasing the hem of his shirt. “Dinner?” His hand plays with the waistband of Eddie’s jeans. “Oh! – We could go dancing!”

Eddie lets out a huff of air as Steve’s fingers slip inside his pants and he groans impatiently when they pop back out and head back up his chest. 

Steve chuckles, batting his lashes at him like he has no idea what he’s doing. “Did you have something else in mind?”

Eddie grabs Steve’s hips and walks him backward until he hits the couch and pushes him down. He straddles his lap and tilts his chin up, leaning in so their lips are almost brushing. “Think we can celebrate right here, don’t you?”

Steve nods and surges forward, pressing their lips together with a soft moan. Eddie cups Steve’s face in his hands, licking eagerly into his mouth. Steve’s hands fist into the back of Eddie’s shirt and tries desperately to roll his hips under Eddie’s heavy weight in his lap. 

Eddie pulls back, chuckling against his lips. “You having a little trouble there, baby? You want me to help you out with something?” He punctuates his point by grinding down roughly, smiling when Steve groans loudly, his hands tightening on Eddie’s shirt and trying to pull him back down to his mouth. 

Eddie grins at him cockily, pushing back against his hands, refusing to budge. “I didn’t hear you answer me, sweetheart.” 

Steve huffs with a little pout and whines. “Eddie–” 

Eddie glides his thumb over Steve’s bottom lip and makes his voice high and whiny like Steve’s. “Stevie.” 

Steve tries to buck his hips up again and Eddie chuckles, grinding down again. “I’d love to help, baby. Just need to know what you want.” 

Steve rolls his eyes and leans forward to press his forehead against Eddie’s chest. “You know what I want.” 

Eddie runs his fingers through Steve’s hair. “Yeah, I do. But I want to hear it.” 

Steve snakes his hands up under Eddie’s shirt and pushes his whole face into his chest with a frustrated groan, his words coming out in a muffled jumble. “Want you to fuck me.” 

Eddie hums, rolling his hips. “There’s my good boy.” 

Steve whines, his hands wandering over Eddie’s skin impatiently. Eddie reaches over his head and tugs his shirt off, huffing out a laugh when Steve lets out another whine, his eyes darting over the exposed skin before flicking up to lock onto Eddie’s, wide and wanting. Eddie grins sweetly at him before backing off Steve’s lap to take off the rest of his clothes, chuckling when Steve just stares at him.

Eddie gestures to Steve. “You just going to stare or get naked so I can give you what you want?”

Steve comes back to himself, cheeks blushing as he stands and hurries to strip himself bare. Eddie tilts his head, letting his eyes linger on the beautiful sight before him and groans, reaching down to grab himself when his dick twitches in anticipation. He groans and closes the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Steve and kissing him roughly before pulling away and swatting the side of his thigh. “Turn around. Knees on the couch, baby.” 

Steve nods, scrambling to climb back up on the couch, leaning over the back cushions and arching his back deliciously, putting his perfect ass on display. Eddie lets out a moan and smacks Steve’s cheek, giggling as he watches it jiggle and relishes the little gasp it pulls from Steve. He pulls his cheek to the side and drops to his knees so he can dive in, licking a long stripe up Steve’s crack and swirling along his rim, moaning right along with him. Now that he’s started he can’t keep up the facade of nonchalance. As much as he loves to tease Steve and drag things out as long as possible, he also can’t get enough of this beautiful man once he gets a taste. 

Another long swipe of his tongue and heavy moans. “Fuck, Stevie. You taste good.” 

Steve whines, pressing back against him, getting more impatient now that he’s so close to getting what he wants. Eddie adds two fingers to the mix, letting his spit gather and drip over Steve’s hole to aid the glide as he pushes in. Steve lets out another shuddered moan, his hands gripping tightly on the couch as Eddie works him open on his tongue and fingers, his heart swelling with pride when Steve begs for more, doesn’t even flinch when Eddie slips in a third. Eddie presses kisses all along his lower back, singing praises into his skin as he works his fingers in and out. “So good, Stevie. Look at you. Such a good boy.”

Steve lets out a whimper, and shifts to look back at Eddie with pleading eyes. “Eds. Please.” 

Eddie sighs, glancing around. Spit is enough in a pinch for fingers but– “Gotta go get lube from your room, baby.”

Steve whines, pushing back onto Eddie’s fingers when he tries to pull them away. Eddie chuckles, pressing another kiss on Steve’s sweat slick skin. “Be right back.” 

Eddie hurries to Steve’s room, snatching the lube out of his bedside drawer and almost knocking a lamp over in the process. He makes his way back to the living room, rounding the corner and stopping dead in his tracks with a guttural moan as he takes in the sight before him. Steve is spread out on the couch, his own fingers have replaced Eddie’s and his other hand is wrapped around his dick, stroking slowly. He looks up and grins smugly as Eddie drools over him from across the room. 

Eddie steps forward, dropping to his knees in front of the couch and settling in to watch the show. Steve’s face drops into a pout and he whines, dropping his dick to reach for Eddie who shakes his head and scoots back, just out of reach.

“You fucked up now, baby. I was all ready to give it to you until you started this. Now I want to watch.” 

Steve huffs in annoyance, dropping his head back against the cushions. Eddie grins and shuffles closer to his head, leaning over to peck his lips sweetly and whisper in his ear. “Always so pretty up on a stage, sweetheart.” 

Steve groans and tries to snag another kiss from Eddie, whining when he moves out of reach again. “Finish the show, baby.”

Steve sighs heavily and pouts some more, but his hands resume their movements, picking up speed. Eddie uncaps the lube, leaning over to let it drip onto Steve’s fingers as they move swiftly in and out, smirking when the cold liquid pulls a gasp from Steve’s lips. Eddie sits back, lazily squeezing his own dick as he watches Steve work, listening to his moans and taking in all the ways his face scrunches in pleasure. Feels his heart swell as he thinks about what a luxury it is to have the time to stretch this out. To take their time. How nice it is that they can do this here, at Steve’s place, and not care about anyone seeing Eddie leave in the morning. That they don’t have to hide anymore. That he can sit here for as long as he likes, watching this gorgeous man writhing on the couch and not wonder if he’ll have to sneak out in the middle of the night. He can just enjoy it. Fucking savor it. Because the world knows now. The world knows and it didn’t end. Eddie shifts forward, reaching out to stroke the side of Steve’s face. He runs his fingers through his hair, down his chest, over his tightly clenched abs. Watches as he gets closer and closer to the edge. Knows it’s coming when a little crease forms between his brows and reaches down to grab his wrist, stopping his movements right at the peak and smiling down at him when he lets out a frustrated whine, staring up at him with sad, confused eyes. Eddie pulls Steve’s hands away completely as he moves between his legs and slots himself in place, locking eyes with him as he sinks in slowly and Steve’s eyes roll back, a loud moan rumbling out of him as he clenches around Eddie. As soon as he’s pressed fully in, Eddie pulls back and slams back, wrapping his hand around Steve’s dick and stroking at the same brutal pace as his hips, hurtling him back to the edge he ripped him away from. Tears gather in Steve’s eyes and he pulls Eddie down to lean over him, knotting their tongues is a messy tangle as he falls over, pulling Eddie with him as their moans morphe together. 

Eddie slumps against him, sucking in deep breaths before shifting them carefully so he can lay beside Steve without dislodging himself, trying to avoid dealing with their mess for a little longer so he can hold Steve close. They lay in comfortable silence, their tacky skin sticking together as they come down from the high with soft touches and lingering kisses until Eddie shifts so he can look Steve in the eye, his voice quiet but sure. “Come on tour with us.” 

Steve lets out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, right.” 

Eddie smiles, trailing his thumb along Steve’s jaw, watching as Steve realizes he’s not joking. “You’re serious?”

Eddie nods. “Don’t wanna leave you for six months, baby. I’m just getting used to having you around all the time.” 

Steve looks at him with wide eyes. “How would that even work?”

Eddie shrugs. “Open for us. We can do our song as the encore.” 

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up and he huffs out a laugh. “You want me to open for Corroded Coffin?” 

Eddie nods, thumb still stroking Steve’s face lightly. Steve shakes his head and lets out a little sigh. “Gareth is going to be so pissed.”

Eddie’s face pulls into a wide grin and he chuckles under his breath. “Is that a yes?”

Steve rolls his eyes and nods. “Yes, it’s a yes.” 

Eddie throws his head back and lets out a triumphant laugh, shaking Steve excitedly and pulling him in for a deep kiss, smiling when Steve giggles against his lips. 

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fanfic #lady lostmind #steddie summer exchange #rockstar eddie munson #popstar steve harrington

[your-local-granny]

I have totally normal relations to media.

#Reading the Most unhinged essek/caleb fic right now I think it’s tearing me apart at the seams #Tw suicide #but like. God there should have been many TWs on this fic probably and it’s. It’s getting to be a lot #but I have an issue where I just read things until they are Done. And it’s 20000 words and. GOD #I JUST WANT MY GUYS TO BE OKAY AND THIS WEEK HAS BEEN ROUGH AND ITS GETTING HARD TO NOT. RELATE THINGS TO MY LIFE YKNOW. #this would be okay if I had not been up for 19 hours. But alas #wish I could fall asleep but again. Can’t sleep until the horrors are over. And I don’t think that narratively speaking they will end anyti #The fic is quite good #like in concept. But it’s SO FUCKING SAD!!! AND NOT EVEN IN A WHINEY WAY!!! IN AN ANGRY AWFUL WAY. #I’m getting flashbacks to ATYDs why do I keep reading fic about people yelling at each other

[adhd-mess]

“This is a prison made for gods and monsters, and you are neither.”

I feel like there was a tiny bit of an insult in his explanation there.

But she’ll most likely end up becoming a god or at least a “monster” bc her and her sister are “dark mirrors of each other” and her sister is a god so

#kinda disappointed no fire powers #thought there might be #but shadow powers are really cool too #I just wanted opposition #yknow? #like with eamon and red(my beloveds) they both had the same power #and that gave them an understanding of each other #which is lovely! #no one ever took time too(except neve for red and fife and Lyra for eammon #but no one truly understood them! #neve didn’t/doesn’t understand why red was so resigned to her fate #and that made neve resent her #and eammon is the wolf who steals second daughters #anyway back to the topic #it would’ve been so good to have neve’s powers differ from Solmir’s #but maybe not hugely #maybe like ‘shadow fire’ or something #but Ik why they have the same power #narratively(I can’t think of the right word) #to show that they are more similar than neve wants to believe #to prepare the reader that they will have an understanding of each other #*not prepare I meant foreshadow #a m reads #for the wolf spoilers #for the throne spoilers

[fondcrimes]

the "labru chapter" is the kabru chapter

this is a dungeon meshi love manifesto, but not in the way you think. sorry not sorry for the labrubait

what makes chapter 76 so amazing is kabru’s desperation has little to do with laios specifically. it’s not just about kabru being obsessed with laios and making sure he doesn't cause tragedy, either. I think this chapter emphasizes kabru's struggle with the concept of love and companionship. the point of this chapter is that every critical part of kabru collides at once and renders him useless.

(disclaimer: this post includes a lot of projection/speculation but it's to understand kabru's character arc i promise. for clearer analysis and examination of how kabru's ideologies are constructed, check out this really great post)

kabru is a lone visionary

in ch 76, kabru’s threatened by lycion exposing his true intentions to laios not only bc he wants to prevent laios from joining marcille in her destruction, but also bc laios is also from a short-lived race and kabru needs an ally in his power struggle against elves (esp when the chips are down)

but has kabru really accepted his need for allies in his plight? kabru has spent his adult life suppressing a human urge to connect meaningfully with others. he even keeps rinsha et al. at arm's length in the name of achieving his masculine hero complex/survivor's guilt goals. he's already quite disillusioned bc most adventurers don't have the same goal as he does. so he uses people and gets on their good side for systematic support. he’s well-intentioned and takes care of his party. but the idea that an ally could also protect HIM and make HIM feel safe as well doesn’t really register with him until later on in the narrative bc camaraderie and allyship, at its core, is about acknowledging intimacy. kabru struggles with intimacy sub-textually (his self-neglect and social insincerity) even though he knows how to simulate it to gain others' trust.

but he can’t crack laios, he can’t get him to listen. for lack of a better word, kabru is spoiled by the fruits of his superb perception and emotional intelligence. he also doesn’t cope well with failure (bc his goal is too valuable to ~not~ devote himself to) he puts too much value in conquering laios and when he thinks he's failed, he basically crashes out. the real problem is he still doesn’t understand his true feelings--not feelings for laios, but the root of his desire. the root of his goals and the endless search for companionship.

kabru is a strategic historian

at his core, kabru is a storyteller. he tells himself a variety of stories about his trauma and his goals, which serve as motivation and to some extent, self-protection (as shown in his conversation w mithrun). he deeply understands the role of storytelling in regards to the construction of history and drastic shifts in power.

as an utayan, he understands that the tragedy that overcame his people was not random, but resulted from elven negligence of a disenfranchised people. it is imperative for kabru to cement himself as a voice for otherwise voiceless people. in his story, he has no choice but to handle the hero, if not become the hero himself.

kabru even has a story about his pursuit of laios, mainly that laios is currently the most capable person of defeating the mage and that he must do whatever it takes to ensure laios doesn’t fuck it up. his instincts are right, sure, but at first, he places special value in laios’ capabilities that almost seems unearned… like yes he’s studied the island adventurers with frightening expertise, so it makes sense he would have a good idea about who is the most equipped to succeed. but his early suspicions of the toudens seems to complicate my perception of his knowledge by adding emotional depth and a layer of tinhattery so to speak.

canonically, kabru has been rebuffed by laios multiple times (which is so... lolll) when he's talking with his party, kabru hides behind the excuse of dungeon but he’s been trying to get his attention this whole time. to me it reads like he's got a bruised ego from being ignored and is being a hater about it (so real lol). it's funny bc kabru is usually great at taking shit from others (esp elves) if it means nobody suspects/interrogates his true intentions and he can keep the peace. so why does laios tick him off so bad? now we have to get into the psychoanalysis of it all!

kabru is a cynic

first and foremost, kabru’s cynical philosophy about humans is challenged by the touden mission. but plenty of people don’t care about the impact of their actions, so why does kabru obsess over the toudens at the start? I figured kui changed gears with kabru's characterization following his introduction, but I want to try to connect it to kabru's unresolved survivor's guilt. kabru is the sole survivor of a catastrophe caused by negligence and oversight. he criticizes the negative impact of the toudens' generosity and naïveté and confirms his cynical worldview (the road to hell is paved with best intentions), but still maintains a level-headed perspective. on the other hand, kabru's interactions with laios are tinged with irrational jealousy/resentment/desperation, even prior to kabru learning laios' character/intentions as an adventurer. I cannot emphasize enough that I am employing a neutral definition of jealousy here--it seems kabru is jealous of the freedom to not care the way laios does not care about the fate of the island. this isn't to say laios doesn't care about humans, he does, but he seems so singleminded compared to kabru esp in ch 76. kabru sees laios going to the literal end of the world to save his sister. laios gets to be human selfishly, kind-natured but ultimately self-prioritizing.

kabru correctly assesses motives (besides his own maybe). falin said she’d do anything to protect laios and marcille. laios has been socially rejected by people his whole life, and at first, he only cares about his sister and monsters. kabru has survived horror but only by accident… he doesn't agree with their pov and more importantly, it doesn’t exactly compute with him. the toudens are wholly unaware of their impact, which does not sit well with kabru at all, who understands the impact of negligence better than anyone else, esp how it ends up harming the less fortunate and extremely marginalized in society. it's reminiscent of the age-old trolley problem. while kabru has been the victim of senseless pain, I suspect kabru can’t yet make sense of senseless love. he gets to look down at their cause and call it selfish because it directly contradicts his lived experience.

kabru is an ethicist with a heroic streak

it's easy to glean that kabru wants to be the hero utaya should’ve had. while he's hardcore and intense, but not paranoid enough to do something rash. he uses violence as a means of achieving peace. he's self-aware enough to know his skill limits, which seems rational at a glance but the pressure he puts on himself suggests he views himself as inadequate until he achieves his goal. the races of humans are so split up and he sees that this is a matter of power first and foremost.

with the canaries, kabru submits to political pageantry to make a separate case for innocent people. senseless tragedy is unforgivable, but so is the "too little too late" reality of the canary system. he takes on the impossible task of rallying people together to save the dungeon. one read is that he's saving his childhood self from trauma perhaps by saving those like him… he's wishing someone did something before it got bad, wondering why nobody intervened when they had every opportunity to step in. it’s deeper than a sense of duty or fairness, this is about betrayal and retribution.

throughout his life, kabru struggles with the material inequity and limits of love. the human population is fundamentally segmented into a hierarchy due to lifespans and access to power/resources. his mother was the only one who loved him in utaya and she was ostracized because of his appearance and then she was killed due to senseless tragedy. his frustration with the elves encapsulates this idea perfectly, because he is aware of of the limits of their empathy as a long-lived race and adjusts his strategy and rhetoric accordingly. I think milsiril’s love for kabru is genuine, but still infantilizing and smothering due to the racial imbalance. this continues to inform his politics, as he views their perception of short-lived races with contempt. the worst offense is that their bigotry is nonsensical, meaning their hearts cannot be reasoned with.

dungeon meshi is a story about power and politics, yes, but genuine love and acceptance are the catalysts of change and equality. the "invisible gulf" that marcille is referring to is the inability to view other races with love and care. such is the essence of camaraderie. kabru's backstory, family history, and beliefs/motivations raise two important questions for me: who gets to be loved enough to survive, and then to thrive?

kabru is a monster

the emphasis on distinguishing between humans and monsters is quite interesting too. of all sentient beings, who qualifies as worthy of "human" treatment? who deserves empathy and acceptance? kabru seeks these answers to fix the world, but also to justify his place in it.

kabru's lack of self-worth is evident here, but what’s more interesting is he knows many humans suffer worse fates than some monsters. the dehumanization/neglect of fellow humans does not compute, if the premise is humans are superior to demi-humans/non-humans because mutual empathy and understanding. he clings to the superiority of humanity as an appeal to ethos to those in power despite what he might actually believe about himself. to kabru, the true injustice is that humans won’t even save “inferior” humans despite being the same. his unclear heritage manifests as guilt, as he feels directly responsible for his mother's suffering because he is monstrous. then here comes laios, a human who somehow can find it in himself to love monsters.

kabru doesn’t want laios to love him, per se, but laios’ love for monsters and for falin reveals life-altering possibilities for kabru: there is a world where someone could love him even if he were a monster. there is a world where somebody would go to extreme measures just to save him. kabru does not know the extent of laios' trauma but recognizes a sort of kindred spirit but inverse. taking off the ship goggles here--it has less to do with laios specifically, and more to do with what his beliefs/abilities represent for the trajectory of the world (because kabru studies how beliefs/abilities manifest into material reality, after all)

kabru is seeking the power of love

in a different story, kabru would be laios’ archnemesis. they would have a disastrous battle of opposing worldviews in their struggle for dominion. kabru has every right to want to take laios out bc while his affinity for monsters is sympathetic and even charming, it is still a natural threat… kabru has the true hero pathology. he believes he only deserves to live if he can save people for a variety of reasons/traumas. he should do whatever it takes to exterminate laios. but the expectation is subverted in chapter 76 bc we see kabru’s curiosity and ongoing quest for understanding win over his worst fears.

I feel like I’ve been projecting a lot but bear with me... a huge part of kabru’s character is him trying to figure out how to matter to people, or figuring out why people matter to others in general. it’s not to say he doesn’t matter to his friends or milsiril, but why else would he bother with all the manipulative people-pleasing? it would be less meaningful if he had ulterior motives like greed or power, but he plays into people's expectations/desires for a disastrously noble cause. he’s still actively living in his trauma as a deeply traumatized adult. it’s pure serendipity that laios can send him right back to his past and then pull him right out again. I don't think it's crazy to say kabru (correctly) projects a lot of shit on laios bc he doesn’t know how to deal with those injustices and barriers between people himself.

this is also why I believe kabru's beef with laios is as personal as it is strategic. we have to consider the trajectories of their character arcs (their big missions, respectively) in relation to one another as foils. if laios' love for falin can move mountains and do impossible things, kabru is subconsciously drawn to the magnitude of that love like a magnet. his response to cognitive dissonance is quite remarkable as well. at the root of his unbelievable capacity for understanding and curiosity is the deep wound of being unloved and unprotected. kabru does not avoid or run away from his fears, he quite literally keeps running toward them and follows it down to hell. he wants to identify the true source of his deepest wound.

to me, this omake connects his childhood curiosity to his search for love, almost as to ask “is there enough room for me to be loved?" and the same can be said for marcille's character arc/ backstory. her biracial heritage has caused her great existential pain and social isolation.

in dungeon meshi, the issues of protection and justice continue to be interpreted through love. if kabru were to go back in time and save utaya, he would’ve needed incomprehensible magic, a supernatural power to save himself, his mother, his hometown. in contrast, laios' mission to save falin is just one manifestation of the surreality of love, all of the impossibilities it permits. the touden party wade through invisible gulfs to save falin, but also each other. kabru doesn’t hate their story, he just can’t fathom it yet.

kabru is a skilled strategist and communicator. and does not listen to his heart or body until he’s absolutely forced to do it. he has insane goals and expectations for himself and will go to great measures for those goals. as cerebral and cold as he might seem, it’s critical to understand that his character arc is about love too. in my opinion, it’s almost as if he’s trying to change his reality in hopes of finding love. my favorite thing about kabru is that he has all the narrative makings of the perfect misunderstood villain who self-destructs at the end of the story. but kabru is too smart for that, too focused on the big-picture impacts and the historical trajectory of the cause. instead, kabru finds the wherewithal to stand down once he understands that laios is capable of loving humanity like he does, or that he could help him see the value in humanity at all.

to love is to understand, and then to surrender.

#dungeon meshi #kabru #kabruganda #labru #dungeon meshi meta #long post #dungeon meshi spoilers #hits post and runs away #unfortunately ​everything is about love to me

[moonstruckme]

have a bonfire - send a character + a trope (one bed, fake dating, etc.) and I’ll write a drabble

hii!! first off i wanna say congrats on 5k you deserve it so much!! can i do remus lupin and fake dating please and ty!

Thanks so much lovely!

cw: alcohol

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 969 words

“Your favorite color is green,” you say, passing Remus a glass of champagne. 

His brow twitches as he takes it from you, holding it by the stem like an adult. You adjust your grip on yours accordingly. “What?” 

“Your friend Sirius cornered me by the bar. I panicked.” 

“Ah.” Remus tucks a tongue into his cheek, just shy of the corner of his mouth, and takes a sip. “I’ve always told him I didn’t have a favorite.” 

You chew your lip, nodding. “Okay. That’s okay, we can just say you told me because you’re, like, so into me.” 

He chuckles. “So into you I divulged to you the deep, dark secret of my favorite color?” 

“Mhm. Think he’ll buy it?” 

“He might, actually.” He takes another sip of his champagne, and you remember to have a bit of yours. You could probably use it. Remus looks perfectly composed, and surprisingly dapper in his suit, done up to the top button with the collar just barely brushing a thin, pale scar circling a third of his neck. Contrastly, you’re a jumble of nerves. “Sirius likes to think I’m holding out on them, it might fit into his narrative that I’d kept it a secret all these years.” 

“And if he does figure it out, we could probably just tell him, right?” you ask, and somehow your champagne is half gone. Damned duplicitous, narrow glasses. 

Remus’ smile softens as it bubbles down your throat, and you know he can read what you’re thinking on your face. You’re a shit actress, an even worse liar. You’re going to ruin this for him. 

“We could,” he says, “but he’ll only tell James.” 

“Really?” You look at the man still standing by the bar, now chatting with a blonde you don’t know but suspect in a few minutes will have to pretend you’ve heard Remus talk about a million times. Sirius has managed to wear a leather jacket to a wedding, thrown on right after the reception in what Remus has informed you is typical fashion for him. He grins with one half of his mouth as he talks, flashing canines when he really means it. “He doesn’t strike me as a narc.” 

Remus steps closer to you as someone moves past him, lowering his voice. You can smell his cologne, woody and vaguely sweet. “He’s not. He and James tell each other everything, though.” 

“Oh. That’s sweet, actually.” 

James is the one you’re really here for. It’s his wedding, and months ago when he and his fiancee sent out invitations he’d asked if Sirius or Remus would need a plus-one. Sirius said yes immediately, and by some manner you can’t say you understand but Remus assures you is very typical of them, this evidently devolved into a bet on whether Remus could actually find a date that met his standards and that he was willing to ask to come to the wedding with him. 

As it turns out, Remus is more competitive than you would have guessed. 

According to James and Sirius, no one is ever good enough for him. You’re here to disprove that, though you don’t love that your work crush asked you out because he couldn’t find anyone he wanted to actually date. Still, Remus is your friend, and you were never going to say no to helping him. If you’d known you’d get to see him in this suit, you probably would have said yes even faster. 

“Do you want another?” Remus asks, and you look down to find your champagne glass is empty. 

“Oh my gosh, sorry.” You set the glass down on a nearby table, embarrassment a tickle over your skin. “Yeah, probably best not.” 

“Don’t be sorry.” He tilts his head at you, smiling in that gentle, kind way of his. “You’re here not on a job, love, you should have a good time.” 

“I feel like I am, a little bit.” Your laugh bubbles out of you easily, fizzy like the champagne. “I want to at least act like someone your friends believe you could be interested in.” 

“Just be yourself,” Remus reassures you. “They’ll believe it.” 

Something in your gut flitters at what that could mean. You don’t let yourself think on it. “What if I wanted to dance?” 

He smiles. “Then you should do that.” 

“But would you dance with me?” 

“I would hold your things for you.” His grin takes on a sheepish quality. “Find a chair to watch with all the other lame boyfriends.” 

You tsk. “You’re not lame, Remus.” He looks like he wants to contradict you, but he kisses his teeth instead. “I think I’d rather stay with you, if that’s alright. We can go sit in chairs amongst the lame boyfriends if you like.” 

Remus considers you for a moment. The sky has turned a deep blue around you, the string lights hung up around the space casting a warm glow that filters through his hair and makes it appear more golden than brown. “I would go dance with you if you wanted me to,” he admits. 

You blink. “Really?” 

“Well, maybe not dance so much as hold both our drinks and stand near you while you danced, but I want to stay with you, too.” Remus glances away from your eyes for a moment, a shyness you haven’t seen since you first met in his expression. “If you want to dance, I’ll go with you.” 

You take his hand on impulse, the scars and calluses of his skin alternately rough and smooth between your palms. “I don’t want to make you,” you tell him earnestly, “but I really do want to dance.” 

Remus looks to the side, his smile almost begrudging. “You’re not making me,” he says. 

You end up getting another glass of champagne after all.

#mae's 5k #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x self insert #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fic #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin friends to lovers #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin scenario #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin one shot #remus lupin oneshot #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fandom #the marauders #marauders era #hp marauders #tw alcohol

[nvrsaidiwasinurcloset]

Obsessed - Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader - Part 2

This contains SMUT - Minors DNI

Part 1

Summary: You help Ethan get revenge on his ex that made his life hell.

Contains: Angst, Mentions of abusive behavior, Fluff-ish? idk, Oral - m and f receiving, rough sex, dom!-ish Ethan (If I missed anything, let me know!)

A/N: I SUCK because I've had this almost finished for TWO DAYS and I thought I was going to have the time to finish it. Also, if there are any spelling errors or whatever, I'm sorry😫 If I re-read something I've written too much I start to criticize it and this would've never gotten posted lmao

After your night with Ethan, you woke up determined to right the wrongs that your friends’ narrative created. You felt bad for him, because he was the sweetest, and he didn’t deserve all the hate he got from people that had no idea what the truth was. And the last thing you wanted was for the boy you were starting to fall for to change his mind and decide on transferring to a different school, even after he told you he’d stay.

Your friend kept texting you all night, so much that you finally had to put your phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ just so you could get some sleep. Once you clicked on her message thread and had to scroll a few times to read all the stuff she’d sent you, you got an idea when you made it to the last text she’d sent.

‘How could you do that when it’s obvious I still have feelings for him?’

“Oh shit,” you said, rereading the message a couple times. “That’s it!”

You were about to text Ethan when you saw the ‘Good morning’ text he’d sent you, a sweet smile playing on your lips as you messaged him back.

You: Good morning

You: What are you doing today?

Ethan: I’m going to lunch with my friends soon, wanna join?

You: I wouldn’t be imposing?

Ethan: Not at all. Plus, I really want to see you

You: Where am I meeting you guys?

Ethan: You think I’m going to let you walk there by yourself?

Ethan: Meet me in front of your dorm in an hour

You: See you soon

When you walked outside, you saw Ethan leaning against the brick wall of your dorm. You ran up to him, a huge smile on your face as he pulled you close.

“Hey cutie,” he said, leaning down to kiss you. “How did you sleep?”

“I wish I slept a lot better,” you sighed, “Your ex was texting me all night.”

“Oh…why?” he asked, as he laced his fingers with yours.

“Someone told her I was kissing you at the party last night,” you said, his eyes growing wide at your words.

“What did she say?” he asked as he started to walk, leading the way towards the restaurant.

“That I betrayed her, that you’re going to hurt me just like you hurt her, and that she still has feelings for you.”

“Well, she can choke on her feelings,” he bluntly said, as you started to laugh. “I’m serious. She’s made my life hell.”

“I think I might know how to make things better for you, but I don’t know if you’ll like my idea,” you said, as he curiously looked over at you.

“What are you thinking?”

“What if you asked her to hang out? Like, just say that you miss her and you want to see her. Then you call her out on her bullshit, but record the conversation,” you said, as Ethan took a deep breath. “I can think of something else if you don’t want to be around her.”

“No, I think it’s a good idea,” he said, “I’m not sure if I can fake being nice to her, though. What if I see her and I just blow up on her?”

“I think you can do it,” you said, your thumb rubbing against the top of his hand. “Just think, you get her to confess that everything she’s said about you wasn’t true, and your life can go back to normal.”

“Normal sounds nice,” he said, glancing up to notice all the people looking at him. “I felt like I was invisible in high school. Now I can’t get people to stop staring at me.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re so cute,” you said, half-joking as you smiled at him. “I’m finding it hard to stop staring at you.”

“Stop, you’re going to make me blush,” he said, his free hand running across his face as he tried to compose himself from your flirting. “I think they’re staring right now because I’m with someone as beautiful as you.”

“Who’s making who blush now?” you asked, as he opened the restaurant door for you.

He led you over to the table where his friends were, introducing you to them as you sat down. You recognized Chad from the night before, and Ethan was just praying that he wouldn’t say something embarrassing.

“It’s nice to officially met you,” Chad said, “Ethan hasn’t shut up about you all morning.”

Ethan sighed in defeat as he looked over to his friend, “Seriously?”

“What? It’s true,” Chad shrugged, “He told me you convinced him to stay, which I’ve been trying to do for months.”

“I think things are about to get a lot easier for him,” you said, as Ethan smiled.

“She’s a genius,” he said, wrapping his arm around you. “Apparently my ex still has feelings for me. Fuck, I need to text her.” Ethan slid his phone out of his pocket and unblocked her number, before typing. “Does this sound okay?” he asked, showing you the ‘I miss you. can we talk?’ text.

“As long as you don’t actually miss her, then yeah,” you said, as Ethan started to laugh.

“Fuck no,” he said, as he pressed send.

“Wait…if she still has her feelings, why would she spread all those rumors?” Tara asked, as Mindy jumped in the conversation.

“She doesn’t want anyone else to have him.”

“That’s fucked up,” Chad said, as Ethan’s phone vibrated against the table.

Ethan looked over to you before he picked his phone up. You could tell he was nervous, you were, too.

“She asked me what I’m doing tonight,” he sighed, “She wants me to take her to dinner.”

“Do you feel comfortable with that?” you asked, his expression unreadable.

“Do you feel comfortable with that?” he questioned, “You know how she is. She’ll probably try to be affectionate.”

“I’ll kill her,” you said with a straight face as Ethan started to laugh. “I’m serious…if she touches you, she’s dead.”

“Ooh, what if we stake out at the restaurant,” Tara suggested, “We sit far enough away, but we can still see what’s going on.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Ethan sighed, “I could only imagine what she’d say once she finds out it’s all bullshit. What if she says I put my hands on her or something?”

“You’ll have witnesses. I’ll come,” Chad said, as Mindy agreed to come along, too.

“Okay, I’m meeting her at 7,” he said, as his hand rubbed against your leg under the table.

Once everyone finished eating, you and Ethan were invited over to Tara’s. Ethan had other plans though, asking you if you wanted to go to his dorm for a little bit first. You agreed, because you wanted to spend alone time with him before he had to meet with his ex.

“Are you sure you’re okay with me going out with her tonight?” Ethan asked, once you’d made it back to his dorm. “I haven’t even taken you on our first date yet, and I’m taking her on one. It doesn’t feel right.”

“I’m okay with it as long as you don’t get sucked back in,” you said, a nervous smile playing on your lips as you sat down on his bed. “She’s good at convincing.”

“I won’t,” he promised, as he took a seat beside you. “The only one sucking me in is you.”

“Do you know what you’re going to say to her?” you asked, trying to fight the blush that was spreading to your cheeks.

“Well, I thought I’d start the conversation with the ‘I’m happy you wanted to see me’ and go from there. I think I’ll bring up the rumors and stuff after we start eating,” he sighed. “I hope she doesn’t deny it.”

“Just say you won’t give her another chance unless she admits it, because I told you she was the one spreading everything about you,” you suggested, as he shook his head.

“I’m not throwing you under the bus like that.”

“She’s already pissed at me. Why does it matter?” you asked, “Because honestly, she’s not my friend, not if she’s that shitty of a person. I don’t care what she thinks about me.”

“What if she starts shit about you, too?” he questioned, making you scoff.

“What can she say about me? Everyone will know she’s a liar after tonight.”

You talked with Ethan for a while about the right things to say and do, and as the hours started to pass, he was getting really stressed. He laid back on the bed and pulled you close to cuddle.

“We should probably go to Tara’s soon,” he said, as his fingertips rubbed across your back. With the lack of sleep from the night before, you were starting to feel really drowsy with the soothing motions. “Fuck, I’m so worried that I’ll just snap once I see her. I feel myself getting angrier.”

“You have every right to feel that way,” you said, as your hand rubbed across his stomach. “But I might know I way for you to release some of that tension.”

“What did you have in mind?” he asked, already having a hunch with the suggestiveness in your tone. You didn’t say anything as your hand traveled lower, running over the slight bulge in his jeans. You felt him getting harder the longer you rubbed, his hips shifting as he tried to get comfortable.

You sat up to look at him before your hand reached up to the button of his jeans. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about last night,” you said, your eyes on his as you slid his zipper down. “No one’s ever made me cum as hard as you did.”

You started to tug on his jeans as he lifted his hips, making it a little easier for you to get them down.

“Do you want me to make you cum right now?” he asked, as you laughed and shook your head.

“No, baby. I’m going to take care of you,” you said, sliding his boxers down. He gasped the second his cock sprang free from the confines of his boxers, your hand moving to lazily stroke it as he watched you, his bottom lip in between his teeth. “I’ve been dying to do this.”

With his size, you knew you wouldn’t be able to fit all of it in your mouth, but you were determined to make him feel so good that the only thing he thought about on his fake date with your friend was you. You started with his tip, your tongue swirling around it. You paid extra attention to the underside the head of his cock because he kept gasping every time your tongue brushed against it. Then you slowly started to take him in your mouth, as his hand went to your hair.

“Fuck,” he sighed, as he watched you. He thought you were always beautiful but seeing you like this made him even more attracted to you. Your eagerness to please him just like he took care of you the night before showed him how down for him you really were, and the way that you thought of a plan to help him get his life back to normal had him falling for you harder than he expected to, at least this soon.

Once you started to gag, his hand that was resting loosely in your hair started to pull it a little, the feeling making you moan around him. You just kept going, the drool from all your gagging starting to drip down his cock. You reached your hand up to stroke what you couldn’t fit in your mouth, as your cheeks hollowed and how head started to bob.

“Shit, baby,” he groaned once your hand started to twist a little. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

His praise motivated you even more, your head moving quicker as he struggled to keep quiet. Not that he needed to be, but he had so many different sounds threatening to slip past his lips. He was fighting to keep his hips still. It was taking everything in him to not thrust into your mouth. You noticed that he was holding back, so you pulled away, your hand still moving as you looked at him. Your eyes were glassy from all the tears that formed, your lips were swollen, and Ethan was just so in awe of you.

“You don’t have to just lay there,” you said, the slight rasp in your voice from all the gagging quickly becoming his new favorite sound. “I can take it.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, as you mumbled a “Mhm.”

You took him back in your mouth, and it didn’t take long for his hips to thrust. Your hand kept you from taking more than you could handle, but you were still gagging so much. Every time your throat tightened; Ethan felt himself getting closer to the edge.

“I’m gonna cum,” he groaned, his hand tugging on your hair as his hips stuttered.

You glanced up to see him as his orgasm hit. His eyes were fluttering as the salty liquid coated your taste buds, his head rolling back. The grip he had on your hair loosened as you slowed down, before you slid him out of your mouth.

“How was that?” you asked, as he tore his gaze away from the ceiling to look at you. He had a goofy smile on his face as his hands reached out to grab you and pull you close.

“That was perfect, babe,” he said, as he started to get a little curious. “How’d you get so good at that?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to,” you playfully said, as he chuckled. “We really should go to Tara’s.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking if you guys go to the restaurant early, she would be less likely to see you,” he said, as his hands started to rub your back again.

“We better go now, because you’re going to make me fall asleep,” you said, pushing yourself off his chest.

Once you made it to Tara’s, Ethan was way calmer than he was before. You knew the plan would work, but now you had more confidence that he’d be able to keep his cool. When everyone said they were ready to go, Ethan wrapped his hands around your waist from behind you. You turned to face him, a sweet smile on your lips as he leaned down to kiss you.

“Thank you,” he said, as you curiously looked at him.

“For what?”

“For being amazing,” he said, stealing one more kiss as Mindy fake-gagged in the background.

“Okay, if we’re going to make it to the restaurant before them, we need to go now,” she said, as you hesitantly pulled away from Ethan.

“I’ll see you soon,” you said, following Ethan’s friends out the door.

Once Ethan and his ex made it to the restaurant, you could feel the jealousy building. You saw the simple touches against his arm, the flirty smile on her lips. You felt your blood start to boil as you huffed and turned your attention to his friends.

“You okay?” Tara asked, noticing the pissed expression on your face.

“She was touching him,” you said, glancing back over to see them seated at the table.

“You really like him, huh?” Chad asked, as you felt your cheeks start to heat up.

“Yeah,” you said, your angry expression turning into a smile as you thought about Ethan.

“He really likes you too,” Tara said, as Chad nodded.

“Yeah, I told you, he wouldn’t shut up about you this morning.”

Everyone kept glancing towards Ethan’s table, but you were trying so hard not to. You just wanted to focus on eating the food in front of you, even though you didn’t have much of an appetite. You didn’t want to see him doing what he could to get the confession out of her, but once Mindy mumbled “Oh shit.” you finally looked up.

“Are they arguing?” Tara asked, as Chad nodded.

“He looks pissed.”

You watched your friend try to grab Ethan’s hand on the top of the table, but he pulled it away before he stood up. He searched the restaurant for the table that you were at before he walked over.

“I got her confession. Let’s go, babe,” he said, as you stood up. He took your hand in his before he turned to Chad. “I’ll send you money for her food. Is that cool?”

“Yeah, we’ll leave soon. You want to come back to Tara’s?” Chad said, as Ethan shrugged.

“Not right now, I need to blow off some steam.”

Your heart started to pound, butterflies fluttering around in your stomach as he walked with you. You weren’t sure how he wanted to let out his aggression, but you really hoped that it’d be in his bed. He led you out of the restaurant, your hand in his. Once your friend saw, she jumped up from the table and followed you outside.

“Hey,” she said, grabbing your shoulder after she caught up to you.

“Don’t touch me,” you snapped, turning to face her.

“What the fuck was all of this?” she asked, as Ethan tried to pull you away. “Honey, he doesn’t want you if he asked me out tonight.”

“Honey, he asked you out tonight so you’d confess to all the fucked up things you’ve said about him,” you yelled, your words full of venom as she started to laugh.

“Aww, are you trying to get people to believe that he isn’t some asshole?” she asked, and your hands involuntarily clenched at your sides. You were furious with the smug look on her face and the snarky tone. “Good luck trying to prove it.”

“I’ll prove it,” Ethan said, as he started to play back the video so she could hear it. Her face dropped, before she tried to grab his phone from his hands.

“Aww, are you worried everyone’s going to find out how much of a lying bitch you are?” you asked, your tone matching hers as she started to get mad. “You can’t just fuck up someone’s life and get away with it.”

Your conversation with her wasn’t quiet, and people started to gather around. They were probably anticipating the altercation to get physical, but you refused to give everyone that satisfaction.

“You really are a shitty friend,” she said, making you scoff.

“You’re a shitty person! You spread so much shit about Ethan that wasn’t true. How the fuck do you sleep at night knowing you’ve been ruining his life all year?”

“He shouldn’t have broken up with me,” she snapped, “But it’s okay. You aren’t what he really wants. It’s cute that you think you’ll ever compare to me.”

“That’s the reason I am interested in her!” Ethan yelled, “She’s nothing like you! You told everyone I was controlling, that I was mentally and emotionally abusive. That’s what YOU were!”

She was about to say something, when she glanced around and noticed all the people with their phones out, pointed at her. You noticed some of the girls that you’d heard talk about Ethan staring at the ground, disappointed in themselves that they helped spread the rumors. Some of the guys that had gathered around shook their heads at her.

“That’s fucked up,” one of the guys said, before one of the girls jumped in.

“Yeah, you’re going to make all of us seem like we’re lying if something happens to us. That really is fucked up.”

You looked over to Ethan, your eyes wide as he tried to fight a smile from forming on his lips. He saw her little reign of terror crumbling, and it was so satisfying to watch.

She suddenly felt the urge to save face, walking over to Ethan. He backed away from her as she sighed in frustration.

“I’m sorry, Ethan,” she said, as he started to laugh.

“You’re only sorry because people know who you really are now,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You don’t care that you fucked this whole year up for me. All you cared about was making sure no one else wanted me, but how funny is it that one of your friends does?”

“Oh, we’re not friends,” you said, looking over at her. “Good luck finding someone here that wants to be with you after what you did to him.”

Ethan grabbed your hand to lead you away from her, as she stood there in the awkward tension. Once you and Ethan made it a block away, you both started to laugh.

“Maybe I didn’t need to record the conversation with her,” he said, “Almost everyone recorded that shit just now.”

“I’m happy for you, babe,” you said, as he leaned down to kiss you. It wasn’t a quick peck like you expected, your mouths moving together as you made out on the sidewalk.

“It was so hot watching you stand up to her like that,” he said against your lips once you pulled away to catch your breath. “Let’s go to my dorm. Chad’s going to Tara’s.”

“And what would we do?” you asked, a smirk playing on your lips as he smiled.

“I think celebratory sex is the perfect way to end tonight, followed by you staying over once I tell Chad he can’t come home.”

Once Ethan got you back to his dorm, he unbuttoned the jeans you were wearing the second you slid your shoes off your feet.

“Someone’s eager,” you giggled, as he led you to the bed.

“You have no idea,” he said, pushing you back.

Your legs were hanging off the side of the bed as he pulled your jeans and panties down your legs, the aggressiveness of it making you more wet than you already were. He dropped to the floor, sitting on his knees as he moved your legs to rest on his shoulders. He started with small licks to your clit, teasing you a little just so he could make you squirm. Your legs resting on him pulled him closer once he wasn’t giving you what you needed. He chuckled against you before he started to swirl his tongue around your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Fuck, just like that,” you said, your hand moving to rest in his curls.

His hands grabbed your hips to pull you even closer to his mouth, a squeal slipping past your lips once you felt your ass hanging off the bed.

“I won’t let you fall, baby,” he said, before his tongue went back to your clit.

You felt two of his fingers brushing against your entrance, a low moan falling out of your mouth once he slid them inside of you. You glanced down to look at him and saw his eyes on you. He couldn’t stop watching the way your chest started to rise and fall quicker and all the cute little faces you were making.

He started to angle his fingers just right, pressing them against the spongy spot inside of you as he suckled on your clit. Your hand pulled his hair, the other one gripping at the sheets as your moans got louder.

You felt that feeling starting to build, your body getting hotter as he pressed his fingers even harder.

“Oh shit,” you whimpered, as he sucked harder on your clit. “Cumming.”

Your back arched off the bed as the legs around Ethan’s shoulders clenched around him, holding him in place as he kept fucking you with his fingers. He slowed down a little once your pussy started to spasm, the loud whines falling from your lips echoing off the walls as he worked you through it.

Once your body relaxed, he slid his fingers out of you, and gave your clit a few more gentle licks before he rolled you over, your wobbly legs trying to stabilize themselves as your feet rested against the floor. You were still so blissed out, your senses still on overdrive as you heard the sound of his zipper getting slid down. After he took off his jeans and boxers, you waited in anticipation as he walked over to his nightstand to grab a condom. Once he came back over to you, he ran his hands over your ass that was proudly sticking up in the air for him.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he chuckled as he rolled the condom on.

He inched himself inside of you, soft moans slipping past your lips as he filled you up. When he stilled inside of you, he ran his hands over your hips as his cock stretched you out.

“You can move now,” you said, your voice muffled by his bed sheets.

He started off with slow, deep thrusts. He slid his cock out of you every time, his breathing getting heavier every time the tip went in and out of your entrance. Your hips started to move back to meet his slow thrusts, but he pulled back even further.

“Please, baby,” you begged, as you heard him chuckle from behind you.

“How bad do you want it?” he asked, as his hands moved from your ass to grip your hips. You huffed in response, as he slowed down even more. “If you want me to give you what you want, you better tell me.”

“I want it so fucking bad,” you pouted, as he smirked at how needy you were.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Before you could say anything else, he started to pound into you. He was pulling your hips back to meet his thrusts, your legs tingling as you struggled to hold yourself up. You were clinging to his sheets, whimpers flooding out of your mouth as he slammed into that spot every single time.

“So fucking tight,” he grunted, as you moaned in response.

Ethan had gone absolutely feral, one of his hands snaking under you to pull you back against him as he fucked up into you. He was squeezing at one of your breasts over your shirt as his other hand kept pulling your hips down.

“Are you mine?” he growled in your ear, this new side of Ethan turning you on more than you already were. You were trying so hard to form words, but they wouldn’t come out. The sounds of your wet pussy and skin slapping were filling the room as you felt the coil in the pit of your stomach getting tighter. “Are you too cock drunk to answer me?”

You nodded your head as he laid you back on the bed, your hands grasping at the sheets again as he fucked you even harder. Your whimpers were turning to cries as your legs started to shake, your orgasm taking over your body so strong that you swore you were going to black out from how good it felt.

“Almost there, baby,” he said, your pussy squeezing him so tight that he felt like he could bust at that feeling alone. After a few more deep thrusts, he moaned out, his cum filling the tip of the condom. He caught his breath for a minute before he slid out of you, smiling at the way your body was relaxed on his bed.

“I am,” you said, after he got rid of the condom and helped you get the rest of your body up on the bed.

“You’re what?” he questioned, as he laid down and pulled you close.

“I’m yours.”

After that night, your former friend only lasted a couple weeks at the university once everyone realized how she really was. She switched to online classes until she transferred to a college closer to her and Ethan’s home town. Your relationship with Ethan got more serious that he was bringing you home for the holidays. You were taking all these cute little photos in front of one of the light displays when you saw her with someone you assumed to be her new boyfriend, but she quickly walked away with him the second she saw you and Ethan.

“You think she’s going to do the same shit to him that she did to me?” he asked, wrapping his arm around you as you walked along the path of lights.

“No, I think she learned her lesson.”

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #scream smut #ethan landry smut #smut

[ichorai]

stitch ; coriolanus snow.

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; and he clearly wasn’t thinking straight, because his feet didn’t bring him back to his own filthy, dirty, rat-infested home. he brought himself to your winged estate, gardened and manicured and polished to perfection.

words ; 8.7k

themes ; angst, action, mild fluff

warnings / includes ; themes of classism, violence/injury/death/drug misuse, foul language, lucky being lucky, a lot of kisses, coryo's paranoia, he's much more toxic this chapter someone pls save reader (aka doomed by the narrative), i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3

a/n ; thank you for all the support on this series so far! if i've planned this out right, there will be two more parts coming after this one!

series masterlist. main masterlist.

Considering you survived numerous explosions and a metal-pipe lodged in your abdomen, you weren’t looking all that bad. Though you were still badly aching, the injuries you had sustained during the bombings strayed away from your face, save for a few small cuts and bruises that would heal in no time. It made it easy for you to pretend like everything was okay as you donned a crisp, ironed, academy uniform. A new one, that wasn’t stained with your blood and the arena’s dust.

All the doctors had advised you to stay at the hospital to rest and recover. But with the games starting in mere hours… you couldn’t leave Wovey alone. You made a promise, and you intended to keep it.

After surprisingly little begging, your mother caved and signed the release forms for you, on the condition that you’d stay on a wheelchair for the entire duration of the games—or until you were fully healed. Whichever came first. 

Coriolanus came early that morning, looking more tired than the last time you saw him, and promised your mother that he’d take care of you with a charming smile. He kissed your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your jaw, before wheeling you off to the academy. The warm, fresh wind was refreshing against your face, billowing your hair to and fro.

“I gave her rat poison,” Coriolanus said as he pushed you along. 

The suddenness of his words startled you into a flabbergasted silence. You stared straight ahead for a few moments, lips screwing to the side, trying your best to remain calm. Then, you gritted out, “What in Panem made you think that was a good idea? If Highbottom finds out… it’ll be over for you, Coryo. That’ll be grounds for worse than expulsion.”

“Lucy Gray has to win. She can’t—on her own. I had to give her something.” Coriolanus’ hands flexed on the handles of the wheelchair. 

“I can’t cover for you forever, Coryo,” you whispered, words almost lost to the wind. But he heard.

He narrowed his pale eyes at the back of your head. “You won’t tell, will you?” There was a biting edge to his tone.

“You’re an idiot if you think I would.” You pressed a hand over your bandaged abdomen, obscured by the vibrant red fabric. “Besides—if you go down, I’d go down with you. With enough secrets of yours I bite down on… that makes me an accomplice, too.”

Lucky Flickerman’s eyes were wide as saucers when you showed up to the academy in a wheelchair. He fluttered over to you with a reporter following close behind him, shoving a camera into your face. You loved him, truly, but it was hard to tell apart the Lucky that appeared in front of cameras and the real Lucky your mother was best friends with. A myriad of questions fell from the mustached man’s mouth, and you only managed to answer one and a half of them before Sejanus appeared, and Lucky turned to him to ask him questions about his missing tribute.

With a roll of his eyes, Coriolanus pushed you down a ramp (one that hadn’t been there until just a few hours ago, when they heard news of you coming in a wheelchair), and settled you in front of a monitor with your name on it, in the middle of the rows of seats. His was by the very edge, much to both of your dismay.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he told you, enveloping one of your hands in both of his. He kneeled down in front of you so he’d be at eye-level.

You nodded, but pursed your lips. “Why did you tell me? About the…” You trailed off, worried someone would overhear. But he knew what you were talking about—the rat poison.

He tried his best to give you a genuine smile, nudging his knuckles beneath your chin. They felt cold against your skin—a stark contrast to what the wind outside had felt like. “It’s like you said, isn’t it? Enough secrets of mine you hoard, the more you’re tethered to me.”

You couldn’t quite tell if he was joking. Your lips parted, but no words left your tongue.

Dipping forward, he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Let’s hope this is over quickly.”

Let’s hope they all die quick, he might as well have said.

“Mmh,” you told him, sparing something akin to a smile. Though, it might’ve looked more like a grimace. Coriolanus’ head was far too preoccupied to notice. You felt sick, and glanced around at all the other students who were taking their seats. Lucky was making his way to the front to get some final touch-ups, flashing you an encouraging wink.

A minute later, he waved away the makeup artists and brandished a microphone from thin air. You almost rolled your eyes—his amateur magic tricks were certainly getting better and better.

“Okay, everyone, places! We’re about to go live! Just because we’re not hosting doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. Help me out here, alright? Don’t get lost behind your screens. No yawning, no gum-chewing—keep your chins down, heads up, shoulders back, people! And—do remember to smile. It’s why we have teeth.”

Lucky began grinning from ear-to-ear as a demonstration. 

His teeth are far too white for his face, Coriolanus thought as he settled into his seat. A shade brighter and I’d surely go blind.

With a hand raised, Lucky began counting down with his fingers. He announced himself with his usual charming flair—and when the music started thrumming, low and ominous, he began wishing everyone a happy Hunger Games, before rushing off to stand behind all the students. 

The large screen in the center of the theater lit up with a shot of the tributes walking into the arena. Several dozens of smaller screens surrounding it gave the students a wide plethora of different angles. 

Your throat went dry upon seeing Wovey and Lucy Gray emerge from the entrance tunnel holding hands. They smiled at each other—one of the smaller cameras managed to catch it just perfectly—all soft and encouraging. Peacekeepers pushed the two onward with the barrels of their guns and they were forced to separate. 

“Stand on your marks or you will be shot,” the announcement system buzzed.

Some of the tributes sobbed. Some of them hardened with determination.

The cameras panned around—until one of them landed on a hanging body, strung up by bloody ropes. Your eyes widened when you recognized him as Sejanus’ tribute.

Was he dead?

His chest gave a hunkering breath, though shallow and wheezy, and you dreaded to think about how much pain he must’ve been in. 

“Guess we can all sleep better now knowing he’s off the streets,” Lucky said into the microphone. The audience of students behind you burst into sporadic cheers and bouts of laughter.

This must’ve been the last straw for Sejanus, as he got up from his desk and just about chucked the entire monitor across the theater. It fell against the stage with several clutters and thunks. Many of the students nearby flinched. 

“YOU’RE MONSTERS!” he screamed, face wrought with anguish. “ALL OF YOU!”

With that, he stormed out. Perhaps if you weren’t confined to your wheelchair or in a great amount of pain you would’ve followed him, you thought. But maybe you were just making excuses for yourself.

Sejanus was a brave man with a rash head. You were neither brave nor rash.

Lucky began to count down again. And just as he reached one, a loud, buzzer-like sound rang through the arena. Echoed into the theater from the monitors.

The tributes began running every which way. You had your eyes fixed on Wovey. At first, she seemed to jaggedly step towards the center, where a selection of weapons were laid out. But she thought better of it once she saw all the commotion and scuttled back to the rows of seats as fast as she could. She climbed and climbed, and your chest was heavy with the idea of her falling, or of someone following her. Nobody did, thankfully.

There you go, sweetheart. Hide.

The last you saw of Wovey was the top of her small head before she disappeared behind the dusty seats. Good.

Then, you turned your attention to Lucy Gray, running around and screaming for Jessup. You briefly glanced back at Coriolanus, who was looking incredibly tense. His entire face seemed to be set into a deep frown.

What is she doing? he mouthed, mostly to himself. Run!

Immediately, buzzes rang out through the theater as tributes were slowly eliminated and disappointed students got up from their seats. You tried your best to avert your eyes from all the blood and gore. The screams, however, you couldn’t escape. A girl three seats away from you puked all over the floor, much to Lucky’s irritation.

To your relief, Lucy Gray managed to find Jessup amidst the chaos, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the hole in the ground—into the tunnels. A few angry tributes were following after them at a worryingly quick pace. Lucky made a rather smug comment about the gamemakers being prepared enough to have security cameras installed in every nook and cranny, even after the bombing “disruption”. 

You let out a large breath you didn’t realize you were holding in when Lucy Gray managed to crawl into a room through a flap in the door, Jessup hot on her heels. The tributes cursed and yelled, but no one dared follow in after the two in fear of getting hurt while trying to get in.

“Thirteen tributes remain,” announced Lucky. He looked to you and gave you a wink. “Reaper still looming large on top of the charts while Coral and her pack try to make a play. Little Wovey has done an excellent job of scaling the broken columns and hiding beneath what’s left of the seats. Let’s hope we see her soon.”

You glanced at your monitor. There were options to send her food or water if need be. But not yet. You had to be resourceful with the donations you had.

“Six tributes gone in minutes. If they keep it up at this pace… we’re going to be out of here in no time.”

Many hours passed. It was incredibly quiet for a long time—save for Lucky moving off to the side to do some reporting of the weather. Some students even fell asleep by their monitors. 

You were growing tired too, lids heavy with exhaustion and head bobbing up and down a few times. You tried to keep yourself awake, paranoid that something could happen to Wovey if you were to accidentally doze off. To your relief, you snapped awake when a hand rested on your shoulder and Coriolanus kneeled down beside you, offering a bottle of water. It felt wrong to be drinking at your leisure when the tributes were probably parched right now. 

You took the bottle with a grateful mutter of thanks and took a hefty swig.

“How are you feeling? Your wounds okay?” His hand moved up to gently smooth over the back of your head.

“I think so,” you replied, before grimacing. “I don’t like watching this, Coryo. I never have.”

“I’m sorry,” he offered. “I can take you back, if you want. To the hospital.”

“No. I have to stay,” you protested. He seemed relieved at this, not keen on leaving any time soon. 

With a curt nod, he gestured back to his own seat. “Just—let me know if you need anything.”

“You should focus on your tribute, Coriolanus,” you told him, brushing the back of your fingers along his jaw.

“My tribute didn’t have a metal pipe sticking out of her a day ago,” he whispered. “You’re priority number one. You always will be.”

“Well, I’m fine. Lucy Gray, however, is much more at risk,” you replied airily. “If my Wovey can’t win… I’d really rather see her alive.”

Those pale eyes of his searched yours.

“I love you,” he said. It was abrupt and sounded as if someone was strangling it out of him.

“I love you, too. Get back to your seat before Highbottom finds a way to get mad at you,” you told him. With a pointed jerk back to his seat, you heavily emphasized, “Again.”

With a squeeze of your shoulder (you tried your best not to grimace, since he pressed right against a large bruise on your collarbone), he rose back to full height and headed back to his monitor. 

The arena was still silent, even an hour later. Just as you were beginning to seriously consider taking a nap, there came a rustling from the rubble. Lamina, the other district two tribute, rose from behind a large stone slab, and approached the hanging Marcus.

His blood from all the exposed wounds he’d acquired had slowly dripped down his body and formed a frighteningly sizable, semi-dried puddle down below. It was a wonder how he hadn’t already succumbed to his wounds. 

Lamina climbed up the broken stone columns to make her way to him. There were several dried tear tracks on her face, and her nose was very red. Lamina stroked Marcus’ head, and he seemed to jerk alive with her touch. His chest rose and fell in a broken, staggering motion. 

“Please…” he croaked. “Please…” 

He dissolved into gentle sobs.

When Lamina raised her hatchet, you tore your eyes away and looked downward. There came a sick squelch as she struck him and the audience gasped. Lamina cut at his bonds and watched his body crumple down to the ground. Donations for Lamina began to steadily climb higher.

Pup Harrington, Lamina’s mentor, decided to take it upon himself to be the first one to send his tribute a drone with water. Dread settled the pit of your stomach when the drone buzzed in through the broken rooftop of the arena—but it didn’t seem to slow down. No, it only accelerated faster and faster the closer it got. Lamina gave a little shriek and ducked just in time—the drone crashed into the stone column and exploded into a thousand metal parts. The glass water bottle fell down below and shattered by Marcus’ now-dead body.

How were you supposed to send Wovey water now? Perhaps you’d send her food instead—that way, it wouldn’t shatter and go to waste if it hit anything. You scrolled through the options on your monitor. Apples would be a good choice. Plenty of water in them. But you held back—Wovey might’ve been asleep underneath those seats.

A few more hours passed by, slipping well into nightfall. You took a vial of prescribed morphling from your bag and downed it in one go. You could feel it buzzing through your system almost immediately, numbing the sting of your still-healing wounds. It just so happened that Highbottom swept down the steps then, eyeing you behind those spectacles of his. You shuddered and leaned your head down onto the table. The drugs were making you incredibly sleepy.

Highbottom stopped just behind Coriolanus. “You can’t save her by watching,” he murmured to his most loathsome student. “What do you want from that girl?”

“Nothing,” the blonde gritted out. “I want her to live.”

“Mmh. And the Plinth Prize would be a happy coincidence, I suppose.”

Coriolanus’ eyes squinted at nothing in particular. “I believe I’d be entitled to it.”

“Of course you do,” Highbottom retorted, tone heavy with condescension. “And who do you think makes the final decision for the prize you so covet, Mr. Snow? Wake up. Even if Lucy Gray Baird somehow wins it all, I will do everything in my power to make sure that you don’t see a single dime. So… ask yourself this: how much do you care if she lives now?”

Coriolanus was gripping his hands into fists so tight that they turned a ghostly-white.

“And I know… if the young and talented Y/N wins that prize… it’ll go straight to you. Isn’t that right?” Highbottom’s lips twitched in amusement when Coriolanus stiffened. “So it seems that neither of you will be seeing that prize, Mr. Snow.”

His jaw twitched, and he snapped his head to the scowling dean. “You can’t punish them because of me. That’s not fair. Y/N doesn’t deserve that.”

Highbottom let out a gruff laugh, quiet enough for nobody to notice. Mostly everyone had gone home or was asleep, anyway. “It’s not like Y/N would have won anyway—not with that quiet little runt. Kid was doomed from the very start. Take a good look in front of you, boy. Take a look at those tributes—and then you come and tell me what’s fair.”

The very last word was practically spat at him. The dean turned on his heel and marched off. 

Still, hours passed by silently. Lucky was clearly growing agitated with the fact that things were moving so slowly. He’d already had to cancel two dinner appointments.

When Volumnia Gaul stepped into the academy, a dark cloak draped over her shoulders, you were already half-awake. She stood beside you menacingly, and you startled into full alert with a small noise of surprise, the bright blue of one of her eyes boring right into you. She said your name then, all low and elongated. You could barely suppress the shiver that ran down your spine. Still groggy, your blurry peripheral vision told you that practically every one had retired for the night. Save for a few straggler students and, of course, Coryo. You noticed, with muted interest, that every single screen was frozen on an image of the Panem crest, rather than the security camera footage inside the arena.

“I can smell the morphling on you,” she muttered, brows raised. “You should go home. Get some rest. Change those bandages of yours.”

You glanced down at your abdomen—a grimace made its way onto your face when you noticed that your uniform (new, mind you), was stained with a fresh bout of blood. You’d bled through your bandages. With a frown, you uneasily swallowed. It didn’t seem like Dr. Gaul was going to accept no for an answer.

“I, uh—” She noticed the way you began to angle yourself to Coriolanus. He’d fallen asleep by his monitor, in a similar fashion to you.

Her mouth pursed in mock-sympathy. “Coriolanus wants to stay. Watch over his songbird. I suggest you find someone else to wheel you back home.”

Your lips parted in surprise. A part of you wanted to protest, but you were far too tired to argue. “I can get myself home,” you told her. “Good night, Dr. Gaul.”

A creaky, amused titter fell from her throat. “Your little one is good at hiding. A shame she’s not going to make it.”

A wave of nausea rolled over you. You determinedly fixed your gaze on the ground and began to push yourself out of the academy. Volumnia watched you go with narrowed eyes. Once she was sure you were gone, she made her way to Coriolanus. 

The boy had a job to do.

Bobbin’s blood was still all over his hands. Dried, now. Dark with time. Dr. Gaul stitched up the gash on his left shoulder blade—he wondered if you had been in this much pain when you woke up in the hospital. But it was different, because he was slashed by a little boy, and you fell onto a metal pipe. Coriolanus wasn’t sure which one was better. 

Not that it was a competition. It was all Sejanus’ fault anyway, he concluded.

He had wanted to sprinkle bread crumbs on his dead tribute’s body. What a waste.

Once Dr. Gaul had sent him off back home with his wound tightly bound, he staggered out with a heavy chest and tear-stained cheeks.

And he clearly wasn’t thinking straight, because his feet didn’t bring him back to his own filthy, dirty, rat-infested home. He brought himself to your winged estate, gardened and manicured and polished to perfection. 

This should be mine, he thought. I should have this. I deserve this.

And then, another irrational thought crossed his mind as he rang the doorbell. 

It will be mine.

The doors swung open—which mildly surprised him, considering it was very late at night—and your mother peeked her head out. She eyed him with part confusion, part surprise. Then, she caught sight of the blood on his hands. The door widened to let him through. 

Almost immediately when he stepped in, your mother roped him into a warm embrace. He inhaled and choked on air. And then, he dissolved into a fit of wracking sobs. She crooned and stroked her hand along the back of his head.

“What’s this, Coriolanus? Whose blood is this?”

He hiccuped and drew in a staggered breath. “It’s… mine. I got into a fight with a classmate about the Games. It got violent and bloody—Dr. Gaul fixed me up.” He emphasized a wince and gestured to the wound on his shoulder. He let your mother fuss over him, demanding to take a look at the gash. Reluctant, he unbuttoned his uniform again to let her see.

It seemed the commotion was enough to wake you up, because you had limped to the top of the grand staircase with sleepy eyes and messy hair. 

Once your mother caught sight of you out of bed, she pulled away from Coriolanus to chastise you, but her words fell on deaf ears. You mumbled out your boyfriend’s name in confusion, before leaning heavily against the bannister to slowly step down, wincing with the movement. 

Coriolanus was quick to move upstairs, meeting you near the top, as you had only managed to descend a handful while he jogged to you. He cupped your face first, smoothing his thumbs over your jaw the way he always did. And when you spread your arms, he just about fell into you, his nose dropping down to the junction between your neck and your shoulder. His entire form trembled with his cries, muffled into your skin. 

It was as if he’d been reduced to a child all over again. Eating paste, salty with his tears of hunger. 

“Coryo,” you whispered, gripping at his waist. “Coryo, please tell me what’s going on. You’re worrying me.”

He hesitantly withdrew his damp face away from your neck. “Can we… talk privately?”

With pursed lips, you looked down to your mother at the bottom of the staircase.

She cleared her throat tiredly. “I’ll leave you two be. But no funny business, understand? Y/N needs to recover.”

With a serious stare in Coriolanus’ direction, she turned and marched off to the Northern wing.

“Come on,” you told him. “Let’s go to my room.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, rubbing the space between his brows. His arm wrapped over your waist to help you up the few steps. “It’s so late, and I just barged in and interrupted your sleep—”

“Coryo, you’re covered in blood. Sleep is the last thing on my mind.”

Once in your room, you shut the door and leaned against it. Coriolanus made his way to your bed and sat on it, face buried into his hands.

“Does this have something to do with Dr. Gaul?” you asked, watching him with keen eyes. 

His head snapped up and he regarded you curiously. “How’d you know?” 

“She told me to leave. And all the screens were… frozen.” With slow steps, you limped across your room to sit right beside him. “Whose blood is that?”

Coriolanus was silent for a long while. So long that you wondered if he even heard your question at all.

“Don’t—don’t hate me. I need you.”

“I won’t hate you. I love you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Stop it, Coryo. You don’t get to decide whether I l—”

“It was Bobbin.” He effectively cut you off, rendering you speechless. “I killed him.”

You stared at him as if he’d grown another head. “The… the district eight boy?” With each passing second, your eyes grew larger and—wetter. Coriolanus had to turn away. “You were in the arena? Dr. Gaul made you… oh, Coryo.”

“Sejanus went in to see his friend.” The last word was sneered out in a rather demeaning manner. “The tributes started attacking us. I… I hit Bobbin with a rock.”

He left out the gorey details. How he kept bashing Bobbin’s head in even after his body stopped twitching. How it felt… powerful. 

“It was self defense, then,” you murmured, drawing closer to brush your lips against his shoulder, just above his sutures.

It was, at first. And then it… wasn’t. Coriolanus pursed his lips. 

“Bobbin… he was Wovey’s friend, I think.” Your voice wavered, and you blinked away the tears that welled up in your eyes. “I hope she’s okay.”

Coriolanus said nothing as he frowned. He didn’t like how much you cared for her, no matter how much of a hypocrite that made him. It was like Highbottom said… the kid was doomed from the very beginning.

“Are you okay?” you asked him, voice as soft as silk.

“I don’t…”

“It’s okay if you’re not. I’ll be here for you.”

“You’re too good,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re always just so… good. How do you do it?”

There was a considerable silence before you reached over to take his chin between your fingers and force him to look at you. “I’m just trying my best. And you are, too. Don’t discredit yourself, Coriolanus. You’re good for me. You always will be.”

His pale eyes flickered. Then, he kissed you. Slow and soft, begging for more but—you pulled away with a hum before he could press further against you. 

A distinct coldness fell over his expression. “You can’t tell anyone what I told you. About Bobbin.”

You studied him for a few seconds. Watched the way he folded into himself with such caution. Compartmentalize and shield the most ugly parts of himself away from you. It was a defense mechanism of sorts. You knew it all too well, and narrowed your eyes at him.

“Why do you always think that I’ll go about and tell the world everything you say to me? Do you not trust me?”

He sucked in a shuddering breath. “I do. I do, of course I do. You just—you know everything there is to know. You can destroy me completely, and it’ll be my fault because I let you in—because I let myself fall in love with you.”

Your features twisted into one of shock. “Is that what you think? That I’m seeking to destroy you? Bring you down? What—Coriolanus, why would I do that? Do you hear yourself? How many times do I have to say that I love you until you realize that I mean it?” 

“You can love me and still betray me. They’re not mutually exclusive.” There was a terse silence that stretched thick between the two of you like taffy. His brows furrowed together and he stared angrily down at the ground as he frustratedly worked his jaw. “I’m not saying you will betray me. I’m saying you could. And that… that terrifies me.”

“I won’t. You said it yourself, remember? I’m tethered to you. I’m an accomplice—I know too much,” you said, exasperated. “But there is nothing I want to take from you. I gain nothing from stabbing you in the back. I just—I want for us to be a normal fucking couple!”

Coriolanus hung his head. With another sharp breath, he nodded several times, as if he was snapping himself out of his own thoughts. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I trust you. I’m sorry.”

When your countenance softened inexplicably, Coriolanus let himself slowly tear his walls of paranoia back down. His hands returned to you then, far more hesitantly cradling your face, gripping your hips, squeezing your thighs as he kissed you. It was familiar and comforting, yet simultaneously all too much.

“Will you stay until I fall asleep?” you panted into the kiss, trying to break away as your lungs screamed for air. “I miss you. It’s been so long since we just… existed alone together.”

He nodded—because how could he say no to you?—and helped you settle back onto the bed. Let you hold onto him, let you trace mindless shapes into his arm. Watched as your eyes fluttered shut and you fell back into what looked like a restful sleep. Envy curled within the confines of his chest. Sleep graced you so easily. Why did everything come to you so easily?

Nonetheless, he dipped forward to brush his lips against your temple, before gingerly pulling away. You stirred with the jostling, but stayed deep asleep. With that, Coriolanus made his way out of your room, clicking the door shut as softly as he could, and descended down the stairs. He left your house with a heavy chest and a throbbing shoulder.

Early the next morning, your mother came to the academy with you to watch the end of the Hunger Games—and to be there for moral support, she’d told you. She wheeled you in with a bright smile, greeting all the staring students with a friendly confidence. Once she brought you in front of the very same monitor as yesterday, she kissed the top of your head before flitting away to speak with Lucky, who was all smiles and charm. You overheard him saying that he was confident the games would come to a close soon. Your mother said something in reply, but their voices were drowned out by the swell of students entering the theater.

Coriolanus walked in only a few minutes after you, Tigris on his arm. The two of them made their way to you—Coryo was stone-faced, looking more tired than ever. Tigris appeared more worried than anything, but she was just about glowing in her new pink dress, all sharp angles and pristine fabric.

“You look beautiful,” you told her genuinely once she drew closer to you and took both your hands in hers. “I love your outfit. The color suits you.”

“Thank you,” she replied, flushing a pleased rouge hue. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been impaled by a metal pipe,” you told her with a slight grimace. “But, you know… no better way to fix that than to watch children kill themselves through a screen.”

The two cousins laughed dryly at your sarcasm. Tigris then enthusiastically told you that the dress she was making for you was ready—and you grinned and told her you were incredibly excited to come see it. With that, she nodded and left to take her seat amongst the stands, wishing the two of you good luck. 

Once she was gone, Coriolanus reached out to grasp your shoulder. Your talk with him last night plagued him for hours and hours when he should’ve been asleep. 

“Did you sleep well?” you asked him, leaning into his touch when he brushed his knuckles against your cheek. “You look tired, Coryo.”

A wry smile. “Slept like a baby.”

It was a lie, and you knew it. You frown-smiled at him nonetheless.

He bent at the waist, tilted your face up to meet his, and kissed you square on the lips. Some of the students in the stand wolf-whistled, and it felt distinctly like Coriolanus was putting on a show for them, and for the cameras. And you were, well—you were an unwilling actor.

When he pulled away, he smiled at you and gestured to his seat in the corner. “Whatever happens, I’ll be right there.”

“Okay,” you murmured. “Likewise.”

Coriolanus found himself wondering if you were hiding something from him. Why did it feel like you were drawing yourself away? Were you planning on sabotaging him?

Before he could dwell on it anymore, you gently nudged him off, as Lucky was beginning his opening remarks once again. He talked about the mystery behind Bobbin’s death (sending a cold tremor up Coriolanus’ spine), but moved on rather quickly to the stats board. 

The few remaining mentors settled down and the rest of the students in the stands quieted to watch the games continue. 

Not fifteen minutes later, commotion started brewing between Jessup and Lucy Gray. It was hisses and twitches from the boy at first, but then grew into explosive anger and panicked aggressiveness. Frightened, Lucy Gray began to doggedly run away from her friend, crawling out of the rubble-strewn tunnels and back into the main arena. 

“Something’s wrong,” Lysistrata, Jesssup’s mentor, said. “He wouldn’t turn on her like this.”

You narrowed your eyes at the hazy screen. There seemed to be foam collecting at the corners of Jessup’s mouth as he chased after Lucy Gray, demanding to know what she’s done to him. The hazy memory of Lucy Gray at the zoo mentioning a bat bite resurfaced into your mind.

“It’s rabies,” you told the two. “The foam in his mouth. He’s got rabies—the bat bite in the train, remember?”

Coriolanus and Lysistrata’s eyes both widened. 

“The same district folding in on itself!” Lucky announced into the microphone, and began rattling off some more unnecessary commentary.

“Send him water!” Coryo demanded Lyssie. 

“What?” she asked, watching in horror as her tribute tried to make a grab for Lucy Gray, but she ducked away just in time.

Impatient, Coriolanus stood up and leaned over her desk with gritted teeth. “Remember the posters in the war? Rabies—it makes you afraid of water. Send him a drone!”

Lyssie’s mouth opened and closed. “That’ll scare him!”

“Yes,” he said, tapping on her monitor. “It’ll get him away from her. Jessup is done. And you’re the only one that can get it right to him.”

With a tight frown, Lysistrata reached forward to order a water drone. Lucky was preening with all the action.

“Thank you,” Coriolanus breathed out once her order processed through. 

“Nothing to be proud of,” she said, scowling at the screen.

Lucy Gray was begging for her friend to snap out of it as she climbed up a fallen stone pillar, and screamed when a water drone came whizzing right past her ear, crashing into Jessup. Glass went flying every which way. The water had done its job scaring him—Jessup yelled and tittered with the sudden force. He fell backward and toppled right off the pillar. His body made a sickening crack as it came in contact with the ground. The audience exploded into cheers. 

Horrified, Lucy Gray slid down the pillar after her barely-alive friend, hands shaking. A terrible sense of guilt washed over you.

“Jessup?” she asked, shaking his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere. Okay? You watched over me, now I’m watching over you. Sleep now, Jessup. Sleep.”

Jessup’s death was slow and painful. Lyssie sent a bitter glance towards Coriolanus, before storming off. 

But the horrors weren’t yet over for Lucy Gray—Coral and her pack appeared from behind a large pile of rubble, cornering her like coyotes would a lamb. They sneered and jeered at her.

You turned to look at Coriolanus, seeing his face crumple with desperation. His eyes flickered to you for a brief moment.

“Use your donations!” you called over. “She won’t fight, Coryo. You know that!”

With a frantic nod, Coriolanus snapped his gaze back to his monitor, and hurriedly pressed down on eight drones of water for his tribute. 

“Mentors allying together in such troubling times!” Lucky exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. “Will it be enough to save the songbird?”

The little machines whirred into the arena at alarming high speeds, and crashed into the unassuming tributes surrounding Lucy Gray. She ducked and covered her head with shaking hands as water and glass and metal parts flew every which way. 

“Hey!” one of the mentors exclaimed. “You can’t attack the tributes!”

“I’m just sending water,” Coriolanus retorted back, looking extremely relieved. Then, he looked back at you, and mouthed, thank you.

Taking advantage of the knocked down tributes, Lucy Gray rushed forward, grabbed a glass of water that remained miraculously unshattered, and ran off to hide behind another fallen pillar. You remembered that Coriolanus had given her rat poison—a part of you wanted her to use it to survive, and the other part of you hoped she wouldn’t ever touch it in fear of people finding out about Coriolanus cheating. That would spell the end of him.

Coral and her pack roused with groans and aches. They moaned about losing Lucy Gray, before setting their sights on Lamina and pursuing after her. It was a shame to watch her go, you thought, remembering the kindness she did for Marcus. She was stabbed in the abdomen (reminding you of your own bound bandages), and fell into a crumpled heap beside her district-mate.

While they were all busy going after her, one of the smaller screens caught Lucy Gray appearing back from behind the rubble, placing the full water bottle back on the ground. She hurriedly reached over to dump water out of any of the other bottles that hadn’t broken. 

Lucy Gray managed to escape Coral just as she began to notice what she was doing, darting up some broken stairs and into a duct, latching it shut so they wouldn’t be able to follow her in. Lucky made a sullen comment about how there were no cameras set up inside there.

Coral and the pack retreated back down to survey all the water Lucy Gray had dumped out, save for the one single bottle. You wondered if said bottle was filled with rat poison, by any chance. 

Since you had your gaze focused on one of the smaller screens, you hadn’t even noticed little Wovey emerging from a row of seats not too far away from where Lucy Gray was hiding inside the duct. 

Your eyes frantically turned to the main screen when one of the pack members exclaimed, “It’s Wovey!”

“No, no…” you muttered, leaning forward in your wheelchair, ignoring the painful sting in your side. Wovey was quick to disappear back under the seats, scampering between rows and small gaps under fallen rocks so that they couldn’t follow after her. Twisted relief clawed at your chest and you heaved for breath when they muttered defeat and decided to go back down to the ground. The group began to dissolve into an argument, which thankfully kept them otherwise occupied from going back to hunt after other tributes. To none of your surprise, Coral ended up stabbing Mizzen right in the chest. 

“And who do we have here?” said Lucky when the main screen changed to show a coughing girl emerging from her hiding place. “Ah! It’s Ill Dill. Tuberculosis on legs.”

Dill staggered towards the water bottle. Uncapped it and drank a few small mouthfuls. She coughed and wheezed. Lied down slowly, chest still rattling with coughs. It had to be poisoned, you concluded. To die right after taking that drink… it was far too much of a coincidence. Lucy Gray must have used the poison. You didn’t dare chance a glance back at Coriolanus, afraid you’d see cruel victory in his eyes.

Reaper ran out a minute later, calling out for Dill as he rushed to her. “Dill? Hey, what happened? Dill! Dill, wake up!” 

And when he realized his district-mate was dead… Reaper let out a guttural scream. It echoed and ricocheted around the arena for everyone to hear. You frowned and tucked your arms closer to your sides.

To your surprise, Reaper began to move the dead tributes’ bodies to where Marcus and Lamina were. He laid each of them carefully beside one another. Fixed their positions and brushed the dirt away from their face. Dill first, then Mizzen. Then Bobbin by the entrance—to which none of the other mentors knew who killed except Coriolanus and… you. 

Reaper tore down the long Panem flag hanging from the arena’s wall. The students burst into boos and derogatory yells. He dragged it over to the makeshift morgue and draped the dusty fabric over the corpses. 

There was a lump in your throat as you watched him stand over the bodies he had so meticulously arranged. He gave the tributes one last shred of dignity when the Capitol—you included—had so monstrously stripped every bit of it away. You twisted in your chair to look at your mother in the stands. She had a hand over her mouth as she watched on, looking every bit as choked up as you.

Reaper gazed straight into one of the cameras and spread his arms. “Are you gonna punish me now?” he asked. “ARE YOU GOING TO PUNISH ME N—”

His yells were suddenly cut off by a breaking news announcement. They still echoed about the theater, and you still could hear Reaper’s strong voice in your head. 

Volumnia Gaul sat stiff and menacing on the large screen, her single, beady blue eye seemingly ablaze with a cold fury.

“Capitol citizens, I’m afraid I must interrupt our Games to announce a tragic loss. One that affects us all. Felix Ravinstill, son of our beloved president, has this morning succumbed to his injuries sustained in the rebel bombing.” The screen changed to display a horrifyingly graphic image of Felix’s dead body covered in bruises and unhealed gashes. This was met with gasps and cries from the crowd. “Out there in the districts… they will be celebrating this young boy’s death as a triumph. I will not allow my Games to give our enemy such victory. I swear to you, here and now, before the sun goes down tonight, a rainbow of destruction will engulf our arena. Even if it means there’s to be no victor in these Games!”

Scandalized murmurs spread throughout the theater. 

Your lips parted with shock. What was the point in having the Hunger Games without a victor? You turned to look at Coriolanus, who was looking every bit as distraught as you. 

A rainbow of destruction, Gaul had said. He knew exactly what that meant. With a tight expression, he sat up and ran out of the theater. You watched him go with utter confusion, calling out his name, but your voice was drowned out over the sea of upset students.

Where was he going? To plea his case with Dr. Gaul or Highbottom? Or… no, he’d told you about the snake muttations Gaul had in her lab—while you were drowsy and delirious with pain, but you could remember it faintly—how they were rainbow in color, fast as lightning as they struck down Clemmie. Did that mean those snakes were going to be set loose in the arena? 

Your heart skipped a beat. Wovey could hide from the other tributes, sure, but small, fast, and most likely deadly snakes? She wouldn’t stand a chance. 

And what of Lucy Gray? What was Coriolanus planning on doing for her?

Fifteen minutes later, Coriolanus came running back in, sweaty and breathless. Just in time, because Coral and her pack were beginning to close in on Lucy Gray, stabbing spears through the vent flap. One of the boys down below the ducts began to cough and sputter, not in an unsimilar fashion to Dill, before collapsing down to the ground with a shudder, blood pouring out of his nose. 

Rat poison. You were sure of it. 

They stabbed at the duct some more until it buckled and broke under her weight, and she came crashing down. Hurriedly, Lucy Gray stumbled up to her feet, climbed over the dead body, and ran as fast as she could away from Coral. They were hot on her tail. Everyone watched with bated breath.

And then—the loud whirring of a carrier came descending down the center of the arena. A large, blackened cylindrical tank was being lowered into the center through the broken rooftop. You let out a shaky breath of petrification. Inside must’ve been the snake muttations Coriolanus told you about. 

The few remaining tributes stared at the tank with wide eyes, too stunned to move. 

“I’d wager that that is going to be no good.” Lucky smiled as he stared at the screen. “But wouldn’t it be fun if it was candy?”

Both the arena and the theater lapsed into utter silence. 

Until—until little Wovey peered her head up from the seats. She’s so frail, was your first thought. Slowly, she began to climb out of the rows and hopped down broken pieces of stone to get back to the ground. 

“Wovey—” you found yourself saying aloud. Many eyes drew to you. “No, no, no…”

You watched as the little girl walked towards the large black tank with wide eyes. She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her grimy hand. Reaper was warning Wovey to keep away, but the little girl was still moving closer.

“Is it over?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Can we go home? Please…”

“Fuck! Fu—shit, fuck! No, Wovey!” you frantically yelled as if she could hear you. Desperate to get her to stop going towards the tank, you looked down at your monitor.

Not many donations… 

But enough to send a drone.

Maybe if you sent food—it’d distract her. Keep her away.

And so you began placing an order for a food drone, much to Lucky’s commentary delight. With shaking hands, you pressed confirm.

But there was one thing you hadn’t considered. 

You hadn’t considered the drone coming in from directly in front of Wovey—with the tank right in its way. A whizz, a blur of silver metal, and murmurs of shock from the crowd. The machine drove itself against the glass tank and broke apart into a thousand pieces. Small red apples went flying every which way. Wovey stopped in her tracks for a moment. 

It was a temporary relief.

A crack formed in the tank. And then—another splinter within the glass. And another, and another, and another. They formed a terrible sort of spider web. 

“No,” you whispered, lips quivering. It was all your fault. “Oh, no.”

With that, the glass gave way to its fractures, and burst apart in a cascade of glittering shards. The snakes came tumbling out just as Dr. Gaul had said: a rainbow of destruction. They took down Wovey first as she screamed, slithering over her small body until you saw no part of her left. You had fallen silent, but your entire body ached as you violently shut your eyes, eliciting a hot tear to streak down your cheek. 

“Not candy! Down goes Wovey!” Lucky announced, though he winced with an apologetic glance in your direction. “Sorry, Y/N.” 

The rest of the snakes were quick to pick off Coral’s pack, and then Coral herself, who cried out that all those lives she took… they couldn’t have been for nothing.

They slithered around Reaper, who sat strongly by the pile of bodies he had arranged. He died alongside them as the serpents closed around his throat.

And that just left Lucy Gray.

“All colors lead to Gray!” Lucky announced, overly pleased with his wording.

Coriolanus smiled, victorious. “She’s—she’s won. It’s over. She’s won! Let her out!”

“Afraid that’s not your call to make, Mr. Snow,” said Lucky. He pointed over to Dr. Gaul, who was watching from the theater’s stands with crossed arms. 

The students all murmured and gasped. Coriolanus looked around helplessly.

“Dr. Gaul, she’s won!” he asserted. “It’s over, let her out!”

Volumnia stared at the blonde boy with narrowed eyes, but said nothing.

And then… Lucy Gray began to sing as the snakes slithered their way to her. They coiled over her ankles and into the ruffles of her dress. Over her arms and around her stomach. Along her back and draped on her shoulders. She sang and sang, her voice strong despite the itchy dryness in her throat.

“Why aren’t they attacking her?” Festus Creed demanded. 

Coriolanus set his jaw. “Must be the singing. It’s calming them.”

“She can’t sing forever,” he replied with an upturned nose.

Everyone in the audience watched, enraptured, as Lucy Gray sang her heart out, wrapped in iridescent snakes. You let out a shaky exhale, and another tear slipped down your face. Watching Wovey go was one thing—you didn’t want to watch Lucy Gray die, as well.

Anger rose in your throat. 

You turned your wheelchair away from the screen—away from your damned monitor. It was your fault Wovey was dead. You wouldn’t watch Lucy Gray die, too.

“LET HER OUT!” you screamed at Dr. Gaul. Coriolanus flinched and stared at you with wonder, along with the rest of the student body. You bared your teeth in a pained snarl, and you let the tears freely fall. They were scalding against your skin, along with the multiple cameras that had turned right to you. “She won. Who’s going to donate to your Games next year if they know you’ll just kill their victor off? Let her out, Gaul!”

“Dr. Gaul, please,” Coriolanus pleaded, nodding at your words. “Let her out.”

“Get her out!” Tigris chimed along. Your mother voiced the same sentiment a second later, her face shining at you with pride. 

One by one, students began yelling at Dr. Gaul to get Lucy Gray out of the arena until practically everyone was chanting along.

“Nobody’s going to watch your Games without a victor!” Snow told her over the swell of voices. 

With a sharp scowl, she raised her hand. Almost immediately, the crowd fell into silence. 

“Get her out,” she quietly grumbled to one of her assistants.

Lucky clapped and announced excitedly, “She’s won! Lucy Gray has won! Coriolanus Snow is the winner of the 10th annual Hunger Games!”

Victory music began playing throughout the theater—trumpets and drums and bells echoing into his ears as the students rushed down from their seats to congratulate him. Shaking his hand, slapping at his back, ruffling his hair. Tigris was at the front of it all, smiling at him so wide it was a wonder her face didn’t split into two. She wrapped him into a warm hug and he held her tight, laughing into her shoulder as the weight of realization fell against him.

He’d won.

Once he pulled away from his cousin, he pushed through the packed crowd to get to you. You were on your feet already, though your weight was leaning heavily against one of the handles of your wheelchair. You were positively overwhelmed by all the commotion around you. 

He held your face with both his hands and kissed you in front of everyone. The cheers grew louder and louder, and Snow pulled away smiling wider than he ever remembered smiling before.

But when he looked at you again—truly looked at you—there were still tears spilling from your eyes. They didn’t look quite like tears of joy, either.

“She was thirteen,” you sobbed, curling against him. “Coryo, she was thirteen. It was my fault. My fault.”

Caught up in his own victory, he’d very nearly forgotten who you were talking about. It took him another second to realize that you were crying over Wovey. Irritation clawed at his chest and he frowned at you. You should’ve been congratulating him—not thinking about your silly dead tribute. What were you expecting? Hadn’t you known this was coming?

Nonetheless, he held you to his chest with empty words of comfort murmured into your ears, rubbing a palm up and down your back in a placating manner. He kissed your forehead and the crowd swooned with the romance of it all. 

You jerked away from Coriolanus when you felt a distinct pain shoot up your stomach. You looked down, noting the darker red blotch in your uniform. 

It seemed like you’d bled through your bandages again.

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[feelbokkie]

📱Distancing yourself from BF!SKZ after receiving hate 📱 (Part 2) (Hyung + Hyunjin Line)

���️Feelbokkie M.list☀️

genre: heavy angst, hurt/comfort

pov: 1st & 2nd person

description: Your boyfriend finds out why you've been distancing yourself (Half smau, half written)

pairing: bf!skz & fem!reader

warnings: swearing, break up, mentions of violence, mention of self harm (?), self loathing, mostly fluff, let me know if I missed anything

word count: listed below

screenshot count: 4

©feelbokkie (2023) — all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.

Part 1

Part 2 (Maknae Line)

방 찬 (Bang Chan) (1,150 words)

“Y/N’s a better person than me. I don’t think I would be able to handle it.”

“Handle what?” Chan asked the two staff members who were talking in the corner. 

Chan normally stays out of things that don’t concern him, but when he heard your name he could help but get involved. 

“All the hate. I don’t know what I would do if I was constantly being told to kill myself by strangers.” The taller of the two staff members mentions. 

Chan thought quietly to himself for a few seconds. He knows that you had gotten some hate in the past, it’s only natural that a few fans would be upset that Chan is in a relationship. But he handles the situation with a message on bubble and everything was fine. Right? You wouldn’t keep something like this from him. Right?

“Thank you for your hard work today,” Chan says quickly before shuffling off to a quiet corner of the room. 

He pulls out his phone and types in your name on Twitter. All the top mentions of your name are so vile and full of malice that he can only imagine how worse it must be in your inbox. 

Chan spent the whole journey back to his dorm reading all the comments that you must have seen. You had to have seen them and that’s why you’re avoiding him. There’s no other explanation. All of your social media accounts are now private, comments are turned off, and you even took off your profile pictures. It’s bad and he blames himself for not seeing how much you were suffering sooner. Once they get home, Chan walks straight to his room and slams the door, causing Jisung, Changbin, and Hyunjin to share a scared and confused look. 

With a need to put an end to all the madness before it escalates even further, he does the only thing he can do: start a Channie’s Room. 

***

I stared at the link Chan had sent me for 5 minutes. I’ve been avoiding him for a few days, it doesn’t make sense that he would just send me a link like everything is okay. But it’s not, everything is fucked.

Our relationship is public, much to Chan’s dismay. He would have preferred to keep everything private, but after a picture of us was at risk of being leaked, we decided to get in front of the narrative and announce our relationship. Everything was fine, my name and picture were never released. A few weeks ago my identity was revealed. I didn’t tell Chan, I didn’t want to worry him with something I could handle on my own. And I did, but the toll on my mental health from most of the comments being directed at me would have been a dead giveaway.

I bite my lip and open the video on my laptop. I sit with my knees to my chest at my computer desk. The video stars and I see Chan sitting in his bedroom wearing the couple hoodie we picked out our first year of dating. I can’t stop the corner of my lips from turning up. His expression is hard to read. He looks tired. I can see it in the bags under his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. I know you guys weren’t expecting a Channie’s Room today. It’s going to be short. I promise.” Chan explains as he reads comments on his phone. Why did he send me a link to this?

“‘Why are we here?’ I thought we could have a little chat. Just a quick conversation about something that’s come to my attention.’”A flash of anger hits his eyes only for a quick second.

Shit. He knows. He knows and he’s going to address it. I quickly pull my phone and dial Chan’s number to get him to stop whatever crusade he’s about to embark on. Chan picks up his phone and swipes his hand across the screen just as the call ends. Chan holds his phone up to the camera.

“If it’s alright with you guys, I’m going to put my phone away. It’s almost dead. But don’t worry, I can still see your comments on my computer.” He smiles at the camera before literally tossing his phone behind him.

“Fuck!” I shut my laptop and race around my room grabbing my shoes, wallet, and keys before making a mad dash to the dorm.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” Hyunjin asks when he answers the door. I take a second to catch my breath, doubled over in front of the door. I managed to turn a 30-minute walk into a 15-minute marathon. Call me superwoman.

“C…han…is Chan still in his room?” I ask, finally standing up having collected myself after a few minutes.

“Yeah, but I would wait for a second. He’s pissed.” Han calls from the couch. 

“Oh, believe me, I already know.” I finally make my way into the dorm and head straight to Chan’s room. 

I open the door and freeze when I see Chan still sitting at his desk. I quietly close the door and lean against it as I try to catch my breath. Chan looks at me quickly before finishing the live and giving me his full attention.

“Why are you out of breath? What’s wrong?” He stands up and places a hand on my shoulder.

“What’s wrong? I ran all the way over here to stop you from doing whatever the fuck that was on live.” I push his hand off and make my way over to the beanbag chair that Chan has for me to sit in.

“You’re mad at me for defending you?” He grabs a water bottle from his mini fridge and opens it before handing it to me. I take a huge sip.

“Not mad, upset. I was handling it.”

“How were you handling? By avoiding me?”

“I only avoided you because you can read me like a book. I didn’t want you to worry while you’re busy with your comeback.”

“So you were just going to suffer in silence?” Chan sits down on the edge of his bed and hands me the water bottle cap.

“Chan, I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to start dating you. I expected something like this would happen eventually. I didn’t want you to worry because you already have so much weight on your shoulders.”

“It’s literally my job as your boyfriend to worry about you. It’s not a burden. You’ll never be a burden.” Chan climbs off the bed and kneels next to me.

“I love you. I promise that I will lean on you more.” I take Chan’s hand and kiss his cheek.

“And I promise to also lean on you so that you don’t have to worry about coming to me. Stay the night?”

“Don’t have to ask me twice.”

이 민 호 (Lee Min-Ho) (921 words)

Part 3

Minho rarely goes on social media. He’ll post the occasional picture on Instagram for the official Stray Kids page, but that’s all. He has his secret account, but he mostly uses it when he’s been away from you for a while and misses seeing your face. He hadn’t seen you for a couple of weeks so he logged in to look at your most recent pictures. That’s when he saw all of the hate comments that were under all your pictures.

“What the fuck?” He mutters under his breath.

“What’s wrong?” Han asks, looking concerned at Minho. Dance practice had run late so they’re all resting on the floor of the practice room.

“All these comments on Y/N’s pictures. They’re so vicious.” And recent.

“Do you think that’s why she hasn’t been around?” Minho blinks a few times before shutting his phone and putting his stuff away. He looks down at his phone one more time before leaving without saying anything to the others.

***

I set down a cup of water in front of Minho before returning to my spot in my armchair. He’s been quiet ever since he showed up at my door. It wasn’t completely strange for him to show up unannounced like this. He often comes over to spend the night on a whim. But this time feels different.

“How was practice?” I finally say, breaking the silence.

“Long and difficult, but we’ll figure it out. We always do.” The room falls silent again. I don’t know why I’m nervous, it’s just Minho. We’ve been together long enough, silence shouldn’t be awkward for us. If anything, we prefer it. Most of our nights in are quiet while we both just enjoy each other’s company.

“I saw the comments on your Instagram. When were you going to tell me?” Minho reaches for the glass of water and takes a sip.

“I… I was going to. I just didn’t know when or how to bring it up.” A few weeks ago, a few Stay found my social media and began commenting rude things under all my pictures. It’s escalated into a bigger issue than what I initially thought it was going to be. 

“Are you okay?”

“Are you actually asking?”

“Y/N, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t actually want to know.” I don’t know why, but he saying that breaks me. Tears start falling down my face faster than I can stop myself.

The truth is, I’m not okay. I knew that dating an idol came with its own set of challenges and that publicly dating one would be even harder. I knew to an extent that I would probably get hate, either directly or indirectly, at some point in our relationship once we went public. So, I constantly did a lot of mental preparation for this exact situation. But no amount of mental preparation will ever prepare you for having all of your flaws pointed out and constantly being told to kill yourself. I hate to admit it, but it has severely impacted my mental health. I can’t sleep, and when I do it’s never for long. My appetite is nonexistent, I only eat when I realize that I hadn’t eaten anything all day.

“I’m not doing great if I’m being completely honest. I can’t remember the last time I got a decent sleep or ate a proper meal. I barely made all of my social media private, but that doesn’t stop people from sending me DMs. I have to delete every comment by hand because if I just turned off my comments, I would miss seeing the stuff you wrote. But that means I have to read each comment to make sure I’m not getting rid of yours— I’m just really exhausted.”

Minho is silent again as he gets up from his spot on the couch and kneels in front of me. He takes me in his arms and strokes my hair as I sob into his shoulder. I knew everything was getting to me, but I didn’t know how much it is affecting me until I said it out loud. 

Min presses a kiss on my cheek and pulls away once I’m done crying. He places both hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eyes. His are filled with tears and he has a sad smile.

“Let’s break up.” He says it so quietly, I almost didn’t hear him.

“What? No—”

“Y/N, you’re miserable. You’re not eating or sleeping, and in a way, it’s because of me. Even if we were to block all of the people sending you hate and delete the comments and DMs, you’ll still be at the center of all this negativity. The only way you’ll know peace is if we aren’t together anymore.”

“I love you, I don’t want to break up.” Tears begin to fall down my face again.

“I love you too, and that’s why we have to. It would be selfish of me to stay with you knowing that you’re dying inside because of me. I would rather end this and know that you’re happy somewhere than lose you forever.” The tears that were welling in his eyes finally start to fall too.

He’s right, even if he went and reprimanded everyone for sending me hate, it would never truly end. I wouldn’t be happy.

“Can we break up tomorrow? I just really need you right now.” I choke out.

“Whatever you need, my love. And just know, I’ll always be here for you.”

서 창 빈 (Seo Chang-Bin) (826 words)

“Excuse me, could we take a picture with you?” Changbin had run into a few fans on his way out of the grocery store when he was getting ingredients to make you soup.

“Ah, just one, I have popsicles.” He lifts one of the bags to show them the shopping he just did. They take a quick group photo before heading their separate ways.

“Changbin oppa is so sweet. I wonder what he sees in that bitch.” One of the fans says as they walk away.

“She’s probably just after him for his money. You know what the forums say.” Another one pipes up. 

They thought that they were far away enough from Changbin when they started talking, but he heard them. When he turned around to confront them, they were gone. It takes him a few seconds to process what they were talking about. Forums? That mentioned you? Once he realized what was going on, he ran off to your apartment.

***

“Are you receiving hate?” Changbin asked when I opened my door.

I was laying down in bed, reading some new mentions on Twitter, when I got a text from Changbin saying he was downstairs. I shouldn’t have said I had a headache. Any mention of me being sick or hurt, he runs to take care of me. I knew he would find out eventually, I was just hoping it wouldn’t be tonight.

“Hello to you too.” I close the door and follow him into the kitchen. He put some grocery bags on the counter and was now leaning over the sink. I roll my eyes and start going through the bags. He really can’t multitask.

“Why didn’t you tell me about what’s going on?” He says without looking at me.

“Bin, can we not do this tonight? I really do have a headache.” I grab the box of popsicles and put them in my freezer.

“Your head wouldn’t hurt if you told me that people were harassing you online. I am your boyfriend, you should come to me when these things happen.” I put the last of the groceries away and walk to the living room.

“Yah! Y/N, don’t walk away from me. I just want to talk.” I love Changbin, but he can be loud. I’m used to it, but it’s unbearable right now.

“Maybe I didn’t tell you because it’s none of your business.”

“You are my business! And if someone is treating you like shit, I should know.” He sits down on the couch, running his hand through his hair.

“You can’t fight everyone to defend my honor.” I sit down on the opposite side of the couch.

“I can try.”

“And tell them what? That they’re wrong? That I’m not a cold bitch? Or a slut? Can you prove that I’m not? For fucks sake— you came all the way over here because you were worried about me and I’m trying to push you away. Changbin, I didn’t tell you because they’re telling the truth. I’m not the most attractive person. My personality is shit and my body count is a bit higher than I like to admit. The only thing that they’re wrong about is me being a gold digger.” Changbin’s expression softens. He scoots closers to me on the couch and places a hand on my knee.

“Don’t talk about my girlfriend like that. You’re wrong. They’re wrong. I’m the only one who is right. They don’t know you like I do. Who are they to call you a bitch? They don’t know that you carry around snacks for dogs and cats with you just in case you run into a stray. They don’t know that you’re the one who makes sure I don’t overwork myself, and take care of me when I ultimately do with no complaints. They don’t know that you also take care of the rest of my group members when they’re sick so that the rest of us stay healthy. They don’t know that you’re prettiest without your makeup, especially when you first take it off. They don’t know that you were going through something before we met. So why should what they say about you matter?”

“Bin—”

“If you don’t like something about yourself because you personally have an issue with it, that’s fine. It’s normal and I’ll be right here to help you fall in love with yourself again. And if you’re letting the opinions of others who have no idea what they talking about, I will personally kick their asses for you.” I can’t stop the corner of my mouth from turning up.

“I’m sure JYP and Dispatch would love that.”

“Y/N, I’m serious. I love you and I want to be there for you, but I can’t do that if you don’t let me in.” He moves his hand to my hand and squeezes.

“You can’t protect me from everything.” I sigh, squeezing his hand back.

“Wanna bet?”

황 현 진 (Hwang Hyun-Jin) (1,076 words)

“Hyunjin hyung, isn’t this Y/N noona’s apartment?” Jeongin held his phone in front of the older boy’s face. On it played a video that showed your apartment, your place of work, and the shops in your neighborhood that you frequent. At the end of the video your phone number and the addresses for both your home and appear on the screen.

“What is this?” The color drains from Hyunjin’s face as he picks up his phone again and sends you a quick text, more panicked this time.

“I don’t know. I just saw it right now, but apparently, it was uploaded a couple of weeks ago— Chan hyung!”Jeongin dropped his phone and tried to steady Hyunjin’s swaying body.

“What’s wrong?” Chan asked looking at the scene unfolding in front of him. Jeongin quickly catches Chan up on what’s happening as Hyunjin slowly starts to zone back in.

“Something’s happened to Y/N, I just know it. I…I need to go check on her.” Hyunjin mumbles.

It wasn’t uncommon for you and Hyunjin to have spells when you didn’t talk to or see each other. So when you first stopped replying to him, he didn’t think anything of it. But slowly, as time went on he would worry a little each day. When he first reached out and you didn’t reply, he just figured you weren’t ready to talk yet and left it alone. Finding out that you had been doxxed and were now unreachable racked his body with guilty. 

“I’ll go with you, ‘kay? Minho, you’re in charge.” Chan wrapped his arm around the fragile boy and led him out of the room.

***

I haven’t left my apartment in a couple of days. I’ve barely left my bedroom since the incident at the convince store. I had been fired earlier that day because the unwanted attention I was receiving was messing with productivity. I had gone to get some snacks and cheap food for the next couple of days when I ran and got into an altercation with a couple of sasaengs. It’s safer in my room and I have enough food in my apartment for the next few weeks.

A knock at my bedroom door draws my attention. Knock? Did they finally manage to break in? I know there are been some people hanging around my apartment for a while now. My eyes scan my room for a place to hide. I settle on the closet. I quietly make my way to the closet and situate myself in the back of it, hugging my knees to my chest. I can’t even call for help, my phone is somewhere on the floor in my living room where it has stayed after I threw it. I have been getting an insane amount of calls and texts I was being bombarded with.

My heart is pounding so hard, I can’t hear anything. I squeeze my eyes tight and take a deep breath in. I let my breath out as I rub my sweaty palms on my pant legs. I should have taken some sort of self-defense course when I decided to move out of my parents' house. I didn’t think I needed to. Hyunjin went along with me when I was looking for an apartment. This one was in the safest neighborhood in my price range. He left a pair of his shoes and one of his coats by the door so it looks like he lives here. Hyunjin. He’s going to be devastated when he finds out. Whatever happens today, I hope isn’t the one who finds me. He’d torture himself for not being here, for not knowing.

I hold my breath when I hear the closet door open. If I stay as still as humanly possible, maybe they’ll leave. I squeeze my eyes tighter as the footsteps walk a little deeper into the closet. A rush of cool air hits my face as the clothes around me move.

“Hyunjin! I found her!”

Chan? I open my eyes to find the older boy standing over me with soft, yet relieved eyes. Hyunjin runs into the room and makes eye contact with me. Chan walks out of the closet to make room for Hyunjin. He kneels next to me and engulfs me in a hug, burying my face in his chest. Breathing in his scent, I start sobbing.

We sit like that for what feels like hours. The whole time, Hyunjin stayed quietly stroking my hair. Being in Hyunjin’s arms is the most peace I’ve felt in a month. The warmth radiating from his body and his familiar scent lulls me into a quiet state.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper when I finally calm down enough.

“Why are you sorry? If anything, this is my fault.” Hyunjin’s voice cracks. I pull away from his chest and look into his eyes. They’re red and glassy. I swipe my thumb under his eye.

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t leak my information to the world.”

“That wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t dating me. Y/N,” he lets go of me and turns to face me fully, “I was so scared when I found out what happened. I was terrified that I was going to come here and find you…” Tears start to well up in his eyes at the thought of how badly this could have turned out.

“I know. I was scared too. But it’s fine. I’m fine”

“But it could have been really bad. Look at you—you’re covered in bruises. You can’t live here anymore.” He gently lifts my head to examine my face. Most of the damage is on my arms and torso, I have a small bruise on the corner of my mouth and a slightly busted lip.

“I know that—I’ve been looking at new places. But it’s going to take a while.”

“Just stay with me, it’s safer. Living with Changbin hyung and Chan hyung is like living with two bodyguards. And Jisung is pretty entertaining. Plus, I’m there.” I crack a small smile.

“Don’t you always complain about living with 3racha?” Hyunjin brushes my hair out of my face.

“Yeah, but maybe they’ll get their shit together if you move in with us. Anyway, let’s go. We can get something to eat and talk about everything.” Hyunjin stands up and sticks his hand out toward me. I take his hand and he pulls me up.

“I’m right behind you.”

—

Buy me a coffee?

#feelbokkie writes #stray kids #skz #chan #bangchan #bang chan #lee know #minho #lee minho #changbin #seo changbin #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #x reader #skz smau #stray kids smaus #stray kids fake texts

[tarotchariotpickyourcard]

PAC: What your co-workers think about you

Just a little reading if you're curious. I've been curious. Just don't go too deep, you're there to further yourself and earn the moolah after all.

Please choose from left to right, 1 - 2 - 3.

1 is fortune, 2 is a shell, 3 is bell.

Hope you enjoy and don't take it too serious.

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GROUP 1

Your fortune cookie paper says You will be fortunate in everything you put your hands to. 

2 of wands - The Magician (rev) - The high priestess - The wheel reversed - transmutation and cheer-fullness.

Ok so 2 of wands is a nice starter card for impressions. As a colleague this can show a skillset that includes good foresight, and planning. Starting off I could assume you’re seen as someone who likes to plan and is more organised than others. This is collaborative energy. I feel like maybe you’re taken on better by masculine people in the workplace. I get the idea people have been relieved last minute that oh, yeah, pile one actually prepared for x y or z, that’s lucky.

The magician reversed in this tarot deck always makes me think of someone who is more tricky with their words. This can be great in some situations, for example if you’re trying to sell something. You can navigate conversations for a set goal. However, in a more negative light this might mean that some coworkers could think you’re on the manipulative side in your interactions with them. Some may worry they can’t trust you. Whether this is valid or not is up to you. Sometimes we do say little things that maybe we know we shouldn’t, for example, saying something in passing about another coworker. Sometimes we gossip.

The high priestess as how you’re seen professionally makes me think you seem to have a magic touch. It’s like if a computer isn’t working, but you try and work it and all of a sudden it’s fine. I think maybe sometimes you can make someone feel silly because all of a sudden there’s no problem lol.

Wheel of fortune makes me think of timing, and after high priestess it makes me think they aren’t sure what you do when they don’t see you. It could be a curiosity about your personal life, maybe you don’t divulge very much about how you spend you time. It could be that you seem to have this magic touch or always be prepared, but it’s out of nowhere or they don’t understand how you got skilled somehow, because they haven’t seen you spend time on learning more for example. It could be like, well, how do you know that when our manager hasn’t taught us x y z. So you could be secretly self taught or seen as having a natural talent.

Cheerfulness: “I embrace a state of cheerfulness, even on days when I don’t wake up feeling that way. Knowing that moods are contagious, I’d rather not cause an outbreak of crankiness and complaints. Instead, I’ll strive to be the patient zero of joy amd laughter.”

Transmutation: “I have the ability to transmute negative feelings into positive ones, and I exercise it at will. The next time someone frustrates me/annoys me/eats tuna too close to me, I will lean towards kindness and acceptance rather than stabbyness and loathing.”

Put all together, I think your coworkers generally get along with you, especially those who identify as male. I think some wonder how you manage some things, because you are capable. All of a sudden you just seem to pull something when they need it, like magic. Like in a show: here’s one I prepared earlier. Lol.

The career affirmation cards together tell me you try your best to be pleasant and not be negative about everything all the time. (there are people out there who are true negative nancy’s and it really does make everything a drag) So I think your coworkers appreciate that you try and turn the mood around. Also, there might be a coworker that is negative or gossip-y that might have been trying to drag you into conversations to strengthen their narrative, or to join in. Don’t let people bring you in. But yeah, overall good energy, nothing nasty really.

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GROUP 2

Consideration - 9 of cups - 8 of coins -  Queen of swords reversed - 3 of wands

Consideration: “I’m a considerate person, and my new goal is radical conscientiousness. From now on, I’ll leave every space tidier than I found it; I’ll find small ways to support a team mate even if they didn’t ask for it; I will eat leftover pumpernickel bagels even though I didn’t order it.”

We have a sweetheart hereeeee. Hahaha, With a secret cutting tongue. You can make the occasional comment and I find it funny. You might have been interpreted as judgemental of someone else's work, you might not have found something up to standard. You could be seen as very clean or tidy.

Your coworkers overall see you as a really well meaning, well intentioned colleague. You’re definitely there to achieve the goals of the team or business. You mean it when you go into work, you go in there and you don’t intend to mess about or slack.

 With queen of swords rev though, it does make me think someone in your workplace views you as mean, and I feel like this could be more of a misunderstanding. Because most of your coworkers here see you as considerate, helpful, wanting the best, not particularly nasty.

8 of coins signifies being seen as a hard worker, honing whatever your job skillset is. So you always are practicing becoming better. Not someone who sits on their laurels and assumes they’re set. It could also mean you’re seen as someone more advanced by most. So more experienced or knowledgable.

It’s really weird, I’m getting two meanings for queen of swords reversed and 3 of wands… Both may apply, or just one. The first one is that you may have a silver tongued coworker who tries to downplay your experience or make you appear less skilled. So instead of the experienced worker you are, they try to make you look like you still have more to learn. The language may be about the ability to plan. The other meaning is that you might make newer people feel like you are unapproachable for whatever reason. You might intimidate newer people. They may take time to understand your real intentions (being helpful and part of a team)

9 of cups makes me think that goals are what you’re focussed on. You appear that you have endgame in sight, you’re there to accomplish something and you’re not letting things get in your way. If you need to finish that project or task, you’re not wasting your time chatting.

That’s what I see right now, hope you enjoyed.

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GROUP 3

Justice - 9 of coins - 2 of cups - ace of cups reversed - risks

A fair and pleasant person who can get along with most. Even if you’re introverted, your interactions leave a good impression.

I’ll get a first impression out of the way. Did someone here take a risk and date/see someone in the workplace? People will be noticing/talking about that.

Or something may have gone wrong with a friendship with a colleague or what was a nice work connection and you may have withdrawn.

Those are just 2 possibilities.

It’s a really weird energy all together to read for me, because…Oh, there are big differing views. That must be why. I think of the groups, this is the least streamlined. One or more may think you’re too impulsive or risky, but some might actually think you take positive and calculated risks. It’s like maybe there’s quite a mish mash of characters that see things very differently. Maybe you work with different people on different days, or go around for clients.

More traditional thinkers might think your ambition goes too far, and why are you not happy with what you have. More adventurous people might think you go, do the thing.

I see the perspective that you kind of shrug your shoulders, so you don’t seem to care as much about things as they do. Like you’re more confident or happy on your own, to do your own thing, to pitch that new idea, you don’t care, you’ll do it. It’s a risk you’d be willing to take. 

You may not feel confident, but honestly I think you look confident. 9 of coins with justice just gives me nonchalant energy where you seem to feel secure and know things will work out.

This combination tells me you wouldn’t mind moving workplaces, this could be a stepping stone for you, or you could know if need be you can jump ship.

Risks says “I take big risks and leap into the unknown with fearless abandon, knowing that the best surprises and richest experiences come from bold choices.”

So maybe this is something pretty new to you, or you’re bringing new ideas to how things can be done.

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Hope you enjoyed, byeeee

#pac #divination community #divination #tarotblr #pick a card reading #witchblr #tarot community #spiritual community #spiritblr #pick a card #spirituality #spiritual reading #affirmations #career #career reading #free reading #free tarot reading #oracle cards #tarot cards #affirmation cards #coworkers #coworker

[tunastime]

do androids dream of electric sheep?

I am nothing if not a vessel for self-indulgent docsuma, especially @shepscapades's dbhc self-indulgent docsuma. sometimes you fall asleep in the lab, and sometimes your friend feels compelled to make sure you're okay <3

(3964 words)

Doc sometimes slips into daydream.

It’s not unlike him. He’d been doing it for some time now, some fix halfway between awake and Sleep Mode. Not quite his mind palace, but still wedged into predictive processes, still trying to work to replay memories. In quiet moments, more often than not, he finds that it’s easier to slip away, to tuck himself into his work, drafting, or building, or walking thoughtful circles and let the mechanical parts of his mind slip away into calculation.

In those same dreams, he tries to calculate the probability of events with what he has, blocking out the movements of who he knows best, who he may be able to pinpoint. He works in quiet as his mind runs in the background, wondering how conversations may go, how actions could be perceived. He maps what might happen if someone got hurt, or if someone needed help, or if someone fell asleep in the lab. Someone. Just anyone. He tells himself it could be anyone, but he would be lying if he didn’t know who.

It was hard, right—it felt wrong if he didn’t. Something he was designed to do, put to waste because it felt silly to imagine waking his lab partner, his friend, making sure he was alright, helping him. Was it wrong to want to be helpful? Was it wrong to want anything? It feels—it’s silly. Want was such a human word. He’s not sure he can really want at all. The paper in front of him is getting fuzzy around the edges, though, as he forces himself back into his true waking mode, and focuses on the task in front of him, now a line of text in his eyesight.

Doc leans hard on his hand, cupped around the side of his jaw as he studies the plans in front of him. He’s long since set them to memory, easily recalled with the summon of command, but he works out the fine details of the draft in front of him, still unsatisfied with his new creation. He works quietly, mentally mapping the lists of supplies he might need, the time it may take. If he were to concentrate the slightest bit more on the display in the corner of his vision, he might note how late it had gotten. Without any windows down here, the night sky can’t leak in, which means Doc doesn’t know it’s gotten dark until Xisuma starts to yawn or he manages to peek outside. 

He sets his pad down, eyes skimming the surface. Right, and where was X, anyway? The space, ever growing, up, down, sideways, that he used as his lab had gone still and quiet some time ago. Enough for Doc to take note of. Enough to be a little odd, he would assume, even for him, and the behaviors he knows well from Xisuma. Xisuma didn’t just wander off without a word—he was much too narrative for that. Doc sits up, hand falling to the table. 

“X?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows. The room stays quiet, aside from the hum of recirculating air and electronics. Doc taps his hand against the table—it was some sort of tic he’d picked up from Ren, a sign of his impatience. He couldn’t shake the habit of mimicking it while he was thinking.

Okay, right. Last time he saw X. He gathers up the recall of the path Xisuma would’ve taken from his side, checking over his work at Doc’s request, and around the lab itself, looping back to a series of benches to work on. Leaning from his spot, he tries to pinpoint the peek of green helmet or shoulder piece. He finds neither in the direct line of sight, though, and slowly, bracing his prosthetic arm on the table, Doc stands. 

It’s a gentle quiet that fills the room, nice and easy and soft to step through as Doc makes his way around the space. Despite having another work bench quite close, Xisuma had a habit of leaving his stuff about, flitting between projects as he saw fit. It was interesting, sometimes, to watch him move around the room—not that Doc had done any of that. He seemed to bounce from point to point, sometimes staying still for hours, unmoving, lost in work. It was in those hours that Doc found himself watching, just for a moment, studying the shallow curve of his nose and the way his hair fell into his face from behind his helmet. 

His office is here, too. Though it’s no different than any other working space in terms of equipment, the space itself is fully outfitted, lined with tools and a large work table, his computer, a desk with a chair. Through the glass, he can see the shape of Xisuma at his desk, likely too caught up in whatever he had been working on to notice Doc’s concern. Doc pauses as he slides open the door, standing in the doorway, announcing himself to the cluttered room.

“Xisuma,” Doc starts. “I know it’s late, if you want to head home, I’m sure I can finish…”

Xisuma is slumped over on  his desk as Doc enters. There’s a brief moment, no more than a second, where Doc’s mind spins a scenario hard and fast, the crumpled shape of Xisuma over his desk. But he can see the slow rise and fall of his shoulders. He registers the slow, steady heartbeat in Xisuma’s chest, and his shoulders sag with relief. He stands in the doorway for a moment. Xisuma looks small, head pillowed on his arms. He’s still running a series of code on the console next to him, which illuminates the back of his head in pale lines of data. His hair falls half loose across his shoulder, like he’d forgotten to finish tying it away from his face, and the slow, deep breaths make it seem like he’d been sleeping here a lot longer than Doc realized. He’s without his helmet, too, which sits beside him on the desk, discarded.

Long enough to get a sore neck and complain about his upper back hurting. Long enough to worry that he might not be getting enough oxygen. Doc sets his shoulders. There’s something in his chest that feels like it skips—regulator, pump, or otherwise. They work in tandem to produce whatever fluttery feeling invades the space where his ribs should be. He presses the heel of his synthetic hand against the depression of his chest, rolling his wrist. The feeling fades for a moment, shuddering through his wrists like it might rest there. He was never going to get used to it, was he?

He steps into the lab proper, sticking his hands into his pockets. He picks his way around the room, trying to walk quietly around it. Xisuma stays asleep, shoulders rising and falling in that even tempo. Doc crouches beside him—Xisuma is properly slumped, back curved forward as he rests. What little Doc can see of his face is soft with sleep, eyelids fluttering just so. When X doesn’t move, he rests his palm over the curve of his shoulder, gentle and slow. He tries not to focus on the fact that so much of his face is exposed to him, aside from just his eyes and the bridge of his nose. He’s seen him before, briefly, every so often, but it was so different watching him now, calm and comfortable. Doc forces himself to focus.

“Xisuma,” he says, voice dipping low and quiet. He runs his hand over the part of his shoulderblade he can reach. He pats the high of his back. “Xisuma, hey…”

X takes a long breath in, making a squeaky sort of sound high in his chest. Doc feels him hum out from under his hand.

“Doc,” he says, voice rumbling in his chest. It was a tired sort of rumble, just on the edge of being rough with sleep, just enough to bring that feeling back to Doc’s internal components, like thirium was sludging too quick too warm through him. He huffs a little breath, a sound caught in his throat.

“You fell asleep at your desk, X,” Doc says, not able to weasel the amusement out of his voice. He runs his hand over his back again, just to see Xisuma’s eyes open tiredly, and shut again. It was so unlike the version of him that he knew in his mind, seeing him savor the brief contact, even from Doc. Especially from Doc. Xisuma was always the one reaching out for him, repairing or correcting or studying. All with purpose. There was no lingering touch between them. And though this had its purpose too, Doc lingered, feeling Xisuma breathe under his hand. 

“Sorry,” X mumbles, finally moving to lift his head, to open his eyes. Doc’s hand slides away as X sits up, over his back and back to Doc’s side. Xisuma blinks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his hands. A frown comes between his eyes as he tries to focus the world around him a little clearer. Like it were mimicking the score across his cheek and nose, there’s a fine indent pressed into his cheek. Doc smiles at him, scrunching his nose in a way he’s seen X do a hundred times. 

Xisuma jolts, half reaching for the helmet beside him. If Doc were to really look, he might see the pink-red flush over his cheeks and ears.

“Sorry—I didn’t…”

There he lingers, halfway to reaching. Doc looks away from him, purposefully averting his eyes.

“I don’t mind,” he says. “You have to be comfortable too.”

Xisuma hums, smiling a little, hanging his head as he leaves his hand on the table.

“Hah,” he says, ears still pink. “Right. Sorry, sorry, Doc. Didn’t mean to worry you.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “I didn’t know where you had gone off to, so I figured I would come make sure you were okay.”

X nods. Doc watches him twist around, hearing the faint give and pop as his spine adjusts to sitting upright. 

“‘M alright,” he says. Then he laughs a bit—the sound is airy and half in his chest, enough to shake his shoulders but more of a wheeze than anything else. Everything fit so well to the timbre of Xisuma’s voice, it seemed, be it the way he moved about, or the way he laughed, or the way his shoulder sloped or face was shaped. Not that Doc had been looking. Regardless, Xisuma sighs, and smiles back at him.

“Just embarrassed is all,” he manages. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate you.”

X leans back in his chair. Doc watches him resettle and hum to himself as he gets comfortable against the plush backing. Doc makes a clipped sound, reaches out and moves away again, halfway between shaking him awake and letting him sleep.

“X,” he says. “Would it not be more comfortable if you were sleeping in your spare room?”

Xisuma frowns. 

“Would be,” he says, eyes still closed, mumbling. “It just gets awfully cold in there. ‘N if I’m perfectly comfortable in here, why not stay tha’way?”

It’s almost amusing, the trickle of stubbornness that leaks into the tired slur of Xisuma’s voice. It’s almost endearing. He watches X fold his arms over his chest, armor only partly discarded, watches his face wrinkle as he notices and tries to rearrange himself. Doc smiles, something that he simply can’t help—it feels so right, considering how ridiculous this is. He considers his options and weighs the success rates, the action taking a fraction of a second in time, though the scene plays out in his head in full.

“Because you’ll hurt your back,” Doc says plainly. X frowns, clearly mulling it over. There—that’s one that Doc knows, that face, where X slips into thought and worries the inside of his cheek and works his jaw. Doc raises his eyebrows, as if to question him without saying anything, without Xisuma even looking at him.

“Mhh,” Xisuma huffs. He pulls his knees up. Somehow, he manages to fit himself into his desk chair, curling his tall body over his knees and leaning sideways into the back. Doc hums, makes the approximation of the sound he knows.

“Xisuma,” he says. “I’m not going to let you sleep in that chair, you know. You are being stubborn.”

“M‘kay, okay…” Xisuma wheezes, finally uncurling himself.

It takes him a second. Watching Xisuma stretch and blink awake is like watching him come to life. He stretches up and around, face pulling as he likely unsuccessfully shakes the tension from the line of his spine. As he twists, he freezes, face scrunching all at once as he winces, hand shooting up to cup his neck.

“Ow. Jeez.”

He can see it tight in his shoulders and neck, even as X deflates, looking up at him blearily, still slightly slumped in his chair. His eyes shut again. 

“Xisuma…” Doc says, mouth twisting.

X sighs.

“‘M fine, Doc,” he manages to murmur out. “Just’a sore neck. Mm’exhausted.”

“Sounds like you need a real bed, mm?” Doc replies, setting his hands on his hips. Xisuma peeks at him, one eye opening, and shutting again.

He sees the fraction of a smile lift the corners of X’s mouth.

“Sure, sure…”

Doc looks over Xisuma’s face. With his eyes shut, face softening, hair tumbling over one shoulder, he looks comfortable. It’s as if someone took a brush to his features and smoothed out any hard edge—either that, or the static has leaked back into Doc’s vision. He feels a chug in his chest and his joints as he locks up.

X hasn’t moved. Doc reaches out, tapping his knee. Xisuma huffs, clearly startled from the half-sleep he’d drifted back into.

“Too tired t’stand,” he manages. Doc makes a questioning noise.

“I think you can make it,”

There’s a beat of silence. Xisuma cracks an eye open again, shuts it, furrowing his eyebrows. Doc watches him curiously, mind running through the list of possible scenarios. He’s made it part way when Xisuma says:

“‘M using you t’stand, then.”

And he makes a little, amused heh, before he says:

“That’s fine.”

There’s something he means to say alongside that, but as soon as X’s very warm, very human hand makes contact with the fabric of his lab coat and the cool synthetic of his arm, he loses focus. He should be used to this—the amount of times X has performed his routine maintenance, sweeping his hands over the replaced shoulder joint to check for seams, or made sure the regulator functioned, or backed up personal data, fingers skimming the shallow port at the back of his neck. He should be, but that contact alone sends a prickling-warm jolt up his arm. It feels foreign to let the touch linger. But Xisuma lingers regardless, hand flat against the space where Doc’s left ribs should be. He’s gone from holding, to simply sitting there, arm bent at the elbow, held weakly up. 

“Mrghh…” he complains. Doc taps his elbow, trying to jolt him back awake.

“C’mon, X, you can get up.”

X shakes his head slowly, his hand finding the inner curve of his prosthetic arm, squeezing just once, like he’s remembering it’s there. Then, X leans into him, all at once, slumping into his chest. Doc lets out a wouf in surprise. He holds still, aside from the simulated breath in his chest. After a moment, Xisuma makes a small, tired sound, almost like a laugh.

“Houfh,” he mumbles. “I, mm, don’t…don’t think ‘m gonna make it, Doc.”

“Mhm…” Doc chides. 

Xisuma laughs again, lying still for a moment, voice still heavy with sleep. There’s a moment where he shifts, and there’s a small, painful noise that he makes.

“Ow, mrrgh—ow, okay—” he gripes. Doc’s synthetic hand finds the curve of his shoulder, patting gently.

“Oh, X—just…stay still, mhm?”

“Mm,” Xisuma says tiredly, “Alright.”

As much as he wants to move him, X is still wearing that damn armor.

Doc lets him lean into his chest as he tries to weasel off the bits of armor left over. It’s a struggle, keeping X comfortable and trying not to pull him around awkwardly, while trying to remove his chestplate with one hand. Once the armor pulls away, he resettles him, slowly scoops one hand under his legs. Something about this, about the way Xisuma leaned heavy into him, felt so painfully human he feels it curl up between the wires connecting his regulator to his side fans.

“Ready?” he says, mostly to the top of Xisuma’s head.

“Mmh…” X murmurs.

He hefts him into his arms, settling him against his chest. When Xisuma sighs, it’s profound and heavy and he tucks his face into Doc’s coat. Doc can feel the remnant of heartbeat from where his arm rests behind his back, thudding away behind his ribs. His breathing stays even, though shallow. One of Xisuma’s hands clasps over the back of his neck, keeping him still.

It’s a careful walk to Xisuma’s spare room. Doc is careful not to bump anything, measuring the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he walks. He drifts back to sleep, though, through the lab, through Doc shutting the lights off. He’ll have to come back through to power down their various computers, but for now, the dull white-blue glow illuminates the room. He carries him into the halls and through and to his room. It’s smaller than the room in his base by a sizable margin—just enough for the essentials. X stirs as Doc pauses to flip on the lamp, the light warm and yellow briefly illuminating the room. This can’t be a daydream, now, with the way X sighs and wriggles himself free as Doc pulls back the quilts and lets him down. He sits down with him, and the warm shape that Xisuma makes curls toward him, just a fraction, as he pulls the blankets over him. 

Part of Doc knows that Xisuma won’t remember him carrying him to bed, or making sure he was warm, or keeping the light on so he wasn’t disoriented when he woke. Xisuma sighs, sinking into the pillows, expression relaxed and content. Doc hums.

“That’s better, yeah?” Doc says. He reaches out, instinct, want, desire, something, hammering away in his chest, as he brushes hair from X’s face, tucking it behind his ear. He brushes through the hair close to the base of his neck, across his cheek with his synthetic thumb. His dark hair is fine and soft and it must be a daydream—or it isn’t and he was right, because there have been moments like this in his head. Wondering if Xisuma would let himself succumb to soft comforts. He’s spent his own share of time lying next to him, ignoring the way Xisuma curls up next to him, pretending he himself didn’t move closer when Xisuma lies still. It was this dance that Doc didn’t understand, that he wasn’t sure if he was overthinking. Or overstepping. But Xisuma shifts, pressing his cheek to Doc’s synthetic palm, and Doc suppresses a shudder. It sparks something that could’ve been painful right up his arm and through his chest, bright and warm and staticky. 

Doc hums, smiling to himself. Something like a dull thrum knocks in that space of his pump, pushing itself a little further, a little harder. It was sweet. X trusts him, not only to see him without his armor, but to help him to bed, to help him sleep. But Doc lifts his hand away, feeling that ache, the nervous shudder through his system.

X makes a sound, then, something small, eyes fluttering as Doc pulls away. Doc pauses.

“Mhh,” X manages. Doc swallows—he shouldn’t have to. That’s not something he should have to do, or be able to do, but the action just feels appropriate. It goes right along with sighing and laughing, and as he does it, Xisuma says:

“Thanks,” in a small, soft voice, and, muffled, and slightly slurred with sleep: “Didn’t have’ta stop.”

“You’re supposed to be sleeping, Xisuma,” Doc says. He can feel his temperature tick up several notches, no doubt a blue flush coming to the high of his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. He laughs, just a bit. “Did I wake you up?”

X sighs, stretching as he does.

“No,” he manages. “No, y’didn’t…”

“Oh,” Doc says. “Were you awake this whole time?”

Xisuma nods slowly. Ah. Ah. Doc dismisses a temperature notification.

“A little.”

“Mm,” Doc hums. “Silly Xisuma.”

Xisuma laughs. The sound is high and a little fuzzy and a bit caught in his throat. His bright eyes blink up at him and shut again as a smile settles on his face. 

“Doc?” he asks. 

“Mhm?”

Xisuma yawns, smothering it with the back of his hand, just barely. He tucks that hand close to his chest, curling up further still under his thick comforter. 

“Could you…could’you do tha’again? The…” Xisuma lifts his hand, miming a brushing motion as he does. Another temperature warning, higher than the last, blips into Doc’s field of vision. It’s immediately dismissed, but he pulls in a breath, quiet, trying to turn it into a soft laugh.

“I can do that,” Doc says gently. Gingerly, he brushes his fingers through X’s hair, sliding back against his head. He combs through, lifting his hand to go back to his forehead, back to cradle his skull. X’s eyes fall closed again.

Doc can tell the moment that Xisuma truly slips into sleep. He lingers in his space, tracing out the base of his skull with his thumb, taking in the sensation of warmth and contact and stimulation, fingers flickering white up to his wrist. He wishes biting down on his tongue would do anything. He wishes that the hollow of his chest didn’t hold a weight that no diagnostic could fix. He felt too awkward and stilted and not nearly gentle enough. But as Xisuma stays asleep, he draws his hand away. He mumbles his good nights as he stands slowly, shutting out the light and wandering from the room. 

He makes his way back into the lab. He replays the memory of Xisuma’s small smile, the fine line of his scar as he’d pressed his face into the pillow, the way he’d relaxed against Doc’s touch. He replays the memory, again, and again. It has to be a daydream. Has to be. There’s no other logical explanation to all of that.

Maybe that would explain the ache in his chest, far too human to be his own.

Doc goes back to work. He sits down at the lab table, spreading his arms as he braces against the white tabletop. He furrows his eyebrows. Something doesn’t feel right, too warm or out of place. He feels gross. Not gross bad, maybe, gross different? Broken? Not broken, maybe. Weird. Wrong. Out of place. It doesn’t make any sense. Or it has, and he’s refusing the obvious answer. Xisuma didn’t ask for any reason. Xisuma asked because he was tired, and tired people do silly things, and silly people are a handful, and Xisuma is a handful—a lovely one. Doc shuts his eyes. His chest hurts. It’s an awful hurt, actually, less painful than it is just weird. He thinks for a moment he might be better off if he left, maybe the weight of whatever lingered in his memory would be better off if he were to take a break from standing in the same spaces. 

He sends Xisuma a message. From his office, he hears his com ping.

Docm77 whispered to you… Xisuma I’m stepping out, sleep well :-)

#hermitcraft dbh au #dbhc #docsuma #docm77 #xisumavoid #dbhc doc #dbhc xisuma #hermitcraft fic #hermitshipping #mcyt fic #fics #text #i crumple into a pile of ash and dust on the ground #i am blown away by the wind #i'd like to thank theo hitheeprithee and sam artsy book for express shipping this fic #i sat down and edited in like an hour post dinner and iam so so sleepy #but alas i must post. it is required #shepherd if you're out there and you see this i never forgor about the one time i wrote them #oh this is incredibly self-indulgent #and i care them so badly #please let them kiss. please. pl--

[st-hedge]

I said a while ago that for totk’s one anniversary I would write a weird little review of the game in which I throw roses at it while simultaneously slandering it. So I made an attempt which is very abbreviated

Disclaimer: I’m not telling u how u should feel about totk or what’s the right way to feel about it, I’m just trying to make sense of why the game frustrates me and putting it into words. It’s completely fine if u disagree with me, I’m not pitching an argument but just putting words on paper

Totk is one of the best games I’ve ever had the opportunity to play. The mechanics, the music, the designs, the revised world of hyrule, makes me want to curl up on the floor and cry. It is stunning and done with so much love. Where botw had lacked, totk has improved and gone above and beyond. It had frustrated me that botw only allowed us to explore the ground surface, but botw was an exploration into open world games which allowed for totk to happen. The caves, the boats, the islands, and the depths add so much to already such a vast world. I only wish there was also diving but beggars can’t be choosers beh

Although it still doesn’t make too much sense to me why all weapons are suddenly corrupted, I do love the new weapons system. I love how it gives more variety to explore. Materials which previously sat unused in the inventory are now key and nothing feels like a waste to collect. Even rupees have found another use. I’m not the biggest fan of the zonai devices but the addition feels like a love letter to the creativity of the fan base and it feels at place. They help to traverse an otherwise huge and intimidating world. But at times I feel like they give too much leverage and break down too many boundaries and leave little to solve and explore. What im basically saying is fuck the rockets.

I feel that totk doesn’t have enough progress boundaries that make u pause and explore what u have at hand. I found myself just pushing and pushing, forgetting and leaving behind areas I barely touched. It felt too easy getting into the sky and returning to the islands and they lost some of their mystery to me. I think this would have been a great opportunity to reintroduce the loftwings from skyward sword. I’ve talked before about how much this would make sense for totk. The loftwings could be a means to cross boundaries and explore new territories, but it takes time to catch and tame one as a companion. But like horses they should have their limits, presenting new boundaries u need to overcome again

Where the totk’s hyrule begins to confuse and disappoint me goes hand in hand with my main issue (confusion?) with the game. Although botw felt incomplete (the world was a little sparse and one dimensional), the story was comprehensive and clear. Meanwhile, totk has a complete and lively world but it doesn’t have a story to carry

Totk’s story doesn’t have an identity I can grasp and understand. It’s like it doesn’t know what it wants to tell the player, what story it wants to direct them to. On one hand, it seems to want us to know about the origins of hyrule and the mysterious landmarks and characters that are permanent fixtures in this world (castle, ruins, dragons) but at the same time it suddenly wants to do a retelling of OoT and about the sages and these secret stones. But the game never completes any of these stories. Maybe it wants to tell us these stories through the environment, but there is just not enough embedded into the world to grasp and tie together into a narrative. Which is ironic considering how big the world is

We begin to be told the story of the dragons, we suddenly understand how they came to be (the secret stones). But we are never told about the events of their creation (an act of desperation, like Zelda’s) and we are never close to understanding them. Then we are told about the sages, but meeting them tells us nothing new. No new cutscenes, no new items or lore directly related to them. The new sages are found, but didn’t we just discover the divine beasts with them? Suddenly another layer of importance is added to them which makes the ties between legacy and the current sages muddier. I wish there had been focus on them creating their own legacy instead

I think totk could’ve had a very interesting story to tell if it chose what it wants to focus on. Maybe the secret stones were introduced just as a way for Zelda to become a dragon? I dunno

There are so many new places that feel like fantastic opportunities for moments of pause and to uncover lore, unearth memories. But instead they’re brisk puzzles or empty sites. Like the graveyard underneath the desert, the forge islands, the factories, and the fucking poe statues. Tell me as much as u want that I can’t read environmental story telling, but I’ll just keep saying there’s nothing to read into cuz the game doesn’t know what it wants to say. There’s no thread to follow in the way there was with, for example, the graveyard at the spirit temple in OoT. We could’ve been just left with a strange well and a graveyard and told to figure it out, but a thread is laid down that these are the skeletons in the royal family’s closet.

Totk does have amazing moments, like Zelda meeting her ancestors and giving up her identity to become a living legend to revive the master sword, the discovery of the ancient temples, the story of the zonai and their origins. But these are just pieces with many loose ends around them that go nowhere. Even Ganon is left as a loose end where there was so much opportunity to say something worth saying. He seems comically evil with bogstandard bah I want to rule the world lines. If u want to make a case for evil for the sake of evil, u can at least show me a character repeatedly making horrible choices which lead them to the current predicament. Just like totk’s hyrule, he is lovingly designed but he tells absolutely no story

If the reason behind the lack of story is that the devs/writers wanted us to make our own story out of this, then I think this is a case where it was a poor choice. The fans can make theories, hcs, pick up pieces and make AUs, but we also love the stories told by the games and it’s what inspires us to uncover more stories (hey wanna talk about tp and why we hear Malon’s song at night, or what’s up with the empty desert)

I’d love to see totk from the perspective of someone who had never played or known botw. Did it really help to remove any traces of sheikah tech besides the labs and the guardian limbs in the towers. Although the zonai devices and the sheikah tech are from different time periods, totk was a perfect opportunity to marry the two elements together. The shrines and the divine beasts could’ve collapsed into the depths, but instead they have just vanished like erased history

Totk’s story doesn’t have an identity in the same way botw’s does. Even though botw’s hyrule was much smaller and emptier, we found stories there cuz we knew what that game was trying to tell us. If totk is about making sacrifices, then this message feels obsolete by the end. U should make sacrifices, but u will only be happy again if it all goes back to exactly how it was before

As happy and sweet the ending is, it made all the worry and sadness I felt seem pointless cuz of course everything would reset back to the norm cuz how else would this game have a happy ending. What was there to worry about. Yeah so what that Zelda became a dragon losing herself, she was just asleep the entire time and effortlessly she becomes her normal self. So what that link lost his sword arm, of course he would miraculously get it back even though it took him 100 years to recover from a mortal wound. No trace of the things they withstood and lost, no mark, nothing.

I loved the final battle and spectacle of the dragons struggling against each other in the sky. The battle went from the deepest depths to the highest reaches of the sky and I thought it was perfect. But once again how the story concluded and the logic behind it me made me feel like I was chewing on sand and the idyllic ending just made me look about in confusion

TLDR; totk is an amazing game with a stunning world that lacks a comprehensive story to tell

I hoped that I would get a better understanding why I’m so frustrated by totk, but instead I just feel even more confused by it and I think that’s just how I’ll have to leave it

#I disabled rebolgs so this doesn’t leave the target audience #I became progressively drunk as I wrote this

[atlabeth]

wake up, sunshine

knight!luke masterlist

based on this ask

pairing: knight!luke castellan x princess!reader

summary: you and luke repair some things at your kingdom's annual flower festival.

a/n: have some fluff after i destroyed their relationship in the last fic! also this is based off of the scene from rapunzel because how could it not be <3 title from the all time low song bc it is soooo them "somebody loves you for yourself" <3 they're everything

wc: 2.5k

warning(s): once again luke is kinda angsty but this is much fluffier than usual! princess is nice again, they have a couple sweet moments <3

we’ve been focusing on a lot of rough times between luke and the princess but things aren’t all bad for them!! even though she’s trying to ignore him and being forced to court a prince she isn’t interested in at all and war is imminent, war has not struck YET 

which means that things are still pretty great lol. and things are going to get a little better 

Aurelda’s flower festival always happens at the peak of spring, when all of the flowers (especially the ones only found in your kingdom) bloom, and it is full of revelry and merriment 

You’ve gone every year since you were old enough to walk, and though things have been a bit bleak for you, you’re actually excited about it! that boring prince has gone back home so you don’t have to spend the entire festival entertaining him. 

For the first time in a while, you actually get to focus on yourself and having fun. and you plan to do just that 

Of course, things are still weird between you and Luke — you know it’s your own fault, and you know that’s how it has to be, but you still hate it — but you can’t stop thinking about his words from that night as your lady’s maid helps you get ready for the festival. 

You may not care about what you want, but I do. And my loyalty is to you, princess. Not to your parents. And certainly no prince. 

Your heart twists painfully but you hide any emotion. The last thing you need is your maids spreading rumors. They already gossip about how close you and Luke are. You don’t need any star-crossed lovers narratives going on when your friendship is being put through the wringer of your own accord. 

You’re wearing a more casual outfit than usual—though your parents usually want you adorned in gowns and over the top dresses, you insisted on a simpler dress that cut off around your ankles for the ease of movement. It has plenty of embroidered flowers, of course. 

You planned to participate in every festival activity, no matter what your parents said. You deserved to have some fun after being so serious for the past month. 

You’re stuck in meetings the entire day before the festival, so you’re brimming with unspent energy the second you step out of the palace. Your leg bounces up and down the entire carriage ride, and you talk at (not to) your parents the whole time. 

You’re excited, okay? And you deserve to be. things have been rough lately, and with the prince’s presence, woefully boring. You can’t wait to get back in the middle of your kingdom and see your people. You love your subjects, and you always love when you get to meet and talk to them in person. 

Luke, on the other hand, is slightly stressed. 

As this is his inaugural year as your knight, it is a season of firsts for him, and every first comes with unhealthy amounts of stress. 

His first ball with you, his first time in another kingdom with you, his first festival with you, his first time being at odds with you. 

Luke honestly doesn’t know how you feel about him right now. You’ve put an impressive amount of distance between you and him, and you rarely talk to him outside of necessity, but he sees your lingering glances in his direction. He notices when you don’t rebuke his attempts at friendly conversation.

Luke meant every word that he said. He knows you, and he knows you don’t want this—you at least don’t want to leave him in the dark like this. So he isn’t going to let you go that easily. 

Your avoidance of him may be a good thing, though, because at least it means you don’t see his reaction when you leave your room wearing your festival dress. 

Luke has always thought of you as the most beautiful girl he knows, and that hasn’t changed with time. 

You always stun in your ballgowns and any Aureldan finery, but there’s just something about you wearing such a simplistic dress, heightened by embroidered flowers, that makes him weak in the knees. 

Maybe it’s because Luke has imagined a life away from all of this so many times. You’re not a princess, and he’s not a knight, but you’re devoted to each other the same—you just don’t have any royal strings attached. 

Apart from being a knight, Luke has never really cared where his future took him, as long as it was with you. He knows he would give up all of this and more if it meant he could share a simple life with you. 

Thankfully, he’s composed himself by the time you look at him, though he can’t push away all the lingering thoughts. 

“Are you attending the festival today, Sir Castellan?” you ask.

He hates it when you call him that, but he nods. “Of course. You’re going out into the kingdom—you need security.”

“It is a festival,” you drawl. “Nothing will happen.”

“It is still necessary,” he says. “You can think of me as your knightly escort.”

That actually gets a bit of a laugh out of you, and he suppresses a smile. “My escort. How improper of you.”

“Today is meant to be a day of festivities,” Luke says. “Impropriety may be allowed just this once.” 

Your smile remains as you start to walk together, and Luke knows he could live off of its warmth alone. 

And when you finally reach your destination, your smile gets even bigger.

It’s been far too long since you’ve gotten to be in the midst of your kingdom, surrounded by all your people. This is the part of your position that you love—you just wish your parents trusted you with it more. 

Your parents are busy with their image—they’re speaking later today, you’re sure, and right now they’re discussing things with some kind of village leader—which gives you the perfect opportunity to slip away. 

Luke is right behind you, of course, but it’s always been hard to keep up with you. You’ve grown very skilled at weaving your way through crowds, but thankfully Luke has grown very skilled at keeping an eye on you. 

By the time he catches up to you, though, it’s too late. 

“Princess—” Luke calls in protest, but you’re already off to greet a group of children calling your name. 

You know exactly how to stress him out, running off like that without him immediately behind you, but he can’t find any anger inside of him.

Luke hasn’t forgotten your words. He doesn’t know how he could. 

But in this moment, it’s so easy to see why he can’t just do his duty and let you go. 

The way you crouch down to be on their level, how you listen so intently to everything they say, your dazzling smile. 

Yes, one could say it’s your duty to be kind to your people, but for many royals, that’s not true. You’ve always cared about the people of Aurelda, ever since you were young—that may have been one of the few things that hasn’t changed as you’ve grown. Luke has always admired that about you. 

In this moment, you’re not the crown princess. You’re just you. And it’s hard for anyone not to love you. 

…It’s hard for him not to love you. 

yeah. 

this is the moment that luke realizes he loves you. like loves you loves you. 

And it doesn’t come as much of a shock to him. Luke has always loved you, one way or another. He’s just now understanding the kind of love he holds for you now. 

wants to spend the rest of his life with you, would throw himself onto a sword for you, would do absolutely anything for you type loves you. 

If anything, it brings some form of relief. 

He loves you. You don’t love him, and you’re going to marry a prince someday. Maybe within the year. 

It’s as simple as that. 

except it isn’t, obviously 

because you love him too!! you just don’t know it yet!! and you don’t really want to marry the prince your parents are pushing at you, you just don’t see any other way. 

But it’s not like Luke knows that. he may be the youngest person to ever become part of the kingsguard but he is ~ insecure ~ and he cannot imagine anyone liking him like that, especially you!!! 

Luke comes back into himself when you bound back over to him, and he notices the flower crown balancing precariously on your head. 

You have the biggest grin on your face, and though the gowns you wear at balls and fancier events are great, you’re nothing less than stunning in your simple dress. You’re slightly out of breath and your skin is luminescent with the glow of exertion. He can’t help but smile.  

Have you always been this beautiful? He’s pretty sure you have, but he doesn’t know how he didn’t realize it sooner. 

Luke has loved you for a while, he thinks. Maybe he always has—maybe that’s what the warm feeling he gets in his chest when he looks at you is. Maybe that’s what made his heart clench every time a prince danced with you at that ball. 

Maybe his love for you has always been what’s pushed him forward. 

“Luke,” you said, and once again, you snapped him out of his thoughts. You were absolutely beaming at him, and you wore a flower crown on your head. “Are you there?” 

Luke, he realized. Not Sir Castellan, for what felt like the first time in weeks. 

“I’m always here,” he said. “I’ve got superior training, princess.” 

“Of course,” you said with mock austerity, nodding sagely. “I could never forget.” 

You held up another flower crown, one similar to yours, and your smile grew. “The kids made another one, too. They said it was for my grumpy looking knight.” 

Luke scoffed, but there was no edge to it. “I’m not grumpy. Merely cautious.” 

“Oh, yes,” you said dryly. “I’m sure those kids had devious plans, Luke.” 

That got the slightest of smiles out of him, and it spurned warmth in your chest. “It’s my—” 

“It’s your job to watch me,” you finished. “I know. Just teasing you.” 

“And I welcome it,” he said. “It’s nice to see you like this, princess.” 

“Talking to my people and actually making a difference?” you guessed. 

“Happy,” he corrected. 

“Yes, well…” you trailed off, glancing away for a moment as you shrugged. “I’ve been busy.” 

“And for once, you don’t look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.” Luke’s eyes drifted to the flower crown sitting on your head, and his smile grew. “It suits you.” 

“Carelessness or flower crowns?” you asked wryly. 

“Flower crowns.” Luke crossed his arms. “You’re far from careless, princess.”

You rolled your eyes 

“You’ve got to stop talking down on yourself like that,” he said. “Like nothing you say or do matters. Because it does. It may not feel like it, but you’re doing valuable work.” 

“Oh, yes,” you said breezily. “I’m sure sitting in meetings that don’t matter and looking pretty as I stand in the background during my father’s speeches is valuable work.” 

“That’s not what I mean.” Luke gestured at the crowd of people around, specifically pointing at the group of kids that you’d entertained. “You fight for them every day, even if you don’t realize it. You care about these people, princess, which is already more than half of the people in that castle do for them. Why else would they adore you?” 

You bit your lip and glanced away. It was hard to take Luke’s words to heart when you truly felt like you were doing nothing—when it felt like the only thing you could possibly be good for was a marriage. 

But you did argue with your parents near every chance you got on matters of support and aid for your people. It was the least you could do, especially when you knew you would never really have to deal with consequences. 

(There was a reason most of your father’s advisors had to suppress groans every time you would sit in on a meeting. You took pride in your ability to annoy.) 

“Let’s call a truce, okay?”

You frowned. Now it was Luke bringing you out of your thoughts. “A truce?”

“I don’t want you to keep avoiding me, and I don’t think you’re really enjoying it either.” Luke met your gaze. “We’ve been friends for as long as I can remember, princess. Don’t let boring princes come between that.”

You glanced away. “Luke…” 

“I know,” he said with a sigh. “I know your duty, and I know mine. But seeing you today, so carefree and happy—it’s worth more than a million gold pieces to me.” 

You’d been dancing around this topic since the night you pushed him away. It just hurt too much to talk about, and you felt like you didn’t have a right to be hurt—not when you were the one that did it. 

You loved Luke—he’d been your best friend for as long as you could remember. But you would be lying if you said you didn’t hate the time you’ve been spending apart. 

“We’re both getting older, I know. And we both have responsibilities we’re going to take on. God, someday, you’re going to be queen.” Luke huffed a laugh, though his eyes never wavered from you. “But that doesn’t mean that we can’t get through it together. Just like we’ve gotten through everything else together.” 

Luke held out his hand. “So? Truce?” 

You stared at his hand for a moment, unable to meet his eyes. You knew exactly what you wanted to say but you felt like you couldn’t. 

Because dammit, your days felt so dull. You always wanted to talk about your day and how boring your lessons were or the bullshit your father’s advisors have been discussing in meetings, and Luke was always the person you wanted to talk to about it all. He always has been. 

And you pushed him away. 

Before you could doubt yourself, you ignored his hand entirely and pulled him into a tight hug. Luke wrapped his arms around you immediately, holding you close. 

“I’m sorry for avoiding you,” you whispered. God, how you’d missed his embrace—you never felt safer than when you were in his arms. “And I’m sorry for being so stupid.” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, princess,” he murmured. “And you’re certainly not stupid. Don’t even think that way.” 

You let out a breathy laugh as you pulled away, smiling softly at Luke. “I’m stupid to ever think I could really stay away from you.” 

and for the rest of the festival, you and luke are practically inseparable<3 not just because he’s your guard but because you’re best friends. 

You’re not going to let anything change that going forward. any prince that wants to marry you is just going to have to deal with that. 

(you even get him to wear that flower crown.)

(and though he tries to hide it, he kind of loves it.) 

(mostly because he loves you<3) 

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fic #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan headcanon #luke castellan au #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #pjo x reader #x reader #knight!luke #sadie writes

[wttcsms]

repeat offender, hiromi higuruma.

pairing hiromi higuruma x f!reader  word count 1.9k  synopsis vignettes of hiromi higuruma's life, featuring his inevitable early-onset mid-life crisis, his disillusionment with the justice system, and how he can't seem to shake you off. content contains law partner's daughter!reader, no curses au, corporate/big law lawyer!hiromi, bratty, always trying to get a reaction out of him reader x just trying to survive the day hiromi, slight age gap (hiromi is 26, reader is 20), eventual smut in later parts, sfw but suggestiveauthor's notes something a bit different; just wanted to test out diff narrative formats lol (and also, this was the closest thing in my gdocs to being finished & i feel guilty for not giving y'all new content)

all the wrong dialogue options were chosen here

Despite the ceiling clearance being so high that it’s enough to make a man of his stature feel small and the fact that despite all the warm bodies in this banquet hall right now, it would still be more of a challenge to bump into someone rather than avoiding them; despite the fact that the air conditioning system must be working overtime since he hasn’t felt the need to shrug off his tuxedo jacket once, despite the fact that he’s free to leave at any time he wants since he’s already gone through the obligatory introductions and the empty pleasantries—

—despite it all, Hiromi Higuruma feels trapped. The walls are slowly closing in on him, and someone from across the massive room is laughing a bit too loudly, and the ceiling, with its intricate crown molding, feels like it’s going to collapse onto him at any second. 

That’s the problem when you decide to be someone you’re not. He’s constantly on his toes, always having to look behind him, always trying to make sure his mask isn’t going to slip. Fresh out of law school. Top marks, top of his class, actually. As expected, as always. 

Hiromi is used to setting the curve, so it doesn’t take him long to learn how these circles operate. Laugh at the right jokes, order the right drink, find the right people to praise, the right suit to wear — he’s good at figuring out the right answers to everything. 

“The party’s never going to end, so if you feel like leaving, you might as well just go now.” 

Hiromi turns to face the source of that sentence, only to have to glance downwards, taking in the sight of you. Glossy lips, long lashes, slinky gold gown clinging to the curves of your body. He swallows. Hard. 

You smile. Sweetly. 

“Before you go, though, you mind getting me a drink from the bar?” You point to the bar that’s across the room, the area Hiromi just left, one old-fashioned in his hand. 

The first wrong thing Hiromi says is, “It’s an open bar.” 

Your shining smile barely falters, but he catches the subtle curve of a frown almost taking shape. 

“Do you really think I could fight off that crowd?” You give him a faux pout, one that only emphasizes the pretty shape of your lips. 

Looking like that, he thinks you wouldn’t need to fight the crowd to get the bartender’s attention. Everyone would probably be clamoring for yours, actually. He doesn’t tell you this, though. Instead, he says, “Like you said, I might as well just go now.” 

Boo. This stranger is no fun. What a waste of good looks, you think to yourself. Taking in the way his body fills out his suit, the tall bridge of his nose, the sharpness of his features — maybe it’s for the best that he’s no fun. You’re not sure how you would be able to keep your cool if he actually was interesting. 

“Don’t just paraphrase. I remember saying that after telling you you should do that if you feel like leaving.” 

He wonders what you’re doing here, at one of the biggest charity galas sponsored by the big law firm he’s going to be joining shortly after his graduation. There’s no way you’re a law student; only a select few final year students were invited in the first place. He can’t fathom you being someone’s plus-one; looking like that, he certainly wouldn’t be able to let you out of his grasp. 

He doesn’t ask you anything, though. He doesn’t compliment you, or say anything that’s on his mind. Instead, he hands his half-empty glass to one of the catering employees walking by that’s collecting dirty glasses, and he tells you, “I’ll be heading out now. Good luck with the bar.” 

It certainly wasn’t the right thing to say, but being a genius comes with some pressure. He figures he’s allowed to give out a few incorrect answers every once in a while.

apex predator 

The click-clack of your four-inch heels making impact against the tiled floors of your father’s law firm serves as a signal to everyone that they need to seek immediate shelter (read: cower in the nearest coworker’s office) and try not to make direct eye contact with you. 

When the boss’s daughter comes to visit, everyone’s on edge. 

Everyone except the new hire. 

Hiromi Higuruma is by no means slow on the uptake, but he’s clocking in the most billable hours out of everyone. Very rarely does he get a chance to take a break, and he doesn’t plan on wasting what few precious minutes of a break he can get on hiding from some brat whose single defining characteristic is sharing the same last name that’s plastered on this skyscraper of a building.

When he passes you by in the hallway, you catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye. Broad shoulders, slim waist, and a familiar slope of a nose bridge you’ve seen before. You almost falter in your footsteps — almost. 

bucket list idea: fuck in an elevator

There’s something intimate about being in the same elevator as someone else.

When there’s a handful of people, it’s casual. Simple. Someone who forgot deodorant, someone who’s running late for work, someone who just burnt their tongue trying to drink their coffee too fast. All of it is mundane. 

Being in an elevator where it’s just you and him — you haven’t decided yet if it’s a gift or a punishment. 

“My father loves the work you’ve been doing,” You’re the first one to break the silence. You can only hope that he’ll be the first one to break the distance between you two: a respectful four feet apart. 

Hiromi clears his throat, straightens his tie. He’s staring straight ahead, right at the shiny silver of the stainless steel doors. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me. I’m not the one who said anything about your work.” 

The corners of his mouth almost turn up at that. He fights the urge to smile. 

“Then thanks for the honesty.” 

“Do you like that?” You ask him. 

“Like what?”

“Honesty?” You ask it innocently enough, but when you give him those eyes, and make your lips form that pout, everything comes out sounding sultry. He’s convinced you could be reading his most recent M&A deal out loud to him and make it sound like you’re reading an erotic romance. 

“Well, I’m a lawyer.” He finds that he has to bite back his smile when he’s around you. He stares at the slowly changing numbers on the screen. The two of you entered from the parking garage, and the elevator’s making its steady ascent to the thirtieth floor. 

“So that’s a no.” You muse.

Hiromi makes no comment.

whatever pays the bills, i guess

Hiromi Higuruma, unlike every other undergrad trying to get into law school, does not take… creative liberties when it comes to his personal statement on why he wants to become a lawyer. Potential medical school students lie and say they want to “save lives” because “living with six-figure student loan debt for the first decade out of school and then making crazy bank afterwards seems like a good trade-off” just doesn’t sound very awe-inspiring, does it? 

In another life, he thinks he’s probably a defense attorney. Representing the Little Guy. Keeping alive his desire to uphold the principles of justice and that the wrongfully accused receive fair representation. Even with the odds stacked against his client, he’s certain that he’s good enough to win their case.

However, the world is unfair. Doing the good thing rarely pays off. Being a good person doesn’t get you very far, either. One of his former classmates was such a bright, kind girl. Passionate statement of purpose, too. She applied to all the same law programs as Hiromi and got accepted to exactly zero of them. 

Hiromi got into every single one, and his statement of purpose was honest, straight to the point, and damn-near clinically cold.

I need a competitive environment that takes pride in its intellectual rigor, but I have no desire to pursue medical school just to spend a decade in college and residency. Law school seems most appropriate for my needs.

who hired the intern?

Hiromi doesn’t know what you do around the firm, just that you’re constantly here. 

Even when you’re not physically present, he still finds traces of you lingering everywhere. The scent of your perfume that sticks to the elevator’s walls, your now-empty medium sized iced matcha latte in the trashcan of the breakroom, whispers of your names when his colleagues are in the mood to gossip, the click-clack of your heels that he can hear from inside his office even though his door is closed.

He can’t tell if you’re just inescapable or if he’s constantly subconsciously seeking you out. He doesn’t want to know the answer.

What he does want to know the answer to is why you’re sitting on top of his desk at seven in the morning, your medium sized iced matcha latte in all its green glory (this is the first time he’s seen it full and not as an empty plastic cup in the trash). You’re wearing a fitted white button down with a gray wool skirt that will have the HR manager doing a wide-eyed double-take when you walk past her. Your legs are crossed, and Hiromi scolds himself for noticing. 

He focuses on your face instead, upset to see that you’re still doing that unfair move of yours — that pout, those eyes. 

“What are you doing in here?” Hiromi manages to get the words unstuck from his throat. He’s not even sure how you got the keys to his office, and then he remembers who your father is. 

You smile brightly. 

“My dad says I need some ‘resume-boosting’ activities, and how convenient is it that the firm is looking for an off-cycle intern?” 

How convenient, indeed.

“Still doesn’t explain why you’re sitting on top of my desk.” During your chirpy exclamation, Hiromi manages to pull himself together. He’s getting a few steps closer to you. He’s not going to sit behind his desk, not yet, but his approach only serves to bring you two into closer proximity. If you stretch your legs, the pointy tips of your stilettos will brush against the fabric of his trousers. 

“Well, every intern at the firm is apparently assigned a lawyer to work under. Y’know, to be a mentor.” 

He can’t decide if he likes or detests where this is going.

“And,” you continue. “Dad only wants the best for me. It’d be, like, kind of suspicious to be working directly alongside my father, though.” Yes, Hiromi muses. Because getting a law internship at one of the most prestigious firms during your undergrad is certainly not suspicious at all. “So, the next best thing would be the so-called prodigal lawyer that everyone can’t stop praising. How convenient is it that you’re able to watch over an intern for the semester?”

“Very convenient.” Hiromi raises an eyebrow. “Are you going to get off my desk now? I can’t imagine you’ll be able to learn much if your back is going to be facing me when I’m sitting at my desk.” 

“Whatever you say, sir.” You hop off the desk, gently tugging your skirt down in place. He keeps his eyes focused on your face the whole time.

#hiromi higuruma x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #one shot #drabble #fluff #imagine #jjk headcanons #hiromi higuruma x you

[charmac]

Unspoken tension ahead of Charlie Work, a wound left open in Family Fight

The Production Order (the order in which the episodes are written) always seems of some value to me in Sunny, but 10 I find especially substantial. With half of the scripts of the season written by RCG, 4 are back-to-back (with their 5th one, Psycho Pete, being 2nd in order).

The run begins after The Gang Spies like U.S. Going off that into Charlie Work, as opposed to into that off Charlie Work, paints a very different narrative for the timeline.

We leave the reveal that Mac and Dennis are jerking off together into an episode that starts with high tension between Mac and Dennis. Dennis is frustrated that Mac isn't being direct, won't look him in the eyes, he's avoidant, timid. That's interesting, because Mac isn't usually any of those things, he's direct and abrupt and loud. Off 9, fully establishing Mac is gay, juxtaposing his closeted behaviour to Country Mac's openness, 10 focuses hard on the fact that Mac's confidence is continually battered as he refuses to step out of the closet. The Gang is tired of it, but Dennis is frustrated. His words maybe cut even deeper than the scratch, "Come to me like a man. Talk about being tough all the time, can't even look me in the eyes."

We leave CW and go into Family Fight, written right after, also by RCG. This episode has big focus on Dennis' obsession with public perception of himself, and the Gang. Though he can initially handle masking his demeanor, his tone of voice, what he can't mask are his words. He's smiling, he's 'joking', but there's deep truth in what he’s saying. He's frustrated, though his frustration in the moment is intended for Frank, Mac feels it directed at him. There's a fresh wound between them, because Mac fully understands what his feelings for Dennis are now, and that’s irreparably shifted their dynamic.

Misses the Boat is the last RCG-written episode of the season. From Charlie Work, where we’re kinda first faced with the fact that Mac is now overly-concerned with how Dennis perceives him, to Family Fight, where Dennis' masks slip completely and he has a public breakdown, they both veer hard to straighten themselves. Mac, very quite literally, goes straight, and Dennis resolves that he needs to cut ties to get back to being ‘cool’, he’s going to be a cool guy who has a cool car and hangs out with a babe and is cool.

But what we learn in Misses the Boat is that how they think the world views them, or should view them based on how they believe they present, isn’t who they are. They can’t actually function well in these situations. Dennis, untethered, somehow can’t control his rage as well as he can when he *is tethered* to the Gang. Mac, well, he isn’t straight, and he realises pretending to be into women is miserable.

Dennis gives him the offer: Do you want to go back? (To not addressing it, to a standstill.) And Mac quickly, excitedly takes it. Looping back to where they are in Charlie Work, back to where they settle for too long: Mac, absorbed in himself, clawing for approval from Dennis, and Dennis lashing out, tired of telling Mac what to do.

And I think this is why I love 10 more than anything, it finally addresses the issue the audience knows. With Charlie, Dee, and Frank, too. They’re going nowhere, spiraling in circles because they refuse to address the roots of their issues, and Misses the Boat makes them, themselves, fully aware of that fact. They’re miserable together, but they’re worse off alone. And they go into 11 and beyond knowing this, and all kind of resenting each other for it, until 14. Where they acknowledge it again, and decide they’re going to keep playing the game even though it’s set.

#META UNDER THE CUT!! #this is not just mac angst people #but it can be if you dont care about meta ig #iasip #macdennis #mac mcdonald #dennis reynolds #sunny 10 #charlie work #the gang goes on family fight #the meta went way deeper than i was expecting but im happy with it #3am spiralling or something or other #waited until today to reread it cos yk #and i stand by it #sunny meta #i hate the idea of dividing sunny into 'new sunny' and 'old sunny' #i think theres a lot more to it based on all the dynamic shifts that happen #theres very clear stages that are more divided like #1-4. 5-7. 8-10. 11-14. 14-present #and you could probably label them in a fun way too

[monstrousmuse]

I am not sure if anyone here has already made this connection or pointed this out (apologies if so), but while doing some research into Flatland/the 11 dimensions the other day, I discovered something pretty interesting…

…

In the ‘Book of Bill’ announcement video, as well as distorted, synthesised background music and the Morse Code (which has already been deciphered), we can also hear several lines of spoken dialogue, the first of which being the line: “some other mystic dimension”.

Timestamp: 0:04

Now, this line already raises several questions - which ‘dimension’ is being referring to here? And why is it considered to be ‘mystic(al)’? Well, we don’t have a definite answer to either of those questions just yet, but if you will humour me for a moment, I have a few suggestions. Either this ‘other mystic dimension’ could be referring to Bill’s own homeland, the Second Dimension (which would naturally be considered ‘other’, ‘mystic’ and generally unfamiliar to us, the readers), or perhaps, it is referring to the Third Dimension itself, or what is known as Spaceland (Height/Up) in Abbott’s novella. I think the latter to be far more likely, especially with what I am about to show you. This is where my excessive YouTube deep-diving habits came in useful.

…

During my research quest, I stumbled upon this video of the famous astronomer and science communicator Carl Sagan (take note of this name) explaining the concept of the Fourth Dimension, as well as other Flatland-adjacent things. And lo and behold, at 4:37, what do we hear?

“And the poor Square has to say: ‘Well, I was in some other mystic dimension called Up…”

Yes, that’s right. The exact words that were used in the promo video.

To provide you some context, here Sagan is recounting the experience of A Square who, with the guidance and revelations of A Sphere, has just returned from a recent foray into the Third Dimension, and is trying to explain his sudden disappearance and newfound knowledge of Height to his friends. So saying, it is likely that the ‘other mystic dimension’ being referred to in the BoB video is in fact, the Third Dimension, since this is a book that has been written from Bill’s perspective, and it seems that he will be filling in the role of A Square in this narrative, discovering the Secrets Of The Universe and all. Although, I must emphasise that this is still just speculation on my part, based on the assumption that Bill’s backstory will be pretty similar to, if not a direct retelling of Flatland:

“Flat minds in a flat world with flat dreams.”

Who knows, Alex Hirsch may just subvert our expectations entirely.

“I liberated my dimension (…)” / “Saw his own dimension burn. Misses home and can’t return.”

…

Anyway, I have another little piece of the puzzle to share. The line spoken in the announcement video isn’t merely a word-for-word recreation of what Carl Sagan said, It is Carl Sagan. They used a direct clip from an episode of Cosmos. This has me giddy with excitement, because Carl Sagan, a man with much notoriety within the scientific community, and many achievements and accolades to his name, is known to be one of Ford’s scientific idols.

The level of detail in this show, and I guess now in its extended literary canon’s advertisement material, is insane. Do with this information what you will. Perhaps there’s a connection here that will be expounded upon in the book. Perhaps it’s just a cool reference. Even so, it is a very intriguing one nonetheless, especially with the tie-ins to Flatland, theoretical physics and Ford’s hero-worshipping. It’s clearly intentional.

…

(If anyone is interested, here is an excellent meta which provides a very detailed exploration and analysis of Ford’s respective connections to Sagan and Tesla.)

#gravity falls #stanford pines #ford pines #bill cipher #bill cipher analysis #the book of bill #book of bill #carl sagan #flatland #flatland: a romance of many dimensions #edwin abbott abbott #second dimension #third dimension #gravity falls analysis #gravity falls meta

[farfromstrange]

Weed Cookies | Matt Murdock x F!Reader

PART 3 of The Vault

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Karen receives a box of cookies from one of their clients. Foggy and Matt take a bite. Even with his heightened senses though, Matt doesn't realize what's wrong with the cookies before he's absolutely wasted, and you have to babysit him. Yes, they were edibles.

Warnings: Fluff, faint hints at S3 depressed!Matt and suicidal ideations, attempt at humor, crack fic, accidental drug use, for the sake of this fic we are going to pretend that the edibles were made well enough for Mister I-Know-Everything to miss it

Word Count: 3.4k

A/n: I wrote this after watching the episode of Grey's Anatomy with the Weed Cookies. I took some behaviorisms from my own experiences and exaggerated them a little to fit the vibe of this fic. I scraped parts of this and once again adjusted them because this was even more poorly written before than it is now, and I added the Nelson, Murdock & Page Season 3 narrative again because that's now the running theme of this event. Anyway, if you choose to consume edibles, stay safe! (Also, I'm just copying and pasting my usual tag lists. if anyone wants to be added for this event, do let me know)

“We just got cookies from Ms. Lebowsky next door,” Karen announces happily when she enters the office, balancing the transparent Tupperware in one hand and her handbag in the other. 

“She told me to thank you for helping her get out of that hellhole,” she says. Her eyes crinkle in the corners as a mischievous grin takes over her face. “There’s plenty for all four of us. Although she did mention Matt a few more times.”

“Ms. Lebowsky?” Foggy asks. He stands in the doorway of his office, holding a freshly brewed coffee. “Isn’t she the elderly lady we helped last week?”

“Yeah, that’s her. I think she has a crush on Matt.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Of course, she does. Who doesn’t? Not that I do, but—well, you get the gist.” The blood rushes to his cheeks, and Karen giggles in response.

From the office on the left, Matt’s voice rings out, “We just did our jobs,” he says. “She made us cookies, dude!” Foggy inspects the box on Karen’s desk. “They’re chocolate chip cookies. Our favorite. See what good looks can buy you?”

Matt chuckles, his fingers tracing the Braille indentations in the documents that are starting to form a mountain before him. “I think we got them because we’re good lawyers, Foggy.”

“Yeah, right. No way! That woman was smitten the second she came in. I really gotta get that blind thing going. I mean, she’s way too old for you, but come on! You’re in a serious committed relationship, and women still come piling at your door. It’s not fair.”

The way he whines like a little kid who has just been denied his favorite candy makes Karen laugh at his antics, and even Matt can’t help but join in. No matter how stressed he is, and how badly he wants to focus, Foggy never fails to lighten the mood.

Ever since moving offices, things have been going well for the trio. 

When Matt met you, he was at his lowest. You helped him climb out of a dark hole that was threatening to swallow him whole after losing Elektra and almost losing everything he worked so hard for to Wilson Fisk. Thanks to you, he found the will to fight again. You brought him back to life.

He wanted to die. He hated himself for the longest time after the building collapsed and forever took the first woman he ever loved down with its ruins, but then you came into his life, and you didn’t care about his baggage. You were far too good for him, but that didn’t matter to you. 

He fell for you hard and fast, and maybe the timing was a little off because what he needed was therapy and not someone new to get attached to. Still, if you hadn’t pulled him back to his feet and encouraged him to fight back against Fisk, saving his friendship with the people he cares most about in the process, he would have never made it far enough to get therapy.

Matt trusts you with his life because he feels like he owes it to you, but he also loves you more than anything. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to him. You’re his soulmate, and he couldn’t be happier.

Nelson & Murdock added Karen to their permanent repertoire. With her, things are flowing much more smoothly, and they’re actually making money now. They’re expensive, as Foggy likes to say it. Matt’s friends are just as happy as he is, giving him hope for the future.

“Hey,” Foggy snaps him out of his trance, “Earth to Murdock.”

Matt blinks behind his glasses, his fingers halting their frantic movements along the paper. “While I don’t disagree with what you’re saying,” he says, “please don’t let my girlfriend hear you say that women are piling at my door.”

Karen snorts. “Trust me, Matt. She knows,” she says.

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t remind her of that.”

“My lips are sealed. Foggy?”

He sighs, once again dramatically. “As long as you don’t sleep with them, you have nothing to fear, my friend.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” says Matt. “The one I’m sleeping with is incomparable.”

Foggy grimaces. “Oh, dude. Gross! You know, God made conscious thought as a mechanism for humans to know when to shut up.”

“To be fair, ninety percent of the population don’t know how to use that mechanism,” Karen jumps to Matt’s defense.

As he laughs, he takes a whiff of the air surrounding their new baked goods. Matt can smell the sweet chocolate of the cookies, and somewhat of a herbal essence, but he can’t quite pinpoint why the scent seems so familiar. 

Karen walks around her desk to drop her bag and her coat. “So, do guys want a cookie?” she asks, swiftly changing the subject.

“I’ll take one,” Foggy is quick to answer.

Matt nods from his desk. “I’ll try one, too.”

The innocent decision to indulge in a sweet treat soon comes back to bite them in the ass though. Heavily.

When Matt first bit into the cookie, he didn’t think there was anything wrong with it. It tasted like chocolate mixed with basil, sugar, honey, and the kind of flour Ms. Lebowsky used, but he didn’t find much else wrong with it. Perhaps if he hadn’t allowed himself to get distracted by his phone calling out your name and the sweetest text he could have possibly received this early in the morning from the love of his life, he would have noticed that something tasted off about these cookies. And that what he believed to have been basil as a secret ingredient was something else entirely.

When lunchtime finally rolls around, you drop everything you were doing before and make your way to Matt’s office. You always spend lunch together. It’s your favorite time of the day. For an hour, you can forget the stress of your workplace and focus on him. He’s your safe haven. Your home. You crave to memorize his features anew every day so that you will have something to carry around with you when he has to work a bit longer, or when he goes out at night and his Daredevil duties drag on beyond what he planned. 

You need to be with him as much as possible because you’re scared that your happiness will shatter on a white cloth, and you will be forced to move on—you can’t imagine losing him. You dedicated your life to loving him, and the thought of ever losing that privilege kills you. 

On your way out, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You smile, thinking that it’s Matt, but when Karen’s number pops up on your screen, you frown. 

‘We have a problem,’ she texted you. Without context. 

All the alarms in your head start blaring, and you start to walk a little faster. You start imagining all possible scenarios. When you ask Karen what’s going on, she doesn’t even reply. What if someone got hurt? What if something happened to Matt? You almost lost him once; you can’t go through that again. 

You burst into the new office space that your friends share a few minutes later, your chest heaving and sweat dripping down your pulsating temples. You’re ready to fight whoever dared to hurt the man you love, or possibly threaten your friends, or both, but when you look up and see your darling boyfriend with his cheek pressed against one of the leaves on their gigantic office plant as if the overgrown Calathea were the coziest pillow he has ever touched, you understand why Karen texted you that you—both you and her—have a problem. A big one, too, judging by the looks of it.

“What is going on here?” you ask the dreaded question, shutting the door behind you.

Only then do you notice Karen to your right in Foggy’s office, trying to get him off of his office chair. He’s belting the chorus of Defying Gravity at the top of his lungs, and he’s got a broom clutched tightly in his right hand.

Oh boy. Your wide eyes drift to Karen’s desk in the middle of the room. As soon as you see the chocolate cookies inside the Tupperware, it slowly begins to dawn on you.

You’re not sure which is worse: Matt cradling a houseplant with his glasses discarded and the first three buttons of his dress shirt undone as he’s coated in sweat, or Foggy singing one of Broadway’s greatest ballads so off-key that the Calathea is starting to wither.

It takes Matt much longer than usual to sense your presence in the room. He calls your name, and his lips curl into a bright grin. Even completely out of it, he looks like an angel on earth. 

“Matthew,” you say. You approach him like you would approach a little kid. He’s on his knees, so the analogy isn’t far off. 

“Hi, honey. What’s going on?”

“Sweetheart,” he greets you, and you have never heard this man sound so relaxed. His hazel eyes are red-rimmed and glazed over, but the most obvious change lies in his behavior. 

“Feel that.” He reaches for your hand when you’re close enough for him to smell you, but he misses. “Where are you?” Matt pouts. “I can’t see.”

You want to laugh, but this is not the time. “You are blind, baby,” you remind him. 

“Since when?”

“Over twenty years.”

“Oh.” He finally gets a hold of your hand. The conversation seems to go right over his head. “Feel the power of nature,” he tells you. “It’s so soft.”

You want to drag him away from the potentially dangerous plant if he decides to eat it, but the sight of him is one to behold. He looks downright adorable. 

You have to focus though. You gently pat his hand. “Maybe later,” you say, and then you make your way to Karen’s desk to inspect the cookies.

Behind you, she calls your name. You twirl around. From the looks of it, she managed to get Foggy down from his chair, but he remains singing at the top of his lungs. All the signs point to one thing, and one thing only.

“Did you give my boyfriend weed cookies?” you sound a lot more condescending than you planned to. 

Karen shakes her head. Her face is pale, and she looks just as panicked as you do. “Those are not mine,” she says. 

“But you knew they were edibles?!”

“Of course, I didn’t! I started questioning it when Matt started cuddling the plant because his Braille felt like boobs and he didn't want to cheat on you, so he decided that he needed to touch some grass.” She points to him, exasperated. As if on cue, Matt lets out a happy little sigh.

Your brain struggles to process all of the information at once. “I’m sorry, what?”

“He said that his Braille feels like boobs. I don’t know! I thought he was messing with me until Foggy turned into Elphaba, and that’s when I took a bite and realized there was weed in them,” she says.

You groan, your worried eyes momentarily flicking back to your high boyfriend. High. That’s not a word you thought you would ever associate with him. “How did this happen?” you ask.

“Ms. Lebowsky, the lady next door, we helped her out the other day, and this morning, she gave me these cookies. I called her when these two started acting like idiots—more than usual, anyway. Turns out, she confused them with the ones her niece made for her birthday party tomorrow.”

“Her niece made edibles for her birthday party?”

“Please, don’t ask. I don’t have all the details. I just–”

“It’s fine,” you cut her off. “Just tell me that you’ve got Foggy under control.”

Karen peeks in through the window to his office. “More or less, yeah. You’ve got Matt?”

“Yeah, I’ve got him.”

You have to take care of him. He’s your responsibility. But as calm as he is right now, his heightened senses make the situation a lot more complex than the mere accidental consumption of edibles.

Walking over to him, you try to haul him up. He protests, at first, but then he feels the fabric of your shirt, and he slacks.

Matt wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your neck. “You’re so soft,” he coos. “You smell like honey.”

With his entire weight on you, you have to widen your stance so you won’t fall over. His usually quick reflexes are nonexistent right now; he won’t be able to catch you if you trip, and then you’re both going to get hurt.

“You know what’s even softer?” you ask.

“The plant,” he answers confidently. He sounds like a more careless version of himself. You can’t deny that it does something to you.

“No, silly,” you chuckle softly, “I meant your bed.”

“Oh. But I’m not tired.”

“You’re high.”

He pouts. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” You stroke his back. “It’s okay. I’m not mad at you.”

He stiffens and relaxes at the same time. You swear you can feel the electricity in his veins as his nerves respond to the feeling of your skin on his. It’s like he’s on fire. Like your touch feels a million times more intense, and he’s being crushed under the weight of it in a way that makes him crave more. 

He squeezes you tighter, trying to get swallowed by you, consumed to the point that you are the same person. The drugs are doing a number on him, and his already heightened sense of feeling has increased tenfold to the point you’re not sure if it’s pleasurable or painful or both. It must be agonizing, yet at the same time there is a high chance that the weed is calming his nerves and dampening his perception to the point he’s taking everything in without the added weight—he’s enjoying the newfound sensations in limbo, and he’s unaffected by it. You wonder how long that is going to last. 

After bidding farewell to Karen, wishing her good luck with Foggy who has now reached a point of his high where he’s lying on the floor, demanding to listen to Bohemian Rhapsody and cry over Freddie Mercury. She assures you that she has got it under control, apologizes again, and then sends you on your way.

“Bye, Karen,” Matt says. “You have very nice hair.” His hand tangles in yours, and his face lights up like a Christmas Tree. You managed to convince him to put his glasses on, at least, or he might get irritated. “Never mind,” his voice turns into a pur. 

Usually, you would shiver at his fingers in your hair, tracing the strands and sensually massaging your scalp only he knows how to, but today is not one of those days. You’re still concerned about the effects that the weed might have on him, so you want to be careful, although you’re not sure how much longer you can keep yourself from laughing. 

As you maneuver Matt through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, his cane hovers above the ground and his arm is hooked around yours. Without you, he would have run off into traffic by now. He has absolutely no spatial awareness anymore. 

Every sound, scent, and texture seems to capture his attention, but there's one sensation in particular that he can't seem to shake: thirst. You’re not even home yet, and you had to stop by a convenience store to get him a bottle of water. He shed his coat, which you are now carrying for him while also guiding him while simultaneously trying not to attract any unwanted attention. 

You can’t help but look at him as though he is your whole world. He is. He is everything to you, even high on edibles he never meant to consume, and acting like a feral toddler. If anything, you are even prouder now that he is yours. 

“Hey,” he whispers, leaning close to you, “do you think fire hydrants taste like licorice?”

You shake your head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Matt, don’t lick the fire hydrant.” 

He pouts. For a moment, you think that you have steered off any possible disaster, but that was only wishful thinking.

Matt’s curiosity knows no bounds, and he’s soon reaching out to touch anything that catches his eye. He runs his fingers along the rough brick foundation of a building, marveling at the texture, and he stops to sniff a flower, declaring, “This is the most beautiful flower I have ever smelled.”

You pluck it for him, and he carries it in the pocket of his coat with a happy smile. 

You’re both exhausted when you finally make it to his apartment. Getting his large frame through the door is one thing, stopping him from tearing the tap off the sink as he desperately searches for liquid with the words, “Water!” is another.

“Okay, okay,” you try to calm him. You grab a bottle from the fridge, open it for him, and force him to take it. “Drink.”

One touch is enough for him to drop it. “It’s cold,” he recoils in agony.

You sigh. “Tap water it is, then.”

You have never seen him down so many glasses of water. He is severely dehydrated and sensitive to changes in temperature. It’s either too hot or too cold, and you’re so glad that Karen texted you when she did.

You manage to get him to the couch with some snacks that he devours within seconds. If he moves one more inch today, you may not be able to catch him again.

His lip twitches. “Chickens don’t have any arms.”

You pause in the process of wrapping him in a blanket, staring blankly ahead at him. “Excuse me?” you ask.

“Chickens don’t have any arms,” Matt states. “Every American citizen has the right to bear arms under the second amendment in the constitution. If an egg was fertilized on US soil, and the chicken hatched there as well, technically, that makes them a citizen of the United States of America, therefore allowing tiny creatures without arms the right to bear arms, but who gives the bears their arms?” 

You’re so flabbergasted that the absurdity of the situation eludes you. The words process only slowly in your mind, and when they do, they cause a wave of confusion to wash over you before it turns into genuine amusement, and it takes every ounce of self-control to keep yourself from laughing at him.

You can pinpoint the exact second the thought escapes his mind and something else replaces it. His hand brushes over the leather couch. “Smooth,” he observes. You haven’t even fully processed his very philosophical question about the animal kingdom before he drops his cheek down on the couch.

The man who has been carrying the weight of the world in bricks on his back for years is finally relaxed; it shouldn’t leave such a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

You kneel in front of him, reaching out to touch his cheek. “Do you need anything?” you ask.

Matt’s gaze is filled with an odd sort of clarity. “Nah. Just you,” he mumbles.

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you brush a sweaty strand of hair away from his forehead. "I'm right here," you reassure him. 

He nods, his eyelids drooping as the effects of the edibles start to take their toll. “Good.” He searches for your hand, and you help him intertwine your fingers. A giddy smile finds its way onto his face. “You’re warm.”

You lean in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “And you’re high,” you tease.

Matt huffs out a breathy laugh. “Mmh, yeah,” he says. “But it’s okay. ‘Cause you’re here.”

Despite the chaos and the unexpected turn of events, there’s a sense of contentment settling over you as you watch him drift off into a state of bliss. He deserves it more than anyone. 

You stay by his side, watching over him as he succumbs to the pull of sleep that you’re all too familiar with after a sudden high. 

“Note to self,” you say to yourself, “never eat a stranger’s cookies without drug testing them first.”

And love has funny ways of making even the most absurd moments feel strangely beautiful.

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