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pursuitseternal · 4 months

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“Antics of the Newly Ascended:” ✨🩸What it must have been like right after the Rite for… everyone…

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader | E | 4.4K of “Ascension Puberty” and Smut

Summary: “I can’t yet speak its language…” Astarion doesn’t know all his powers, despite the title of Vampire Ascendant, despite having a Bride at his side. Suppose these manifest themselves surprisingly, even awkwardly… a bit of comedy and smut.

CW: awkward campmates, Vampires stuck on the ceiling, peacock-preening Ascendant Lords, Bride/Spawn Tav also learning what it means to be a vampire, and the hot smut that always delivers (oral sex, hand job, anal fingering, blood kink, dom and sub!Astarion)

Ao3 Link | Astarion fic Masterlist

The First Day…

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A/N: Mostly, I consider this Astarion’s Ascension puberty, that awkward time he’s getting to know his “changing” body… and how it might surprise him sometimes. In my own play-thru, it strikes me that after the Rite, it’s just life as usual for everyone. I like to think there are some lingering feelings and learning curves… so here is some comedy and smut (a gift to @marimosalad because the double stimulation towards the end was her amazing idea 😘)

Not quite “The Rogue You Were” maybe a prequel

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You had heard he had demanded his own room now at the Elfsong. Wyll had told you, his one good eye rolling in its socket with ire. “His Lordship demanded a separate chamber for him and his.. consort,” he had spat the word out with disgust in your direction, “one that befits his new status and power of Vampire Ascendant.” Wyll sneered, put out, jilted. That forever part of him that was a monster hunter and hero still unable to wrap his mind around what you did for love. “You best not keep him waiting, Consort.”

Someday, the Blade of Frontiers might understand. But not today, not one day into Astarion’s reign as Ascendant and your new immortal life at his side.

Now you creep outside his door, just one room over. The same he had stolen you away to last night… when you became his, when you died to be reborn his consort. He had pointedly refused to really call you spawn. And while the memories of that night were hazy, aside from the most glorious sex of your existence, you knew whatever was done was done.

You waited, your hearing even sharper now, heightened as vampire. From behind the door you hear groaning, grunts of effort, and sighs of exertion.

And you frown. Could he really be… taking care of himself… after everything you had done with him last night? Even now this evening, with you merely a wall away? Like you wouldn’t come running for pleasure if he called for you, with or without compelling?

You knock on the door. Hard. Furious. If your heart still beat, it would be racing in rage.

“Leave me,” he barks back.

“Astarion,” you hiss. And then you knock harder. “Let me in.”

Inside, you hear scrambling, boots scraping on wood. A messy hurry of activity punctuated by curses.

If you hadn’t been there yesterday, hadn’t felt the lives of so many flow into your beloved, hadn’t been spattered by Cazador’s blood yourself as the same Infernal ruins were carved in his flesh… you would scoff at the suggestion Astarion was at all changed.

You finally hear the door handle unlock, and riding the swell of your self-righteous anger, you burst in.

“After all I have done for you… all I did to get you that Ascension, all the times I spread my legs, you insist on…”

You freeze. The door behind you shuts by magic. And looking up beside you, you see why. “Astarion,” you begin, much quieter, trying to stifle a laugh, if only from the pure irritation that seethes on his sharp face, “why are you on the ceiling?”

He hangs upside down, that mess of silver curls near standing on their ends. His face is flushing, that newly reborn heart letting all that magnificent, ascendant blood rush to his head. He folds his arms and spreads his legs. As if he could be intimidating while being inverted.

“I told you this morning, my treasure, it will take some time to become acquainted with my new self.”

You scan the room, skin tingling at the memories of pleasure not one day ago. And yet, here he was being more ridiculous than ever before. “So… the private room isn’t just for mind-blowing sex now that you and I are joined for eternity…” you fight the smirk on your lips as his upside down glower deepens. “It’s so you have some privacy as you… practice.”

“Don’t you dare… tell the others,” he growls, pure irritation and annoyance seething in his voice.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my love,” you chuckle, extending your arm above your head as you walk beneath him. “Need a hand, my beloved vampiric master?”

He pouts, grumbling, but reluctantly reaches to grab you. His fingers wrap into yours, that warm touch of his still shocking and foreign. You pull with all your might, feeling his body release from the ceiling, floating as you tug him down until his feet rest beside yours.

He’s fuming, chest rising and falling beneath that elegantly embroidered tunic he has taken to wearing.

You grin, reaching to stroke his cheek as his parlor resumes that pale luster you know and love. Cleaning your throat, you purr, “And this is where you say…”

“Take off your clothes, my beloved consort,” he smirks and sneers at once, jutting his face into yours until you feel his warm breath on your lips.

“Not until you say…” you pause, arching your brows.

You wait. His lips fluttering, eyes boring into yours with almost glowing red intensity.

“….thank you,” he finally grumbles. Barely audible.

You turn your head, cocking your ear in his direction. “I’m sorry, what was that, my lord?”

“Thank you,” he replies louder through gritted teeth.

You can’t help but have another giggle tickle your throat. “I have no doubts you’ll master your powers in time, and until then, I’ll be here for you, my love, to lend you a hand.”

He gives an annoyed sigh. “By the hells, if the others find out…” he hisses, mad at himself rather than you.

“I think I can keep my mouth shut around them, and busy doing other things around you…” you close the distance between you, small as it might be, raising on your toes to press your lips against his, despite the disdainful pout.

“Hmmm tempting, but I do find myself rather famished…” he pats you on the cheek.

You grin, tilting your neck and sweeping your hair, an offering to sate him as you always have. You hold your breath, his lips hovering over that favorite vein of his. But he merely plants a small pecking kiss. “Delicious as you are, I think I’m in need of something more… filling.”

“Food?” you balk, jaw dropping as he catches your hand and opens the door.

“All of man’s appetites and desires are mine again, and after two-hundred years of food like ash and wine like vinegar, it’s time I started tasting all life has to offer.”

He turns, his face grins in power, but there is something in his eyes. Giddy, almost childish in excitement, like waking to presents on your birthday. It lasts a flickering second before he turns his head. You follow, hand held in his warm grip, led back into the common rooms. The scent of roast pork and vegetables fills the air. He lets your hand drop, making quick strides to the serving table before carving himself a huge hunk of meat off the carcass and ladling a pile of potatoes on the side of his dish.

“Well,” Wyll comments as the vampire settles down in a seat, “never thought I’d see the day when a vampire joins the feast with more than a goblet of blood.”

“First time for everything Wyll,” he croons in reply, taking a hearty bite just for emphasis. He doesn’t even wait to swallow completely before he continues. “First time a vampire ascendant has feasted, or existed, at all, don’t you forget.”

“I doubt you’ll let us,” Karlach teases before taking a sip of ale as ripples of laughter break out.

A bit nervously.

You look at the food, your stomach more than hungry, but… You recall as you lick your lips and catch your new fang on your tongue by accident, it’s not just food you crave.

You hear your name from the group, Karlach again breaking the chatter, “Hurry up, dish yourself a plate and get moving soldier. It’s not the same without you!”

You pick up the knife and begin to carve, but nagging thoughts won’t shut up. Can you even eat this? Can you ever feel full again? Can it ever be the same again, now that you’ve binded yourself to immortality?

A hand rests on yours, Astarion moving your hand in his to finish cutting a slice of pork for your dish, spooning out a helping on the side of the rest. “Eat, my treasure,” he orders softly with that sly smile. “Things won’t be all that different for you now.” You look into his eyes. Sincerity, pride, a flicker of concern. “Things will be different for you than when I was a spawn. You are mine, your veins hold my blood, ascendant blood. And besides, if this doesn’t fill you to bursting, my dearest pet, I suppose I’ll just have to offer you something else in the privacy of our room later.”

You arch a brow, stomach growling at the promise. “I hope you mean more than your cock, Astarion.”

He just grins wider. Feral and sly. Then he places a hand at your back and brings you to the rest of your party. You can sense the relief among everyone else once you sit down on the little couch, Astarion settling so close beside you, your arms rub with every movement. But that is nothing new.

Everyone falls right back into that perfected camaraderie, the only thing missing in the inn is a campfire. The banter and the toasting and the storytelling of the day's events to those who remained behind.

Tonight was no different… and yet, everything was.

Your ears seem to hear every word in the room, more sensitive, more overwhelming. Your stomach gnaws on itself, the plate of food on your lap untouched yet. And then, there is the utterly unfamiliar sound beside you, the gnashing of Astarion’s teeth as he bites into his food with abandon. You watch from the corner of your eye. He can’t seem to shovel it in fast enough… like a man who hasn’t had a morsel to eat in two-hundred years. It’s so… strange. Watching his jaw work furiously, watching the juice of his meal trickle from the corner of his mouth.

Not unlike when he has fed on you, you laugh inwardly. You reach your thumb to clean it for him, and it makes him turn, cheeks full of food, eyes smiling. He takes your thumb in his hand, pressing the juice to your own lips. A silent command to suck. You close your eyes, savoring the brush of his warm touch, hiding your sight from having to observe the others watching you.

You part your lips and suck… stomach rolling in hunger, appetite thoroughly whet with just that drop on your tongue.

You feel his face press against your ear to whisper, “Different for you than it was for me, my treasure…”

You shake him off, too hungry for sensuality, digging into your meal and joining the banter slowly.

Astarion remains mostly silent, laughing to himself here and there. Other than him eating and drinking, he is right however, it isn’t all that different now, you observe. Not yet anyway.

Not until he has you alone in your rooms once more. Hands gripped hard into your hair, cock thrusting down your throat as you kneel before him. You gag and sputter, sucking greedily. Indulging him. Letting him feel that power he’s gained in his life for once. His wild smile as he watches you taking him in so well makes you practically drip on the floor from between your legs. He pants relentlessly, growling praises over you, his little love, his good girl, his greedy consort.

New words, new titles, same obsession.

Same fingers caressing your jaw as it works eagerly, same touch clawing into the back of your head.

Only now his cock pulses with his heart, his skin flushed, his cum warm when it inevitably trickles down the back of your throat.

You swallow, pursing your lips around his cock so he feels every little ripple of your cheeks, your throat. Astarion pants above you, and you can count every one of his heart beats through his shaft in your mouth. “Glorious little love,” he manages to speak, swallowing to wet his throat. “Claiming a kingdom is nothing compared to the sight of claiming you on your knees, darling…”

Two fingers slip under your chin, pressing firmly to release his cock from the wet of your mouth. “On your feet, my love,” he smirks. “Time to give your master all his tribute.”

“You are enjoying this far too much, Astarion,” you purse your lips, smiling faintly and tauntingly as you do stand. “I think you should allow me to choose how you receive your… what did you call it?” You plant your hands on the expanse of his shoulders, feeling the muscles moving under your touch as he reaches to grip into the swell of your ass.

“Tribute,” he purrs, squeezing that fullness commandingly in his palms.

“Oh yes, that,” you tease, devious twists to your lips as you give him a firm shove. But he holds tight, sending you both backwards into the bed. His chuckle rumbles in his chest beneath you. “Why doesn’t my lord make himself… comfortable,” you whisper into his pointed ear, watching it twitch as you run your tongue up its long edge.

“What do you have in mind to please me, my treasure?”

You press him down, clambering on his sprawled, flawless body beneath you, your hands closing around his wrists. His smile says it all as he lets you pin him, arms bent around his mess of silver locks. “You’re so… hot,” you moan, sliding yourself over his erection, feeling it jolting as your body slathers it in arousal.

“I know,” he tilts his head, flashing his fangs and grinding into your folds.

“No, I mean…” His eyes narrow, a flicker of suspicion. “Yes,” you correct with a giggle. “You are heartbreakingly handsome, devastatingly beautiful, ruinous…”

“Better,” he preens with a feral grin. “But you meant my body, my skin, my newly beating heart…”

“It is… different,” you hum, nuzzling into his neck, caressing those two little circular scars that made him what he is. His pulse beats against you, a steady drumming that still startles you.

“Almost as different as the way you make me even harder, darling, now that the mere sight of you demands instant arousal…” His hips buck through your folds again, just to demonstrate. “Now… about your adulation and homage that’s long overdue to your lord and master…”

“Shh,” you press a finger to his thick, wicked, smirking lips. Slinking down, a toss of your hair over one shoulder, and you meet his crimson eyes, dilated wide and glazed with his lust. Gently, you sweep both your hands over the sinews of his thighs, bending his knees for him.

Or, at least he lets you…

He nestles into the bed, languorous, luxuriating atop the thick covers. You let him. You can feel the difference in his being—not the power, the beat of his heart or the tingle of untamed magic that dances erratically in his touch from time to time.

He’s free. Not a care in the world. No fear, no anxiety, not even a trace of suspicion that he might be caught and forced back into hell under Cazador. He has everything now. Even you. Especially you.

You hover there, arms propped up over his hips, the tip of his cock wavering against your breasts as you just observe him. His lips twitch into a smile. “It’s rude to keep your lover waiting, you know…” he purrs. You chuckle. That veneer of power, that rasp and roll in his voice, a performance to sway you.

Not that you need it.

But it will be fun cracking that veneer all the same. You let your hands roam his body, massaging and caressing the powerful muscles of his legs. Their every definition you know by heart now, the glide of his skin on yours a nightly comfort and pleasure for you both.

Your new eyes can count every beat of his heart in his veins, your ears can almost hear that rush of blood pumping, making him achingly hard for you. And it makes you lick your lips. You lap inside his left thigh, bringing a giggle to his throat. “Don’t think I’ll leave you hungry, my pet, but pleasure first.”

“Say please,” you taunt, grazing your new fangs over his skin. As he has done to you a thousand times before.

“What?” he drolls, raising his head a little, your hand flying to the hard planes of his belly to hold him down.

“Say… please… my lord,” you smirk into his thigh, laughing to yourself as you mix submission into your demand.

“Eager to test your new powers as well? Can’t say I’m surprised…” he feigns a dramatic huff. “Alright pet, just this once. Give me my pleasure first…” he places a hand at the back of your neck, drawing you back between his legs, “…please.”

“Good boy,” you rasp before running your tongue up his shaft. You dip your lips over that seeping head of his, his groan of pleasure reverberating in his chest. Your hand, your mouth take him in deeply again, resuming a more delicate pressure, a gentler pace than he demanded of you before. It relaxes him, slowing his pleasure as you feel his skin heating all the more.

And you take full advantage of his ease.

You press a thumb over the tight little pursing of his ass. Instantly making him shake and groan. Both your hands play in tandem, drawing louder and louder hisses from his slack mouth as you beat his cock and circle that hole.

He squirms at the unexpected contact. A pant of need sounds from his mouth. You run your hand through your folds, covering your hand in your own slick, and he laughs knowing full well what you’re doing.

But that laughter melts once you sneak a finger and then two inside him, the delicious sound of his whimpers replacing any giggles. “Gods,” he mewls, “don’t you dare stop.” He manages to speak between the grunts you pull from his throat. Thrusting your fingers deeper inside him crooking and thrusting to make him catch his breath in pleasure. You feel his cock leaking seed down your fingers already, a whine escaping his clamped lips as you find that spot inside him. Cock jolting in your touch as you thrust into him again and again.

You lose no focus on that pulsing cock as well, your hand around his shaft sliding through the lingering spit and slick you’ve left dripping on his cock. His whole body shakes, and you can’t take your eyes off the way he’s coming undone. You’ve given up sucking him, your lips sore at any rate.

Instead, your hands work a magic on him, sweat beading on brow, fangs biting his own lips until they bleed. He clutches the bedding in his fists, and you watch as every vein in his arms strain to the surface with the exertion.

Hips buck in time with your fist around his cock, ass sinking back down on your fingers as he plummets back down each time. “More. I’d like more,” he groans hard, head wagging back and forth. You feel his muscles clenching around your fingers, and you slink another one inside, a louder whimper of approval is your praise. Words have failed him as he can do nothing now but ride the growing wave of pleasure you have sent washing over his oh-so-mighty and ascended form.

His balls tighten, cock shuddering in your fist as he struggles for breath. Every muscle, inside and out, goes rigid and spasms, your fingers covered as spurt after spurt of his cum erupts everywhere.

A hand flies to his face, palm over his mouth to hide the little pants he’s making as you squeeze out the last of his seed and slide your fingers out from inside.

“Is my lord… so… very… pleased?” you taunt, crawling to watch as he tries to regain composure, to salvage that dominating veneer of power.

Handsome face twitching, he can barely put two words together. “Obviously,” he manages to eke the word out. “That was…” he pauses to pant, body still shaking beneath you with the last tremors of his climax, “…amazing.” His arm comes to pull you into his chest, to press your supple, if cold to the touch, body into his embrace.

You hear it, the racing of his heart as you rest your head on his chest beside it. A slice of envy, of uncertainty, slices into your heart and twists your gut. And from the way his hand paws through your hair and down your back, you’re sure he’s readying himself for another round.

You swallow, hesitant, your thighs clenching as his hand begins to snake between them. He senses it, your unwitting reluctance. That familiar yet unfamiliar warm touch ghosting higher on your leg. “Darling,” he purrs into the top of your head, “something the matter?”

You shake your head even as your words scramble their own way out. “Last night,” you whisper almost inaudibly, “you said you would miss my warm flesh…”

“And…?” He lets the question hang in the air. Lets you speak the rest of it on your own tongue.

“Do you?” you mutter, unable to look into his face, bracing yourself for the worst.

“Not if it means I can plunder you for all your riches for all eternity, my treasure,” he croons, slowly rolling you on your back. Crushing you with his wiry frame until you wriggle against his every inch. “But, if you’re truly worried about how delicious you’ll feel…” he holds his wrist up to your mouth, “why don’t you break in those virgin fangs, my pet?”

“You mean?” you finally look up, the hunger in his eyes, the pride to see you licking your own new-formed sharpened teeth.

“I do indeed, my dark consort,” he smirks so wickedly, your own hunger for his blood and his body flames to life. It blinds you as you look into his eyes. “You’ll only need a taste,” he grins with a rakish tilt of his head, “I swear it.”

He presses the inside of his wrist to your lips, that warm skin brushing you with its softness. You can hear it, even in that small span of his wrist. Thump… thump… it makes your stomach flare, an empty pit, hungrier than you ever were for food.

And just for him.

You press your fangs into his skin. Hesitant.

A firm grip snakes behind the back of your neck, his laughter in your ear as he shoves you into his flesh harder.

Hard enough to pierce him, to let his blood flow on your tongue and tingle your mouth with its power. Rich and delicious, sweet and tanged with just the same flavor as his scent. You suck, greedily, a vague feeling you’ve tasted it before.

His other hand rubs up the back of your head, lacing his commanding touch through your hair, cradling you, keeping you feeding. His eyes flicker shut, tongue licking his lips before his mouth goes slack in his own pleasure.

He likes the way it feels, having you feast on him, drinking down his ascendant blood to pool in your belly.

“Can you feel it?” he murmurs, “my power flowing in your veins… my heart beating in your breast.” His hand ghosts down over your shoulder to cup firmly around that breast. “Your skin is flushing, your folds will swell even fuller the more you take me inside you…”

You release your mouth, a moan slithering from your sticky throat as his fingers pluck and play with your nipple.

“There is no one more worthy of this than you, my little love,” he slides his wrist from your lapping tongue, fingers clawing loosely around your throat to lift you against his own hungering lips. “You need not fear anything, I told you, not even the worry that your immortal flesh would ever repel me, my darling.”

You curl into his arms, letting his warmth seep through you, inside and out. His kiss dances slowly with your lips, his tongue licking all his blood from your fangs and lips. A hum of satisfaction rumbling in his throat, “Mmm… You taste… divine…”

“You mean… you taste divine, my love,” you laugh into his kiss. You place your hand against his neck, softly pushing him off of you.

“I do indeed,” he purrs, his knee shoving your thigh to the side, spreading you wider. “As do you, if I may?” His silver brow arches, wry and mischievous. You tilt your head, your neck already sore from last night, from where he sucked you dry. You hiss, delicious pain slicing through you, his fangs in your neck burying the same moment his cock sheaths into your folds.

Hip undulating slowly, he drinks noisily behind your ear. And you do feel on fire, burning as hot as him, the friction of his thrusts, the trickle of your blood down your neck… they scald you.

They make you feel alive in his arms, alive with him fucking between your thighs.

It’s enough to shatter you in a matter of moments, his lips barely off your bleeding neck before you clench and spam around his pulsing cock. Your voice tears from your throat in a scream. So much fuller and hotter than ever he felt inside your walls. Thicker. Heating you from within. The pressure drives you wild, your climax more intense than ever as you writhe beneath him, as stars cover your vision and pleasure steals your breath.

He laughs again, that tickled giggle to watch you panting to catch your breath, barely able to make a sound more than a whimper yourself. “That’s right, my pet, let them all hear you through these flimsy walls….”

You laugh, breathy and quick, wrapping your thighs tightly around his waist. “So quick to forget what I managed to reduce you to?” You steal a hand back to his clenching ass, returning your touch to that tight little hole.

He gasps, biting his lips as if to keep himself from crying out again. “Don’t you ever tell them,” he growls, smiling with that predacious gleam in the crimson of his eyes.

“I don’t need to,” you can’t help but laugh, letting the words already in your mind already make you smile. Even if they are his own… even if he just might make you pay deliciously for them for the rest of the night, “given the noise you made, I’m sure they already know…”

406 notes · View notes

leossmoonn · 5 months

Note

Hope you’re having a good day! Can I request a blurb of Abby seeing your place for the first time?

yes!!! I hope you’re having a good day as well :D

————

“are we almost done yet?” abby groans as she climbs up what she hopes to be the last flight of stairs.

“one more, honey,” you say. you grab her hand and try to help her as her little legs feel like jello. you turn to mike who is trailing behind you two. “i’m sorry. i didn’t know the elevator would be broken.”

he shakes his head, smiling a little while panting. you can see some beads of sweet form on his upper lip. “i love cardio. in fact, this is right on par with what i do at the gym.”

you giggle as you know he does not have a gym membership and he’s stopped running outside since it’s become so cold. even if he did keep up with exercise, stairs are a different type of workout.

“we are here!” you exclaim at the top of the step. abby jumps up for joy, suddenly re-energized with the excitement of seeing your apartment. you open the door leading to the hallway and the pair follow you halfway down the hall. you type in your apartment’s pin number and open the door, going in and setting your purse down and slipping your shoes off.

abby runs in, skipping through the room.

“abby! behave. we are guests,” mike says. “oh, it’s okay. there’s not anything she can harm,” you say.

there’s a little meow that comes from your bedroom. your head turns and you spot your cat. “except for cornelius, maybe.” you walk over and pick him up, walking him over to abby first. she gasps, her big brown eyes seeming to fill up her whole face. she tentatively puts out her hand, letting your car sniff her. cornelius ducks his head under her hand, rubbing his cheek along her palm.

“he’s so soft!” abby gushes. “he seems to like you,” you grin.

she turns to mike with the biggest pout you think you’ve ever seen from abby. “can we get a cat?”

mike chuckles softly and shakes his head. “i don’t think we can afford one, abs. i’m sorry.”

she frowns and turns to you, scratching cornelius behind the ears. “can i live with you?”

“maybe someday soon, hm?” you take a peek at mike who’s obviously daydreaming about a building a home with you.

“yeah, maybe someday,” he smiles softly. he starts looking around your apartment, taking in everything.

it’s a cute little place that you have. the first thing you see when you come in are two walls, one with a few doors along the side. the first door leads to your bedroom and the second leads to the bathroom. the third one is a small room that contains the washer, dryer, and litter box.

further into the hallway is the living room and kitchen which are connected. the cabinets in your kitchen are all white with marble granite covering the countertops. the kitchen table you have is a little bar with three chairs all lined up seemingly perfectly. you have a few plants on top of each cabinet with a little cactus on the bar counter near the wall it’s connected to. you have family pictures all over your fridge, as well as some with mike and abby.

your living is by far your biggest room. you have a gray couch with a wood coffee table and another wooden table by the far corner of the couch. there’s a plant right in the middle of the coffee table as well with a picture of you and mike. the tv is sitting on top of a dresser that’s filled with all of cornelius’ food and toys and other necessities. there’s a window by the tv and couch, letting a great amount of light in. the wall behind your couch is a navy blue along with your rug.

by the window is a cat tree and a basket of cat toys. there are a few shelves on the wall that are ascending. on them are pictures of your cat, family, and little souvenirs you’ve managed to pick up while traveling.

mike’s been here before, but he’s always amazed at how homely it feels. it doesn’t have that stuffy feeling to it like his house does. it’s not depressing and disappointing to walk into. it’s lively even with just the three of you here standing in silence. it feels exactly like how you make him feel: calm and happy.

“i like your plants,” abby says, inspecting the calathea on your coffee table. “we should get some, mike.”

“it’s a small investment,” you say. “they will probably die in my care,” mike snorts.

“i’ll help,” you offer. he shrugs, “we’ll see.”

“are you guys hungry?” you ask, walking into your kitchen. “not really,” abby answers.

“mike?” you turn to him. “a little, but i can wait until i get home,” mike says.

“nonsense. you guys plan to stay here for a little, right? unless you want to walk down seven flights again.”

“no, please!” abby groans. “that’s what i thought,” you chuckle. “you good with eating some chinese takeout? i have leftovers that will go bad soon.”

“anything you have is fine. thank you,” mike says. “awesome,” you hold your fist up like you won a game. “oh, abs! i wasn’t sure if you wanted to watch anything while you were here, but i bought you some coloring utensils and coloring books as well.” you start to warm up the food in the microwave and go to your bedroom, coming out with a couple of boxes full of coloring supplies and a few books.

“oh, you didn’t have to,” mike sighs. “i wanted to,” you say. he watches with a smile as you sit on the ground with abby and look through the books with her. his heart warms as he knows you love abby like she’s your own blood and flesh.

you and mike are sitting on the couch while abby is laying on her stomach in front of the tv, paying most of her attention to her new coloring book. you managed to convince her to eat an egg roll, which she surprisingly liked, and some fortune cookies.

mike takes your plates once your done eating and begins to wash them. you follow him, wrapping your arms around him and kissing his shoulder.

“you didn’t have to,” you say. “you fed us and let us hang out at your place. plus, you got abby some new stuff. It’s the least i could do,” mike says.

you peck his cheek. “you guys are always welcome here. even if I don’t formally invite you, you guys can just show up if you know i’m home.”

“don’t let abby know that. before you know it, she’ll be packing a suitcase and sleeping here.”

“well, there is an apartment upstairs with two bedrooms.”

mike gently sets down the plate in the drying rack. “you don’t have to move just because my little sister wants to live with you.”

“what if i want you guys to live with me?”

his heart skips and his body stiffens under your. “really?” he mumbles. you hum and nod. “whenever you’re ready, just say the word. i love you, mike. and abby. you two are my family away from home.”

mike smiles and turns to place a kiss on your lips. he cups your face, leaning into the warmth of your body. you both hear a thud continued by a small meow. mike feels something furry against his neck and shuffles away, a little startled, only to find out it’s cornelius.

“if we move in, you might have to get rid of him,” mike says.

you gasp with a smile and slap mike’s chest. “that would be like getting rid of abby.”

“yeah, but abby is a human and can talk and feed herself. and use the bathroom without me having to clean it up.”

cornelius meows once again, batting mike’s shoulder. he then lays down on the counter, showing his belly and pushing his head into mike’s arm. you can’t help but awe.

“i think he likes you.”

mike brings a hand up and scratches the side of his face. cornelius starts to purr loudly, rubbing his head further into mike’s hand.

“he’s not so bad,” mike says. “see? you’ll get along perfectly fine,” you smile.

you and mike go back to watching tv for another hour or so before mike tells abby it’s time to go home. abby whines and begs to stay, but you assure her that you’ll see her bright and early tomorrow.

“i love you.” mike hugs you, holding you close and tight like it’s the last time he’ll ever see you. you close your eyes as you relax into him, feeling yourself melt against his body. “i love you, too, baby. drive home safe, okay? text me when you get home.”

mike nods, grabbing abby’s hand after you kiss her head goodbye.

“are you sure we can’t get a cat?” abby asks. “i’m sure,” mike says.

“what about a dog?”

“no.”

“a bunny?”

“no.”

“hamster?”

“abby, no.”

“what about a chicken?”

“where would we even get one of those?”

“i want a fox! josie has one in her backyard that visits sometimes.”

mike looks down at abby with a you’re crazy face. she giggles and starts to him to herself. mike sighs, knowing he’s going to have to deal with abby’s questions about pets for the rest of the week. but honestly, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #fnaf #josh hutcherson x reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt fluff

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artist-issues · 8 months

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I love the comments and defense of the original Snow White but some people are not taking the defensive position that I would take, all things considered.

I mean, asking the question “since when is it bad to wish for love?” is one thing, but then sometimes people follow it up with, “and that’s not all she wanted! That’s not her main goal!”

Okay I appreciate you but yes it was. Let’s just call it like it is. And then don’t back down. Hear me out.

The first thing you learn about Snow-White is from that pretty opening-fairy-tale-book page, where it points out two characters: the wicked and vain stepmother who is afraid of Snow White and dresses her in rags to cover up her beauty, and uses her as a scullery maid—and Snow White herself, who is…well, used as a scullery maid.

Treated as a servant, and actively hated by the only family she has. And she’s a child. She hasn’t been alive very long to experience anything other than hatred and jealousy toward herself.

She’s even talking to birds, and the fact that they’re clustered around her from beginning to end of that opening scene indicates that they’re very comfortable with her and she talks to them all the time—because they’re the only positive interaction she gets to have.

That’s the situation that Snow White is in. But the first thing you learn about who she is and what she wants comes when she wishes in the well. And what’s she wishing for?

Love. The one she loves. A specific, male figure, who will say nice things to her and find her. She wants him to come quick. Why?

How silly. How vapid and shallow of her. How weak and one-dimensional. Please, goodness, can’t someone update her to have some depth?

NO. She is a young woman who is not given any love and is treated like a horrible nuisance who must be covered up in dirt and rags. She has no friends except birds, who can’t talk back. She is actively hated by the closest person to her.

It’s a miracle she even knows the word “love” and has the strength of character to believe in it after the situation she’s grown up in.

The song very specifically says “I’m wishing…for the one I love…to find me…today. I’m hoping…and I’m dreaming of…the nice things…he’ll say.”

She wants to be loved because she isn’t loved. Geez, she wants someone to say nice things to her. She wants to give her own love because she doesn’t have anything but courtyard doves to befriend. Of course it’s her goal. Of course it’s her wish. What wish or goal could be higher? And what wish or goal could be more natural for a character in her situation?

And even more than that, what could be stronger than believing that it will happen? This character who’s been unloved and mistreated by everyone takes a Prince at his word when he says he’ll give her that love. He promises it, and she believes him.

She has every opportunity and right to be bitter, hardened, anti-social, self-absorbed (pre-Huntsman and Dwarfs, she could very easily believe that nobody else is going to watch out for her except herself) and jaded. But instead she has this pure faith, which it takes a lot to maintain when everything has been ripped away from you. She could’ve been totally swamped by doubt and bitterness.

I mean, she could worry that the Prince won’t be able to convince her Stepmother to let him marry her.

Then when she gets chased into the woods for her life, she could fret that the Prince wouldn’t know how to find her.

Heck, she could just forget about him, give up, and say, “this is my life now, I’m living with these seven dwarfs and we’ll take care of each other, I guess that’s the most I can hope for.”

But no. She has faith in his promise, and hangs on to her dream, and sings, with total assurance, “Someday My Prince Will Come.” I mean, she won’t even let a moment of panic in the woods go by without reprimanding herself for losing that faith, for a second.

Can any of you say the same? Can any of you imagine being that kind of person: the kind of person who unashamedly wants to love and be loved in return, and when everything is stripped away and every chance at that taken from you, you hang on and believe anyway? You stay positive and even joyful anyway? For love?

Come on. Defend that. Yes, her goal was “just” to be loved. And to love in return. The fear of having her life taken from her, the necessity (not the desire for) freedoms from that, was just an obstacle in the way of being loved. And this isn’t a movie about Snow White’s natural reaction to abuse. It’s about her strength of faith in love in SPITE of that abuse. The spotlight is on her strength, not her weakness, but it’s strength of faith in love.

Anyway.

If you believe that it’s good and fine for a girl’s whole goal and fondest dream is to be loved, then don’t stand with one foot in that camp and another in the camp that says “girls want more than just love.” No, what? Love is the best thing a girl can want. I’m not talking about “romance.” I’m not talking about sex. I’m talking about pure, self-sacrificial, kind love. It’s the best thing they can want, and Snow White is one of the only characters who does want it unashamedly, uncomplicated.

Just defend that. Don’t try to argue that the “Someday My Prince Will Come” Princess isn’t wholeheartedly after love. Makes it look like you don’t believe that’s as wonderful as it is.

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myeuphoricmindset · 1 year

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As the world burns | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary | You’ve been surviving in The Upside Down with Eddie for months, but tonight you and Eddie know you’re dying. So, would you sleep with the last person alive if it was Eddie Munson?

“Do you remember when you were younger and someone would ask if you’d sleep with a certain person if they were the last person on earth?”

You swallow. “Yes.”

“Well, here we are.”

Warnings/Tags | 18+ Unprotected sex, Hair pulling, Soft Dom Eddie (if that’s a thing?), Talks about death and world ending, Comfort Eddie, This one-shot is not about fighting or the Upside Down, it's focused on Eddie and the reader during their final night. Please let me know if I missed a warning.

Word count | 3.8k

Just keep moving. One foot in front of the other. Control your breathing. Don't let them hear you. Don’t stop.

Don’t stop.

It’s not unusual for you to disassociate during fearful situations. You’ve been doing this for so long that your body knows the motions and your mind wanders to keep you from panicking.

You focus on the back of Eddie’s jacket as you run behind him. DIO is the three-letter word that you say over and over in your head. You’ve asked Eddie about the band during the late nights of hiding beneath the trees. He is always happy to tell you about their music. Metal bands were never your thing and the you before The Upside Down wouldn’t have cared about Dio, but you’re not the person you were before. When living in darkness for so long you’re desperate to hear about anything that brings joy, especially when it’s bringing Eddie joy.

The crunch of twigs under your feet breaks your focus on your thoughts and you snap back to reality. Your leg gets caught in something and before you have a chance to look at what it is —you fall. A sharp pain ripples through your foot and you let out a cry.

“Shit! Are you okay?” Eddie says with panic in his voice. He kneels and touches your leg. His eyes are filled with fear as he meets your eyes.

“I-I’m okay.” You try standing up, but bite down on an uncontrollable whimper.

Eddie instantly wraps his arm around your waist, tossing your arm over his shoulder and lifting you. “I’ve got you.” He looks around the woods, making sure you both aren’t in danger. Loud screeching above grabs your attention and Eddie tightens his grip around your hip. “We’ve gotta keep moving. The cabin isn’t far. Will you be okay with my help?”

You nod. “Yes, let’s go.”

With Eddie’s support, you both make it to the cabin. He was right, it wasn’t far. Relief washes over you when the door closes behind you both and Eddie helps you down on the dusty couch. It’s obvious this place hasn’t seen a soul in years or maybe ever. The logistics of The Upside Down are hard to grasp. You only know that it’s a direct reflection of the real world. Is there a family currently sitting on this couch in the real world? Are they happy? Are they warm and safe? These are thoughts that always run through your mind when you and Eddie find a new place to hideout.

“There, that should hold,” Eddie says as he shifts the dining table in front of the door. He wipes his hands on his black jeans and takes a deep breath before joining you on the couch.

“I’m sorry. I should have been paying attention.” You say as you look down at your foot which is still tender.

Eddie looks at you. “Don’t apologize. Things happen. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You hold his stare. His big brown eyes bring you so much comfort in this horrible world. You could have been stuck with anyone here, but you got stuck with Eddie Munson and that alone gives you hope for the future. Maybe someday you both will get out of here alive and live a happy and safe life.

Stop.

Stop telling yourself lies. This is it. There is no life outside of this. There is no happy ending. After months of running this is where it ends. It’s time to accept it.

“Does it even matter if I’m okay or not? We will be dead soon anyway.” You sigh and sink into the couch.

“You’re right. I just don’t like that you’re in pain near the end.” Eddie says softly.

“It’s just tender.”

Eddie looks at you and then around the cabin. “It looks different.”

“You’ve been here before?”

Eddie stands up and walks around the small living space. “A few times. This cabin belongs to Hopper. It’s the safest place I could think of for our…” he trails off and then clears his throat. “Final hours.”

You sit up on the couch and watch Eddie as he looks around. You never knew Eddie or his life before you found him unconscious in this dreadful place. You didn’t care who he was before, you were just so happy to not be alone. Trying to survive alone for two months does something to you. You end up so desperate for human contact that it ends up driving you insane. Eddie was a fallen angel in this place you call hell. You may have healed him, but he saved you.

“I’m glad we are together. You know, in the end.” You say. And you mean that. You’re glad to be with Eddie in the end. As this world burns up you’re at peace knowing you won’t burn alone.

“Me too.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s hard to genuinely smile when you know you’re dying soon. Eddie leans against the doorframe and looks at you. His eyes soften as he takes you in from a distance. You rest your head on the couch cushion and stare back. A small smile spreads on his face.

“What?” You ask.

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes drink you up. The weight of his stare has you shifting a little. “You’re beautiful. Do you know that?”

You roll your eyes as your cheeks burn. “Stop,”

His expression turns serious. “I’m not lying. You deserve to hear that. It should really be the last thing you hear.”

“Maybe it will be if you don’t die before me.” You say teasingly. It’s weird to joke in a situation like this, but it’s the only thing to keep you sane.

“That’s not going to happen.” He assures you as he walks back to the couch and sits next to you.

“How do you know? You could trip over something and hit your head on the counter. Or you could choke on a chip from our last remaining bag. Anything is possible.”

He laughs. “Imagine if a chip took me out. After everything I’ve been through that’s what got me. A chip.”

Now you’re laughing. “Yeah, forget the Demobats or Vecna. Watch out for the damn chips.”

Laughter fills the cabin and it’s as if the walls haven’t heard such a pleasant sound in so long that it echoes your voices, needing more.

As you catch your breath you imagine what’s to come and your smile slowly fades. “Where do you think we would be right now if we didn’t notice the atmosphere cracking?”

You think about it often. Where you would be and what you would be doing if Eddie didn’t realize that the cracks in the atmosphere were early signs of the Upside Down being destroyed. Eddie believes that Eleven found a way to take down this world. The first signs were the doors being sealed shut. There is no way in or out —no way to go back home. That’s when you both started to focus on surviving here. Until you can’t. Now there are fires consuming everything here. It started small and now it’s almost impossible to find shelter that’s not burned down. Today the sky is on fire and you both know, this is it.

“I don’t know. Probably running the streets looking for the next place to sleep.” He answers.

“Speaking of sleep, does this place have a decent bed? I don’t think I can sleep on the floor another night. My back is killing me from last night.” The thought of that hard ground in the woods makes you tense.

Eddie chuckles and stands up, offering you his hand. “You think I wouldn’t find a bed for our last night?”

You smile and follow him into the bedroom. Eddie removes the comforter that’s covered in dust, revealing the sheets in good condition. The pillows get tossed too. You are used to using your arm as a pillow now anyway.

Eddie and you strip off the dirty clothes from the day, leaving you both in your underwear. He is shirtless, but you’re thankful that your tank top is still clean to sleep in. This is normal. You aren’t fazed by sleeping in bed with Eddie anymore. It’s become a comfort to lay next to him at night. In a world of nightmares, you find yourself dreaming peacefully. But, tonight is possibly your last night alive and sleeping seems nearly impossible.

“Eddie?” You whisper into the silence.

“Mm?”

“Are you falling asleep?”

“No, not sure I can.” He says softly.

“Me either.”

A loud screech from outside catches you off guard and you jump causing the bed to shake.

“It’s okay. They won’t find us here. Not tonight.” Eddie says as he shifts in bed to face you. He lightly rubs your arm. He’s only ever touched you in comfort as a friend. You guys have never crossed the line between friends and lovers, even with the noticeable tension between you both. The lingering stares and soft touches have always been laced with something more.

“Can you hold me?” You ask nervously. Tonight you are not alone. Eddie is here, next to you, as the world ends. But somehow it’s not enough. You need to feel him. Because when everything goes black his voice isn’t the only thing you want to hold onto.

Eddie doesn’t answer, he simply wraps his arms around you and pulls you into him. You inhale sharply. Your body immediately relaxes. He feels like a warm blanket.

“Is that better?” He whispers in your ear.

You can’t form words, so you just nod. He nuzzles his head in the crook of your neck. You can feel him inhale and exhale, his chest rising and falling against your back. When he exhales a breath it spills over your chest sending goosebumps down your body.

“Are you cold?” He asks.

“No, I’m fine.” You’re more than fine, but you don’t say that.

His fingers brush over your arm and you freeze, forgetting how to breathe.

“Are you sure? You have goosebumps.”

You smile, even though he can’t see it. “It’s not because I’m cold. It’s your breath on my skin.”

“Oh.” He says softly.

He moves his head back slightly, his lips brushing your neck and he breathes. He breathes slowly and deeply, letting his breath hit your neck. He’s teasing you, being playful like he always is, but you can’t help the small moan that escapes your lips. Your eyes go wide and you bring your hand to your mouth in embarrassment.

Eddie laughs softly and squeezes his arms around your waist. “I haven’t heard a sound like that in…shit, I don’t know.”

Your face turns red. “Well, you won’t hear it again.” You smack his arm, still embarrassed.

Eddie’s laugh lingers and then fades. He pulls you even closer, and now you can feel him completely against your backside. He brings his mouth back to your ear. “Is it wrong to wonder what it would be like?” He whispers.

“What?”

“To touch you. Kiss you.” His lips brush your ear. “Fuck you.”

Your breath catches. “You don’t know what you're talking about.”

Eddie scoffs quietly. “I know exactly what I’m thinking about.” His thumb brushed over the hem of your tank top. “Aren’t you curious?”

“Eddie…”

“Do you remember when you were younger and someone would ask if you’d sleep with a certain person if they were the last person on earth?”

You swallow. “Yes.”

“Well, here we are.” He pulls you onto your back as he sits on his forearm, looking down at you. “And my question is…would you?” His voice is low and it brings back the goosebumps that once disappeared.

You take in his question, thinking about it as if you don’t already know the answer. But you hesitate because even though you feel lucky in this situation—maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s settling because this is what the cards have dealt him and he can’t do anything about it. You don’t want to be the ‘well, what other choice do I have’.

You sigh. “I don’t want to be the pity last fuck.”

“Are you joking?”

“No. I’m serious.” You say, turning back to your side and away from him.

He laughs. “I’m sorry, I’m confused. Do you really think you would be a pity fuck? No, you’ve got that wrong. Being with you in any capacity is a fucking privilege.”

You look over your shoulder to meet his eyes. He gives you a soft smile, but his eyes are serious. “Then, yes. My answer to your question is yes.”

Eddie's eyes glimmer with desire as he grabs you by the waist and pulls you back against him. His hair tickles your neck as he moves his head back to the crook of your neck. “How do you want it?” He asks, his lips brushing your neck again.

“Like it’s the last time.”

Eddie chuckles against your skin and you can’t help but laugh because it tickles. But that laugh turns into a gasp when Eddie lowers his head to kiss your collarbone as his fingers slide down with the outside of your panties and slowly back up. There is no hesitation in his touch as if he’s thought about doing this before.

He kisses up your neck as he moves his hand back down. He’s not wasting any time. You arch your back which causes your butt to press up against him. Eddie let’s put a moan in your ear. He’s already hard against you and he feels big.

“Can you feel me?” He says grabbing your hip as he pressed harder against you.

“Yes.” You breathe.

He grabs your hand and rubs it gently against the outside of his boxers. “Feel how turned on you make me?”

You nod as you feel him, your arm outstretched behind you. He’s against you like the big spoon and you’re the little one. You can't see his face, but you feel him everywhere. Eddie guides your hand from his boxers to your own breast. He brings your hand up your tank top and pulls your bra down enough to guide your hand to cup your breast. You’re confused but follow his lead.

His hand leaves yours and travels down your stomach to the seam of your panties. He whispers in your ear, “Touch yourself as I touch you. Imagine your hand as mine.”

“Okay,”

Eddie's fingers slip under your panties and travel between your legs. He uses his elbow to open your legs wider. His finger lightly moves over your clit and you think your eyes might have rolled back at his touch.

“Mm, Eddie…” You moan.

“Touch yourself. Let me see.”

You move your thumb over your nipple and massage your breast as you remember his request. It feels good, but it feels even better with his hand between your legs at the same time.

“That’s it.” He says watching you. “Doesn’t it feel good?” His finger moves in a perfect circular motion and you wonder if he’s playing you like his guitar.

“Yes, so good.”

“Good. Such a good girl.” He says between kisses on your neck.

His fingers move down where you are soaked for him. You hold your breath with anticipation. He rubs his index finger around your entrance, teasing you. “So wet. Fuck. I can’t wait to feel you.”

You’re aching so badly for him. You look over your shoulder and say, “Then feel me. I don’t want your fingers. I want all of you.”

A deep groan of delight comes from his throat. He doesn’t say anything. He grabs your panties and swiftly rips them off, causing you to jump. He kisses your shoulder and smiles, “Don’t think you need those anymore.”

“Probably not.” You laugh.

Eddie doesn’t change positions, he presses on your back in request to have you bend toward your knees a little. “Atta girl,” He says as he guides himself behind your legs. You’ve had sex before and you’re familiar with doggy style, and even though this is basically the same, laying down like this isn’t something you’ve tried before.

You can feel the tip of his cock press against you. You grab the edge of the mattress as you wait. Eddie slides his hand between your legs and slightly lifts your leg to gain more access. “Is this okay?” He asks.

“Yes.”

And within seconds he’s pushing into you. You suck in a breath at how big he feels inside you. You arch your back further, which gives him more access. He whimpers and drives into you deeper.

“Oh god,” You moan into the mattress. It’s slow but so good. The position he has you in is almost a tease at what he can do. As if he wanted a quick taste of what it’s like.

His fingers dig into your thigh as he moves in and out and his breath is warm against your ear. It’s dark in the room and you aren’t facing him so you are fully focused on his deep thrusts and every part of your body that he’s touching.

“You feel so good, I need more.” He says breathlessly.

Eddie pulls out, leaving you aching. He flips you on your back as he moves on top of you. He looks down at you and smiles. You notice his hand moving to his cock and he wraps his fingers around himself as he looks at you. “I like the way you feel on me.” He says as he moves his hand up and down his wet length.

You blush at the sight of him touching himself. “Oh?”

“Don’t be shy.” He leans down and kisses you.

His lips are soft and gentle. You almost melt into the mattress. His tongue slides over your bottom lip. You are about to give him access to your mouth but your lips part for him in a moan as he slides his cock into you. Eddie tastes the moan on your tongue. He tasting, touching, and fucking you so perfectly. There isn’t one part of his body that isn’t touching yours.

A loud bang and crack come from outside the cabin. The room is now a little brighter —a little warmer. Eddie notices the worry in your eyes and he kisses your cheek. “Stay with me. Focus on this.”

“Okay,” And as the world burns around you both, you moan Eddie’s name and drown yourself in love instead of fear.

Eddie thrusts harder and as he moves in and out he brings his mouth to your breasts. Your hands find his hair, needing something to grab onto.

“Fuck,” He moans against your nipple as you tug on his hair.

“You like that?”

He looks up at you with a devilish smile. “Mm, yes. Harder.” Eddie’s voice is low and primal.

His soft curls tangle around your fingers as you embed them deeper, getting a better grip. As Eddie pushes into you, your fingers pull back on his hair. He lets out a moan as his head falls back. A laugh spills from your lips and you bite his exposed throat lightly.

“Jesus H. Christ,” He groans. He kisses you hard as his hands grab your hips and he drives into you harder and faster.

You both are lost in each other as the world falls apart. This is exactly what you needed. Exactly what you wanted. And you know Eddie feels the same. He’s as desperate for you as you are for him.

Your body begins to shake as the warm build-up begins to reach its peak. Eddie looks at you and says between moans, “Together,” and you find his lips in answer. Stars flicker around the room as you come undone and the sound of Eddie’s release sends you riding the climax longer. His shaking body falls beside yours, still holding you close. He doesn’t let you go.

He plants small kisses against your shoulder. “Last person on earth or not and I’d still consider that the best fuck I’ve ever had.” You laugh and agree.

As you try catching your breath you seem acutely aware of the loud cracking and screeching outside the cabin. At first, you thought you were hot because of what just happened, but it’s the room. Your eyes flick to the window and notice a subtle red hue in the sky.

“It’s the fires. I think it’s happening.” Eddie says softly.

You look at him nervously. “Why aren’t you scared?”

He pulls you close. “I’ve died before —or at least thought I was dying. The first time I was in the arms of a friend, I wasn’t alone in what I thought were my final moments. And here I am again. I won’t be alone and I know that it’s peaceful when you’re lucky enough to be held by someone you love. I mean, fuck, I’m still scared as shit but I’m not alone and that sounds more terrifying.”

A tear rolls down your cheek. You both lay facing each other, almost nose to nose. The noises outside become louder and the red hue is illuminating the room. Eddie pulls the sheet over your heads as his eyes stay on yours.

“I’m right here with you. We are together. Okay?” Eddie says as he gently cradles your face in his hands.

“Okay,” You whisper.

You wrap your hands around his wrists as your legs intertwine together. You’re both so close that you could be one. The sheet covers you both creating a safety cocoon. There is another loud bang followed by the sound of something exploding. It shakes the cabin and vibrates the bed. You close your eyes in fear.

“Look at me,” Eddie says.

You take a breath and look at him. You’re already entering darkness soon, so why not enjoy the view before it’s gone forever? If Eddie’s brown eyes are the last thing you see then it’s the perfect way to go.

Eddie wipes a tear from your cheek with his thumb as he whispers, “You’re beautiful.”

‘You deserve to hear that. It should really be the last thing you hear.’ You don’t know if you’re crying because this is it, you’re dying, or if it’s because Eddie’s last words were for you.

A blinding light flashes in the room and a loud bang breaks through the cabin. Both of your eyes close with instinct and you hold your breath. You and Eddie cling to each other in hopes that you won’t lose each other as you enter the afterlife.

It’s silent.

Until it’s not.

“Eddie?” A faint female voice calls from a distance.

You both don’t move, completely frozen in each other's arms. Is this heaven? Is this hell?

“Eddie?!” Another voice calls. It’s a little deeper, but you can’t tell who it is. Or what’s going on.

You finally open your eyes and just as Eddie’s brown eyes meet yours the voice calls him again, but from inside the bedroom. Only feet away. The room that you thought you died in. This isn’t hell or Heaven, it’s home.

“Eddie, are you here?”

Eddie’s eyes go wide with shock and hope. Hope for our future, because this isn’t how it ends.

Only one word escapes Eddie’s lips before he smiles. “Dustin!”

Part 2:

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fem!reader #eddie munson fic #the upside down

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 months

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Electrons, not molecules

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in TUCSON (Mar 9-10), then SAN FRANCISCO (Mar 13), Anaheim, and more!

When hydrocarbon barons do their damndest to torch the Earth with fossil fuels, they call us dreamers. They insist that there's a hard-nosed reality – humanity needs energy – and they're the ones who live in it, while we live in the fairy land where the world can run on sunshine and virtuous thoughts. Without them making the tough decisions, we'd all be starving in the frigid dark.

Here's the thing: they're full of shit.

Mostly.

Humanity does need energy if we're going to avoid starving in the frigid dark, but that energy doesn't have to come from fossil fuels. Indeed, in the long-term, it can't. Even if you're a rootin' tootin, coal-rollin' climate denier, there's a hard-nosed reality you can't deny: if we keep using fossil fuels, they will someday run out. Remember "peak oil" panic? Fossil fuels are finite, and the future of the human race needn't be. We need more.

Thankfully, we have it. Despite what you may have heard, renewables are more than up to the task. Indeed, it's hard to overstate just how much renewable energy is available to us, here at the bottom of our gravity well. I failed to properly appreciate it until I read Deb Chachra's brilliant 2023 book, How Infrastructure Works:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/17/care-work/#charismatic-megaprojects

Chachra, an engineering prof and materials scientist, offers a mind-altering reframing of the question of energy: we have a material problem, not an energy problem. If we could capture a mere 0.4% of the sun's rays that strike the Earth, we could give every person on the planet the energy budget of a Canadian (like an American, only colder).

Energy isn't just wildly abundant, though: it's also continuously replenished. For most of human history, we've treated energy as scarce, eking out marginal gains in energy efficiency – even as we treated materials as disposable, using them once and consigning them to a midden or a landfill. That's completely backwards. We get a fresh shipment of energy every time the sun (or the moon) comes up over the horizon. By contrast, new consignments of material are almost unheard of – the few odd ounces of meteoric ore that survive entry through Earth's atmosphere.

A soi-dissant adult concerned with the very serious business of ensuring our species isn't doomed to the freezing, starving darkness of an energy-deprived future would think about nothing save for this fact and its implications. They'd be trying to figure out how to humanely and responsibly gather the materials needed for the harvest, storage and distribution of this nearly limitless and absolutely free energy.

In other words, that Very Serious, Hard-Nosed Grown-Up should be concerned with using as few molecules as possible to harvest as many electrons as possible. They'd be working on things like turning disused coal-mines into giant gravity batteries:

https://www.euronews.com/green/2024/02/06/this-disused-mine-in-finland-is-being-turned-into-a-gravity-battery-to-store-renewable-ene

Not figuring out how to dig or flush more long-dead corpses out of the Earth's mantle to feed them into a furnace. That is a profoundly unserious response to the human need for energy. It's caveman shit: "Ugh, me burn black sticky gunk, make cave warm, cough cough cough."

Enter Exxon CEO Darren Woods, whose interview with Fortune's Michal Lev-Ram and editor Alan Murray contains this telling quote: "we basically focus our technology on transforming molecules and they happen to be hydrogen and carbon molecules":

https://fortune.com/2024/02/28/leadership-next-exxonmobil-ceo-darren-woods/

As Bill McKibben writes, this is a tell. A company that's in the molecule business is not in the electron business. For all that Woods postures about being a clear-eyed realist beating back the fantasies of solarpunk-addled greenies, Woods does not want a future where we have all our energy needs met:

https://billmckibben.substack.com/p/the-most-epic-and-literal-gaslighting

That's because the only way to get that future is to shift from molecules – whose supply can be owned and therefore sold by Exxon – to electrons, which that commie bastard sun just hands out for free to every person on our planet's surface, despite the obvious moral hazard of all those free lunches. As Woods told Fortune, when it comes to renewables, "we don’t see the ability to generate above-average returns for our shareholders."

Woods dresses this up in high-minded seriousness kabuki, saying that Exxon is continuing to invest in burning rotting corpses because our feckless species "waited too long to open the aperture on the solution sets terms of what we need as a society." In other words, it's just too late for solar. Keep shoveling those corpses into the furnace, they're all that stands between you and the freezing, starving dark.

Now, this is self-serving nonsense. The problem of renewables isn't that it's too late – it's that they don't "generate above-average returns for our shareholders" (that part, however, is gospel truth).

But let's stipulate that Woods sincerely believes that it is too late. It's pretty goddamned rich of this genocidal, eminently guillotineable monster to just drop that in the conversation without mentioning the role his company played in getting us to this juncture. After all, #ExxonKnew. 40 years ago, Exxon's internal research predicted climate change, connected climate change to its own profits, and predicted how bad it would be today.

Those predictions were spookily accurate and the company took them to heart, leaping into action. For 40 years, the company has been building its offshore drilling platforms higher and higher in anticipation of rising seas and superstorms – and over that same period, Exxon has spent millions lobbying and sowing disinformation to make sure that the rest of us don't take the emergency as seriously as they are, lest we switch from molecules to electrons.

Exxon knew, and Exxon lied. McKibben quotes Woods' predecessor Lee Raymond, speaking in the runup to the Kyoto Treaty negotiations: "It is highly unlikely that the temperature in the middle of the next century will be significantly affected whether policies are enacted now or 20 years from now."

When Woods says we need to keep shoveling corpses into the furnace because we "waited too long to open the aperture on the solution sets terms of what we need as a society," he means that his company lied to us in order to convince us to wait too long.

When Woods – and his fellow enemies of humanity in the C-suites of Chevron and other corpse-torching giants – was sending the arson billions to his shareholders, he held back a healthy share to fund this deceit. He colluded with the likes of Joe Manchin ("[D-POLLUTION]" -McKibben) to fill the Inflation Reduction Act with gifts for molecules. The point of fantasies like "direct air carbon-capture" is to extend the economic life of molecule businesses, by tricking us into thinking that we can keep sending billions to Exxon without suffocating in its waste-product.

These lies aren't up for debate. Back in 2021, Greenpeace tricked Exxon's top DC lobbyist Keith McCoy into thinking that he was on a Zoom call with a corporate recruiter and asked him about his work for Exxon, and McCoy spilled the beans:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/01/basilisk-tamers/#exxonknew

He confessed to everything: funding fake grassroots groups and falsifying the science – he even names the senators who took his bribes. McCoy singled out Manchin for special praise, calling him "a kingmaker" and boasting about the "standing weekly calls" Exxon had with Manchin's office.

Exxon's response to this nine-minute confession was to insist that their most senior American lobbyist "wasn't involved at all in forming policy positions."

McKibben points to the forthcoming book The Price Is Wrong, by Brett Christophers, which explains how the neoclassical economics establishment's beloved "price signals" will continue to lead us into the furnace:

https://www.versobooks.com/products/3069-the-price-is-wrong

The crux of that book is:

We cannot expect markets and the private sector to solve the climate crisis while the profits that are their lifeblood remain unappetizing.

Nearly 100 years ago, Upton Sinclair wrote, "It is difficult to get a man to understand something, when his salary depends on his not understanding it." Today, we can say that it's impossible to get an oil executive to understand that humanity needs electrons, not molecules, because his shareholders' obscene wealth depends on it.

Name your price for 18 of my DRM-free ebooks and support the Electronic Frontier Foundation with the Humble Cory Doctorow Bundle.

#pluralistic #bill mckibben #exxon #exxonknew #solarpunk #climate #climate emergency #climate crisis #gaslighting #guillotine watch #Darren Woods #incentives matter

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ktsumu · 5 months

Text

THE CUT THAT ALWAYS BLEEDS

pairing: childe / tartaglia x f!reader wc: 4.4k

choosing to love him is choosing endless bloodshed; all of it is yours.

(alternatively — the metamorphosis of a god through the eyes of his keeper.)

warnings: suggestive / mentions of sex, nudity, profanity, angst, mentions of murder / death, ambiguous ending i think, almost canon compliant

note: 4.4k words and i don't think even this has a plot. WHO CARES dedicated to @shoyostar bc i never stop talking and @crysugu :3 here he is!

Before he was ever Tartaglia, eleventh of the Harbingers, he was a timid child.

He feared the simple things — speaking to neighbours, strangers, the mailman. He never went to the market alone, not without his parents, not without his older brother to hold his hand. Neighbourhood boys called him names and you called him sweeter things, bringing him in for hot chocolate because of his red eyes, holding his frozen hands in a lukewarm basin.

Your town was on the coast but he rarely saw the water; he was afraid of drowning and even more afraid of sinking, even though you could see the ice was six inches thick through the sides of the fishing holes scattered everywhere. Not even the men would crack it, fathers that ate at the head of the table, yet he thought he’d be the one. Nor did he trust anyone to save him.

Childe was Ajax before he was anything for anyone else, his name from myth. Eagle. He was born a Greek tragedy; hero, for most.

He was fourteen when he disappeared. Your mother said he’d come back home, kids get mad. Your father said a bear got to him, a weak thing like that — your whole neighbourhood looked for him after he vanished.

He was gone three days in the woods but he told you he’d been gone for months. He was underground; you asked if it was Hell but he said it was much more. When he crawled back up to Morepesok, he was a different person.

He looked you in the eye and told you he was finally ready to fight.

You didn’t believe he was lost for three months until you watched him hold a sword.

By the barrels on the fishing dock, boys fought with wooden blades. Girls would watch and sit on box crates, swaddled up to their ears, cheering on whichever one they liked that week. They’d watch as they hit each other, splinters snagging on coats, knuckles gone white from the cold and how tight they held their handles.

When Childe stepped up for the first time, they snickered at him. The boy who ran away from home, coming to join the sword fights. It was a joke and they laughed.

(You saw something in his eyes that day and it scared you. There is nothing more terrifying than a child with bloodlust.)

He beat the kid so badly that they put thirty stitches in his forehead, and you were left to do patchwork on the bomb.

Cutting coloured wires, you dabbed Childe’s red cheek with a warm cloth, wringing it out in the bowl of water that separates the two of you. He was calmer then, in front of you. Not that he wasn’t before; it was less of not being calm and more of craving victory, more of a test of his newfound gift.

“I told you to stop,” you mumbled, “hitting him, I mean.”

“I stop, he starts. I won.”

“What did you win? Where's your prize?”

Childe looked at you dumb, with his dumb childish eyes that no longer held hate. Maybe it was somewhere, hidden, beneath the water you drown in, but instead the surface held a glare of wonder. He was Ajax again, always hopeful.

He hissed when you dabbed his skin with something other than water, something that stung. “I—”

“No one wins in war, Ajax,” you scolded. “You’ll see someday.”

“I won’t be in a war.”

You scoffed, your hand gripping his jaw when he tried to run away. “We’ll see.”

You’re seventeen when he stumbles inside your house, the wooden door cracking against the wall as he slumps to the floor.

Your feet are cold when you step away from the wood stove in your living room, dropping to your knees, holding his face in your hands that are always so much warmer than his. They cradle his flushed cheeks, sweat beading on his forehead; he’s gripping at a pulse in his ribs.

“I’m fine,” he assures you, before you start to cry, “just tired. I’m just tired.”

He eases the door shut, his head tilting back against the wall. His hand rests on your knee, squeezing it like he’s grounding himself, counting on the fabric of your pants to do it for him. You touch the icy veins that run over his knuckles and he comes back to life.

“What happened to you?” you rush, your family asleep down the hallway. You turn the dial on the oil lamp beside you, watching the fire reflecting off of his dirty cheeks.

He laughs, pulling your wrist off when you smack your hand over his mouth with a lousy ‘alright, alright’ and a glance towards your parents’ bedroom. “Me?” he coughs out.

“You should see the other two.”

(You don’t know what told you first, but you remember going cold.)

“What do you mean?” you whisper. You can’t stop whispering, you can’t stop shaking. “Ajax, what did you do?”

Childe’s smile tilts itself crooked. “I killed them,” he says.

His voice is so quiet it cracks under the pressure to not be heard.

(He’s smiling, but he’s crying. It doesn’t look like he means to. He doesn’t know he is.)

You want to run. You notice the smear of blood on his jaw again—is that even his? His hand still clutches your knee but you only now notice the red his palm stains it with, the red on the side of his torso. You want to run.

(You should run.)

You don’t run. Because it’s Ajax, and he’s tired of running tonight. Why would you?

“It’s okay,” you say with a nod and a shiver, like shutters in a hurricane. You’re both crying, and he’s against your chest, and he’s still so fucking cold that it’s migrating to you. “Stand up. Ajax, stand up—”

“I can’t,” “You can, you need to get in the bath.”

“I’ll wake your—“

“If you were ever worried about that, you wouldn’t have come here, so Ajax would you please—“

He breathes out, muffling his groans as he staggers to his feet. You’re not of much help but at least your hands, your shaking hands, are telling him you’re there. And that’s enough.

“I love it when you say that,” he grimaces, shuffling towards the hallway. “My name.”

Childe misses your eighteenth birthday by ten minutes.

You ate dinner with your family at your favourite pub, his siblings wrote you cards and pulled your ears, you tied your hair loose and flirted with the pretty guy who fed the boat lines. You don’t like him all that much, but he looks nothing like your neighbour and for you, that is a fine enough reason to talk.

Stones hit your window at ten past midnight, and Childe stands in the snowy alley outside of your bedroom. He wields another pebble and tilts his head.

Your window’s too old for you to ignore me.

You pull on your coat and boots, scarf too because he talks too much, and head outside into the night, creeping out the back door. You cross your arms, walking over to where he stands just outside of the lamplight.

“Hiding?” you ask, stopping in front of him.

Childe laughs like nothing’s wrong, digging through his back pocket with his gloved hand, handing you a box. “Happy birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday."

“Belated.”

You glance between his rosy cheeks and the box before you take it, looking towards the end of the alley to avoid his stare. Because guys like Childe don’t look away — you know better than to look back.

“Thank you,” you murmur, tucking your hands back into the warmth of your pockets.

Childe nods; you don’t open gifts in front of him, you know better than to do that, too. He knows better than to think you would.

You look at his hands, eyebrows furrowing. “Leather gloves?”

“So you noticed?”

“How? You couldn’t afford long johns last year.”

Childe grins. “I got a job.”

“At the tank house,” you say, crossing your arms. “Which, you had last year.”

The look in his eyes tells you he’s in deep — he doesn’t seem to care about it as much as you do. “I’m a Harbinger, now.”

“You—”

“I’m the youngest—” “You’re the dumbest,” you grit, sticking a finger in between his ribs. “You're eighteen — what kind of achievement is that?”

He takes a deep breath, his lungs pushing your finger back until it falls defeated. “I didn’t expect you to be happy, believe me.”

“Why,” you whisper, “would I ever be happy to watch you sell yourself to killers?”

“You know I’m no better,”

“Oh, Ajax, if you think that’s what I know then you’re more stupid than I thought.”

There’s no real reason to excuse the blood on his hands other than the fact that they’re so gentle when they hold yours.

There’s a voice down the alley and two drunk men in hats and coats wave your way. You grimace, but Childe waves back.

“This is why you’re outside. You don’t want them to know where you live.”

“Or where you live.”

You grit your teeth. “Yes, because it’s great that your allies are a threat your family.”

“You’re not my family,” he says, “that’d make things weird.”

Your eyes well and you swallow, looking back at the men who stare at both of you. They murmur amongst themselves and you try to ignore them, but it’s hard when Childe won’t look away.

A breeze of snow from the rooftops drifts over you, and you look at him one more time. The last, you try to pledge to yourself. “Don’t leave with them.”

“It’s too late now and you know it.”

“How the fuck would I know it?”

“Don’t cry,” he tells you, much softer now that he knows you didn’t realize it yet, “I’ll come home, I’m not gone forever. If anything, I’ll come back richer. No one will sleep cold.”

“You’ll come back to spoil your family with blood money?”

“I’d spoil you, too,” he adds, “but I know better than to try that.”

There is a heavy silence between the two of you. It isn’t the weight of his gold or the weight of him not coming home; it is the weight of lead, of gunpowder. The weight of the bullets that his two new friends that wait in the street have loaded.

Childe takes your arms, tugging your hands from your pockets, frowning at your white fingertips and cracking knuckles.

“Take these—”

“I don’t want your dirty paws,”

“Well, I don’t want your dry hands. And when I come home, I’ll need them.”

Childe drives the knife deeper, twists it through your chest, and slips off his gloves. He places them in your hands and just snickers when you pocket them. “No worries, I’ll just get a new pair.”

“Great.”

He nods, starting down the alley. He knows you well enough to understand that you don’t want to say goodbye, not when you know you’re saying goodbye to how things were before. Instead, he just calls over his shoulder.

“See you at Christmas?”

“Why even come back?”

“Right,” he chuckles. “I wanna see your gift next time, though.”

Then he leaves, and he doesn’t look at you again. You suppose he’s been trained to do that, but then again, you can’t remember a time where he has looked back at you, anyway. He’s never looked back at anyone before the end.

He comes home every Christmas, just like he promised.

Each time he does, he drags you out to a cabin outside of town, one so hidden in the woods that you almost thought he built it, and he fucks you like he missed you before he was gone. Not enough to leave the Fatui, but enough to come home once in a while. And once in a while is all you're gonna get, so you don't let it go.

He comes home, tells his family all about his life as a businessman, a toy salesman you once heard, and then sneaks you out so you can love him as loud as you want. Then, you eat the fish you bring, he tells you how much he missed the sturgeon in Morepesok, and he's gone before the sun comes up.

Childe lets you go with a tired breath, watching the fire beat against your glistening skin as you sit on the edge of the bed. The warmth of him courses through you like a river current and you fix your hair with weak hands, biting the tie that was around your wrist. “I feel your eyes, you’re not subtle.”

“I wasn’t trying to be,” he says simply. “You’re beautiful. More beautiful now.”

“You said that last year.”

“Next year, too.”

You roll your eyes, back straightening when he looms behind you, his naked body against yours. His hand sneaks around your waist and his lips press against your shoulder blade, kissing until he gets to the juncture of your neck and collarbone.

“Ajax,”

“I know,” he says against your skin, “gotta eat.”

“You’d think they would feed you in the castle.”

“Hardly a castle, sweetheart."

“That belt says otherwise,” you mumble, standing, making him let go. You pick up your underwear from the floor, too hot to wear anything else. “It’s custom.”

He snorts, flopping back down on the bed. “Birthday gift.”

“From who?”

“Ooh, jealous?”

“Of someone who doesn’t know who you are? No.”

Childe hums a laugh, giving a look in agreement to the ceiling that you catch out of the corner of your eye. He rests a hand on his chest, watching you sweat in the heat of the fireplace, smiling at the life he has for the next four hours.

He clears his raspy throat. “You finally wore it. The gift.” He snickers, “I only waited two years.”

You look over your shoulder at him, pulling your cami over your head. “I wasn’t gonna let money rot.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“What?”

“The stone. Do you know what it is?”

You stare, face hot. You’re partially embarrassed to not know, never having left Snezhnaya and let alone your town, but you’re curious enough to shake your head. Childe smiles like he knows that you wish you knew enough to say yes.

(You hate that he’s travelled the world you used to tell him you dreamt about. The one you made him dream about, too.)

He scoots up to lean against the headboard, and you take the invitation to come back to the bed. You crawl onto the mattress again, sitting beside him as he moves the clasp of the necklace to the back of your neck, and the stone to the front.

“They call it Cor Lapis,” he says, “it’s in Liyue.”

“Oh.”

He lets go. “It’s not rare, but I like it.”

“You spend a lot of time in Liyue, it makes sense.”

“So you do read my letters,” he says with a grin, cocking his head and holding your hand. “What else do I say?”

“What about the necklace?”

“Huh?”

“If it’s not rare, why get a custom-made necklace?” you ask. “Expensive for such a simple stone.”

Childe’s eyes drop back down to the necklace, holding it out from your neck and in line with the light of the bedside table lamp. It glitters in his eyes and you’re sure it does in yours.

“Cor Lapis is dull,” he tells you. “It doesn’t actually glow until it’s cracked open.”

You look at the cut edges of the stone, framed in gold. It’s small, but it’s something that looks like Childe gave it to you. When your mother saw it, she said it was beautiful and asked when he was home last.

You focus on the fingers that hold it.

“I found it a lot like you,” he says, his voice lower, his eyes finally looking up to face you head-on. “Heart of gold.”

“I don’t need to be cracked open."

“You have been,” he corrects, “you are right now.”

He’s right. He’s so fucking right that it hurts your head to think about and hurts your chest to acknowledge.

Childe’s hand runs up and under your shirt, showing your skin. “And you’re glowing.”

You sit in the silence inside your open ribs and give him a small smile, standing up to shake his hand off of you.

“I’ll let you tell me that next winter, too.”

Next Christmas, you stay in bed. Childe cradles your necklace again but doesn’t tell you about Liyue because you don’t ask, too proud to ask twice.

Instead, you lay against his chest, littered with brand new scars you didn’t see last time. Some you watch, others you look away from because they run too deep for you to need to know how he got them. Year by year, you get more quiet.

Childe does, too. He hasn’t lost his boyish charm but it shares his body with something else now.

“Why don’t you come home before Christmas?” you ask. “Once, even. Teucer’s birthday?”

“It’s not that easy. If it was, I’d be there for every birthday. Yours, theirs.”

You purse your lips, rolling onto your back to stare aimlessly at the ceiling. “Right,” you whisper.

“Don’t do that,”

“Why do you say that like I’m fishing for empathy?” you ask casually, scoffing a laugh. “You used to have some, you know. Before you were a fucking hitman.”

“You have no problem fucking said hitman, so please, if you now raise any sudden changes of heart, I should probably know.”

You look at him coldly and he shakes his head. “It’s not like I want to hurt you.”

His arm gets heavier around you, weighing you down against his side. You fight it off when you sit up, turning to look down at him. Déjà vu washes over you both.

“Do you honestly think that I’m talking about me?” you say through laughs. “I’ve gotten used to your wounds, Ajax, it’s not about me.”

“I—”

“How about your family?” you say. It shakes the cabin walls, even though you weren’t loud at all. “You have younger siblings who idolize you and older ones who know better than what you tell them. Do you think they’re dumb?”

He stares at you. You ask, “You remember them, don’t you?”

“I remember my siblings, yes, thank you for aski—”

“Did you know Teucer made a sword?”

Childe’s next sentence fades into a sigh, and his lips purse as he shakes his head.

You cross your arms. “It looks just like yours.”

“Brotherly love, toys are harmless.”

“Who do you think will stitch his eyebrow? Or sneak him into the bathroom after he comes down from his first kill—”

“I never asked you to be my keeper,” Childe says, the grip on your hand tighter than it was before.

“And look how it turned out, anyway.”

Childe leans back against the bed frame and thin pillows he’s stacked up, looking anywhere but at you.

He’s older now and hardened into someone you can’t recognize, but he resembles a lot of the boy he was born as. He still doesn’t look you in the eye when he apologizes, not when he means it.

“Do you want me to leave?”

You stand, finding your clothes on the floor. You’re too hot, so you put on your underwear and shirt and leave it at that. “I brought fish. Rest while you can.”

It’s July, and Childe comes back to Morepesok in the middle of a blizzard.

Glasses rattle in behind the bar and you dry the ones from the sink, since the hot water ran out an hour ago. The pub’s empty but your shift still stands, even though no one dares to go outside when the storms are this bad, and it’s only you and a few stragglers left to pray the windows don’t shatter when the breeze hits you from the coast.

Every time you catch yourself in the counter’s reflection, you see your necklace, and you wonder what the beaches in Liyue are like. You can’t swim here without freezing to death and you can’t dream in relentless snow, so you let yourself think of him sometimes.

(Warm, swimming in streams. You wonder if he ever got over his fear of drowning when he realized he wouldn’t sink.)

Air whistles through old panels and teases the fire that burns in the seating area, and there’s a quiet hum of voices that dim the crackle of the logs you throw in every half-hour. A glass slides off the counter and breaks in the wind.

You gasp and jump, stepping back, stepping forward when you hit something — someone. You turn around and Childe stares back, snow on his eyelashes and his hair damp from hail and the sweat beneath his hat.

“Why are you here?”

“Oh, you’re so welcoming. Need help?”

You scoff, kneeling with a brush and pan, guiding the glass back into a pile. You don’t answer his question. “They don’t really mean it when they say 'Christmas in July,' you know.”

“You were the one who told me to visit more, right?”

You nod, standing again, dumping the glass into a bin. “Outside the bar, staff only."

Childe slowly raises his hands in surrender, stepping quietly out from the back and rounding to face you again. He leans on the freezing counters, looking around the room. “You work here?”

“A normal person job, yes.”

“So boring.”

“Why’d you come back?” you ask, going back to washing glasses. “When do you leave?”

Please, stay. Just for once, stay.

“Tomorrow.”

“Do they ever let you off your leash for more than a day? Or do you just hate snowstorms that much now?”

“They have gotten worse since I’ve been gone,”

“Or you’ve just been gone long enough to forget where you come from,” you suggest, glancing up at him again. “The Fatui do still operate here, right?”

“Lower your voice, eh?”

“Sorry. Forgot.”

Childe purses his lips, looking around again. He lowers his head. “The cabin’s open.”

“There’s no way we can make it through the trees blind.”

“I can get us there.”

“Do you remember you got lost in those woods once?”

He grins when you look up. “Well, you know you don’t learn without getting lost. I know them now.”

You crack a tiny smile back, one that probably gives him way too much hope. He watches you put glasses away, he relaxes when he sees the necklace you still wear; even if you started wearing it two years late.

You shake your head. “I’m not coming to the cabin.”

“Why’s that?”

“You should spend the day you have with your family.”

“You—”

“Don’t make things weird.”

The moment is bittersweet and Childe isn’t stupid enough to challenge it, so he just laughs. You try to but it comes out funny.

“So that’s it?”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “It’s always been your decision, not mine.”

And nothing you have ever done has been anything I’ve wanted.

Childe nods, biting his cheek. He knows that people who live in the woods often die there, too. He never really made it out. “Show me out, then?”

You give in, walking him the short distance to the door. He rests with his hand on the knob, gently moving you away from the door so the breeze doesn’t freeze you in place. He tugs his hat on and notices the gloves he gave you years ago hang by your coat on the standing rack.

“When should I come back?”

He watches you breathe in, he watches you breathe out. “Come back when you’re coming home.”

Childe doesn’t try to reason or to ask what you mean, because he knows what you mean.

Don’t.

With a nod, he smiles. It shows with a weakness that no Harbinger should still have with them; you think this might be the death of it.

“I’ll see you around, then.” He opens the door.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Bye, Childe.”

The door shuts. You don’t hear the snow crunching beneath his feet until a few seconds later, and you keep your ear against the door until you don’t hear them anymore.

Before he was ever Tartaglia, Childe, eleventh of the Harbingers, his home was in the woods he got lost in. Not underground, but in a cabin, with strong windows and shutters the colour of your eyes.

It’s the second Christmas you haven’t seen Childe or the woods. You haven’t checked if he’s stayed there and the stories Teucer tells you are old, but there’s a chance he’s still burning a fire and laying in bed, glowing with heat.

Either Childe hasn’t come back, or he just hasn’t told you he has. Either way, you don't make an effort to know.

Somewhere in Liyue, there’s an ore mine with your name carved above the entrance. The men talk about you when they wheel out carts of jade and ore, wondering how you reached so far up to tell them you were there.

In Mondstadt, an outpost sings a folk tune about a girl who heals wounded soldiers.

In Inazuma, a village calls a seashell by your name. It started with the kids, who said a man from a different place told them all about it. An expert on it, they said. They haven’t called it anything else since.

In Sumeru, your laugh runs through the river.

In Natlan, a painting hangs in a bar of a woman dressed in fire, a ribbon on her wrist and her hair everywhere else. When asked, the artist says he was inspired by a man who spoke of a girl with a heart of gold.

In Fontaine, they serve grilled sturgeon, only cooked by wooden stove.

Childe sits down in a town in Snezhnaya, far away from Morepesok, and he sits in front of five kids who look just like the ones back home. Freezing, and curious.

He lets them fawn over his attire, bug him for all he’s worth while they’re tucked inside of a barn to avoid the cold. He answers every question about his job selling toys with enthusiasm and without guilt, promising to someday come back with some for them. Then, they ask him to tell them a story — one they haven’t heard before.

Somewhere in Snezhnaya, far away from Morepesok, a tale is told about a girl who travelled the world.

#this was so random #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact x reader #childe angst #childe x reader angst #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #genshin angst #genshin impact angst #kit writes

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madeinparadis · 1 month

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SAFE | EREN JAEGER

pairing: eren jaeger × reader

cw: fluff and (mostly) angst, fear of loss/death, spoilers for the ending of the manga & anime ofc.

word count: 1.1k

masterlist: all characters

a/n: i was on the zaza (sleep deprived) while writing this, so the brief representation here of the paths is probably not the most accurate, especially given how the cabin scene in the anime & manga left some people confused. either way, hope you enjoy!

The birds chirped gleefully, flying over the roof of your cabin, their sound carrying the message that it was already morning– yet another day beginning and taking away your counted time with your lover, who lay serenely asleep beside you. You observed how the warm sunshine illuminated his face, casting a golden halo around his body that made him look angelic– it distracted you from the plans he would act out in the near future that were, in fact, the opposite of angelic. But pretending didn't hurt, and as long as you were here, you were safe.

You didn't understand the entire complexity and operation of the paths, but they were a very welcome escape for you. After all, if you were to live in reality on earth, Eren would be away from you, tormented and left alone to his own devices– instead, he built you both a home in the paths, which allowed you to run away from everything and just breathe, even if only momentarily.

As the sunlight passed between the curtains and hit his face directly, Eren slowly blinked his eyes open, looking at you.

“You should've slept some more. You seemed peaceful,” you asked, keeping a quiet tone.

“I was,” he replied, his gaze still melting into yours. “And if I got live like this by your side until my death, I'd live in peace.”

“Then don't go.”

“I don't want to go.”

“So stay.”

“You know I can't do that," he muttered. “I have to finish my plan.”

Your expression saddened as you listened to his words. You too knew he would have to leave you for his war, and you also knew you would be alone– all your comrades would go on with their lives, and you would be thinking back to the days when you lived in fear, but in love. It was a cruel reality, the one you lived in, and it was the price you paid for loving a man whose rage and determination made him a slave to freedom. You were, logically, more than aware of the fact that no matter how much Eren Jaeger loved you, he would never put a stop to his plan.

But you could always dream. Dream about a life where the titans never invaded your childhood home, or one where they didn't exist in the first place. In your dreamscape, you could both run off and get married, and Eren would build you a home even better than the one you had at the moment. You would live far away from the bustle in your hometown, somewhere in the countryside, where your days would be serene and quiet. Outside, you would gather the dry laundry with a big basket, watching your husband walk back home with a load of freshly chopped wood in his arms. Perhaps, inside your little cottage, you could find room for children of your own– a boy and a girl, much like Eren and Mikasa– they would each have different features from their parents, both in appearance and character. What would they be like? Would they be stubborn like their father, or curious like you? The possibilities were endless, and you cherished the thought of all of them. You could be a good mother, and you wanted nothing more than to be his wife someday. Maybe in another lifetime. In this one, all you could do was daydream as you mindlessly stared at the man lying next to you in bed.

You focused your eyes on Eren's hair, strands messy from the friction against your pillowcases. He looked serious today, and you moved your dominant hand up to softly card your fingers through his hair, continuing your observation of his features.

“I wish I could stop you from doing it,” you spoke up again.

“I know.” His gaze dropped down to your collarbones.

“It's unfair, you know. I should hate you for leaving me before we even got to live...” you stopped for a second, feeling a knot form in your throat. “But even if all of our friends are going to marry and build their own families while I visit your grave, I still can't hate you.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I know,” you mutter. “I just wish things had worked out differently for us.”

“I do too. You know, when we were younger, I used to think that I would kill every titan, and then we would run away together afterwards.”

Eren's eyes met your own again, and you could sense an odd feeling of nostalgia linger in the air.

“We were so naïve back then.” You smiled, remembering your past days.

“At least now I can save all of you guys.”

You stayed in silence for a moment.

“But no one can save you.” Your hand slid down from his scalp to caress his cheek.

“You've already saved me,” he contested, placing his hand on top of yours, over his face.

“Not from death.” You felt tears well up in your eyes, threatening to fall.

“You can't stop me from dying.” He squeezed your hand slightly. “But you have stopped me from feeling like a dead man many times before.”

You reached your limit of stoicism, and what was a threat became a reality– Your eyes turned glossy and red as tears spilled out of them and fell on Eren's thumb, which brushed under your eyes and gathered your waterworks tenderly.

“What am I going to do without you?”

“Live your life freely.”

“I don't want freedom, I want you,” you choked out between sobs.

“You'll have me for as long as we're here.”

You curled up against him, letting him run his hands through your hair while your tears dried up. Despite it all, you were still with Eren, and he wasn't going to leave you just yet– so you enjoyed his presence while it lasted, listening to his heartbeat and engraving its sound and rhythm into your brain, in hopes that you would never forget it.

The two of you basked in the morning sunlight, and lay in bed curled up together until seconds turned into minutes, and you ended up losing track of time. Not very long after your tears dried, however, you tugged at Eren's shirt, gently guiding his face until his lips collided with yours, crashing like waves in a low tide– slow but impactful. Backing out to breathe, you let your fingertips ghost over his cheekbones, drinking in the sight before you like a relic, praying that all the memories you stored would stay with you for eternity.

Eren was right. You couldn't save him, and he could not stay with you forever. But as long as you were here, in your little cabin, he would be yours, and the two of you could be happy– away from the real world and the harsh truths that awaited you. It didn't hurt to play pretend. For now, you were safe.

#madeinparadis #eren jaeger #eren x reader #eren x you #eren yeager #eren yeager x reader #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot x reader #aot oneshots #snk x reader #mikasa ackerman #aot #snk #angst

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dancingtotuyo · 29 days

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All Farms…

Javier Peña

Summary: Javier has to decide what to do with the ranch

Warnings/Tags: grief, loss, hurt (no comfort?), ranch/farm used interchangeably here.

Notes: I started this on Christmas after walking my grandparents farm which happens to be the same farm I lived on for the first 7 years of my life. My grandparents are getting older which has sparked a lot of conversation with what will happen to the farm when they're gone. Fast forward to now, I'm currently processing a lot of feelings this Easter weekend. I lost my step dad last year. He was a farmer too. After his cancer diagnosis, all of us kids (there are ALOT of us) came home for Easter. It was the last time I saw him look like himself and the last time we were all together before he died. In my processing, I started working on this piece again. It's one of those things I need to put out into the world for me. I hope for anyone else going through something similar, it brings you comfort or makes you feel not quite so alone.

Peep the cow picture. I took that one myself at Christmas :)

Words: 966

Author Master List

All farms have a graveyard. One of lost memories and stories. Typically along a ridge or tree line, piled-up equipment that was never sold or broken beyond repair sits in overgrown piles and sunken earth. The old family car. The beat-up sports car or pickup truck each son or sometimes daughter inevitably thought they could fix only to spend hundreds of fruitless hours with one glory ride before it went haywire. Scrap metal torn from barn roofs pile up. Every tire imaginable is half buried in the earth. No farmer dares to clean out the graveyard. The moment you do, you’ll find use or need for the items thrown out.

The Peńa’s graveyard sits between scattered trees at the bottom of the hill. Javier rarely makes his way to that side of the farm. They don’t use that space for cattle since his dad downsized the herd. He pretends there’s no reason for it, but it’s more than just broken down cars and scrap piles to Javier. It’s a ghost town of memories.

There’s his mom’s ‘62 Ford. The one she drove his whole childhood. The vehicle that took them across town, to Sunday services, and hosted their many road trips. It’s where his Mom feels most tangible, her soft voice playing in his head singing to the radio.

His first truck. The one he’d spent months fixing up, he kissed Sally Jones on a Saturday night and done much more with Vanessa Reyes. He’s proposed to Lorraine in that truck, driven past the church in it too.

Chucho’s first American Harvester sits further back. His dad is so proud of that machine… or he was.

The ache grows in Javier’s chest as he stands at the edge of the graveyard. He begged Chucho for years to clean this up. His dad always waved him off, stating that he would get to it someday. Except, Chucho didn’t make it to someday, and now it is Javier’s responsibility.

His fingers twitch, desperate for the feel of a cigarette between them. Nicorette gum sits in his breast pocket instead. He’s working to quit again, picking the worst damn time to do it, but that’s life.

He should probably bring the tractor down to pull everything out. It’s overwhelming with no good place to start. Digging around down there will only dig up the memories. Javier can’t deal with the memories right now, so he leaves the project for another day. He only needs to clean it up if he decides to sell the ranch.

The house is quiet when he walks through the door. Javier is used to the subtle sounds of life- the coffee pot going, the tv running on low, Chucho’s boots on the linoleum, but it never comes. It won’t ever come again.

Javier kicks off his boots, lining them right next to his dad’s. He hasn’t moved them. He’s not sure he will.

He heads for the back of the house toward his room but stops at his Dad’s door. It’s shut tight as he places a hand on the wood. Javier hasn’t gone in there since picking out clothes. It’s a strange thing to pick out clothes for a dead man. How does one pick out what someone will wear for the rest of eternity?

His hand lands on the knob, and it gives way with a squeak. The same squeak that used to echo down the hall, waking Javier up before the sun to let him know it was time for chores. Javier is flooded with the comforting scent of his father. It envelopes him, pulling tears into his eyes immediately. The bed is fixed just as Chucho had left it before he went out and started the chores just as he always did. Except that day, almost a month ago now, Chucho Peña didn’t return to the house.

He collapsed in the field. He was already gone when Javier found him. He died alone and that hurt almost as much as the fact that he was gone.

A thin layer of dust covers the surfaces in the room. He should clean it, but would it lose its smell then? In here, Javier feels surrounded by his father. The closest he can get to him. His room, the one he shared with Javier’s mother, is perfectly preserved.

Javier dares to ease onto the bed and look at the world from Chucho’s perspective every day as he woke up. On the dresser, there’s a photo of his parents when they first started dating, and one from Javier’s high school graduation. On the bedside table, there’s a book with a bookmark halfway through, a picture from his parent’s wedding day, and another of Chucho on the tractor with Javier in his lap. He couldn’t have been older than two at the time. Javier traces it with his finger, wishes he could remember that moment, wishes he could go back in time and relive it all, even the bad days, and treasure it all, ask his dad more questions, called him more often.

Javier lays down on his parents' bed. Chucho’s scent is thicker here with Javier’s head on his pillow. Big, hot tears fall from the corners of his eyes dampening the pillow. He rests his hands over his chest, letting his eyes close. Javier can hear his voice now, his laughter, catches a hint of his mother’s as well. It’s Javier’s job to carry on their legacy.

All farms have a graveyard. One of lost memories and stories. No farmer dares to clean out the graveyard. When a tractor kicks the dust or that farm use pickup can only be stripped for parts, Javier follows in his father’s footsteps. He lays them to rest between scattered trees at the bottom of the hill.

#javier peña #javier peña fanfiction #narcos #javier peña narcos #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal #ppcu fanfiction #pedro stories #pedrostories

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calirph · 21 days

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𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒

All sentences have been taken from different literally, and media sources regarding childhood friends with feelings, former lovers, the one that never got away and the fear of a new love. You can change names, pronouns, locations and more as you see fit.

Can you forget about me?

No. Not if I live to be a hundred.

Then don’t ask me to do what you can’t.

Know that you are a beautiful woman with a beautiful soul and someday you will meet someone amazing, if you haven’t already. Someone that’s going to adore you as much as I always did.

But there will never be anyone else for me. You're it.

It’s us. It always has been.

Why do you speak like we won’t meet again for such a long time?

I don’t think you remember me as well as I remember us.

I never thought of a future without you.

Over the years, we have all seen their love grow. From playmates to sweethearts to bride and groom.

A lot has changed since the days when I used to throw mud in your face... but not everything's changed.

The red string of fate bound us together even then.

Why are old lovers able to become friends? Two reasons. They never truly loved each other, or they love each other still.

You're gone and you left me. My heart has dissipated.

I don't want to forget what we had. Ever.

I thought I was over him.

I realized I’m in love. It's always been right in front of me.

I tried to hate you, to forgive you, all just to forget you, but I'm only capable of loving you.

The more I try to erase you, the deeper you sink in.

I wanted you in my life from the beginning, Mal. Any way I could have you.

I’ve always liked you, from the first moment I saw you.

Don't let happiness slip through your fingers because of old angers and mistakes.

Why would I care what I look like when I’m constantly next to you?

I knew I wasn’t capable of falling in love unless you walked back into my life.

I let you go once. You’re crazy if you think I’m doing that again.

I always knew it was horses that would bring you back.

You’re always thinking about me, even when you’re frowning.

I’m thinking what a fool you are.

You rule my every thought. Even then. I was lying to myself.

You do deserve to dance, wear pretty dresses, and eat fine foods. You are worth celebrating.

When we're in here, when we're together like this, forget about everyone else.

I fancy you, Lauren, more now than ever.

I want you exactly as we've been before and so much more on top of that, too.

You… you’re everything I look for too.

Don’t ask me to give it all up unless that’s really what you want, because I could do it for you.

Forget San Carlo for just one second and tell me what you feel.

I can’t give you up, Lucy. I’m addicted to you, and I’m not strong enough to give you up.

I couldn’t risk someone seeing. The woods have eyes.

There was love in my heart for a boy once before, and it was a love that consumed my entire being.

There. Let the gods of friendship and common sense strike him dead.

There's something to said about smaller bed - you're forced to stay close to me. Where you belong.

There was a moment when we were young where I thought we would be married by now.

Not hard to get at all. Just hard to keep.

I'm trying to be good here, Karlie. But you're making it damn hard to resist.

What would you have me do to prove it?

You're my past, my present, and my future.

Say yes. Open your eyes, see that it's me, and say yes.

Why did you kiss me?

There's nothing to say.

Why are you looking at me like that?

You shouldn’t touch me.

We can't keep going on like this.

Back then, I always hoped. . .you know.

#meme #roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. )#rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt #◟ ⋆ memes › roleplay sources.#childhood lovers meme #former lovers meme

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xaphrin · 6 months

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Midnight Promises Broken at Dawn

It's Halloween! (just barely) and this is part of the colab I was working on with @inverted-typo. We decided to go with an Eros and Psyche theme.

There's so much more that's set to come out, because (of course) it got way out of control. I am aiming for the next part in two weeks, and I will post it to AO3.

Thank you so much for everything, and for being patient!

---

Damian felt the tug of someone breaking the seal that lined the wilderness of his estate. It was like a spider web thread snapping in the back of his mind, the delicate fiber straining until it broke and hung limp and loose against someone’s skin.

Curious.

The seal was designed to create a barrier along his sacred land so that wandering humans would have the sudden urge to panic and flee in the opposite direction. Anyone who managed to break through was either very powerful or very stupid. Or, maybe even a little desperate. After all, desperation bred fools.

He glanced up from the sketch he’d been working on and stared out the window into the dark gray of a blizzard at twilight, a mild annoyance creasing his brow. Damian may have been the grandson of a god, and have some minor powers of his own, but even he couldn't command the weather when it was like this.

Unfortunately, whoever had broken through his barrier would be allowed to remain close to his land until the storm calmed down.

Damian frowned and let go of a heavy sigh, glaring at nothing in particular. What an annoyance.

Raven could at least say that she had been given some small graces, even tiny ones. She had managed to harvest a few late mushrooms and set up additional traps in the woods farther from her cabin. It would have been better to have the traps be a bit closer to where she was currently taking shelter, but the storm had moved in faster than she anticipated, leaving her food sources scarce, and her choices even moreso.

The wind whipped overhead, shaking snow loose from the trees and scattering it over her shoulders. The noise was somehow both ear-deafening and eerily quiet. It shook her bones, but somehow never made a real sound.

With a curse staining her lips, she picked her way back along the path she created, making her way back to the dilapidated cabin she was taking shelter in. Her feet couldn’t move her fast enough. She felt strange being on this land, as if she wasn’t supposed to be here. It felt like a tug in her chest, a panicked feeling that made her breath short and her body shiver hard. But necessity drove her this far away from the cabin, and her options were growing more and more limited.

"Someday," she muttered to herself, brushing snow-wet hair from her eyes, "I am going to learn to live with others. In a society. With people."

It seemed more like an empty promise than a real one, and it was one she made at least three times a week. It had been well over a year since her bastard of a father had thankfully died, but his heavy shadow remained on her shoulders - oppressive and domineering. Her world should have opened up and grown larger with possibilities and friends, but the fingers of his crazed fear sank too deep into her own mind. And if she was honest with herself, she doubted she would ever be free of them.

For the protection of the world, you must remain alone. You are a stain here, Raven. Nothing better than a whore of Babylon.

Fuck him. Cursing his grave (wherever it was), she kicked at a rotting stump and made her way back to the abandoned forest ranger cabin that had become her temporary home. It didn't have much in the way of modern comforts, but at least it had a hand pump for water outside, and an outhouse. After some of the places she had stayed with her father, four walls around her while she did her business was practically palatial in comparison.

Raven made her way through the snow, following the marks she had left in the trees to show the path. The storm continued to rage around her, growing more and more violent and bitterly cold with each minute. Even the shelter of thick, ancient pines couldn’t shield her forever. She pulled her worn coat tighter around her, and eventually found her way back to the cabin.

When she stepped over the threshold, the pitch black of night had fallen, and the storm eased marginally. Small blessings, even if they were a little late.

Walking carefully over the packed dirt floor, Raven stoked the coals still smoldering in the fireplace, and sank down into the ragged remains of an armchair by the hearth. She looked through her ever thinning supplies until she located her last can of soup. Sighing, she tucked it near the coals of the fire, warming what was left of her food. She wasn't sure when she'd be able to go on a supply run into town, and she didn't feel great about the traps she set today, so she was going to have to make this last as long as she could.

Raven pulled herself close to the fire and tucked her thin blanket around her legs, feeling every muscle in her body ache with exertion. She was weary, and not just from the daily struggle of trying to survive. She was weary of being so utterly alone and isolated. Her father, in spite of all his bullshit, was at least some small amount of company. After he died, she had no one.

Her chest grew tight, and grief filled her until it was so heavy she wasn’t sure if she could bear the weight. A cold tear spilled over her cheek and she wiped it away with her sleeve. She wasn’t sad for his loss, but was sad that she had no one to turn to - no one to help her move forward in the world. She was, for all intents and purposes, alone.

Raven watched the coals' red glow fade, her mind drifting in and out of consciousness as she slipped into a half-sleep, where her dreams seemed far too real.

"A human. How pathetic."

Raven grit her teeth against the insult. She might have been a pathetic human, but she would survive out of spite, and that was a threat.

Her head rocked to the side, staring into the dark shadows of the half-rotted cabin. Hearing phantom voices and seeing unexpected things became a usual occurrence after being alone for so long, but this voice sounded different than it ever had before. "You're not any better…" She paused, trying to think of something to call this new hallucination. “…you ass.”

Very clever.

The was a soft grunt, proving that it was obviously not insulted by her weak name calling. The shadows moved like smoke, staying tight to the deepest part of the darkness. Raven felt something staring at her, as if trying to understand what she was. She turned her head and stared into the rafters, hearing the creak and groan of the roof under the weight of snow.

“What are you doing out here?”

“It’s public land. I am public.” She closed her eyes, trying to let herself fall deeper into sleep, but the shadows kept talking, much to her annoyance. Sometimes she wished her phantoms would just shut up.

“Not all of it is public land. You stepped past those boundaries.”

“Oh, please.” Raven snorted. “Will some absurdly rich recluse really know if I trap a few hares on their thousands of acres of unused land?”

The shadows responded with a strange breathy noise, as if it wasn’t sure whether or not she made a valid point.

“See?” Raven let her point seep into her tone. “Even you agree.”

There was another long pause, and the darkness spoke again. “Perhaps there is a reason to keep you off the land.”

“To make sure that their investment of land holdings is properly protected?”

“Hm.” The shadows moved like ink in water, spreading out against the walls as the coals’ light dimmed even farther. Finally it moved closer to her. “You seem to think you know a lot for someone who lives in a stolen hovel on public land.”

“Circumstances don’t always dictate the totality of a person.”

The shadows didn’t seem to know what to make of that comment, and stayed silent. Raven closed her eyes and let her body sink into the remains of the armchair, wrapping the threadbare blankets tighter around her. She shifted onto her side and faced the fading heat of the coals. The world grew heavy and dark, and Raven felt her body finally succumb to exhaustion, as she slipped into a dark, empty dreamless sleep.

But, she swore she heard one last word from her half-dream of shadows along the wall…

“Curious.”

She haunted his thoughts and that infuriated him more than anything.

This ragged slip of a human, who squatted in abandoned cabins and had the gall to tease him. Him. The grandson of a god, and a demigod in his own right.

And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He wondered if the traps she set remained bare, if she had managed to find food or warmth, and even if her firewood was dry enough. It was unbearable. Every moment he wasn’t completely focused on something else, she entered his thoughts.

Against his better judgment, Damian found himself visiting her again a few nights later, unable to stay away. He thought that if he saw her again, he might be less enamored by her - at least, that was what he kept telling himself.

She was interesting, even if he didn’t admit it out loud. There was something about the way she spoke to him that piqued his curiosity. It was as if she thought he was an echo or a dream, and not real in any sense of the word. He had spent most of his long life being surrounded by those who worshiped his grandfather, and while Damian appreciated the reverence and kowtowing, it felt almost refreshing to have someone treat him… normal.

Almost.

She should still have some verneration for him. He was technically still a god.

When Damian slipped into the shadows of the abandoned cabin, he found her floating in that space between awake and sleep where things seemed almost real. Her eyes lifted to the dark corner where he stood, trying to discern his shape from between the shadows.

“You came back.” Her voice was a slow drawling sound that slid over his skin like a spell. “I thought you’d disappeared. It’s been a few days since you’ve haunted me.”

Part of him wished he hadn’t returned here, and he had forgotten all about the trespasser on his land. But, here he was, watching a strange woman sleep on a rotting armchair. “You’re still here…” He trailed off, leaving the question unspoken in the air.

“Raven,” she muttered with an annoyed sigh. “I would have thought you would have at least known my name since you insist on following me around and invading my inner peace.” There was a long pause and he thought she had fallen asleep. Finally, her words slipped from behind her lips. “I’m here because I have nowhere else to go.”

He blinked and continued to watch her, letting her words settle. There was a story there he wanted to know, but he wasn’t sure if he should pry. Prying meant that there was a part of him that cared about her, and he didn’t. But… perhaps he was a little curious.

“You have no home?”

“Even if I did, it would not be a place I would go back to." Raven sighed, as if this conversation was exhausting her. “And, if I can't find strength in myself, then who else could I possibly find strength in?”

Damian was about to say something brave and gallant, but he stopped himself. He was not the type of person to offer platitudes and words of encouragement, and he certainly wasn't the type of person to offer help in any sense of the word. He liked his solitude and his privacy, and the only reason he was here was because this human was upsetting his perfectly manicured life.

Still…

“Seems to be a lonely life.”

“It is.” She gave a dry laugh, her blunt answer cutting through the weight of the room. There was a sorrow that clung to her, and a longing for something more than she had now. “After all, I'm talking to the shadows on the wall about my lack of home.”

He wondered if she would believe him if he said he was real, but chose to keep silent instead.

“You should go away, you’re keeping me from my well deserved sleep. You’re like an annoying fly buzzing around my head.” She gave a halfhearted wave, as if shooing him away, before she turned her face to the warmth of the fire. Her breath deepened, and Damian stood there for a long while, watching this curious human sleep.

There was an odd, uncomfortable stirring in his chest, as though his heart was waking up after a long, deep sleep.

His lips twitched in annoyance, and he glanced around the small cabin, taking stock of what she owned. It was so little, that it seemed as though she had simply walked out of a place one day with whatever she could carry on her back. A few clothes, a threadbare blanket, a backpack that had certainly seen better days, and…

His eyes rested on several beat up paperback books poking through the holes of her bag. That seemed like an odd choice, having books when she seemed to have such limited resources in the first place. Damian turned that observation around in his head for a moment, unsure of what to make of it.

Ultimately, it didn't matter. Mortals were of little concern to him.

Raven included.

Ignoring that strange flutter in his chest, he slipped back into the shadows and disappeared from the cabin.

#damirae #demonbirds #damian and raven #I WROTE A FIC #HOLY HADES #eros and psyche au

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officerrrfriendly · 3 months

Text

The Taken, First Strike.

stranger things conjuring!AU, priest!steve harrington x demonologist/clairvoyant!fem reader.

With an abundance of reluctance, your feet found themselves taking brave steps one after another as they eventually met a birch-wood doorway. But it wasn't any ordinary doorway, inside sat her. The frail and misfortunate Maxine Mayfield, who you still referred to as such- out of a habit of profession- much despite her insistence on "just calling her max, she doesn't go by Maxine anymore."

And in that moment, all of your previous doubts from earlier flooded back into your brain, before you could give into them and turn back, she spoke out. She called your name, a glint of hope present in her tone with some desperation, too.

You sigh heavily to try and alleviate all the weight you suddenly feel pressing against your chest before you eventually reply.

"Hi, Maxine," you mutter, smiling softly before slowly approaching the vacant armchair beside her, full of funky patterns and colours. She sat timidly, her hands held onto one another whilst fingers from each hand wandered over freckles on the backs of her hands she had forgotten she had. Her hair was shorter now, bobbed and fell just below her ears but she was still so beautiful. You tried your hardest to avoid looking into the milky white orb of her left eye and the thick bandage that covered the gaping wound on her right.

If you thought about that night for any longer, you thought you would just about lose your mind- so you shook your head of protruding thoughts and focussed on the topic of importance here, which was the girl beside you.

She laughs, and this time it wasn't humourless or dry but it was real, amusing. "How many times have I told you to just call me Max, hm?" she pokes, she sits further up in her seat as you laugh along with her.

"If I had to guess...I'd say only about 100 million times," you say, with a sigh. Your answer makes her smile for a moment but then she sighs, something is clearly bothering her.

Unexpectedly, without needing encouragement to open up, she speaks. "No one's visited in a while, Lucas...he finds it hard coming here, seeing me like this. He's never said it- but..." she huffs, lowering her head down to the floor. "I know that every time he's here with me he's just stuck in that night, what happened to Billy...me. Even though I can't see him, I can sense it, he's terrified to be around me and I hate it. I hate it because I love him so much...do you have somebody like that?" As the forbidden question leaves her tongue it triggers thoughts you had wished to never think about again, you think of him- and how neither of you haven't seen or spoken to each other since that very night.

Your head shakes, wishing to be done with the thought of Father Steve, and how you've treated him since after the night of July 4th 1983...at the exorcism of Billy Hargrove.

"I'd rather not answer that question... Honey, tell me more about what's been going on with Lucas!"

.•.•.•

You wipe desperately at your tears as they fall on your way to your ocean-blue Austin Maestro car. Your fingers struggle to keep up with the vast amount that began to flood out of your tear ducts.

You harboured a considerably brave face - despite Max not being able to notice it- throughout the entire hour after Max had asked you that god-forsaken question to which you had no answer.

She had talked about Billy, her nightmares, PTSD, her love life and even her mom running off to the other side of the world with her new young boyfriend and a bottle of Jack...she lived a sad life, one you had hoped to someday be able to save her from. You wanted her to come and live in your miniature, yet cosy townhouse you had inherited from your late father Richie, god bless his soul.

Seeing her so frail and lonely, woke a sadness inside you that hadn't long gone away, however that sadness also carried a fuckton of guilt. The guilt of knowing that if you had actually, fully prepared for what you were getting into, perhaps you could have saved Billy Hargrove, Max's eyesight (and her sanity), along with her family.

CLONK, you pull on the door handle to the driver's side door and hop inside before taking one last pitiful glance at the hospice. "I'll be back for you...Max," you mutter.

You turn the rusty key into the ignition. The engine fires to life.

.•.•.•

Days had passed and now you were sitting, pondering in your office inside your humble abode. Max hadn't left your mind since your previous visit and you were thinking through the idea that has floated into your noggin and is actively refusing to leave.

A THUD snaps you out of your daydreams and you quickly glance up from your oak-stained desk to see the culprit who dropped four thick textbooks in front of you, stacked on top of one another. You groan when you realise that it's just Robin, the nosy librarian-now-assistant with a child-like grin on her face. 'Oh, she's up to something' you thought, rolling your eyes before asking- "What is it now, Roberto?" you ask, intrigued as you sit up in your seat.

"I think I may have a case for you, Psychic Sally." she grins smugly, pulling a picture of a young boy out of her pocket.

Now that caught your attention.

"Tell me everything."

And she does, she tells you about how a 'Joyce Byers' had called several times today whilst you were out buying groceries begging to speak with you, for your help and assistance as she believes something is gravely wrong with her 11-year-old boy Will and has been ever since they moved into their house two weeks ago with her fiance, Bob.

She claimed a fever, a change in behaviour, sickness and bruising randomly appearing all over his body seemingly coming from nowhere. OH! And not to mention whatever 'entity' is wreaking havoc among them is causing a putrid, rotten smell to linger throughout the entire house...and her dog suddenly died the first night living there after it refused to enter the home.

You were going to visit the Byers' residence...but not alone.

You had somebody to visit.

"Call Father Steve and tell him I need to speak with him immediately, please Robin," you demand, sighing nervously. as your right foot begins to shake uncontrollably under the table.

"Are you sure that's a...I...uhhh-yes! yes, I will go and do that for you right now, if that's...are you sure that's what you want to do because you know I can totally-" she rambles, her voice high-pitched and unsure.

You can't find words so you nod repeatedly, sporting a polite smile and motion at the door. She nervously laughs, gulping "Ha ha ha ha, well! I am just gonna - yep! Haha! Going," she begins to back out of the room pointing to the door, "going..." she reaches the handle before forcibly chuckling, "and gone!" she shuts the door and you can hear her scold "What the hell is wrong with you?...freak!! god...how do I still have this job?"

.•.•.•

"God...how do I still have this job?" Robin questions, huffing embarrassedly. She treks down the terracotta-painted hallway, full of plants and pictures of who Robin had learned to have been your late father. She had found that out accidentally on the first day of moving in with you when she asked, "Is that your husband?" which sparked a very awkward, tense conversation that you both had very quickly laughed off.

She had reached the coffee-coloured door with the cream handle and twisted it, opening the door to her room- filled with posters of Molly Ringwald, Phoebe Cates, Lisa Bonet, Madonna you name it and she had it!!

Full of purpose she sits on her side of the bed, cross-legged and grabs the telephone from her bedside table and dials Father Steve's number carefully before knawing on her lip and impending an answer.

The phone rings a good three times before there's an answer.

"Hello?"

A/N - Hi babies!! how was that?! I know it wasn't the longest but its just to give the story a good push before we really dive into the plot and have some fun. Poor Max :(( SHE DESERVES BETTER!! and poor Chester, such a sweet dog.

LMK how you found this chapter!!

current taglist: @stveharringtn

comment to be added loves :))

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hd-junglebook · 2 months

Text

The Other Side

Part 1 - Word Count 2463

Crouched on her tree branch overlook, Y/N watched curiously as the group of five approached the cliff's edge. She was intrigued by these strangers, the first new people she had encountered since witnessing the ship crash.

The boy with long hair moved to grab the rope swing first but was interrupted by another wearing steampunk-looking goggles.

After a brief exchange, the long-haired boy moved back, now standing next to a pretty blonde girl. The four of them exchanged weary glances, silently communicating after they switched places.

The goggled boy backed up several paces, then sprinted forward with a leap, launching himself from the cliff. He swung out in a wide arc, whooping excitedly. At the apex of the swing, he released the rope and landed gracefully on the far ledge.

The group stood in silence watching before they erupted in shouts at the Mount Weather sign. She sat for a moment watching the pure joy of these strangers, hesitating, debating whether to reveal herself. Her curiosity was piqued, but she knew little of their motives or intentions.

The commander sent her down here to gather information with Lincoln, both splitting up as he stayed by their camp, performing a headcount.

Y/N was impressed by his bold daring. She studied the other four strangers, wondering about their origins. They appeared around her age, and wore weird clothing, the material all cobbled together. Perhaps they had banded together after some other disaster or tragedy.

Lexa wouldn’t like any of this, dread filled y/n and she reminded herself that they weren’t going to live long after she traveled back to the capital.

Lexa was stuck in the old ways, never straying from harsh and outdated rules placed by their grounder society. Not that Lexa could change anything, if she allowed these invaders to live, her people would see her as weak, and she couldn’t have that.

Y/N couldn't help but smile as she observed the scene from her hidden vantage point among the trees despite her thoughts.

In that fleeting moment, with their guard down, she saw only vibrant youth, not strangers to fear. She remained hidden for now, but hoped someday their paths might properly cross if fate worked in their favor.

But their happiness was short-lived, shattered by the sudden violence that erupted as a spear was hurled at the unsuspecting boy. His friends' screams pierced the air, echoing with terror. She quickly sprang into action, leaping down from the tree with a soft thump.

Her horse, sensing the distress, whinnied softly as she approached, offering a comforting presence in the midst of chaos. With a swift pat on his flank, both of them set off back to civilization.

With a final glance back at the scene unfolding behind her, Y/N urged her horse forward, their hooves pounding against the forest floor as they disappeared into the safety of the woods, leaving the invaders and their violence behind.

…

“Lincoln?” y/n called out, searching the brush for any sign of her friend. “Lincoln it’s me.” She continued, cupping her hands around her mouth.

There was no reply except for the sound of rustling leaves and the echo of his name. She sighed, weighing her options briefly before heading back to her horse, weaving through the twisted trunks and stomping over the bed of fallen leaves and twigs.

The sound of crunching filled the open space, quickly she grabbed her bow, notching an arrow before scanning the tree line again. Lincolns burly figure melted out from behind a massive oak, his face paint smeared haphazardly across his face from the sweat and heat.

“Lincoln!” she breathed out gratefully, loosening her grip on the bow before stepping forward to greet him. Lincoln stood before her, his calm gaze surveying her from beneath the hooded cloak draped over his shoulders. “I was starting to think you forgot I was coming.”

The barest hint of a smile played across the grounder’s lips. "I am well-versed in the ways of these woods.

It is you who makes noise like a stampeding gorilla." y/n rolled her eyes good naturedly at his teasing. “"Well? What did you see? Anything we should be concerned about?"

Lincoln's expression turned serious once more as he relayed his findings. “I counted about 100 of them. A blonde girl she’s their leader.”

After their discussion, Riss gave him a nod farewell. "I should get back before the Commander sends out a search party for me too." With that, she turned and headed back through the shadowy forest, leaving Lincoln to fade back into his camouflaged surroundings like a ghost.

Y/n strolled through the bustling streets of the capital, the cobblestones echoed with the rhythm of her determined steps.

Street vendors peddled their wares, their voices blending into a vibrant cacophony of commerce. The scent of sizzling street food tantalized her senses as she navigated her way through the throngs of people.

Approaching the imposing structure of the commander's building, she felt a surge of anticipation mingled with a hint of apprehension. "State your business," one of the guards demanded, his tone gruff.

She met his gaze with steely determination, her hand resting casually on the hilt of her hidden sword. "I seek an audience with the commander. It's a matter of utmost urgency."

The guards stationed at the entrance scrutinized her with suspicion until she presented the emblem of her authority.

The guard exchanged a wary glance with his companion before nodding reluctantly. "Very well, you may proceed."

With a satisfied smirk playing on her lips, she passed through the threshold and into the hallowed halls beyond, her gaze fixed on her objective: the commander's hall.

Her steps seemed to melt into the background noise of the bustling corridors, her presence almost unnoticed amidst the chatter. With purposeful strides, she approached the ornate door, its imposing frame a gateway to power and intrigue.

With a soft creak, the door swung open, and she stepped into the chamber, greeted by a gentle breeze that whispered through the open terrace door, ruffling her hair. "Commander," she greeted, her voice carrying respect.

Lexa, seated at the head of the room, smiled warmly, her gaze flickering with recognition. With a graceful gesture, she dismissed her companions, who filed out of the room one by one, leaving the two women alone to discuss matters of consequence.

"Ah, it's good to see you," she began, rising gracefully from her chair. The room seemed to hold its breath as she approached Lexa, her steps deliberate and purposeful.

"What brings you back so early?" Her voice was calm, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity.

As Y/N spoke, she couldn't help but notice the subtle tension that crept into the lines of Lexa's face. A furrow appeared between her brows, a silent question hanging in the air. Y/N pressed on, her own resolve mirrored in the unwavering gaze she held with Lexa.

"I spoke with Lincoln," she declared, her voice steady, each word carefully chosen. Lexa leaned forward, her expression a mix of anticipation and apprehension.

The silence stretched, broken only by the soft sound of Y/N's footsteps as she paced the room, the click of her boots echoing the rapid beat of her racing mind.

As she spoke of her findings, the space between them seemed to shrink, the distance bridged by shared secrets and unspoken truths. The dance of words and emotions played out in the quiet expanse of the room, a delicate balance of power and vulnerability.

Once she finished her account, Lexa rose from her seat. Y/N observed the subtle shift in her body language, noting the resolute set of her jaw and the firmness of her posture.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention," Lexa said. "We must deal with these invaders if we are to protect our city from chaos."

…

Y/N rode on horseback through the lush, green woods, the earthy scent of pine filled her nostrils, mingling with the sweet fragrance of wildflowers.

The sunlight filtered through the forest canopy above, casting a warm, golden glow upon the trail as she journeyed down familiar paths - passing by small villages nestled amongst the trees.

She couldn't help but smile as she passed by, exchanging friendly nods with the villagers who went about their daily tasks. Y/n had been away from home for some time and was eager to return.

The steady clop of hooves marked the miles melting away as the trees thinned. She spotted her modest log cabin in the distance, its weathered exterior a welcoming sight against the backdrop of the forest.

Reaching the edge of the property, y/n hopped down from her steed, her boots sinking into the soft earth beneath her feet. With a gentle pat on her horse's neck, she released him to graze freely, knowing he would find his way back to the stable when he was ready.

Y/N took a moment to close her eyes and breathe deeply, cherishing the scent of pine and wildflowers. It was good to be back. She hitched up her pack and strode towards the front door, the familiar scent of aged wood enveloped her, a comforting embrace that welcomed her home.

Setting her pack aside, she moved with purpose to the corner where her woodworking bench stood. With practiced hands, she began to carve arrows, the rhythmic scrape of the blade against wood echoing in the cozy confines of the cabin.

the moonlight filtering through the canopy above cast eerie shadows on the forest floor. The night was still. Heading out into the night to gather firewood had become a routine for Y/N, a solitary task that allowed her moments of quiet reflection amidst the whispering trees. Tonight, however, a feeling that prickled at the back of her neck as she navigated the winding path.

y/n began to gather the fallen branches, a sudden sound shattered the silence. The unmistakable sound of running feet echoed through the trees, sending a shiver down Y/N's spine. Instinctively, she dropped the firewood and reached for the dagger she always kept strapped to her side.

Moving cautiously towards the source of the noise, Y/N's senses heightened, every rustle and snap of a twig magnified in the stillness of the night.

Y/n's heart pounded in her chest as she approached a clearing, the moonlight revealing a figure hunched over, gasping for breath against a gnarled tree trunk.

Drawing closer, Y/N's eyes widened in surprise as she recognized the figure of a boy, his face contorted in pain and exhaustion. His clothes were torn and dirt-streaked, his hands clutching at the rough bark for support.

"Who are you?" Y/N's voice cut through the night, a mixture of concern and caution lacing her words. The boy looked up, his eyes wide with fear and desperation, a silent plea for help etched in his gaze.

Her body subtly leaned forward, indicating her readiness to assist if needed, while her hands hovered near her sides, poised to react to any sudden movements.

The moonlight bathed them in its silvery glow, Y/N and the mysterious boy stood facing each other in the heart of the forest, the boy steadied himself, before sucking in a breath and speaking.

"I could ask you the same thing.” He replied, the boy's voice was deep and raspy, his words were slow and deliberate, as if he was rehearsing a speech.

Their gaze locked in a silent standoff, a sudden eruption of yells in the trig language pierced the stillness of the woods. Y/N huffed, a hint of sarcasm coloring her tone. "Those your friends?" she quipped, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her lips. John shook his head.

Undeterred, Y/N pressed on, her voice firm yet tinged with intrigue, the trees towered above her, their branches creaking ominously in the gentle breeze.

"Who are you?" she asked, her curiosity driving her forward. The rustling leaves and distant echoes of the forest seemed to hold their breath, waiting for John's response.

After a moment of hesitation, John relented. "My name is John," he admitted. His voice was calm now, yet his eyes were a little wild. He looked like the man who had been on the verge of being killed, his head bowed in prayer.

"I can help you, John," she said, Y/n felt a shiver run down her spine as she looked into John's eyes. They were deep and piercing, like two black holes that seemed to suck her in. She couldn't look away, even though she knew she should.

John hesitated, unsure if he could trust her. But the thought of surviving in this harsh new world was too tempting to resist. "Okay," he said, his eyes darting between y/n and the area where the voices came from.

"I'll follow you." He approached her cautiously, keeping a safe distance. Y/n nodded, a look of satisfaction on her face. "Good," she said. "Let’s go."

…

Y/N and Murphy made their way back to her cabin, the shadows of the forest casting long, eerie shapes on the path ahead. "I need you to help me gather resources," she said.

"Food, water, weapons. Whatever I need to keep me alive. And in return, I will keep you safe from my people." She stated, looking back at Murphy as she climbed the steps to her door.

John nodded, his heart racing but he knew he had no choice. "Yes," he said, his voice firm. "I'll do it. Whatever it takes." Y/n could tell he wasn’t sure about his own agreement but kept walking anyway, opening the rusty door and entering.

Murphy hesitated at the threshold, his eyes scanning the surroundings warily, a flicker of fear betraying his tough exterior.

Y/N chuckled softly, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes. "Come on, it's not a trap," she reassured him, her voice warm and inviting. Murphy stepped inside, the cozy interior of the cabin enveloping him in a sense of unexpected comfort.

The aroma of cooking rabbit wafted through the air, a tantalizing scent that stirred memories of simpler times with her family. Y/N moved with practiced ease around the small kitchen, spooning steaming stew into an old wooden bowl before handing it to Murphy.

He accepted the bowl gratefully, the hunger evident in the way he practically inhaled the hearty meal. Y/N watched him silently, her gaze lingering on his worn appearance and the shadows that clouded his eyes.

"What happened to you, John?" she asked, her voice soft yet probing. The question hung in the air, laden with unspoken implications.

Murphy paused, setting down the bowl with a nonchalant shrug. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you.” he replied through gritted teeth. “Let's just say I've had better days."

…

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wordsonamission · 4 months

Note

hi! can I request Icemav 7 of 14 for the kiss prompts please?

Thanks so much! Sorry for the delay, these ran away with me and got a lot longer than I had originally planned. I hope you like what I ended up writing!

7 – Forehead against forehead

Ice usually found these sorts of places vaguely claustrophobic. A bit rich, coming from someone who made a career out of living with thousands in a floating sardine can, but there was a difference between carrier living and the way that a club’s atmosphere affected every one of his senses. The throb of the music’s bass reverberated in his stomach, the strobing lights gave him a headache, and the endless crush of bodies touching and sweating and writhing together was sensory overload hell.

He retreated out to the patio. His fingers itched to reach for the pack of cigarettes that he no longer carried. A promise was a promise, and he couldn’t go back on a pinkie promise to someone as doe eyed as seven-year-old Bradley Bradshaw. The boy was right, it was a dangerous and disgusting habit, but Ice had always needed something to fiddle between his fingers and the nicotine took a nice edge off of situations like this. Thankfully there were only a couple of smokers on the patio to tempt him with the scent.

“Wolf said I’d find you out here.”

Ice rolled his eyes but didn’t turn. He hoped the night sky would hide the flush on his cheeks that bloomed every time Maverick tucked himself into Ice’s personal space so confidently.

“There’s a bit too much going on in there,” Ice admitted finally. “And it’s not like I want to watch Wolf and Wood go at it in public like that. They have no decency.”

Maverick snorted. “That’s fair. But they’re really happy.” Ice pretended not to hear the wistfulness in his tone.

“Of all of us, I’m surprised that they’re the first to get out,” Ice said as Maverick stayed silent.

“Wood said he didn’t think he’d pass the sight test anymore.” Mav’s voice was down to nearly a whisper. “But while I guess that could be true, it’s gonna be a lot easier for both of them if they aren’t living with threat of dishonorable discharge dangling over their head every day.”

Ice wet his suddenly dry lips. Now he was the one scanning to make sure they weren’t being overheard. The four other people on the patio weren’t paying any attention, three were chatting with each other and the fourth was heading back inside. Still, his jaw ticked. “There’s always risk.”

“They can actually live together,” Maverick breathed, watching Ice’s face closely.

Ice squirmed under the attention, twisting his lips downward bitterly. “Just because they’re out of the military, that doesn’t mean they’re safe. You know that as well as I do.”

“Still,” Maverick shrugged, “it’s a chance.” He wet his lips, looking up at Ice through his lashes. “D’you think we’ll ever get a chance?”

Ice’s heart lurched. The words were right on the tip of his tongue – no, they wouldn’t ever get to live the way they wanted. Unless a lot of things changed about society, their love would always have to be a dirty little secret, the ticking time bomb that threatened their security and happiness. But Maverick was a dreamer and lived so fearlessly. He was more uncomfortable living a lie than he was afraid of the consequences of being caught. Ice envied his courage and didn’t have the strength to deny his hopes.

“I don’t know, Mav. Maybe someday.”

Pain flashed across Maverick’s face but he hid it well. He nodded to himself as much as to Ice, dropping his gaze to the concrete. He kicked at a couple of cigarette butts with the toe of his boot and hunched his shoulders as if he was suddenly cold.

Grumbling a curse, Ice stepped forward and grabbed Maverick’s elbow. Mav startled, off-balance, and looked up in shock. Ice knocked their foreheads together gently, lingering a bit too long as warmth seeped between their skin. The contact was as sweet as any kiss and carried just as much heady promise. Maverick inhaled on a shuddering breath and clutched at Ice’s sleeve to hold him close.

“I hope so,” Ice confessed, his voice raw and ragged. “God, I hope so.”

Ice bunted his jaw against Maverick’s temple before he stepped away. One last point of searing contact. If anyone had been watching them closely, they might have seen how Ice’s lips briefly connected with Maverick’s hairline. Or they might have seen how Maverick squeezed Ice’s arm before releasing his white-knuckle grip. But no one was paying attention, so they were safe for another day.

14 – Kissing under the stars

The waves rushed in and out over the sand, their ebb and flow as predictable and soothing as a cat’s purr. Maverick lost himself to the sound and let himself float. Everything hurt, despite the painkillers he had been forced to take, lest he be forced to endure the wrath of Ice’s infamous Disappointed Eyebrow. The meds gave him a floaty head and slowed his reflexes in exchange for turning down the brightness of the agony along his spine.

The canvas beach lounger next to him creaked. Ice made as few concessions to his age as possible, but conceding that it was easier to stand up from an actual chair than directly from the sand was one of them. He retaliated by keeping one foot off of the lounger, his toes buried in the sand, as he turned the pages of his book.

“Light's going,” Maverick said into the comfortable quiet between them. The sunset was faded to its final orange and pink blush. He watched as the color danced across the water’s surface. Maybe the pills were stronger than he thought.

Ice hummed thoughtfully but didn’t look up. Maverick knew from experience that he could read with very little light. And no, that was not the reason for his glasses, though they’d had that argument before. Maverick didn’t want to hear about how white pages reflected light and knew that Ice wouldn’t bear any repeating of the electronic reader discussion, so he just laughed and watched the water glitter while listening to Ice’s steady breathing.

There had been a while when it didn’t seem like they’d get to have these quiet moments ever again. Cancer was a bitch, treatment for it was somehow worse, and Maverick couldn’t help but throw himself into dangerous situations just to feel some sort of control. But now Ice was firmly into remission and Maverick was home. He tried not to think about the fact that they would both be retired within the year. Ice had earned the rest and the proper send-off. It was Maverick who didn’t feel ready.

Time slipped away like the grains is sand that he carded between his fingers. The temperature dropped precipitously without the sun, reminding him that it was November. Even sunny San Diego conceded that it was best to spend a few months of the year with cooler weather. Maverick found the edge of coolness exhilarating, but the night air would make Ice cough.

Ice, in tune to Maverick’s moods as usual, sighed and put down his book. His face tipped up to the sky, watching as a few stars poked through the purply dark of the urban night sky.

“Light pollution ruins the view,” Ice grumbled.

“We should spend some time at the hangar,” Maverick agreed. “You’d love the sky out there.”

Ice hummed again. Maverick laughed softly. Dragging a beach creature like Ice that far away from water always took some extra special coaxing.

Maverick pushed up off the sand and straddled Ice’s lap, pressing his sandy palms against Ice’s cheeks. Ice raised an eyebrow and smirked but didn’t complain. His hands rose automatically to Maverick’s hips, absently sneaking up under his shirt to press on bare skin.

“Wanna head in?”

Ice shook his head. “The view’s too pretty to leave yet,” he purred, smirk deepening as Maverick blushed. More than thirty years together and his flattery still went straight to Maverick’s heart.

“Surely you don’t mean this,” Maverick said, gesturing to his face. “I’ve been called out for being an old man more in the last couple of weeks than I’ve heard in the last couple of years. It’s starting to get to my head.”

“You’re not old, you’re experienced. Those hotshot children haven’t lived long enough to know the difference.”

Maverick grinned. “Look at you. Mr. Iceman, gone all soft and sweet.” He rubbed his sandy thumbs into Ice’s stubble, just to make him complain about the itch.

“Still incorrigible, I see,” Ice snorted. He seized the back of Maverick’s neck and drew him down to kiss. Maverick leaned into the embrace, relishing their easy give and take. Ice kissed confidently and touched Maverick in exactly the right way to have them both panting in no time.

“We’d better go in,” Maverick said regretfully, “or someone’s gonna complain.”

“Who?” asked Ice, gesturing to the empty beach. “It’s just us.”

“It’s getting cold. And we have much more comfortable furniture in the house.”

“That’s true.” Ice pretended to consider the options with all the gravity of his four-star status. “I suppose the suggestion has merit.”

The only warning Maverick got was a playful glimmer in Ice’s eyes before he pinched Maverick’s waist, making him squawk and fall off of Ice’s lap back into the sand.

“I can’t believe you actually did that!” Maverick complained, feigning displeasure. Ice just laughed, heaving himself out of the chair.

“The fastest way to get you moving is to give you the right motivation,” Ice deadpanned gravely. “Now come on, let’s take this discussion inside.”

Maverick leered and made a great show of snapping his beach towel against Ice’s butt in retaliation, even though he knew that the heavy put-upon sigh was going to be the only response he got. Sobering fast, his step faltered as he followed Ice up the beach with their stuff to the house.

Their house, where they shared the same bed every night. Friends visited them there openly and the address was listed on their Navy paperwork. It was no secret that they were in love and that they were married. There were some benefits to the passage of time, and Maverick would take some aches and pains if it meant that he no longer had to hide how much he loved Ice.

#icemav #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #top gun fic #wordsonamission writes

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caffeinewitchcraft · 2 years

Text

The Devil You Know

Summary: You are caught by a devil in the woods. She wants to talk about deals and you have always been a good listener. (F/F, 2nd person, original story)

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“Do you want to hear about my deal?”

The woman across the fire hasn’t looked like a regular traveler for a few hours at least. You thought she was at first, but that was back when the sun sat high in the sky and her hat cast a shadow so deep across her eyes it hid the spark of magic in them. She smiles at you, her teeth a shade too sharp, and waits for you to answer.

The clearing rings with silence following her question. Even the crackling fire falls quiet for a moment. The dark from the woods around you presses against your shoulders like a wall. If you run, she’ll catch you sooner or later. Maybe not tonight. Maybe not even before you reach town. But someday, somehow, she’ll catch you.

“Sure,” you say. You lean back into the tree you’d picked to spend the night under. You have the ridiculous impulse to pull your blanket up and over your head like a child hiding from the dark. You return her smile with a lazy one of your own. Too late for hiding. Too late to reach for the tools in your bag that’re supposed to protect you from things like this. “Tell me about your deal.”

“I was a little girl,” she says. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, spirals of dark curls that seem to move under the flickering firelight. She picks up one of those curls and twirls it around her finger. “My town was starving. Not just my family. Not just me. My whole town. A village of the dying doesn’t wail, you know? Wailing happens when there’s someone around to save you. But when you’re all dying, nobody makes a sound.”

Evil things aren’t meant to be spoken this time of night. You look up at the sky anxiously, but the canopy of the pine you’re under blocks too much of your view. When you look back to her, she’s watching the long line of your throat. You swallow. “You lived.”

“I did,” she says. She drags her attention from the hollow of your throat to the harsh line of your jaw, to your eyes. Hers glow like embers when she captures your gaze. “A nice woman like yourself picked me up. Deigned to decide amongst all those damned and dying and doled her deal to dear, darling me.”

There’s a lot to object to, but you hold your tongue. There’s magic in her words, each one falling like the beat of a drum, inviting you to fall into her rhythm. You could…if you were the sort to be swayed by magic. Instead, you say, “You made the deal?”

“I did,” she says. “Devils are supposed to lay the terms, but this one didn’t. She told me I could pick whatever I wanted for one price. She saw me dying and she saw the ruins that had become of my home and she did not tell me she would save me or them. She asked me to choose one thing.” She examines the ends of her hair and then drops the strands with a sigh. “It is a very cruel thing to make a child decide in that sort of situation, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes. A child should be saved, not made to bargain.”

“I agree,” she says. She watches you like you’ve said something interesting. “How would you have saved me?”

That flusters you. Your fingers tangle in your blanket. “I suppose like today. I would have offered you my water and a portion of my rations. I would have lent you my horse to ride if you were injured and taken you to the next town.”

“Even as my family begged for you to save them too?” She leans forward, so close that you know the heat from the fire must be hitting her face. It sends shadows reaching up from under her chin to cross her cheeks and her eyes reflect the flames like mirrors. “Today, it was only me on the road. Then, my family laid behind me in a cluster, preserving the last of the heat with their own bodies. No food for days, no water for most of that too. I had a younger sister, you know, and an older brother.”

You’ve spent too many days on the road to not know what she’s talking about. The famine is an unpredictable beast, bellowing through some towns and slinking through others. You can imagine the smell of the dust and the filth that accumulates in barren areas, can hear the helpless gasps of the dying like dry branches scraping together, can see the vultures circling on high. The road is littered with families like she’s describing, all clutching each other in their last moments. Why, you’ve seen—

Wait.

You frown. “They laid behind you?”

“All in a pile,” she croons, grinning. This close you can see her teeth are too sharp. Her canines come to points just shy of her bottom lip. “Shivering against the encroaching winter and bemoaning the cruel negligence of the land’s lord.”

The land’s lord is always negligent. You wave that away and say, “But why weren’t you in the pile with them? An older brother and a younger sister…Why did you lay between them and the road the devil approached you on?”

The woman pulls back from the flames, retreating into the shadows. She’s back to watching you again, her smile no longer reaching her eyes. “Who knows? It was a long time ago. Perhaps they no longer thought of me as their bodies wasted away. I certainly didn’t think of them when I made my deal.”

Her words are like smoke, so smooth that they feel like a caress. Her eyes burn in the dark. Ask me, they say, ask me about my deal. You have met many evils on this road and she may yet be one of them. But… You have always been too curious and you can feel your caution dissolving in the face of it like smoke into air.

“I would have saved you,” you say. You nod when the words ring true in your chest. “I would have left your family behind. I would have saved you.”

She stills and the world goes still with her. The gentle breeze brushing through the pine quiets and an owl falls silent mid cry. She studies you, brow furrowing when she doesn’t find what she’s looking for. “You would.”

“I would,” you say. “The funny thing about saving people – it’s selfish. There’s a choice in it. Today I could have continued on my way to town. I could have had a full dinner rather than split it with you. But I saved you because I was lonely and wanted the company.” And, you add silently, sometimes I get tired of looking for answers. Saving her had been an answer, in a way.

“What would you have gotten out of it if you’d saved me and not my family?”

“Satisfaction,” you say. And maybe the shadows are just as deep on your side of the campfire as they are on hers because she shudders when you smile. “Die alone or die together. There are only two options in this world. Who am I to stop them from choosing the more comforting of the two? Who are they to stop me from saving a child from the lonelier?”

“Huh,” the woman says. All at once the movement of the world rushes back. The breeze licks at your cheeks, stealing the suffocating warmth that had stolen over them. A bird takes flight from deep within the woods. “If only you had found me on the road then rather than now. We both might have had better fortune.”

The fire pops between you. The woman seems so much less frightening somehow. You can see the shape of her. She met a devil once, a long time ago, and she went down a crossroads. Now, like the researcher you are, you push for more.

“I guess that depends on the outcome of our meeting,” you say. There’s something bright in your chest now, replacing the sick fear that had bloomed as you realized she wasn’t human. She isn’t – the teeth are proof of that – but there is something human about her. You nod to her. “Tell me about your deal.”

“I was a child,” she says. She sounds hypnotized, her voice dreamy and her eyes distant. “I was starving. My family did not want to share the last of our stores with me. I was dying and a woman came up the road. She offered me a deal. Anything I wanted in exchange for my soul…” Her words drift off.

You lean forward, so close that you can feel the flames of the fire against your face. “What did you want?” you breathe.

Her gaze refocuses on you. She inhales sharply at your appearance, but says, “What could a dying girl want? What dreams could she have? Let me ask her and the make the deal quickly.” She drops the affected voice. “That’s what the devil must have been thinking when she offered me such an open-ended deal. She must have laughed while she asked me, so sure I would waste the opportunity.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” she says. She comes up onto her knees and shuffles forward, eyes never leaving yours as she approaches the edge of the fire. “I was a hungry thing, I was. I wanted food and water and to live. Those things the devil knew. But I also wanted revenge for being thrown away by the dying things who laid just behind me.”

“Good,” you say. You mean it. You feel elated at the idea, the memory of her knowing too much in the face of a creature trying to take advantage. You croon the word. “Good.”

She flushes. From the heat? From your words? She holds herself still in front of the flames and the wind rushes through the canopy above. “I knew she was a devil and I knew what she would do with my soul. I knew any deal I made needed to be worth it. So I thought quickly in the moments I had. I never wanted to be hungry and I never wanted to be helpless. I never wanted to be dependent again on luck or family or devils.”

You need to see her better. You find yourself on your knees too and, like this, you meet her eye-to-eye across the flames. “You made a deal.”

“I did.” She grins. “I said, you can have my soul. I said, I only want one thing. I said, I want—” here she draws out the word “—to be you.”

A log crumbles into cinder and sparks fly into the air between you. You feel the shadows pressing in from all around, but you can barely feel their chill. She is like you – a traveler on the road. But the road brought darkness to her doorstep, and she did not let it consume her. No, she sat astride it. She controlled it. She tamed it.

“I have been looking for someone like you,” you say. A confession for a confession. You have traveled this road for years looking for answers. And here she is. Your answer. “I have been looking for you.”

The woman isn’t listening. She smiles up at the sky, hands held palm out beside her. “The magic took hold before she knew what I had done. My soul for changing me into a thing that didn’t need one. My soul for power. My soul for freedom.”

“Yes,” you say. She is beautiful. She is transformed. You leap to your feet. “That’s it! That’s it exactly!” You rush around the fire. She jerks up to her feet, eyes widening, but you aren’t attacking her. You fall to your knees beside her and grab her hands. “You—you are perfection. Wonderful, truly!”

She looks down at you with her flaming eyes, mouth slightly agape. “I—what?”

“Thank you,” you say. You mean it. You are so sincere that you kiss the back of her hands. “I have searched for over a decade for my answer.”

She does not pull away, though her expression is unsure. “An answer to what question?”

“What do we mortals do when the world kills us? Why, we die, of course. But what do we do when the world is cruel? When it bites and claws and murders? When dark things crawl from our nightmares to devour us whole?” You look up at her rapturously. “Why, we become you.”

“I’m…not sure what I’m supposed to say here,” she says. She finally does pull her hands from yours, stepping back. There’s a deep wrinkle between her eyebrows. “This whole day is turning upside down. You know I’m a devil, right?”

“But you were human once,” you say. You sit back on your heels, beaming up at her. “You are the first person I’ve ever met who has bridged the gap between human and supernatural. I am a researcher, you know, and I have the authority to say that. You are unique.”

She flushes, the red across her cheeks darker than the red in her eyes. “I am trying to steal your soul,” she says.

Is she pouting? You nod and fold your hands in your lap, so you don’t reach for hers again. “Yes, I know.”

“If you know then you should run—”

“I want you to have it.”

She gapes at you. Closes her mouth. Presses the heel of her hand to her forehead. “Look. Traveler or researcher, whatever you are. I appreciate your sympathy in regard to my deal so I’ll let you go.”

What? No! “No!” you say. You scramble up from the ground and step towards her. You are a tall woman and she is not. You stop short of her to keep from looming. “Please, please, take my soul!”

“I don’t have a deal for people who want their souls to be stolen,” she snaps. She takes a half-step back and then firms. She glares up at you. “Anyone else would be ecstatic at the mercy I’m showing. Not many people escape a devil once they’ve shared a campsite—”

“I don’t want to escape!” You wring your hands together. “I don’t want us to part! I want to hear more about your transformation and your life after your deal. Do you collect souls to survive? Is it an instinct? Is it for fun? There are so many things I need to ask you!”

“You can ask any devil you find—” Her jaw drops again. “Wait, is that why you saved me? You just save people along this road, hoping they’re devils?”

Usually, yes. But tonight you really did just want some company. It can get awfully lonely traveling alone, especially when the merchants you used to travel with refuse to put up with you any longer. Something about losing too many of their people to the supernatural dangers you seek out.

“Saving people is selfish,” you remind her. “I never said I do it altruistically.”

She actually does take a step back this time. “What do you do with the devils you find?”

“Not all of them are devils—”

“What. Do you. Do. To them?”

You glance guiltily at your bag and then back to her. “If they answer my questions, I let them go. Honestly.”

“I don’t know if I believe you,” she says, but she stops backing up. She purses her lips. “If I answer your questions, will you let me go then?”

You hedge. “I don’t know if I can ask them all in one night,” you say. “If you let me stay with you for as long as I have questions, you can have my soul after.”

“You seem like a troublesome soul to collect,�� she says. Her eyes narrow. “You didn’t tell me what you do to devils who don’t answer your questions.”

You widen your eyes and bat your lashes, hoping it looks as innocent as it did when you were a little girl. “They all answer my questions.”

Her nose wrinkles. “Liar.” She looks uneasily in the direction of your bag. “You’re a very troublesome soul indeed.”

“You can smell lies?” you ask, delighted. You want to get your notebook, but you’re worried she’s going to run if you take your eyes off her. “Or is it more of a sixth sense? Can you tell partial truths? What about—”

“How about this?” she blurts out, holding out one hand to stop your onslaught of questions. She looks somewhat harried which is ridiculous. You only just met. She runs a hand through her hair. “I’ll answer your questions.”

“I’ve got a lot of them though so it’d be easier if you took—”

“You can travel with me for as long as it takes,” she says. “In exchange, you won’t do to me whatever you did to those other devils. And you’ll stop bothering me about taking your soul.”

“But it would really be much easier if you did,” you say in your most reasonable voice. You wave your hands to your bag. “I’ve got years worth of questions. If you take my soul, it’s guaranteed that I’ll have enough time to ask them.”

“You can’t possibly have so many questions that you need an extended life to ask them,” she says, rolling her eyes. When you don’t respond, her eyes widen. “You don’t, do you?”

“Well, I don’t know,” you say. “I’ve never been able to ask them all before the devil tries to run.”

“Tries to run?” she asks.

You go back to smiling at her.

“The deal—the promise,” she corrects herself hastily, “is this: I’ll answer as many questions as you want for one year. During that time, I won’t run and you won’t… do whatever it is you do to devils that try. In exchange, you won’t ask me to take your soul. Good?”

Not good. You consider her, eyes sliding to the trees just beyond her shoulder. It’s the first time selling your soul would be worth it. She’s uniquely positioned to understand the specific differences between a human and a devil. She can answer all of your questions, but will a year be enough time? The one time you want to use your soul productively and she doesn’t want it.

Then again, a year is an awful long time to negotiate…

You grin. “Deal.”

“It’s a promise,” she says, emphasizing the word. She watches you for a moment, lips pressed tightly. “A promise is not a deal. Say it”

“A promise is not a deal,” you echo obediently.

She doesn’t look like she believes you. “This has been a long talk. You can ask your first question tomorrow morning.”

Ugh, that’s hours away. However, compromising is the key to a good relationship on the road. You nod. “Sounds fair. Do you want me to take the first watch, or…”

“I’m a devil,” she says. She shakes her head, finally turning her back on you to go back to her bedroll. “We don’t need a watch.”

You make the appropriate impressed noises as you both settle in for the night. The fire is low, but the night is unseasonably warm. You watch her from your peripherals, your blanket pulled tight to your chin.

She may be comfortable not setting up a watch, but you aren’t. You’ve seen too many devils try to run away when they think you’re asleep.

You grin into the dark. You can’t wait for morning.

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Thanks for reading! I love adding twists to stories where the power shifts between two people so dramatically. The MC may have won this round, but only a very clever woman makes a deal like this devil did.

If you’d like to read all sorts of short stories that I’ve written as well as stories like this, I post a week early on my Patreon (X).

Next week’s short story:

The Apartment

Summary: Emmaline isn't lonely. The AI in her family's apartment makes sure of that.

Thanks again for readin’!

#my writing #second person #my devil deals #deals with the devil

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