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howlsnteeth · 2 months

Note

hi, just wanted you to know that if you ever wanted to like. interest-dump about cotl and your thoughts about the lore/storyline and stuff as ive seen you show in your art, id read PARAGRAPHS. im so curious and love to hear about people's interest in game/story/media lore and the interpersonal relationships within the universe!!! - from an autistic system who has loved your art since like. forever. (u can call us moss)

okay hi moss :3

i'm kind of due for an infodump on my cotl headcanons, so! i'll try be somewhat concise because this is going to be a long post anyway rip. i drew some pictures :D

(i can't really think of any warnings to give outside of usual cotl themes/killed race/dying/blood/etc but let me know)

obviously watching the destruction of your entire race is traumatic as fuck, also because it likely took a few weeks or months to achieve. so they died pretty underweight/weak bodied/pretty shut down. the bishops are gone by the time lamb is revived by toww, and their body hadn't quite made it to a 'body pit' (or food pit). still, they get Their Bell from another of their race on the way out. probably weren't thinking about it too hard and just desperately wanted to grab something while their eyes burned in their sockets and this red crown fit like molded clay in their hand. my lamb has a little notch out of their left ear which was caused while escaping, which ends up never healing because of a few reasons but mostly because i like it.

over the course of the game/story they start to slowly physically change. after revival it takes scars a Long time to fade, considering lamb is technically a walking corpse, and also because of their affiliation with Death (narinder, who has similar i'll mention later). they get dark marked lines under their eyes from that classic 'bleeding eyes' action during rituals/etc. their ears but especially horns get longer and sharper. their way of coping is similar to most lambs, jokes and pulled punches.

by the end of the 'main game/toww fight,' they've already made their choice, and start flexing their control/communication with the red crown itself. it gets harder for toww to view through it, and lamb gets somewhat intoxicated with the idea of an ultimate revenge, having killed all the other bishops. they've done everything they can to stop their cult members noticing signs of weakness, but as things get more stressful this kind of rubberbands around to them seeming extremely unstable. by the time they go to fight toww they're muttering nonstop, barely aware, and also they let their wool get longer and basically end up with a mullet. <3 because it's funny to me

they obviously beat toww and for them it's like a smashing of clarity, like a gripped handle let go, standing up from the river of blood. it's freeing but also the most pain they've ever been in. and instead of killing toww this pit in their stomach spares him. lamb went from a corpse to a god and now, in some sick way, they want to watch a god turn into a living corpse, just like them. because with every other sheep dead, narinder is the only one with a connection to that genocide, the cause of the other bishops doing it.

narinder hates their fucking guts. obvs. he thinks, or knows, that lamb is doing it on purpose. but narinder's body hasn't been normal for far, far too long. even before he was made death (as in artworks i've done with him), his body turned skeletal and rotted away. lacerations open all over his body, but especially down his front torso. when he's first brought to the cult, lamb gives him red robes, also because of this 'problem'. but narinder does every single thing he can against them. he gets white robes and lets them turn bloodied and disturbing to everyone around him.

even washing them stops working, and lamb does resign slightly to letting him sit in his dirty stupid robes. it's the pettiest shit. narinder also keeps his veil, and lamb can't bother with a reason to take it away. let that dumbass keep his yuck robes and veil. you can only stick him the stockade for a week before your other followers get too concerned.

over time, they do end up getting closer, but it comes from a place from both being touched and changed by Death, the red crown, and the choices of the other bishops. it takes a really long time and only after all the other bishops have been recruited (another whole thing). both of them catch themselves enjoying little things, and then having moments of all the pain bleeding through. an example is over time narinder does end up wearing darker robes, but it's fairly gradual. in this piece, it's lamb getting too deep in the countless lives that were taken from their race, triggered by blood (a whole little story thing), and narinder does make the (semi subconscious) choice to wear dark robes.

anyway you're probably looking at that giant shadow in the picture huh. it takes a long time but lamb Does end up truly becoming a bishop.

not 100% done with this design, but it has the basics. their main horns end up breaking off (thinking of a story behind that still). the main thing with them that i really like is they have multiple strings of bells on them. so everyone starts associating the sound of ringing bells as Death. so if you hear them, they're coming for you. that being said, they also have the ability to move completely silently, despite being covered in bells. which adds to the scaring-the-fuck-out-of-everyone factor.

there's a ton more i could get into with the other bishops, ratau, the duck siblings, the crowns themselves, more aym and baal, but i'm probably gonna do more artworks with them so i can talk more then :3 this is already too long lmao

thanks for the ask though!! it's nice knowing people are interested in my stuff :D (it's also worth mentioning that i am also a system and have alters of lamb, narinder, and aym and baal, who all contribute to this stuff)

#barks #cotl #cult of the lamb #long post under cut

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a1307s · 5 months

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Nightmares

(Conner Kent)

[Art is not mine! Credit to ericamchan]

Requested by: darkanglel_28

Keys:

Y/N: Your Name

Word Count: 3374

Warnings and/or Pre-notes:

Mentions of domestic abuse

Mentions of death

Mentions of choking

———————————————————————

Images of my dead teammates flood my mind like it has for the past week. The explosion that was responsible for blowing up Robin and Kid rings nonstop in my ears. The feeling of Martian Man-Hunter's hand around my throat, cutting off my breathing and my life. Right before I die within the nightmare - more of a fabricated memory than a nightmare - I wake up, just like every other night.

Being awake doesn't help me; I can still feel it all as if I didn't wake up. The fear and sadness from seeing my teammates dying in front of me, the feeling of Man-Hunter's hand wrapped up in my skin, the sound of the explosion still ringing in my ears, and the sticky warm feeling of blood coating my hands. I gently rub my hands on the bedspread trying to get the feeling off of them without waking up Conner. It never works but I rub them until my skin is raw and surely red. The ringing won't stop though. It hasn't stopped since the failed practice assignment. I've tried everything to drown it out, but it just won't go away.

The images won't get out of my head either, pushing me out of bed to find a distraction. A run would help, maybe. Probably. At least it would give me an excuse to try and drown out the explosion sounds again. I move around my unofficial shared room with Conner, trying to stay quiet. Conner and I have also been "unofficial" but also official, I guess? It's complicated. Everyone knows we're 'together', but he refuses to refer to us as 'us' or talk about a future together. Despite this behavior, ever since the 'fail-safe' exercise, Conner has been a lot more... here.

I skate around the room, looking around for my running shoes and something to change into. Eventually, I do find my sneakers; they're tucked under Conner's desk. I bend down, picking them up in one movement but manage to smack my head against the bottom of the desk. The room is filled with the cracking sound, causing me to stand still, hoping I didn't wake Conner. Once I'm sure he's still asleep, I wiggle out of my PJs before slipping into a sports bra and basketball shorts.

I glance at Conner. Maybe I should make sure he's breathing. He's breathing. Of course, he's breathing... but what if he's not? I slowly shift over to our bed, standing over him for a moment, watching his chest rise and fall. Conner is breathing. Everything is good... unless my eyes are lying. I make featherily touches across his skin, checking his pulse just to be double sure. I'm sure. He's alive, he's fine, he's breathing.

I pick up my shoes, making sure to grab my earbuds and phone before leaving the room. I leave as quickly as possible, not giving myself the chance to second guess again. My movements are rough and edged as I walk down the hallway, my nervousness getting the best of me. Just because Conner is breathing doesn't mean everyone else is. This run better clear my head.

The thought eats at me as I walk through the hallway. The entry to the common area makes the thoughts more unbearable. I can't go for a run without knowing everyone else is still alive too. I stay silent as I slide back down the hallway, stopping once I'm outside Kaldur's room. I gently slide open his bedroom door, peering inside. His outline fills out his bed. A dead body still makes an outline though. I tip-toe in, leaving the door cracked before making the short walk. Kaldur's gills lightly flap as he breathes, sending a small wave of relief through me. Our leader is fine and breathing and alive.

I should check on M'gann too, just to be sure. Light crawls out from under her door, making me stagger for a second, debating if I should check or not. I decide to crack the door open just enough to peek inside. M'gann is sitting up on her bed, watching some TV show, so she is very much alive. I stand behind her door for a second, debating if I should ask why she's up or not. I decide not to. I have my thoughts to deal with, I don't have the energy to help someone else with theirs.

The walk to the training room is a little easier this time, but thoughts still circle my head and noises still fill my ears. I should call the rest of the team. But it's late, they're probably sleeping. Or dead. I really need this run to work.

Once I get into the training room, I drop down to sit and slip on my shoes. The thought of calling rolls in my head for a while before I pull my cell out. I connect my earbuds before I dial Robin's number. It rings for a bit, the ringing mixing with the never-ending explosions that refuse to leave my eardrums.

"Hey," Robin says, his voice laced with sleep still. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine too." The line falls silent for a while as I take longer than needed to lace my shoes. "You want to talk about it?" Robin asks, the phone line picking up the sound of his bedsheets shifting.

"No, I just wanted to make sure you were still..." I cut myself off, dropping my head to my propped knee.

"Well, I'm still around. Can't get rid of me that easy," My ears are filled with Robin's soft laughter before the line falls silent again.

"I'm going to go for a run," I mumble, laying my legs out to start my stretches.

"You shouldn't go running by yourself this late."

"I'm a trained hero, Rob. Plus, I'm just going to run on one of the treadmills," I answer, a bit annoyed at the younger hero. I know he's only worried about me, but it comes off more in an 'I think you're less than me' way than an 'I don't want you murdered' way.

Robin hums softly, shifting around again. "I'm going to go back to bed. Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight."

After Rob hangs up, I try calling Wally and Artemis but neither one of them answers. I know it's late so they're probably sleeping but I can't help but think of the worst.

Once I'm stretched, I start up the treadmill, a nice relaxing walk for a warmup and to give me time to decide what I'm going to use to try and drown out the sounds and thoughts stuck behind my eyes. Once I'm decided I ramp up the treadmill. If I'm too tired to think I'll be too tired to have another nightmare.

—————————

My eyes are locked on the wall in front of me as I run in place. Or at least I think I'm still running. I haven't been able to feel my legs in a while, which isn't good, but neither are my thoughts that I can't seem to outrun or the sounds I can't weasel out of my head. From the constant running, I had to turn up my music louder than needed to ignore the sounds of my heavy heartbeats and my lungs huffing away to keep oxygen circulating. If I'm aware of how hard I'm working myself I don't know if I'll be able to keep going. I'm not ready to stop yet. I can't stop before my mind does.

A light pressure is added to my shoulder, sending me off my rails of focus. I trip over my own feet, sliding my thigh across the treadmill belt before falling to the ground, busting my shoulder on the way down. "What the fuck?" I yell, ripping my earbuds out and looking around for whoever or whatever caused me to lose focus.

Conner is standing over me, his eyebrows smushed together as he looks down worried. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?" He asks, kneeling in front of me.

Waves of heat roll off Conner as he gets closer. His hands run over my thigh, causing the rug burn forming there to shoot pain through my numbing muscles. Once he's done checking out my leg he shifts to my arm, checking it over as well. My eyes roll over Conner's bare chest before focusing on his shoulders. I stay set there, taking in his muscles and the way they flex when he moves.

"I'm fine," I peep out, my head finally silent for the first time tonight. "Why are you awake?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Sups says, helping me to my feet. "Why are you running at one a.m.?" I purse my lips, running my tongue over my teeth. "Faces aren't an answer, Y/N."

"I had another nightmare," I mumble, going to walk away but it ends up being more of a wobble than a walk. My legs scream in disagreement, pain from strained muscles and the rug burn tearing through my body.

"Another?" Conner questions, gently wrapping his arm around my waist to help steady me.

"Ya," I answer, leaning into his hold.

"Because of the training exercise?" I hum in agreement keeping my eyes forward and trying to keep the thoughts from reappearing. Unlike before, it isn't as hard to do. "You haven't really talked about it," Conner says, gently pushing the subject as we approach our bedroom.

"There's nothing to talk about."

"If you're having nightmares then there is something to talk about," Sups says, releasing me long enough to open the bedroom door before he's back to being attached to my waist. One quick movement later and I'm being held bridal style in his arms, my bare sides pushed against his chest. All of a sudden everything is silent, even the noises left over from the fail-safe mission.

Conner walks carefully around the room, making sure not to drop me before sets me down on our bed. After letting go of me, he somewhat lies on top of me. His torso is pressed against me, legs dangling over the side of the bed, but Conner uses his arms to prop most of his weight off of me. "What have your nightmares been like?" Conner asks, nuzzling his head into my neck.

It takes me a second to process what's going on. He has never been a touchy-feely person, let alone a cuddly one. Maybe the failed training is getting to Con too. "It's usually just replays of the training assignment."

He hums, pressing a soft kiss to my neck, causing my head to short-circuit a bit. Conner and I haven't gone very far in our relationship so the all-of-a-sudden touches are hard to process. "Has it just been happening when you sleep?"

"No," I murmur, wiggling out from under my... situation partner.

Conner sighs some, shifting so his head is laid in my lap and he's lying on his back instead of his stomach. It's still more touchy than I'm used to from the man but not nerve-racking like having him on top of me was. "Explain," He orders, looking up at me, the dark blue of his eyes filling my brain. The thoughts that started to creep back in, silence again.

"Um... I don't know," I whisper, half-heartedly trying to process what I'm supposed to be explaining. The thoughts have finally stopped and I don't want to invite them back.

"You do know, you just won't talk about it," Conner says, gently wrapping his fingers in mine before planting my hands into his hair. I let my fingers entangle themselves with the short black locks, choosing to focus on not pulling Conner's hair instead of the darkness clouding my mind the past couple of days. Con softly closes his eyes, soaking in the feeling of my hands. "Have you at least been talking to Canary?"

"Why would I talk to Canary?"

Sups shoots up, sitting up straight as he turns to face me. The sudden movement makes my heart beat harder for a second. Did I accidentally pull his hair? Is he suddenly upset with me touching him? "I don't know Y/N, maybe because of the mandated therapy Batman put us all in," he snaps out, his tone chilled as he shifts away from me. Why is he so quick to anger all the time? "If you haven't been talking to Canary, what do you do in your sessions?"

"I don't know," I mumble, folding my legs up to my chest. I don't want to be seen or heard or even be here. I don't like being around Conner when he's mad. It's too hard to calm him down enough to talk things out. Not to mention the small voice in the back of my head that likes to whisper 'One day he'll hit you instead of the wall'.

"Yes, you do!" Con yells, turning towards me. His face is pinched up in anger, cheeks red, eyes hard, and eyebrows pushed together again. He snaps his eyes shut, tilting his head some as he stays silent. My rapid heartbeat fills my ears, once again paired with the sound of Robin and Wally being blown to bits.

"Yes, you do know what has been happening in your sessions. I don't expect you to tell me what you've been saying but it seems that you're not saying anything," Conner says after a few minutes. His voice is soft and slow as the words spill out.

"I don't know," I repeat, watching Conner's face soften and his eyes flutter open. "I just... sit there. I sit there and stare at Canary and occasionally listen to her trying to prompt me to talk."

Conner's eyes snap shut again, head tilted and heavy exhales coming from him. "You... should be... willing to let Canary help," he says after a while, tightening his eyes some as he struggles to get the words out.

"What does it matter? It's not like Canary can make the noise and thoughts go away. And what do you care? You don't like therapy and you storm out almost every day," I snap back, laying against the pillows on the bed with my knees still propped up. I shift so my knees block my view of Conner. I feel a bit bad for attacking him. This isn't easy on any of us but at least he's trying, unlike me. Silence falls between us, the only sound being Con's heavy breathing.

After a bit, he wraps his hand around my ankle, but wavers for a second. He releases me and flexes his fingers a bit before wrapping them around me again. This time they're a lot lighter. Conner gently pulls me forward, propping me up so our knees are connected and my face is turned towards him. His hand stays light on my ankle as he glances between my eyes and his hand.

"I...," Sups starts, taking a couple of breaths before continuing. "I felt peaceful during... during all of it. Getting to... to play Superman made me... happy."

"Con," I say, leaning forward to wrap my arms around his shoulders and tuck my head into his neck. His chest rises and falls heavily underneath me.

"Well... until you died I did anyway. I just... I couldn't stand seeing you die. Seeing you in pain and crying. Even knowing I was dead and couldn't do anything to help it just... Made me rethink a lot of things. And then..."

"Conner," I whisper, gently placing a kiss on his jaw, "You don't have to talk about it."

He tilts his head, laying it on top of mine as he wraps his arms around my back. "I was happy again, knowing you'd be next to me soon and... and I feel a lot of guilt about it. Guilt for not caring about our friends and teammates dying. Guilt for being so selfish and so happy to know you died alongside me."

I let out a soft sigh, squeezing my eyes closed as I roll over the words of Conner's confession.

"I don't care if you don't talk to Canary about how you're dealing with it or how it's affecting you but... but you need to talk to someone. I'm trying. For us... For you. I'm trying to deal with these feelings and trying to get my anger under control. The last thing I want to see is you crying and I know I've made you cry before. I know I scare you when-"

"Conner-"

"I know I scare you when I get angry," Conner says, his voice harder as he interrupts me. "The last thing you need while you're trying to heal - the last thing we need as we're trying to heal is fear of me."

"You fear yourself?" I whisper, looking up so I can scan over Conner's face. His jaw is locked and his eyes look both angry and sad.

"I fear what I could do to you if I continue to let my emotions go unchecked. I want... I want you to feel safe with me."

I hum softly, nuzzling my face back into his neck as I slide my hands back into his hair. I mess with the ends of Conner's hair for a while, thinking over how I'm going to explain my thoughts. "I... I can't get the images out of my head. The scenes of everyone dying. And... and all the... all the stuff that was on my skin."

Conner's arms tighten around me, pressing me further into his chest as I try to push more words out. "I can still... feel M'gann's blood on my hands. I can still feel the hole in her chest from trying to stop the bleeding and... I can... I can still feel Man-Hunter's hand around my throat."

My breath is unsteady as I choke back sobs and my eyes burn from tears that I try to blink away. "It happens more when I sleep but... I can still feel all of that throughout the day. I... I can't stop my mind from convincing myself that if I can't physically see everyone that they're... that they're dead."

I fall silent, digging my head as far into Conner's neck as I can. It hurts to put those thoughts into the world. "The whole thing just... just reminded me that this isn't some after-school club. We're not immortal and one day we are going to die. Playing hero just increases those chances." Tears finally start falling after I rush the words out.

Conner slides one of his hands up to my hair, running his fingers through it lightly. His lips gently brush over the crown of my head before dipping down to my temple and then my cheek. "Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me."

"You might not think so but I do feel safe with you Con," I mumble into his skin, taking deep breaths to stop my crying. I hate crying. It makes me feel weak. Makes me feel like a sissy and a crybaby.

We sit like this for a couple of minutes before Conner shifts around. He gently lays me down on my side, pulling the sheets over us before snuggling up behind me. One of his arms slid over my waist, pulling me against his chest before looping the other one under my neck. More soft kisses are laid over my skin, crawling down my arm before Conner settles back up by my ear. "I'll be here if you have any more nightmares," he whispers, nuzzling his head into my neck before falling silent.

Being cuddled up in Conner's arms makes me feel safe and lets me know there's no way anything can happen without me knowing. For the first time in a long time, the only sound filling my ears is Conner's breathing.

#young justice #young justice oneshot #conner kent one shot #conner kent x reader #conner kent #superboy oneshot #superboy x reader #superboy

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sapphic-woes · 1 year

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Since I've been playing Apex nonstop....Sevika as a legend anyone? (Imma avoid the lore cuz I have yet to sit down and learn it fully yet;;)

Apex!Sevika x Reader

I'm thinking Sevika is an assault legend, probably uses her arm for special damage close range and rolls her ultimate with smth heavy. (Like Bangalore)

One the other hand, I think you would be either support, or a controller. Maybe even recon.

Anyways. I'm thinking this isn't your first rodeo. You've been apart of the Apex games way before Sevika shows up. You might look sweet, but you've had your fair share of kills.

But Sevika acts like she's a goddamn hotshot. She hits you with a sneer and chiding words to "aim next time." And even takes the time to pat you head when you're knocked down before finishing the job. (Ok look I dunno abt the lore but let's say in this au it rlly is like the game and you can revive and turn into a box when u die alright...)

So of course, in return you make sure she knows just how smug you are when you win against her. You don't get why Sevika always teases in the first place, but you sure as hell aren't letting her get away with it.

Slowly, everyone comes to know that you both have a sorta rivalry going on. Whenever anyone even mentions spotting Sevika, you're immediately dead set on knocking her down, and it's the exact same with her.

However. The fans notice too, and immediately the public see you both as the perfect set up for enemies to lovers.

You adore your fans, and always want to keep them entertained...but even you have a limit. However, this was a bloodsport, and entertainment came before your pride.

So that's how you find yourself landing on the edge of the map, doing duos with Sevika.

God. It's painful. She takes the shields you call dibs on, the guns from supply bins you open first, even the fucking knockdown shields you stumble upon!

Sevika ignores every time you suggest a location to check out, engages with the enemy without a plan, let alone a warning, and hardly ever acts like a team player. Yet?

"If you're going to be a fucking idiot and die, do it when you're on someone else's squad!" You hiss, dragging Sevika's body behind cover to revive her.

"Ugh, shit–the fucker has like, three hits left on him I swear–"

"And so do I. While he's trying to find us, think it's best to recharge ye?" You tsk, ignoring Sevika's near pout on her face and grumble that you could definitely still kill him. You played smart–played to win, but Sevika?

Honestly? You guessed this was more for the adrenaline rush than anything.

You pull out a syringe with a huff, bloody hands moving to undo her buttons Sevika raises an eyebrow, but youre immune to her subtle flirting, knowing damn well she just wants to get under your skin.

The skin just above her breasts is warm. Her chest heaves, pressing against the pads of your fingers. This close, you're breathing in her scent of gunpowder and cigarettes. Sevika grunts quickly, and her breath is hot against your ear. You nod, feeling her entire body brace before you stabbed her with the syringe. She grimaces, and you tsk, hauling her to her feet.

"Get knocked down on me again, and I'll fucking kill you." Sevika only quirks her dark lips up, and you can't help but think it's unfair. She looks breathtaking despite the mud, blood, and gunpowder covering her head to toe.

"Aw, you worried babe?" What did she just call me? Your cheeks burn at the petname, and you nearly follow through with your threat, pulling out your gun and aiming it at her.

"Huh? Wait! Y/n, are you seri–!"

However, rather than shoot her point blank you shot three times behind her. Your opponent falls to the ground, and you tilt your head in mild surprise as Sevika lets out a shaky breath.

"Huh. So it really was three."

"Well yeah, you said–wait...you were just guessing? You could have gotten us both killed!"

After that, you guys learn that you work, somehow. You get a lot more wins than when either of you are paired with someone else, and eventually you both only like teaming up together. You for the wins, and Sevika because to get a win, there's guaranteed heavy action.

However, as the malice between you two fades, the teasing becomes less superficial, the flirting has a dangerous edge to it all, and every time you come to Sevika's rescue....

Her eyes on you as you press the syringe into her exposed chest, mutter "c'mon, c'mon..." with worry are burning. They're hot as she watches you guard the door as she patches up, hungry as you down enemies easily before letting her know that was the last of the squad....and you didn't even break a sweat wiping them out yourself.

She thinks it's hot. To put it simply.

So one day. One random day of running from the ring, shooting down enemies and getting shot yourself, she goes for it.

"God Sev. How the fuck did you think you could take on three other teams like that? Why couldn't you just wait for me?" You grumble, slamming a door closed before promptly straddling the larger woman.

"Some legend you are, immediately getting gunned down." You speak as you undo her top, letting her rich, tantalizing skin be exposed to you. You glance at her face to see her eyes on you, calmly focusing in a way that infuriates you.

"God, what now? Are you even listening to me–"

"Nope. Not at all." That's it. You immediately stab her with the syringe, smirking when Sevika winces. Her body is a furnace under your legs as you lean forward to snarl.

"You're a fucking piece of shit you know that? I swear to God, I don't even know why I bother saving your ass–!" Lips stop your words mid sentence, and you gasp as Sevika suddenly leans forward to kiss you. Her hand snakes around to the back of your neck, holding you steady and she presses deeper.

Your body tingles, and your fingers holding the syringe tremble. You can't let go, she needs to heal...but she's going to kill you like this! Her metal arm is wrapping around your waist, trailing down your spine and coaxing out a whine from you. Sevika's lips curl into a smile against your own, and she hums with satisfaction.

Why is she doing this? You'd pay to know, shuddering as her teeth pull at your bottom lip when she finally lets you breathe. You huff, scarlet as a now-healed-Sevika eyes her handiwork. Your lips feel sensitive and warm, so you can only imagine how they look–kiss bruised and inviting her to do more.

"Why..." Sharply, a gunshot whizzes past your head, and both of you freeze before scrambling up onto your feet.

"How about we talk about this after we make sure not to die?"

"Definitely."

#sevika x reader #sevika x you #arcane sevika #sevika headcanon #arcane x reader #arcane headcanon #apex legends #apex au

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luminous-letters · 2 years

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Henlo Lumen. Can I request Sebek with a fem! reader who's an expert in medical works especially in giving first aid. They're the most gentle person out there when giving first aid or any medical help to other people but they're reckless when it comes to themselves (I'm a child of a doctor and the amount of scars I have on my legs from tripping throughout my childhood is... a bit interesting)

man, anon, i feel u 😭

"It hurts...!"

"Not so tough now?"

Sebek was hissing nonstop as you applied ointment to his blistered arms— the result of an uncontrolled fire blast with a damaged pen.

It hadn't been a while since you took your new role as Sebek's personal nurse, much go his chagrin if you may add, you felt as if you hurt his pride with your frequent scolding.

What started off as a few bruises and cuts now escalated to something like this— burns and sometimes even broken bones. You weren't a miracle worker nor are you capable of healing him with magic, so you had to make do with what you had and would send him off to get treatment after first aid.

Before your unwarranted 'transfer' to NRC, you helped out at the nurse's office for some time. So you could say you were adept with the practice.

"Please don't overwork yourself this time. It might get worse, I already asked Lilia to let you off for a while until you heal."

"YOU WHAT?" Sebek boomed, startling you, causing the assortment of bandages and alcohol to come crashing down the floor.

"At least try to be a bit more gentle."

"NO! First of all, how bold of you to underestimate my healing capabilities. And second of all, how dare you make me look so useless! And to Master Lilia of all people?!" He huffed, crossing his arms with a wince. "I've been through many trials and have braved all of them! So this is nothing to me."

You sighed, realizing that your words won't be able to get through him. "Just rest a bit, at least," you turned to face him, before busying yourself with cleaning up.

He handed you a stray box of band-aids, "I don't need it," he looked at you dead in the eye. He stood up proud, and marched back out as if he wasn't hissing in pain just a few minutes ago.

Dumb and obnoxious. That was Sebek at that moment, and prideful and so infuriatingly ignorant. He was many things, sure, but those were what you felt he was right then.

"I just hope that he'll take my advice this time..."

The next morning, just as the darks of the night before faded into the fresh golden glow of sunrise, just when dew rested upon the blades of grass that littered your lawn, Sebek came knocking on the shabby oaken door.

"On it," you yawned, rubbing the sleep off your eyes.

He was standing on the porch, his hair down, and wearing a light green t-shirt and a pair of camouflage shorts. Not necessarily the best choice of clothes, but it fit his pallet— green, green and more green.

"I assume Malleus told you to take a break?"

"...Yes... We're both excused from classes today. And I was told to come here and... And spend some time here until I've healed..." the last sentence became hushed.

"Come in, I need to change those," you pointed at the thickly wrapped gauze around his arms.

You made sure to thoroughly clean it first, lathering it up with antibacterial soap, then another gentle application of burn ointments, and finally finishing it with another handsome wrapping of fresh bandages.

"It looks better than yesterday. Did you use magic?"

"No, I just heal fast. I would've recovered much faster if only..."

You were satisfied with your work, confident that it would hold until the next time you had to change it. Sebek, meanwhile, was pouting and complaining the whole time.

"I rented an album from that artist you like on the way here," he handed you a C.D. case. The black and white cover's notable features were the repeating texts to make it look like news articles.

"Rep?"

"I honestly have no idea," he shrugged.

It was a good thing that Deuce was kind enough to lend you his player last Thursday. You had to get it back to him sometime soon.

"We can rest here until class ends," you popped the disc into the player, waiting a few seconds before the first song was queued.

"...Are you ready for it?"

Some time passed by.

"And all at once you are the one I have been waiting for— King of my heart, body and soul. And all at once you are the one, I'll never let you go— King of my heart, body and soul."

By the time the last song came to an end, you were lightly dozing off on Sebek's chest, deaf to the annoyed grumbles of the freshman.

"Get off me."

"You know I can't push you off."

"Come on."

"If you can't beat them, join them, I guess," you felt him relax, and it wasn't long before his head rested above yours.

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #fem!reader #female reader #twst x reader #twst oneshot #twst fanfic #twst fanfiction #twst fluff #twst imagine #answered ask #sebek zigvolt x reader #sebek zigvolt #sebek zigvolt fluff #rep's been playing on my mind on loop lately

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ereborne · 4 months

Note

Hello, happy holidays! For the End of the year ask meme if you'll like to answer any of the following: 8 (game of the year), 25 (a character you created), 14 (fav book), or 18 (a memorable meal)

Happy holidays! I hope they've treated you well <3

8: I don't play many games myself (only Stardew Valley, Minecraft, and silly seek-and-find puzzle games) and my laptop was too tuckered for games for most of the year, but even if I'd been farming nonstop I think the game of the year would still be Final Fantasy VII Remake. Pretty sure it'll be the game of every year until it's all out, and then maybe a couple years more for good measure. I am having such an incredible time following the game as it comes out and @kaylithographica plays through it, and I can't wait to see how Square Enix keeps going with the meta and story changes.

25: Some of the more complex edits I've been trying to work on this week actually revolve around a particular OC, so we'll talk about her. Her name is Mercy, and she was not supposed to be important (folks who have lived with me may be familiar with this refrain). She was supposed to be a filler character! She's an archetype! Her name is Mercy and she has none! Grr rar tragic backstory vengeance quest knife collection! But nooo now she's got layers. She's got depth. We're emotionally invested in her character arc. Damn it. Anyway she befriends her local main characters to use them as pawns in her revenge plot, spends a lot of time with them waiting for them to vouch for her to her target, gives up her first chance at revenge because she has to go save them instead (in a scene so terribly close to the classic 'stand at crossroad, look longingly at selfish goal down the left, turn back fully on goal to run to friends down the right path' that I may rewrite it to avoid cliche shame), and then eventually gives up her scheming entirely because it would be too much of a betrayal of her very best friends the main characters. She was supposed to die in the first rescue, and then the whole story locked up and I had to go back through trying to find the writer's block instigation point, and I realized I've made too optimistic a world to kill her off without friends or redemption. She's (big sigh) thematically significant now. At least she's also very cool.

14: I'm going with my favorite book that came out this year, to help narrow things down: "The Innocent Sleep", by Seanan McGuire. Seanan McGuire is one of my favorite authors and this is my favorite of her ongoing serieses, and usually we get one a year (usually just in time to be my birthday present to myself! a joyous coincidence) but this year we got two. "Sleep No More" and "The Innocent Sleep", paired stories, one from Toby's point of view and one from Tybalt's. The current state of their world means that these two POVs of the same happenings are wildly different, and it's fascinating (a little heart-wrenching sometimes) to see. Also, Tybalt and his friends dimension-door into Costco in the dead of night and steal all their catfood. It's amazing.

18: The vegeble man had a special on collard greens one time, and I bought a 'bundle' thinking it was your standard grocery-store greens bundle, a generous handful at most. It was more like an armful. Apparently the special was because they'd been sold a literal truckload of greens (perfectly good but disqualified as 'organic' by some neighbor shenanigans) and needed to offload them quickly because the fridge wasn't ready for such a bumper crop. I cooked them in batches with andouille sausage and bacon and just a touch of this amazing miso ghost-pepper hot sauce Duncan has, and we ate them for our next four meals (with grits, with cornbread and grilled tomatoes, with fried eggs and beer bread, and then the last of them mixed into red beans and rice). I really miss not just Southern food but access to Southern ingredients (the 'andouille' sausage I get here is pitiful, and bacon is no substitute for a proper salt-ham, and neither is beer bread always a good alternative to a buttermilk biscuit or quickbread) and it was so nice to have a proper mess of greens again.

#asks #sunkentowers #I would pay such absurd prices for buttermilk if only I could /find/ some up here. milk-and-lemon-juice is not the same.#apparently 'mess' as a quantity of food items is also a particular American Southernism #a holdover from the civil war it seems like. when they got a teeny little stipend rather than proper rations #'mess-mates' would pool their food money and buy enough of whatever for the whole group to eat #so a 'mess' of food is roughly enough for four-to-six men. a mess of greens fills a big pot a mess of bacon is a six-inch-thick slab etc #I can tone down my accent when I talk so the folks in the office won't judge me but sometimes the word choice outs me anyway

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bamboobrat · 1 year

Text

succession s4 e7 recap: tom, the one pepper menu item, gets spicy

sorry for the delayed recap this week, girlies. somehow i had a life to live and it was not very conducive to breaking down an episode where literally everyone is going through a breakup.

oh well.

we start the episode at tom and shiv's, where tom has made her breakfast after a long night of boning.

(this is an episode for the foodies, btw. did you guys notice?)

he gives shiv a scorpion as a present because she is toxic and can kill him.

hilarious joke, tommy. hilarious.

all is not well in this household. and none of the other significant relationships seem to be doing that well either:

this shot.... succession camera person, i see you.

i'm so happy we get to see rava, even if the writers are giving us crumbs at this point.

she tells ken to call her daughter. sophie is scared of the election and all the racist rhetoric which is spewed most prominantely by her father's news network.

ken pulls out his inner logan:

seems like most of the kids do this episode and it is certainly not a good thing for their personal relationships....

this goes for everyone except connor, who honestly seems to be having a great time this episode.

he's just happy his father is dead and that he is polling at 4 percent in alaska.

truly a power play by the writers to give con all the best lines in the episode. our girl is thriving!!

the tom/shiv saga continues, this time with sexting.

can't believe they are getting some of the best classically trained theater actors in the world to write this shit.

and make faces like this:

what time to be alive.

ATN is downsizing. greg is out for skulls.

shiv and tom host a tailgate party before the election which isn't really a tailgate party and all the finest people in the land are gathered, including a strange tv couple and a podcast god.

roman and ken are using the occasion to spread doubt about mattson and the gojo deal:

just two failsons/CE-bros working together for the good of the republic.

also, they've invited nate to go regulatory on mattson's ass, which tom is of course totally chill about.

it's the guest appearance nobody asked for and yet he has more screen time than gerri in this episode. the succession writers truly do not understand me.

con is offered a post as ambassador to somalia if he drops out of the race by mencken, but mogadishu isn't really his vibe.

he came to win this episode.

gerri arrives at the party and roman is like, phew, my girlfriend isn't mad at me for firing her and my guy frank probably worked it all out with her for me, right? right???

wrong.

it's giving high school drama.

let's all take a moment to imagine gerri, three martinis down, ranting about what a little shithead roman is.

the girlies stick together<3

mattson arrives at the tailgate party after shiv tells him about the regulatory route dumb and dumber over there are planning to go down.

he arrives during a moment of silence for logan, but not to worry, this swede knows how to behave and will not put his dick in the guac.

WHAT. IS. THIS. JACKET.

lukas is, of course, his normal charming self:

my face exactly when i'm caught between my potential future boss and the guy i've been boning nonstop for the past 12 hours.

the roman/con negotiations continue. it's a no on the slos, con wants to take berlin by christmas and contemplates opening up north korea like nixon did china.

it's giving napoleon, it's giving girlboss.

if you can believe it, you can achieve it, con con.

but alas, he is offered oman.

shiv asks mattson this:

if i was mattson i would eat her out right then and there.

i'm having perfectly normal feelings about it.

nate continues to.... be there.

luckily he doesn't stay for long. bye bye, nate. see you never!!!

con tries to sell willa on the whole oman thing:

the pros are: no lines at the airport and you can hit people with your car. bonus: you actually DON'T have to live under ground.

this is perhaps the first time in succession history that we see a couple have a truly genuine discussion about what their next move should be - together.

sticking up for your man's delusions really works out, i guess.

oscar is great.

he doesn't like greg. i like oscar.

ebba wants to murder everybody:

communications people with social anxiety, unite!

greg is a try-hard and joins in on the hazing of ebba.

i don't think i've ever liked him less.

anyway, turns out it helps the failbros, who come to ebba's rescue, smoke a cig with her, figure out lukas is basically not the coder from gothenburg he says he is, but instead some swedish elon musk type who took some tech to marked.

bravo.

oh, and his numbers in india are completely wack.

rome and ken are ecstatic!

lets run down a list of mattson's flaws so far: - fudged the numbers - sent weird items to his employee - potentially has a little drug problem? - calls things he doesn't like gay

totally inappropriate for a company like waystar, in other words.....

roman does the best gerri impression i've ever heard.

i know j. said she thinks the impression is stupid but i had to watch that moment three times to figure out if it was actually her saying the line or not, so..... sorry j. <3

gerri is done.

i feel unwell. someone please convince me this isn't their last ever scene together.

j. said there'd be ups and downs. WHERE ARE THE UPS?

roman is upset and takes it out on connor in his best logan impression to date:

con is like nah, i'm good on oman and willa is like everyone hates your fascist candidate, roman.

good for them.

ken and mattson fight over who has the fakest numbers.

mattson shits on new york like a true swede.

anyone doing the "drink every time someone fights" game this episode is dead by now.

speaking of, we get the best hbo balcony scene since the wire season 3 episode 11.

at the risk of mixing my hbo references, this is my red wedding.

the fight goes something like this:

shiv: you are a social climber tom: you are broken, you never got your dads approval and you shouldn't have kids because you are horrible

at least now tom can get some sleep, i guess, because the bonefest is certainly over.

ken talks to frank about taking doing a reverse viking, meaning waystar buys gojo, not the other way around.

OH MY GOD THESE KIDS. they can't even fucking pull off ONE deal before they are on to the next. c'mon.

oh and he wants the CEO position for himself. shocker.

imagine being frank in this scenario. just imagine.

tom is tired from all the sex and all the talk about him getting fired and acts exactly like me whenever i have people over:

tired girlies need representation too.

the era of wambsgans ire is here.

shiv is like oh fuck.

the episode ends with everyone pretty much being alone. there are no teams anymore. there are zero hugs except for one very disturbing one between mattson and ken, and i'm having a hard time remembering if i like any of these characters at all.

oh no, wait, i like connor.

it's all good. i still like connor.

ps: WHERE IS KARL?!

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demonscantgothere · 6 months

Text

Thanks for the tag, @yletylyf! ❤️

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

100.

2. What's your total A03 words count?

1,642,259.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I took a three to four year hiatus before coming back to write fanfic, and so far since my return I have only written it for The Rings of Power and within The Lord of the Rings/Silmarillion universe.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Sepulchral (Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin), Her Liquor's Top Shelf (Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark), How Am I Gonna Get Myself Back Home (Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin), Litost (Sauron/Galadriel), and Beasts of the Hill and Serpents of the Den (Sauron/Galadriel).

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do respond, even if it's only to say thank you. Comments take time and thought to write out, so even if I don't have time to respond with a conversation, I always have time to say thank you in appreciation at the very least.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

This is a roughshod tie between Four Times Clarke Saves Bellamy’s Life, and One Time He Saves Hers (Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin) in which saving someone's life ends in death for the other, and Amends to the Dead (Mary Queen of Scots/Sebastian) in which Mary leaves Sebastian despite their affair to return to Francis.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I have a lot of happy endings, but the two I think are the happiest are a tie between Maslowian Needs (Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark) and Though the Gods and the Years Relent, Shall Be (Sauron/Galadriel a.k.a. Mairon/Artanis) because both end with happy families.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Yes, and I've had to turn on moderation for the ones where it happens sporadically, and I've completely disabled guest commenting where it never seems to stop.

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Yes, and all different kinds! Vanilla, kinky, angsty, happy, angry, dub-con, non-con, poly, and more. I don't have many limits there.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Yes, in terms of taking canon characters from one universe and dropping them into another universe altogether. Daughter of Death was a crossover between The Lord of the Rings and A Song of Ice and Fire because why not let a resurrected Sauron living in Asshai by the Shadow make a pact with a resurrected Dany for some dragons?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes, I've had my fics from ASOIAF/GOT re-posted elsewhere without my permission under different names and had to report them to get them removed.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes.

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Yes, but it's been a long time. I wasn't happy with it, so I orphaned my name off of it.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

I'm always going to love Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, and I'm always going to have a soft spot for Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark and Daenerys Targaryen/Jon Snow. Right now, my brain is hardwired into Sauron/Galadriel nonstop. Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger was an old favorite as a pre-teen, but I haven't really been into it since I was a teenager.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I have finished every WIP I've ever started, and I only have three ongoing ones that aren't complete. I intend to finish them all. I've taken hiatuses in the past and still came back to finish fics, so I don't see myself ever just leaving something hanging without ever completing it.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Description, whether it's scenery or a character's actions or what is going on during a scene. I've always been told that reading my work is like watching a movie and it's crystal clear to picture and imagine while reading it, which has always resonated as a strength to me.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Sometimes I like to focus on a character's internal thoughts and monologues, which to some may seem boring like the fic isn't progressing or going anywhere, but I still like to do it.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I love to include bits of Elvish during emotional, heated moments or whole exchanges in Elvish during those moments, and I like seeing things like that in other stories. If it fits with the moment and for the characters, I love it.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The Lord of the Rings, when I was a pre-teen. Wrote some Fellowship humor as well as dabbled with the Valar.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Currently, I think it's falling on Beasts of the Hill and Serpents of the Den because it's a massive plot undertaking, and I've barely started on it, but I can't wait to see where it goes. So far, I've just been building up their relationship, but the plot will explode within 15 to 17 more chapters.

Tagging: I'm not sure who has done this and who hasn't, but I'll tag @scriberated @thrillofhope @myfavouritelunatic @cliffdivingsblog @klynnvakarian @theriverwild, and @rebelrebelwrites. No pressure, though!

#tag game #my fic

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the-case-book-of-fanfiction · 2 years

Text

1989

Ship: Eddie x reader

Summary: Returning to Hawkins after years of helping Eddie through English class (and specifically poetry assignments), you make Eddie watch a new film with you called Dead Poets Society.

Word Count: 4, 298

Warnings: DPS spoilers (ish?), fluff, ending is waaaay sappier than I originally planned, mentions of the events of S4E9

Note: I have elected to ignore season 4's ending due to the year DPS was released and because that episode was just painful to sit through anyway.

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Hawkins had been quiet in the past week since your return from college. The town seemed to have reverted to the same peaceful place its residents had known before 1983. It felt strange. You couldn't say you hated the peace, but a part of you did miss the adventure, knowing that danger was around the corner. That urge to chase danger had curbed quite a bit since '86, of course, which was probably the only reason you had survived three years of college so far away from home and the people (read: person) you cared about most.

Summer break had begun two weeks ago, and you'd come back to your hometown to visit your family and friends—and most importantly, Eddie Munson. You had seen him during break of course, but that was nothing compared to spending three consecutive months of summer with him in Hawkins.

You had your other friends to entertain, of course—Steve and Robin had both been sending you letters nonstop throughout the school year, but this summer was important. This was the summer before your final year of college, and you wanted to make it very clear to Eddie you wanted to get your life together (preferably with him, which he ought to know by now) before you graduated.

Practically melting in the scorching heat, you slammed your car door shut and bolted for the AC'ed depths of Family Video. Steve was at the counter, concentrating on organizing a stack showcasing new movies. He looked up when the bell above the door chimed, a grin spreading on his face.

"Y/N!" he said, holding up his hand for a high-five. "Are you starting today?"

Family Video had been your summer job since the summer before heading to college. You were working there again this summer, but you weren't starting yet. "Nope. I'm coming back next week."

Steve frowned. "Then what are you here for?"

You rolled your eyes. "Maybe Dustin's right and you really do need to be told everything."

He made a face. "No no no, I mean why would you come to your place of work if you didn't have to work yet?"

"Maybe she just wants to see us!" called Robin, peering out from behind a row of movies. She beamed at the sight of you.

"As much as I'd love to spend time with you guys, I'm actually here for a movie," you said, leaning on the countertop. "It's date night."

Steve raised his eyebrows, his mouth forming an 'O'. "I suppose you'll want something a little more, ah, intimate, shall we say?"

You laughed, whacking his arm. "Hardly. I've got something in mind. A new release, if you have it."

"We might," said Robin, leaving the stack she was shelving and peering at the new releases Steve was arranging. "How new?"

"June 2."

Steve's head snapped up. "Dead Poets Society?"

You grinned. "You know it!"

He groaned, not the reaction you'd been expecting. "Nancy's been making everyone watch it. She cries every time."

You shrugged. "I can't blame her. They killed off the best character."

"As per usual," Robin grumbled. "You know, they always do that. They kill of the ones I like the most."

"You and me both," you groaned. "So. You got it?"

"Uhhhhhh, lemme check the box of stuff we just got." Steve crouched below the desk and you stood on your toes to lean over the countertop. You watched him sort through movies, looking for the familiar movie cover.

Robin snorted. "You be careful there, Y/N, or Eddie'll think you're into Steve."

Over your shoulder so Steve wouldn't see, you mimed gagging. She snickered and went back to shelving movies as Steve peered at the pair of you suspiciously.

"Speaking of Eddie," began Steve, "have you guys figured it out yet?"

"After college plans? That's what this summer is for."

"And is the movie with the ending that makes everybody cry going to help you sort that out?"

You shrugged, suddenly mute and unsure of yourself.

Steve stood back up, Dead Poets Society in hand. "You alright?"

"Gotta be honest," you sighed, "I'm scared for the whole conversation." You toyed with the ring on your hand, a simple silver band that had your initials and Eddie's intertwined on the inside, as Robin came back over. "Y'know, the whole...having a life together conversation."

"You think he won't want to?" Robin asked, aghast.

You shrugged. "I don't think he won't want to, I'm just worried about the other things that might...might get in the way. His band stuff is always pretty time-consuming, and I don't want him putting that aside for me, but I also don't want to be shoved aside for the band, y'know? It's just..." You sighed heavily, dropping your head into your hands. "After everything that happened in '86, in the Upside Down—"

Blood covered your jacket, the smell of it drawing even more bats. Dustin howled, trying to keep them away from the pair of you, but a few slipped through. You screamed, shielding Eddie with your body. Your shirt came away soaked with his blood when you sat back up, pulling him into your lap.

"Stay with me, Eddie, please. You hear me? You're not going anywhere, love."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice thick and choked.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," you insisted fiercely, cradling his head. "Absolutely nothing."

Eddie grinned up at you, and you couldn't help but flinch at the sight of the blood on his face, in his mouth, coating his teeth. You knew how this ended in movies, and you hoped to God this wasn't going to be like that. "Yeah," he whispered. "I wasn't a coward this time, eh?"

"You are many things, Eddie Munson, but a coward is not one of them."

His eyes fluttered, his head dropping.

"Eddie? Eddie!"

"'M okay," he whispered. "I just...need a mo...moment..."

"Ed? Ed? DUSTIN! Dustin, c'mon, we gotta get him outta here!"

"Y/N? Y/N, you there?"

Fingers clicked in your face. "Earth to Y/N?" said Robin, both of them peering at you with twin expressions of worry.

You shook yourself out of the memory, more vivid than the ones that usually plagued you and took you back to that awful moment, to the beginning of the weeks where you thought Eddie wasn't going to make it out.

"Sorry...sorry, I just...got thinking about it again." You rubbed your eyes. "After all that, I don't know what I'd do without him. I mean, you guys saw what I was like. And that was just a few weeks! Life without him? I'd lose my mind."

"Does he know?" Robin asked. "About that week. This."

You nodded. "We...we talked about it before I left for college. It wasn't really a conversation he wanted to have, because he knows it scared me half to death, but...he had it. I'm just hoping he'll be okay with talking about it all again now."

"It's been three years," Steve said reassuringly. "He'll be okay. You'll both be okay."

You nodded, knowing Eddie would listen. The memory had shaken you, and Eddie would notice, so you needed some time before you had your movie date. At least he was with his band for a few more hours beforehand.

"Yeah. I'll, uh, let you guys know how it goes. Say hi to Nancy and the boys for me! I'm off to go see my gremlin child."

"Your gremlin child?" Steve echoed, raising his brows. You grinned.

"Dustin!"

"That's my child!"

You laughed yourself out of the store, listening to Steve shout his irate questions after you.

~❊~

You rapped on the Hendersons' front door. Dustin whipped it open, shouting something to his mother further inside, but his words dissolved into a joyful shout of your name as he flung his arms around you.

"You're back!"

"So are you! How's Suzie?"

Dustin grinned, almost bashful. "She's great! I told her all about you. She wants to meet you, she says you sound like a fantasy character come to life!"

You laughed. "Eddie says the same thing, I'm guessing they'd get along just fine."

Dustin giggled, the kind of giggle that meant he knew something you didn't. You narrowed your eyes.

"Alright, what's he planning?"

"Planning?" Dustin asked innocently. "Nothing. Not that I know of. No plans. Nothing at all."

"You are such a bad liar, Dustin Henderson."

"I am not, Eddie taught me!"

You snorted. "Which is exactly why I know those tells, Dusty. Ed can't hide anything from me." Dustin smirked, his gaze flicking over your shoulder. Realization dawned on you. "He's right behind me, isn't he?"

Tattooed arms swooped around your waist, lifting you into the air. You shrieked as he put you back down, his head resting on your shoulder. "Miss me?" he asked in your ear.

You responded with a grin and a quick peck to his cheek. You turned in his arms, draping your own over his shoulders. "What are you up to, mister?"

He pouted playfully. "No hello?"

You put your hands on either side of his face, thumbs resting above the pale, hardly visible scars left on his cheeks, and put your foreheads together. "Hello, Eddie Munson." You closed your eyes as he kissed you softly and pulled you into one of those warm bear hugs you missed during the school year. "I missed you."

He smiled, pulling back to see your face and brush hair out of your eyes. "If you didn't, I'd be worried."

"No need to worry, believe me." You pulled him back into a hug. "I thought you were rehearsing with the band."

"They practically shoved me out the door when I told them we had a date. So Dustin here helped me set up a little surprise."

You glanced back at Dustin. "How on earth did you two know I'd come visit Dustin?"

"You're a creature of habit," Dustin said matter-of-factly, "and you always come to visit."

"'Course I do, I gotta visit the kid I've got shared custody with," you said, ruffling his hair.

"'Shared custody' is not how you say you're his mom, sweetheart," Eddie laughed.

You smirked. "Oh, sure, but we've gotta share him with Steve."

Eddie rolled his eyes. "Not my kid!"

"You both say that, you know that right?" You glanced at Dustin. "They're gonna fight over you for the rest of your life, just so you know."

"I'm sure," Dustin sighed.

"You like me better, right?" Eddie asked, grinning mischievously over your shoulder.

Dustin paled and hurried to close the door. "You guys should really, really get to your date! You know, um, it's been a while, I'm sure you really want to, uh, kiss and—and watch a movie or—or something. Like that."

Eddie frowned at you. "Since when does he endorse us kissing?"

You laughed. "I'm pretty sure he's just trying to stay out of you and Steve's custody argument."

Eddie slung an arm around your waist, pulling you down the road toward the trailer park. "Kid's right, though. We should get to our date." You leaned on him, murmuring your agreement. "You got a movie picked out?"

You held up the copy of Dead Poets Society. "Yup!"

He raised his brows. "Sweetheart, am I gonna fall asleep during this one?"

"You better not. It's my favorite thing since, well..." You looked at him with a smile. "Since you."

He whistled. "Damn! It's been since '65 since you found something you liked? That's rough."

You rolled your eyes. "Not since you were born, you idiot. Since we met."

"Still a good ten or so years since then," he said.

"Ah, well. Let's just say every day with you has been like discovering my favorite thing all over again."

Eddie beamed. "You sap."

"You love it and can't pretend otherwise, I know you too well."

He kissed your cheek. "Yes, yes you do." He glanced at the movie again. "And now I've been replaced with a movie!"

"Not a movie, but maybe a fictional character."

Eddie dramatically smacked a hand into his chest, feigning offense. "Excuse you." You giggled. "Last I checked, fictional characters could not write you songs and play them for you. And they couldn't hold your hand." He laced his fingers through yours as if to prove his point.

You wrapped your free arm around his waist. "Alright, alright—the real thing is infinitely better."

He beamed. "Are you going to keep that opinion while we watch this?"

You looked up at him. "With this beautiful face in front of me? How could I not?"

"Sap."

"You like it."

~❊~

"Mr. Perry, will you read the opening paragraph of the preface entitled Understanding Poetry?" said Professor Keating, sitting in his onscreen classroom.

In a bored voice, Neil complied, reading, "Understanding Poetry, by Dr. J. Evans Pritchard, PhD. 'To fully understand poetry, we must first be fluent with its meter, rhyme, and figures of speech, then ask two questions. One: how artfully has the objective of the poem been rendered? And two: how important is that objective? Question one rates the poem's perfection, question two rates its importance, and once these questions have been answered, determining the poem's greatness become's a relatively simple matter."

Keating had, by now, gotten up in front of his bored students and now stood before the chalkboard.

"If the poem's score for perfection is plotted on the horizontal of a graph," continued Neil, as Keating drew what he spoke of on the board, "and its importance on the vertical, then calculating the total area of the poem yields its greatness." Neil looked up as Meeks copied down the graph Keating was drawing. "A sonnet by Byron might score high on the vertical, but only average on the horizontal. A Shakespearean sonnet, on the other hand, would score high both horizontally and vertically, yielding a massive total area, thereby revealing the poem to be truly great. As you proceed through the poetry in this book, practice this rating method. As your ability to rate poems in this manner grows, so will—so will your enjoyment and understanding of poetry."

Eddie turned to stare at you. "Are they serious? Is that what we were taught?"

You hushed him and pointed to Keating, who had at last faced his class.

"Excrement," he announced. "That's what I think of Mr. J. Evans Pritchard. We're not laying pipe. We're talking about poetry. How can you describe poetry like American bandstand? 'Well, I like Byron, I give him a 42, but I can't dance to it!'" mocked Keating, getting a laugh out of his students. Meeks was crossing out his copied diagram. "Now I want you to rip out that page."

The class grew deadly silent.

"Go on!" Keating prompted. "Rip out the entire page! You heard me: rip it out. Rip it out! Come on! Rip it out!"

Dalton slowly tore his page from his book.

"Thank you, Mr. Dalton! Gentlemen, tell you what: don't just rip out that page, rip out the entire introduction. I want it gone, history! Leave nothing of it! Rip it out, rip! Be gone, J. Evans Pritchard, PhD! Rip, shred, tear, rip it out! I want to hear nothing but ripping of Mr. Pritchard! We'll perforate it and put it on a roll! It's not the Bible, you're not gonna go to Hell for this! Make a clean tear, I want nothing left of it."

Meeks, ever the academic, turned to Neil. "We shouldn't be doing this—"

"Rip, rip, rip!" urged Neil, turning Meeks back around in his chair.

The classroom was filled with ripping and giggling as the boys tore the pages out of their books, some more messily than others.

Eddie looked delighted. "A teacher is encouraging students to deface books," he said gleefully.

In burst another teacher, Mr. McAllister. "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded, and the class turned to stare at him, their joy and amusement fading quickly.

"I don't hear enough rips!" announced Keating as he returned with a wastepaper basket, just before he saw the other teacher.

"Mr. Keating," Mr. McAllister said.

"Mr. McAllister," said Keating, still wearing his smile.

"I'm sorry, I— I didn't know you were here."

Keating spread his arms. "I am."

"Ah. So you are." McAllister's discomfort was growing, much to the pleasure of the students. "Excuse me." He slowly backed out of the classroom once more.

Keating walked between desks, taking the ripped pages in his basket. "Keep ripping, gentleman! This is a battle, a war, and the casualties could be your hearts and souls! Thank you, Mr. Dalton. Armies of academics going forward, measuring poetry. No! We will not have that here, no more of Mr. J. Evans Pritchard. Now, my class, you will learn to think for yourselves again! You will learn to savor words and language! No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world. I see that look in Mr. Pitts' eye, like nineteenth century literature has nothing to do with going to business school or medical school. Right? Maybe. Mr. Hopkins, you may agree with him, thinking, Yes, we should simply study our Mr. Pritchard, and learn our rhyme and meter and go quietly about the business of achieving other ambitions. A little secret for you—huddle up. Huddle up!"

The class leaned in.

"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race! And the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering—these are noble pursuits, and necessary to sustain life, but poetry, beauty, romance, love! These are what we stay alive for! To quote from Whitman, 'Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring, Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish / What good amid these, O me, O life?' Answer that you are here. That life exists, and identity. That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?"

Eddie leaned toward you. "Okay," he admitted. "I see why you like this movie."

You let your hand, wrapped around his shoulders, drift through his hair, a wistful look on your face. "Imagine if we'd had a teacher like Mr. Keating."

Eddie snorted. "I would have passed. I would have paid attention. I like this guy!"

You laughed. "Is it just because you want to rip pages out of a textbook?”

He grinned. "Maaaaybe."

~❊~

Contrary to Eddie's initial skepticism, he seemed to enjoy Dead Poets Society immensely, particularly the part where the kids all shouted at the top of their lungs and stood on tables. He cackled loudly while he watched, drawing a giddy smile from you.

While Neil performed, Eddie turned to you. "Okay, I like this movie."

You grinned, hoping his opinion wouldn't change in the next ten minutes. It, of course, did.

"WHAT?! Y/N, HOW DO YOU LIKE THIS MOVIE?"

"Um—"

Eddie turned to you, in visible distress. "He—! He just—! He died! His father was a dick, so he—" He groaned, shoving his head into your shoulder. "I don't like this anymore."

You held him closer, holding your own tears back. "I know. It's got a horrible ending. I really don't know why they chose to end it the way they did."

"This may be the saddest movie you have ever shown me," he complained, his words and tears muffled by your shirt and shoulder. "How can you like this movie?"

You shrugged. "Well, I mean...it's poetry, and it's Robin Williams, and it's about refusing to conform so it reminds me of you, and it reminds me that life is fleeting so why not make the most of it before it's over, and it's like this...this realizing why people are important and that they even are important to you and how hard it is to go on without them. And that just kind of...resonates with me."

Eddie lifted his head. "Did you have that list prepared?"

"Kind of?"

He sat up fully. "It reminds you of me?"

"Well, yeah. You stand on desks a lot and you like to be loud and you're passionate about the things you love. You'd fit right in at Wheaton."

Eddie snorted, then started to laugh. "Y/N, look at me." He spread his arms, gesturing to the tattoos, band tee, and rings.

"Okay, okay, fine, not entirely," you laughed. "You're too you for that kind of school, but you get my point. You're unapologetically you, and that's what this movie reminds me of."

Eddie pulled you up to stand with him, swaying in place to music only he could hear. "And...what about that last part on your list. The important people part."

"That...reminds me of you, too," you admitted. "I... After everything we've been through and done together, you're my favorite person. I trust you the most, I love you the most, I am most myself with you. I can't really imagine life without you, and those few weeks I did spend without you, not knowing if you'd be waiting for me when I came back to your bedside..." Your head slumped until your forehead rested on his chest. Eddie's arms curled tightly around you.

"You're thinking about the hospital." It wasn't a question or a guess. He knew, just as he always did.

You nodded. "I was so scared I'd come back from the bathroom or a food run or checking up on Dustin and some doctor would tell me you'd gone while I was away. I couldn't bear the thought of living without you." You reached up, touching the tiny scars littering his jawline and cheeks. There were more, these more severe, covering his sides, reminders of what he'd gone through and what he had almost lost.

"You didn't lose me," he said. "I'm right here. I'm okay, I promise."

"I know that, it's just..." You sighed and pushed the words out. "Are you serious, Eddie? About the future. About...our future."

Eddie cupped your face in his hands. "If you're asking me if I'm going to stay with you forever, of course I am." He lifted your face, kissing you gently. "I know I might have seemed delirious, or desperate, or scared, or just plain insane, but I recall asking you to marry me in the Upside Down."

You remembered. Your heart had just about dropped to the ground when he'd said it. As you'd lifted him up with Dustin's help through the rift in his trailer, then climbed up yourself and hobbled to Max's trailer to borrow her car, Eddie had slumped onto your shoulder, had said "You don't have to save me, but I'm glad that you are. Will you marry me?" in the same breath, and then promptly passed out from blood loss. He hadn't woken up after that, and nothing was every said about his impromptu proposal after he woke up for another year, when you mentioned it in passing.

"You know, that was one of the most unromantic proposals I'd ever heard."

He made a face. "Have many men proposed to you?"

You rolled your eyes. "No, but I am a regular romance movie watcher. Usually there's a ring, some flowers, and crying."

"You were crying."

"I was ugly crying because you were gonna die and you were bleeding to death on my shoulder."

He sighed. "Okay, fine, I'll re-propose if that's what you want, and I'll make it as sappy as possible. But the point still stands. I wanted to marry you then, and I still do now."

"Like...now now?"

"Now as in now or in the future, sweetheart," Eddie said, looking into your eyes as if he could see your soul. He brushed his thumb across your cheekbone. "Don't you worry. I'm not leaving you. I asked you to marry me, and you can answer that question whenever you're ready, so I am more than prepared to spend forever with you." He pressed his mouth to your forehead.

You looked at him as his lips left your skin. "So if I were to say yes...after college, could we move in together?"

A grin started to pull at the side of Eddie's mouth. "You serious?" You nodded. "Absolutely. Absolutely we could live together."

"Then start house shopping," you said, "because here I am, saying yes."

Eddie beamed, and it was the largest grin you had seen in a very, very long time.

~❊~

When you stopped into Family Video to return the movie the next day, wearing one of Eddie's rings, Robin caught on immediately and started screaming.

"OH MY GOD, ARE YOU GETTING MARRIED?!"

You giggled, showing off your hand. "It's a temporary ring because it was kind of impromptu again, but—"

"AGAIN?" Steve demanded.

"Well, he proposed to me in the Upside Down but he was bleeding out so he passed out immediately after and I never got to answer, and—"

Steve took you by your shoulders and made you sit on one of the stools behind the desk. "Alright, that's it. You're telling the story from the beginning."

You laughed. "Well, it all started in 1979, when I met Eddie in our freshman year of high school—"

"Y/N!" Steve and Robin yelled.

"Alright, alright, fine. So it was just when the movie ended that we started to get serious and talk about it..."

"You mean after Neil died you had this conversation?"

"You wanted me to do it before?!"

"Steve, shut up and tell the story!"

Maybe Hawkins had gone back to its regular old self, and maybe you were floating through life with Eddie's ring on your finger, but these two certainly hadn't changed. It was a reassuring thought.

☞ ❊ ☜

Stranger Things // Eddie Munson

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i-can-even-burn-salad · 8 months

Note

What's your favorite thing about your wip and why? For till death

How would you explain your wip to someone who knew nothing about it? - consider this practice for till death lol

Thank you for the ask! From this ask game.

What's your favorite thing about your wip and why?

I'm on the last few chapters of my first re-read. I love pretty much all of it. I love the nasty torment. I love the almost-dying-in-her-arms-x4. I love the fluffy moments. I love killing the bad guys. I love Eilis' little quirks, and my little gw easter eggs, and the little details.

I don't think any of it would work on its own. So perhaps my favorite thing is how well it all came together, despite having no fucking clue what I was doing?

How would you explain your wip to someone who knew nothing about it?

Ohgodohgodohgodohgod.

"You know that book I've been talking about nonstop for the past 4 months? Please forget it exists." 😅

On a slightly more serious note, that depends on the audience. Here on tumblr, where it's pretty clear what I write, it's not that hard. I could slap a few tropes, content warnings and representation notes on a dead dove sticker.

Disabled trans guy with a horrible past gets repeatedly tortured, and autistic ace non-girl with a horrible past patches him up every time. Hurt/comfort 🥺 Forced to watch 👀 Despite all the guilt and horrors, they fall in love 🥰 Heed the warnings!

Real life, I already wanna jump out of a window rather than mention it has a trans protagonist 🙄 And imagining my coworker might read the graphic noncon I wrote makes my soul leave my body...

I can defend Thorns. I can defend HmW. I can defend Glass Shards. They're "normal" novels.

But this one and Undeserved have been written pretty much only for the pain, and while I am still proud of the stories they tell, it's hard to explain — and I will have to find a diplomatic way to explain that half of the book is misery and graphic violence if she wants to read it 😅

"So I saw a really shitty horror movie, and I thought I could do that better..."

#salad-ask #starlit-hopes-and-dreams #wip: till death #Just so you know #I am internally dying typing that first quote alone #I think I need a shower now #I don't know I think I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today #(is that the english saying? It's so weird.)#But I think all that nastiness isn't uncommon #it's just that it usually doesn't have a happy end #which once again makes me feel like I belong in no genre (:

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melancholyink · 2 years

Text

LOCKED OUT.

» pairing // steve harrington x gn!reader

» pov // second person

» word count // 4.5k

» tw & cw // swearing, reader borrows steve's clothes (it's only mentioned in two sentences), nightmares, brief mention of blood, limited use of y/n

» ao3 link // here

» note // no thoughts, only stranger things

"Steve walked into the spare room with a plush blanket in his hands and tossed it onto the foot of the bed. "Here, I usually keep the heat lower during the night; the house turns into a furnace if I don't," he explained. "There's more blankets in the hall closet if you need 'em, or you can wake me up if you get too cold and I'll turn the temperature up."

You were sprawled out on the bed in the middle of the room, freshly showered and dressed in clothes that Steve let you borrow. The clothes you'd been wearing all day were shoved away in your backpack; the bag tossed to the corner of the room. Absentmindedly, your fingers ran across the fluffy blanket.

Steve stood with his hands on his hips, glancing around the room as he tried to decide if there was anything he had forgotten to offer you. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

If you were smart, you would have realized today was not going to be your day when you woke up to the sound of your house phone ringing nonstop and not to the usual, angry beeping of the alarm clock that lived on your bedside table, even more so when the clock's bright blue numbers were nowhere to be found.

You stumbled out of your bed as fast as you could, swearing as you slammed your pinky toe against the edge of your doorframe as you turned too quickly into the hall and towards the long mahogany accent table where the corded phone continued to ring. You were a little disoriented, but you managed to pick the phone up off the receiver before the last ring.

"L/N Residence," you said with no feigned politeness. Whoever was calling would get what they got from you.

"Oh, thank god. I thought you were, like, dead on the side of the road or something," your coworker Tracey laughed into the phone, ending the sentence with a loud pop of her watermelon-flavored bubblegum.

Your mind was still foggy from just waking up, so it took thirty seconds before the light bulb turned on in your head, and you thought to look at the time. With the phone still held against your ear, you walked a few paces down the hall, the cord stretching slightly with the distance, as you looked into your parents' room at the large analog clock on the wall. It was almost two-thirty.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. Your shift started an hour ago. "Fuck. I am definitely getting written up for this."

Another pop of gum came from the other end. "You're normally a stickler for this on time shit, what happened?"

"My alarm clock decided to screw me over apparently."

Tracey hummed, "Do you life far?"

You paused, your brain now functioning at maximum capacity. "Not very, why?"

"Oh my god, that totally sucks!" You heard the phone on the other end move, and Tracy's voice got fainter. You couldn't exactly hear who she was talking to, but you had a hunch it was your manager. It was almost confirmed when you could sort of make out the older woman's name. Still, you had no idea what was going on.

"Uh, Tracey…?"

"Okay, I've got it handled. Be ready in five, I'm coming to get you. Debs just went to grab your address, so don't worry about that. Go get dressed and I'll explain when I get there!" You heard one last pop before the line disconnected.

For a moment, you stayed in the hallway with the phone still against your ear as the dial tone beeped in the background of your thoughts. If whatever Tracey was planning worked, you would buy her as much of that watermelon bubblegum as she wanted.

***

Agreeing to Tracey's help turned out to be a mistake, a curse disguised as a blessing.

Yes, she had gotten you to work with a solid alibi that she could then vouch for, successfully getting you off the hook with your manager, Deborah. However, in exchange for her help, you had to work two of Tracey's upcoming Saturday shifts--with her getting fifty percent of the earnings for those two shifts!

You started to argue, but Tracey held up a single, wagging, neon pink painted finger with a tut. "We wouldn't want to get Debs involved, would we? Coming in late is one thing, but lying to a manager? And forcing your coworker to lie as well?"

For the rest of your shift, you were in a sour mood. Not to mention, both Tracey and Deborah were constantly breathing down your neck. If it wasn't Deborah eyeing you warily, still not one hundred percent convinced in your story, it was Tracey and her constant, irritating gum chewing and spiteful smirks.

By the time your shift ended, you had had enough. The second your shift was over, and you were officially clocked out, you stalked out of the building. You ignored Tracey's confused calls of, "Wait, don't you need a ride?" and opted to flip her off instead.

It wasn't until you arrived home after the fifteen-minute walk in the brisk autumn evening that you realized your current problem- the absolute fucking cherry on your shitty night. Because you had been in such a rush when you were getting ready this morning and Tracey was giving you a ride, you practically jumped out of your skin when you heard her honk her horn. Your only thoughts had been of what exactly your story was going to be; your car keys had been the furthest thing from your mind.

Of course, by association, your house keys had been too.

If it wasn't almost ten at night, you would have screamed. Instead, you settled for hurling your work bag across your front lawn with as much force as you could muster without launching it into the streets.

Before this summer, there wouldn't even be an issue. You would just walk a few blocks and grab your spare key from the Byers'; but they had moved, and you tried your best not to let your shitty mood bring up the way you still felt about it--all that mattered right now was figuring out what you were going to do about your current situation.

You looked at your reflection in the storm door to your house and groaned, stalking off across your yard and picking up your work bag as you passed it with a roll of your eyes. "That alarm clock is getting smashed when I get back inside."

***

You stopped just short of the front door of the Harrington house, staring at the lone red BMW in the driveway. With every exhale, clouds of your breath disappeared into the night sky. If your pride was going to keep you from taking the last few steps up to the door, the dropping temperature would make sure you did. Besides, all your dignity had already left you this morning when you had agreed to Tracey's ridiculous demands.

That watermelon gum chewing bitch.

Taking the last few steps, you rang the doorbell and listened to the ridiculously over-the-top chime that echoed just past the door's barrier. You waited. Would he even be awake? Or worse--what if he had gone somewhere with Robin and wasn't even home. Just as you looked at the watch on your wrist, the door in front of you opened.

"Hey, Steve," you said as you tried to sound as upbeat as possible--and failed miserably.

Steve's brows were knit together in a tight line, the corners of his lips twitching down into a frown, "Y/N? Is… is everything okay?"

You chewed on your bottom lip, contemplating your reply as Steve blinked slowly at you. "In short--Tracey Combes should not be trusted and I locked myself out." It almost sounded pitiful, but you were over it.

"You don't have a spare key?" he questioned.

"Jonathan has it," you frowned while your eyes darted away. "And he's all the way in California now, so…."

"Oh. You don't have one in like a hidden plant or rock or something too?"

"No?" you almost laugh but catch yourself at the last second. "Do You? That's not really safe. Anyone could find it and break in and murd--listen, can I just use your phone? I need to find a locksmith and get back inside without my parents finding out. They'll kill me, or worse, they'll lecture me about responsibility for three hours."

"Oof, not the responsibility lecture," he laughed. "And you made fun of my secret rock key? You can come in, but you're on thin ice. The phone's just past there, in the kitchen." He pointed to the doorway just past his living room with an easy smile and stepped aside so you could walk in. "Wait, what does you being locked out have to do with Tracey Combs?"

"More than you would think! That's for sure!" you shouted as you turned the corner into the kitchen.

Your eyes darted around the modernly decorated kitchen with its oak wood and new appliances. Everything was so spotlessly clean that you thought you had somehow made a wrong turn into someone else's kitchen. It caught you so off guard that you had stopped looking for the phone entirely and instead were just looking around the kitchen as if it was being shown off after a remodel.

"Jesus, it's freezing out. How long were you outside for?" You could hear the front door being closed, and then Steve's voice kept moving closer until he was leaning on the doorway. "The phone's on the counter over by the coffeemaker; phonebook should be in the drawer under it." He made a vague gesture in the general direction, and you laughed to yourself.

"Oh, I dunno. I've been outside since I got off work, so maybe forty minutes? An hour?" you absentmindedly said as you started flipping through the phonebook pages.

"An hour? No wonder you looked like a corpse when I opened the door. I almost expected to see a group of kids running up right behind you with some other nightmare on your trails," Steve teased, walking across the kitchen behind you, reaching into the cabinet above the stove, and pulling down a tea kettle. "Doubt you would've rang the doorbell if that were the case though."

While Steve filled the kettle with water and placed it on one of the burners, you chuckled, "I dunno, maybe The Upsidedown has something really fond of boundaries. Like how vampires have to be invited into your home or whatever."

"That would be convenient." Steve watched you thumbing through the phonebook, your fingers deftly scrolling down the list of businesses under the letter L, "Is a locksmith even going to come out this late?"

You faltered in your search. What if it was too late? It was getting closer and closer to eleven o'clock by the minute.

"Oh god, don't say that! They have to come out! What else am I gonna do if they don't?"

Steve shrugged, "We have a spare room, just stay the night. When do your parents get back anyways?"

Your heart rate quickened. Not so much at what Steve suggested but at the nonchalance with which he said it. As if the two of you were long-time chums, having done this a million times. So, what if you needed a place to stay? He's got a bed right upstairs!

"Uh." You blinked a few times, like a deer caught in headlights, before the cogs in your brain started turning again. "Next week. They won't be back until next week."

The kettle whistled from the stove and broke you from your stupor. Swearing at yourself, you looked back at the phone book and dialed the number for Hawkins Locksmiths, only to be met with an answering machine. You dialed the following two locksmiths listed, getting their machines too.

You sighed, rubbing your eyes. "You know, I think you're right. I'm getting nothing but answering machines."

"You saying I'm right? That's a first." Steve smirked as he handed you a steaming mug of tea that your cold hands eagerly wrapped their fingers around. "Say it again. I don't want to forget this moment."

With the ghost of a laugh, you shoved his shoulder, careful not to spill the mugs in either of your hands. "Don't push your luck, Harrington."

"No, but seriously, just stay here for the night. The Harrington Inn has everything you could ever need--hot water, cable tv, a dashingly handsome roomie...," he grinned at you as you rolled your eyes and took your first sip of tea. "Besides, I won't be able to sleep tonight if I think you're out there freezing to death because you're too stubborn to accept my help."

The tea worked its way into your belly, chipping away at the chill that encompassed your bones. You had to admit, you weren't eager to head back outside in the dropping temperature, especially considering you didn't really have a Plan B in the first place.

Steve was looking at you expectantly as he took a long drink from his mug--a deep green with yellow lettering that said Camp Know Where. No doubt a gift from Dustin. It brought a smile to your face. Although you couldn't tell if you were smiling because of the mug or the way Steve's honey-brown eyes watched you for your response.

He ran a hand through his messy hair, although it lacked its usual volume; he must have already showered, and there's no point wasting hairspray just to head to bed for the night. "Well? Does that smile of yours mean you're staying? Or you giving up and throwing a rock through one of your windows? That'll be way more expensive to fix than just calling a locksmith though, so you might want to go with what's behind door number one."

"Well," you started, setting your mug aside on the counter to tap at your chin. "While I do have a few really great and totally legitimate ideas on getting into my house that don't involve breaking a window, you have made a convincing argument."

Steve rolled his eyes. "You're such an idiot," he said affectionately, moving to put his empty mug in the dishwasher before he pointed to yours. "Take your mug and get upstairs."

You laughed as Steve swatted you out of the kitchen and upstairs, an easy smile on his face.

***

Steve walked into the spare room with a plush blanket in his hands and tossed it onto the foot of the bed. "Here, I usually keep the heat lower during the night; the house turns into a furnace if I don't," he explained. "There's more blankets in the hall closet if you need 'em, or you can wake me up if you get too cold and I'll turn the temperature up."

Steve stood with his hands on his hips, glancing around the room as he tried to decide if there was anything he had forgotten to offer you. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

You sat up with a shake of your head and an easy, albeit a little sheepish, smile. "Impeccable room service, but I think I'm covered. Thank you again, Steve. I mean it. I don't know what I would have done if you didn't answer the door tonight. And letting me stay here--I just really appreciate it."

Steve ran a hand through his hair. "Don't worry about it. What are friends for anyways?"

You nodded but kept your eyes focused on your lap, unable to make eye contact. "Ever since the Byerses left this summer…," you trailed off with a sigh. "It's just nice to know I've still got people in Hawkins looking out for me."

Steve smiled softly, watching you pick at your nails or drag your finger along the hem of the shirt you were wearing—anything you could to keep from looking up at him. "I can guarantee there's a small army here in Hawkins that would fight for you, myself included. Any time you need me."

"I appreciate that," you said, finally looking up to meet his eyes. "Same goes for you too. You know that, right? Any time you need me."

"Of course I do," he replied quickly, his cheeks showing the faintest hint of pink. He sounded sure of his answer, confident even, but the way his eyebrows rose just slightly higher made you think what you said had surprised him.

How many people in his life made him feel appreciated? Of course, his parents didn't; that much was guaranteed. And his friends from before had been Tommy and Carol, which weren't much better than the other-dimensional monsters you'd fought together. At least you knew Robin and Dustin were good friends. Surely they made Steve feel valued and cared for, even if they sometimes gave him a hard time; it was always done from a place of love.

"We needed better memories together than fighting monsters and almost dying. I figured getting locked out and bamboozled by Tracey would be a good start to more normal activities—we couldn't just jump straight in to seeing movies and getting pizza, it would be too normal," you joked, earning a snort from Steve.

***

Steve reached out for the alarm clock on his bedside table, looking at its red numbers with a groan. It had been another hour, and he still couldn't sleep. All he managed to do so far was toss and turn, twisting and tangling his comforter. Even his pillow was on the floor.

Sitting up, he reached for his lamp, turning the switch and illuminating his room in a soft glow. He rubbed his palms across his face, and an exasperated sigh left his lips. What was the point of him even being in bed if his body was so against falling asleep?

Rolling off the bed and onto his feet, Steve yawned--which caused him to roll his eyes in exasperation--and crossed his bedroom. He didn't bother to switch off his light before he stepped into the hallway; he hoped he would be back upstairs within the hour, finally managing a few hours of sleep before the sun rose.

The hallway was mostly dark, except for a few overly decorative nightlights plugged in, giving off enough light so you could make it to the bathroom (although Steve was sure he could do that blindfolded and drunk) or down the stairs without falling.

However, he stopped just outside the spare room.

You were wailing in your sleep, scared of whatever you saw in your dreams. While you weren't tossing, the blankets were crinkled around you, meaning you'd been restless. You weren't talking in complete sentences, but every few seconds, you'd cry out a "no" or "stop" or what could be pieces of the kid's names. The color had left your face entirely, leaving you looking drained.

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but Steve hoped you were having a regular nightmare. Something simple, like dreaming of falling or all your teeth falling out. But he knew it wasn't--he dreamt of that night at Starcourt too, and it broke his heart to see you struggling, even if it was only a dream.

He came to your bedside and whispered your name, slowly getting louder until you startled awake.

You shot up quickly, causing Steve to take a step back, wondering if he overstepped, but the broken look in your eyes had him coming closer, sitting at the edge of the bed.

"It's okay," he said gently, tentatively reaching out to offer you some comfort. "You're safe here. Nothing's going to hurt you."

With a heaving chest, your breath coming in heavy and quick as if you'd been running, you blinked quickly and looked around the room to get your bearings before reaching out, wrapping your arms tightly around Steve.

"I thou--I thought… it felt so real," you said, your voice panicked, broken. You squeezed your eyes shut, gripping tightly at Steve's sweatshirt, holding on to him like a lifeline.

Steve closed his eyes as he slowly rubbed circles into your back, hoping it was soothing. His expression was worn but concerned. "I know, I've got you. I'm right here."

Slowly, you lowered your forehead to rest on Steve's shoulder, a guttural sigh leaving your lips. He smelled like eucalyptus and fresh laundry, and he held you tighter as you sniffled away your leftover tears, a few rogue teardrops falling onto his shirt.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

As you spoke, you kept flush against him, turning your head just enough so your voice wouldn't be muffled. "I'm always too late," you whisper, your breath ghosting against Steve's neck. "No matter how fast I run or how hard I fight, by the time I get to the food court, everyone's…," you trailed off, sucking in a breath of air. "I'm the only one left and there's so much blood. It's like I can still smell it, even though I'm awake."

If his heart wasn't broken before, it surely was now. Your voice sounded so small, so fragile, nothing like the roaring laughter and light-hearted teasing he was accustomed to. He had seen you face these monsters more than once, and he remembered how brave you looked, holding an ax, back to back with him in the junkyard, meeting the demodogs head-on as you both protected Dustin, Lucas, and Max. Now, you looked worn. You'd been through hell and back--of course, there were scars.

"I get them too," Steve began softly. "Not as often as I did when it happened, but I still dream about everything that happened at Starcourt too--the food court, the secret base, that damned elevator from hell. And that stupid Scoops Ahoy uniform."

Air left your nostrils in a small laugh, and you gently released your vice grip on Steve's shirt to pull away slightly. Your expression was still somber, but there was a ghost of a smile on your lips. "I'm sorry I woke you up," you apologized.

Steve was quick with a reply. "I've been awake for hours, couldn't fall asleep. You have nothing to apologize for--even if you had woken me up."

"I know, I jus--,"

But Steve cut you off, "I mean it, no apologies. You could've woken me up by banging pots and pans by my head and you'd still have nothing to apologize for."

"Thank you for this," you said, gesturing between you.

Steve smiled. "Of course."

You opened your mouth to say something else but were quickly cut off by a yawn. Not long after, Steve yawned too.

"Well, if we're lucky we'll manage a few hours before the sun comes up," he said before standing, but you reached out a hand and pulled at the sleeves of his sweatshirt, stopping him from taking more than a half step away from the bed.

With brows furrowed and eyes turned down, you forced yourself to look up and meet Steve's eyes. Beneath the plush blanket he had brought you earlier, your foot bounced back and forth. "I know this is a lot to ask--and you can say no, that's fine--it's just… when my nightmares are really, really bad, I usually sneak out and go to Jonathan's and spend the night. I can never quite get back to sleep when I'm alone, all I can think about is the nightmare and it just freaks me out worse. I was just wondering, if I could sleep with you for the rest of the night?"

A small smile crossed Steve's lips, and a faint dusting of pink painted his cheeks--although it was too dark for you to see. "Yeah, sure, of course," he said, slightly stumbling over his words. "It's no problem."

***

Once you were both settled in his bed, Steve turned the switch on the lamp on his side table, bringing the room into darkness. If nothing else, he was thankful he had just washed all of his bedding this week, so the fresh, clean smell of his laundry detergent still emanated from the blankets.

He rolled over to lay on his side, facing you. You were staring at the ceiling, your hands resting above the blankets on your stomach. While you still looked shaken from your nightmare, the color slowly returned to your face, and you looked less ghastly. Even your breathing was evening out.

"Do you have nightmares a lot?" Steve asked, genuinely looking for an answer before the two of you fell asleep.

"I don't know," you said, turning your head to face Steve. "More than the average person, I guess. I've been sleeping til morning most nights, but I have them a lot more when I'm stressed or if I think about what happened too much. Why?"

Steve sighed, almost sounding nervous--unusual to hear from Steve "The King" Harrington. "I was just thinking, since Jonathan moved--and I know he was your best friend and basically family, so it was easy to go to him for stuff like this…," he paused, and you swear you could hear both of your hearts hammering in the darkness. "If you have another nightmare--or need anything really--you could just give me a call or something. My door'll always be open for you--you know, if you want it to be."

Your smile could have lit up the room. "I'd like that a lot, Steve."

"You would?"

"I would."

***

Of all the ways to be woken up, the sound of someone repeatedly hitting the doorbell to his house was definitely in the top ten worst ways to be woken up--especially when the chime for the Harrington house was pretentiously elaborate for no reason.

Steve peaked his head above the covers, looking at the number on his alarm clock--eight in the morning! You stirred next to him, reaching out for the warmth you were losing as he pulled himself out of bed. He smiled down at your half-asleep form, your eyes still closed as he fixed the blanket around you.

Your voice came out gravely from under the covers, "Everything okay?"

Steve nodded his head--although he was confident you couldn't see it--and said, "Yeah, everything's fine. Go back to sleep."

Meanwhile, the doorbell continued.

Steve gently pulled the door to his bedroom closed before stomping down the stairs, pulling the front door open with great force. Had he lost his grip, the door would have slammed against the wall.

Dustin Henderson stood on the Harrington's front porch with his curly hair beneath a Camp Know Where ballcap and gave Steve a toothy grin. "Finally. God, I thought you would never wake up."

"It's eight in the morning, Henderson. Why are you here?" Steve whined as he gently slapped Dustin's hand away from ringing the doorbell once again. "And for Christ's sake, stop ringing the doorbell; Y/N is still asleep!"

Dustin's eyes went wide. "God damn it, Steve, you didn't."

Steve rubbed his face with his hand--it was too early for all of this--as Dustin pushed past him and dropped dramatically on the couch in the living room with a groan. Steve shut the door behind him with a shake of his head.

"Didn't what?"

Dustin rolled his eyes. "Do I have to spell it out for you? Okay," he started, lifting his hands to emphasize every syllable of his next sentence: "Can't there be one person in this town you haven't slept with?"

Steve's cheeks went red. "What? No! They locked themself out and needed a place to stay, you idiot."

"Sure, whatever you want to call it," Dustin said. "I guess I owe Max ten bucks now."

"Wait what?"

#oneshot #reader insert #steve harrington x reader #stranger things reader insert #stranger things

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