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scribblestatic · 22 hours

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I hope y'all had a good 4/20. Anyway, here's more Sheepzun.

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Finding his way out of the caves was much easier than going in. The flow of qi seemed easier for him to discern, and his senses were stronger. How curious! He was sure he'd be able to sense predators much easier now.

He cloaked himself in his qi and snuck out the caves, ensuring no one was looking at or for him. This time around, it seemed he had enough qi to do so easier than before, not feeling any pull or strain on his meridians.

He was a right chuffed lad, all things considered!

Shen Yuan made his way back to Qing Jing Peak without much of an issue. Disciples didn't seem to sense his hiding. Those with stronger cultivation did seem to look around, a tad unsettled if anything, but overall, none of them saw through his illusion.

It also helped that he was a prey animal who preferred to not leave things up to risk or chance when being careful was a perfectly reasonable option.

As he travelled, he noticed that the season seemed a little different. A tad on the warmer side than he last remembered. He had entered a few days after spring began, and the flowers he remembered were supposed to bloom seemed to already be at the end of its blooming cycle...

Was it the end of spring? Goodness, time flew!!

Thankfully, not an excessive amount of time passed since, upon making his way out of the forest near the woodshed, Luo Binghe didn't look too much taller. Yes, at the very least, only a few days or weeks had passed.

Hearing Shen Yuan's purposeful rustling, Luo Binghe's slightly pointy ears almost seemed to twitch. Then, he turned around quickly, eyes wide and swiftly becoming watery with unshed tears.

"Shizun!!"

Shen Yuan huffed, amused as the boy, sticky as ever, ran up to him and immediately hugged him around the neck.

"Shizun! Shizun, you came back! Shizun!!"

'Who do you keep calling out for, ah? I'm right here,' Shen Yuan thought.

Luo Binghe went still.

"...Shizun?"

'Yes?'

The boy suddenly let go of him and leaned back, staring right into his eyes. Then, slowly, like the flowers he missed bloom at the start of spring, Luo Binghe's smile spread across his face in a vibrant flourish.

"Shizun!! Shizun, you can talk now?!"

Shen Yuan paused, blinking.

'...You can hear what this one is...saying.'

"Yes, I can! I can finally understand you, Shizun! Has my cultivation gotten better? Is... Is this because of what you taught me?"

I don't know, what the heck?! This is scary!!

So, if he was actually thinking as though he was speaking to Luo Binghe, then the boy would actually hear it? After all, he wasn't responding to his thoughts now. Was this because he taught a spirit creature's Dao to a human that he became Dr. Dolittle? That's an entire genre change!

...Whatever that was supposed to mean! Who even was Dr. Dolittle?!

'...Indeed, it seems likely. However, this one admits that this is the first time he's taught this Dao to a human,' Shen Yuan replies, his mind in utter disarray and panic. 'As much as you are a student, this ram is still learning himself.'

There's no precedent for this! I'm sorry, Binghe! This ram is only about a year old!

Luo Binghe looked as though the meaning of the Dao was explained to him in elementary terms, as though he made a huge mental breakthrough with his words alone.

"I see... Thanking Shizun for his knowledge and education all this time!"

He bowed so respectfully, Shen Yuan immediately felt like a terrible saber-toothed wolf dressed up like a newly born spirit lamb to prey on the little human's trust.

But, well, he was at least somewhat honest just now. He really was also a student in all of this.

'This ram thanks you as well. Even through our language barrier, you've been an exemplary student. Now that we can understand each other more freely, we can further improve your cultivation.'

"Yes, Shizun! I'm looking forward to it!"

Shit.

[More under the cut, this one just got kinda long]

----

Okay, so, it wasn't all that bad.

One, it really was much easier to speak with Bing-lamb, and the boy seemed to flourish further under his his verbal guidance. He didn't really have to say much, though. Whatever Luo Binghe lacked in prowess, he was steadily making up for it in motivation.

All Shen Yuan had to do was correct him a little here and there based on whatever kind of strange animal instinct he had that said,

'This stance is a little off. Keep you knees elastic. Firm, but ready.'

'You must connect with your surroundings and hone to your senses. Humans, as predators, rely strongly on their eyes. But you must learn to use your nose, ears, and touch as well.'

"What about taste, Shizun?"

'There are some things a mouth shouldn't touch. We can build up to that as you learn more.'

Though, perhaps he asked such questions because Shen Yuan occasionally found himself chewing on Luo Binghe's clothes. It was more affectionate grooming for the boy than anything, honestly. But he was also a prey creature rather than a human, so it could be excused as such.

Two, after Luo Binghe's lessons with the human instructors, Luo Binghe would sometimes ask him for questions and clarification as he did the pile of chores constantly assigned to him. What was with all these duties, anyway? Weren't all of the disciples supposed to do these things? They were working too hard on purpose, but why?

Anyway, despite not being a human, it turned out Shen Yuan could read quite well. He wasn't sure where he'd learned such a skill, but it was nice to see it be useful. So, because Luo Binghe's questions never got answered in class, as the boy's Shizun, he took it upon himself to do his best to help.

It meant he sometimes had to get a bit creative with how he explained things, but he was doing well enough, it seemed.

Of course, there were limits to what he could do.

As a ram, teaching the four arts was mostly out of the question. Give him some paints and he could maybe bang something out on a canvas, but he had no guarantee it would look like anything useful or recognizable. Same for a guqin or calligraphy.

Go...well, if the pieces and board were big enough, maybe. But anyway, he had his limitations. Not that Luo Binghe seemed to see any of them. With the way Shen Yuan loafed and Luo Binghe sat in front of him, his workbook open, one would think he'd hung the moon.

It was...admittedly very nice to be so appreciated.

Also, getting petted. He'd stopped for a bit after they first spoke, but Luo Binghe did it by accident again later. When Shen Yuan stayed quiet without scolding the action and slightly shifting his head closer, well, he got the picture.

And snacks. Luo Binghe didn't have access to a full kitchen for reasons he didn't understand, but Shen Yuan just knew. The day he had kitchen privileges, it was over for Qing Ding Peak. They'd become Qing Ding Restaurant or something.

Although he still had to be careful, he found he was actually starting to enjoy living the way he was now. He didn't feel the need to look over his shoulder as often, Prey and predator, bridging the gap, huh? What a lovely story.

As Luo Binghe improved, keeping his sheep shizun a secret, several more months passed. Spring turned into summer, into fall, into winter, into spring, into the touches of summer heat once more.

Over that year, Luo Binghe grew taller and broader. His shoulders were starting to fill out, his hands and feet better sized for his body. From his experience working with his shizun's hair-like wool, he learned how to take care of his own hair better, the curls becoming shinier and tamable, no longer as difficult to pull into a ponytail. He also learned all the little nooks and crannies of Qing Jing Peak after going foraging with his shizun, and the mountain climbing and hunting he'd done for himself.

He'd thought his shizun would be against him hunting the birds and other creatures on and around the peak, but though he never partook himself, he was ambivalent.

'You are human. Even sheep eat meat when necessary. For you, it's even more so. This ram shan't fault his student for doing the best for himself.'

And so, with his own hunting skills built up, despite still living and sleeping in the wood shed and lacking some of the more artistic prowess of his sect siblings, he's grown considerably in strength, speed, and build. As he sometimes heard his shizun murmur, 'Born to Bai Zhan, raised to Qing Jing, manages both.'

Meanwhile, Shizun himself...

Luo Binghe had visited Xin Ya Peak before, alongside some of his sect siblings. He'd seen what spirit sheep normally looked like--fluffy, with slightly curved horns, and a nice sheen to their wool. Not particularly tall--mostly reaching around their knees or thighs.

Shizun, however, drew much more regal of a figure. His wool was less fluffy but somehow even softer. He was taller, too, reaching up to the bottom of Luo Binghe's chest. His horns had grown out considerably, to the point they were curling outward. Unlike his farmed comrades, Shizun was exceptionally fastidious. Though, it likely helped he was not locked into a barn or kept around mud. So, he was not only impeccably clean, but he kept a long, undocked tail that swayed behind him with his steps.

He kept his wool a beautiful shade of ivory white. The only discolorations were the slightly green tones that occasionally hung onto his stomach and legs from loafing on the grasses around the bamboo forest and the ever-present blood red huadian on his forehead. Moreover, after Shizun had returned from wherever he'd gone, his eyes had changed. Irises that were once a striking brown had become a soothing blue-green color, much like the peak colors of Qing Jing.

Perhaps spirit animals needed less effort to attain godhood. Luo Binghe could believe it. After all, his shizun appeared like a god nowadays.

'Binghe' he'd hear, his soft and elegant voice calling out to him in the dewy mornings.

He would look up to see his shizun returning from some place he'd found his wild breakfast, leaving him to sleep longer because, as the ram said, he was a growing boy and needed it more.

The sun would peek out at just the right time to shine on his arrival, making him look ethereal, even if he was holding moss in his mouth.

'Have you eaten yet? If not, add this to your food today. It has absorbed quite a bit of yin qi. Considering your yang constitution, it will help promote more internal balance.'

Shizun places the stringy, thick moss in Luo Binghe's waiting hands.

'This is called Qiyan Root, despite not being a root at all. Strain and boil it twice for the best effect. You can also dry some of it for medicinal use. It should taste quite nice in an herbal tea.'

His shizun hummed in consideration as he tilted his head, long white lashes against the fur of his cheeks.

Luo Binghe couldn't help but wonder what his shizun would look like as a human. He was quite the handsome animal, much like one would compliment a horse for its strong physique and beautiful sheen. Surely he'd be a handsome human as well.

Though, wondering such a thing would have to wait. It was time for morning chores, then his lessons could begin in earnest.

It was after one such set of lessons with his other teachers, when he was chopping wood with his shizun at his side that the ram suddenly raised his head with a frown.

"Shizun?"

'...The air feels different. What do you sense?'

Having learned his cultivation mostly from a spirit animal rather than a human, Luo Binghe honed his senses and listened. Indeed, the peak seemed quiet. Too quiet, however.

"Something's not right... Shizun, I'll be back."

'Be careful, Binghe.'

The boy nodded in return before he ran off, Shen Yuan staying behind as he tried to better understand what this energy fluctuation actually was.

Eventually, curiosity and concern won out over wariness, and he concealed himself as he headed toward the rainbow bridges separating Qing Jing from the other peaks.

There, he found several demons cracking away at the bridge between Qing Jing and Qiong Ding. Several were smaller demons with tiny horns and large machetes in their spindly hands. They were accompanied by a larger, more boubous demon in a loincloth, using an axe to slice and wear away at the energies keeping the rainbow bridge connected.

A siege? But this is Cang Qiong, one of the most powerful sects! How could these demons have the gall?!

Shen Yuan wasn't aware of the politics that came with running a peak, so, of course, he was unaware of the peak lord's absence. Several lords were away--more than honestly permissible--leaving the little lamb-like disciples without their guard dogs. Though, judging from the coordinated actions of the demons, the little troupe he was looking at was the least of his worries.

Binghe!!

If he was running this way, then surely he would've encountered the demons! But he could smell no blood or anything from his student. Perhaps he already passed through before they arrived. After all, behind the troupe, he could see several groups of demons destroying the bridges and leaving the peaks isolated...

No, not all the peaks. Qiong Ding.

Something about this scenario struck him as...oddly familiar.

But he shoved that thought aside. Now wasn't the time for excessive questioning! His student was in danger!

As much as he liked to believe he prepared Luo Binghe for combat in some meaningful way, he would never overestimate his teaching abilities. He's a ram for fucks sake, how could he be much better than human teachers and their opposable thumbs?!

Not letting up his concealing qi, he began running across the bridge, heading straight for the small crowd of demons.

Though they couldn't see him, his weight and trotting seemed to alert them as they turned his way. Cruel smirks spread on the imps' faces as they raised their weapons and prepared to strike.

Deciding not to conceal himself anymore, he instead focused his qi on his attack, suddenly appearing before them. For some reason, they seemed surprised despite already preparing to attack him.

His qi-filled horns collided with one of their machetes, causing it to crack and shatter. Milliseconds later, the same cracking and shattering came from the imp's ribs.

Gritting his teeth, he flung his head to the right, throwing several of the imps off the cracking bridge. But he still had some momentum and wasn't done yet.

Facing the bulbous demon and its large axe, he charged up as much as he could, enough that his horns began to glow dimly.

The demon bellowed as it swung the axe, intending to split his skull. But Shen Yuan was faster.

Putting more force in his back legs, he jumped forward, tucking his front legs close to his body. His curved horns rammed against the demon's chest, the bones giving way under it. It let out a choke, then it spit up blood as the wind moved around them.

When the demon fell back, Shen Yuan blinked, realizing he was going butt up.

With a surprised bleat, his legs stretched out as the momentum had him flopping on his back above the demon's head. At least it was on solid ground! Dirt, even!

He wiggled, then quickly got himself up, shaking the dust off his head. Reorienting himself, he realized he was on Qiong Ding Peak. Huh... He didn't think the demon was so close to the land there, but maybe he miscalculated.

Anyway, Binghe!

Worried about his student, he quickly ran off to find where he was, concealing himself behind a cloak of qi once more.

Of course, Shen Yuan missed several things.

For one, the imps and demons had not noticed him at all. What they had noticed were several Qing Jing disciples arriving with their swords drawn.

Secondly, the machetes and axes the demons held were not supposed to crack so easily to a ram's horns. They were made with reinforced metals to be sturdy. A regular spirit sheep would've long lost its horns and skull to them.

Thirdly, the largest demon on the bridge had indeed been standing further away from Qiong Ding Peak, and Shen Yuan hadn't miscalculated. He just didn't realize that his body, weighing over 160 kg (352.7 lbs) plus the force of his qi-powered forward thrust was, even by physics standards, enough to blow a large demon backwards by several meters and shatter their collarbone on impact.

He'd turned his body into a literal battering ram.

Lastly, the Qing Jing disciples, whom the demons actually saw and prepared to fight, were able to witness the entire event, and were now staring, wide-eyed, at the large, mystical, disappearing sheep.

...But those were concerns for the future Shen Yuan.

#sheepzun au #svsss #svsss au #static drabbles #au post 4 #static writes #shen yuan does a whoops #he's got binghe on the brain he can't help it

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khaire-traveler · 2 days

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⚖️ Subtle Themis Worship ⚔️

Try veiling

When you have a big decision/judgement to make, blindfold yourself for a moment; be in a place where you're alone and can think quietly

Vote if you can

Get a candle that reminds you of her (no altar needed)

Keep a picture of her in your wallet

Wear jewelry that reminds you of her

Stay up to date on local politics

Join a local activism group; LGBT rights, POC rights, women's rights, etc.

Support humanitarian organizations or homeless shelters

Have a stuffed animal lion: have a stuffed animal of any creature you associate with justice, order, custom, prophecy, or judgement

Have imagery of the earth/sky, scales, blindfolds, swords, or lions around

Volunteer at a homeless shelter; volunteer at a soup kitchen

Spread the word about injustice, especially related to humanitarian causes

Speak your mind; be honest and direct with others; note that honest does not mean cruel

Get more comfortable with the idea of conflict; look into healthy conflict resolution skills

Join a debate team; spectate or participate in formal debates

Write letters you will never send to people who have done you wrong; burn them (SAFELY!!!)

Try to get involved with your local community; help run events, join groups/clubs, meet new people, etc.

Cook a warm meal for someone in need

Ask someone in need for the things they need most; buy/give them those things if you can

Practice restraint and grounding, especially when it comes to people who annoy you

Try to stay away from gossip; don't spread rumors about others, especially those that you're unsure the integrity of

Get curious about the world around you and the way things work; encourage yourself to question things

Trust yourself; listen to your gut

Work on setting boundaries with others and yourself

Let people know when they've done something that hurt you; ask them to change their behavior or wording

Feel free to give people chances to change, but if they continue not to make changes, don't put yourself through the extra work of keeping them around

Release things that no longer serve you

Work on accepting constructive criticism; try not to take criticism too personally

Get to know yourself better; feel confident in the fact that you know yourself better than others

Keep a self-growth journal; write down things relating to self improvement, how you're feeling, goals you're working towards, etc.

Learn any discreet form of divination; cartomancy, carromancy, pyromancy, tea leaves, etc.

Hold onto family heirlooms

Practice family traditions or create new ones c:

Learn self-defense; learn how to properly use weapons; pepper spray, pocket knife, etc.

Clean up after yourself; don't litter in the environment; pick up litter you come across

Try your best to take the advice you give to others (easier said than done, I know)

Practice patience and mindfulness; release control over the things that you can't control

Ground yourself if you're feeling anxious or stressed over an issue; learn about healthy coping skills for stress or anxiety if you don't know any

Take regular breaks from screens; walk around outside, and enjoy yourself; get some fresh air

Take a walk/hike outside; connect with nature

Drink a calming, soothing, or grounding tea

Take care of yourself after a hard day; be kind and gentle with yourself; engage in comforting activities

I'll likely add more going forward, but for the time being, this is my list of discreet ways to worship Themis. I hope others find this helpful! Take care, everyone. 🧡

Link to Subtle Worship Master list

#helpol #hellenic polytheism #hellenic pagan #themis deity #themis #themis worship #paganblr #pagan tips #deity worship

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inebubble · 2 years

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More than two years later, I have finally found a place -and the strength- to lay my boy to rest. His ashes will now provide for a young oak tree, in a beautiful place with loads of space for his spirit to run.

I love you so much, my beautiful dream come true.

#Liocha #grief #cw animal death #it’s been so hard to let him go #I kept making a decision on where and when to bury him and then changed my mind because I couldn’t bring myself to #it never felt like the right moment #I hope I can breathe easier now #and start feeling my love for him fully again #without this undone task weighing on me #thank god I wasn’t alone to do it #otherwise I might have cowered out again

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earthyaries · 2 months

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WAYS U CAN PLEASE SATURN ACCORDING TO UR SATURN PLACEMENT ♄

1H/ARIES SATURN: RESPECT URSELF. DO NOT ALTER UR BOUNDARIES TO BE LIKED. SELF IMPROVEMENT. PUT EFFORT INTO UR BODY/APPEARANCE. WORKOUT / BE ACTIVE. HEALTHY COMPETITION. PRACTICE OFTEN. BE CONFIDENT BUT NOT ABOVE OTHERS. SLOW DOWN. SELF GROWTH. DELIBERATE ACTIONS.

2H/TAURUS SATURN: DEVELOP STRONG VALUES. DO NOT UNDERMINE URSELF. QUALITY OVER QUANTITY. INTENTIONAL SPENDING. HEALTHY RELATIONSHIP WITH FOOD. TRY NOT TO OVERINDULGE ; TRY NOT TO WASTE. STOP SELF SABOTAGING. NO SELF DEPRECATING. APPRECIATE WHAT U HAVE. EXPRESS GRATITUDE. DONATE WHAT U CAN.

3H/GEMINI SATURN: THINK BEFORE U SPEAK ; SPEAK LESS THAN U DESIRE. STOP OVERSHARING. FOCUS ON UR CRAFT ; GET RID OF THE DISTRACTIONS. POWER IN THE TONGUE. PERSONAL MOTTOS. STAND FOR WHAT IS MORAL ; BE WELL INFORMED. HAVE HARD CONVOS WHEN NECESSARY. BE A SUPPORTIVE FRIEND. STOP COMPLAINING. FIND SOLUTIONS. ADAPT & OVERCOME.

4H/CANCER SATURN: CREATE BOUNDARIES & STICK TO THEM. BE OF SERVICE TO OTHERS WITHOUT SELF SACRIFICE. DO NOT BE OVERLY SELFISH. EXPRESS UR NEEDS. TAKE CARE OF UR MENTAL HEALTH. EMOTIONAL REGULATION. SELF CARE. BE SELECTIVE OF UR INNER CIRCLE. POUR INTO UR LOVED ONES. TREAT OTHERS WITH KINDNESS. KEEP UR LIVING SPACE CLEAN.

5H/LEO SATURN: LET GO OF SELF DOUBT. BRING UR VISION TO LIFE. MASTER UR CRAFT. BELIEVE IN URSELF & WORK TOWARDS UR GOALS. GET RID OF UR NEED FOR OUTSIDE APPROVAL. LOOK OUT FOR THE CHILDREN ; BE THE PERSON U NEEDED GROWING UP. WORK HARD, PLAY HARD. DELAYED GRATIFICATION.

6H/VIRGO SATURN: FOLLOW A ROUTINE. HEALTHY HABITS. STRUCTURE. KEEP UR SPACES ORGANIZED ; DE-CLUTTER. BE A FRIEND TO ANIMALS. TAKE GOOD CARE OF UR PET/S. PUT IN THE WORK EVERY DAY. OFFER A HELPING HAND. HONOR UR OWN TIME & ENERGY ; DO NOT ENGAGE IN ONE-SIDED RELATIONS.

7H/LIBRA SATURN: MAKE UR OWN DECISIONS. TAKE ACCOUNTABILITY. CRACK DOWN ON CO-DEPENDENCY ; AVOID SELF ISOLATION. LONGTERM RELATIONS. BE THE BIGGER PERSON. FORGIVE BUT DON’T FORGET. APPLY LESSONS FROM THE PAST. TREAD LIGHTLY. RESPECT THOSE WHO CAME BEFORE YOU. FORM LASTING ALLIANCES.

8H/SCORPIO SATURN: KEEP THINGS TO URSELF. STAY PRIVATE. PRACTICE SELF CONTROL. RESILIENCE IN THE FACE OF HARDSHIP. HOPE FOR THE BEST, PREPARE FOR THE WORST. SAVINGS/RAINY DAY RESOURCES. EMBRACE CHANGE. LEARN TO LET GO. RADICAL ACCEPTANCE. SEXUAL DISCIPLINE. XTRA EMPHASIS ON SAFE SEX!

9H/SAGITTARIUS SATURN: PRACTICE UR BELIEFS. WALK THE TALK. MANTRAS. LEARN FROM OTHERS ; COME TO UR OWN CONCLUSIONS. STUDY. BE AN ETERNAL STUDENT. ALLOW URSELF TO BE OUT OF UR ELEMENT. RESPECT OTHER CULTURES. MAKE UR OWN TRADITIONS. STAY HUMBLE. ACCEPT MULTIPLE TRUTHS. APPLY WHAT WORKS.

10H/CAPRICORN SATURN: KEEP UR EYES ON THE PRIZE. TRUST THAT ALL THINGS COME IN DUE TIME. KEEP URSELF MOTIVATED. WORK FOR WHAT U WANT. STAY CONSISTENT. PERSONAL LEGACY ; THINGS THAT LAST. BECOME UR OWN ROLE MODEL. DO IT URSELF / DO IT RIGHT. LIVE WITH KARMA IN MIND.

11H/AQUARIUS SATURN: LEAD THE WAY ; FURTHER THE CAUSE. BETTER THE COMMUNITY— CREATE UR OWN. BE CONSCIOUS OF WHOM U ASSOCIATE URSELF WITH. BEFRIEND PPL OLDER THAN URSELF. LONGTERM FRIENDSHIPS. LONGTERM RESULTS. ADVANCEMENT. NETWORKING. ONLINE INFLUENCE. SET THE STANDARD.

12/PISCES SATURN: ALL IN MODERATION. HEALTHY COPING METHODS & LIFESTYLE PRACTICES. CONSIDERATION. REFLECTION ; SELF AWARENESS. THERAPY. STANDARDS. LEAVE ONCE DISRESPECTED. NO FAKE FRIENDS. MIND OVER MATTER. MANIFESTATION. BE REAL WITH URSELF. SELF TRUST.

#saturn #astrology

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greenglowinspooks · 6 months

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The way that I’m brainrotting over a DCxDP crossover with a Danny who’s a vengeful villain rn

Like, let’s just say that the GiW finally get into contact with the JL. They need help neutralizing a threat, you see, and they’re on their last limb trying to keep civilians safe.

They have video evidence! They have studies to back their claims! The JL have to help them!

Unfortunately, the JL believe them. They join a fight against Danny, and defeat him due to being far more experienced than he is. Danny is locked away and experimented on by the GiW.

That would CHANGE a person. Your heroes turning against you and seeing you as a monster, being experimented on for who knows how long, not knowing if your friends and family are safe.

Danny gets out due to a simple mistake on the GiW’s part; having Blüdhaven as part of their transport route.

Of course the trucks were attacked, they’re government property!

So now, whoever decided to raid the government transport trucks (the Penguin or something) has a ton of experimental weapons with no idea how they work, and a heavily traumatized teenager.

Danny knows how they work. Danny can be useful! They won’t throw him out if he’s useful! And so, now Danny is working for the Penguin, altering the ectoplasm weapons to make them work on humans.

It’s a good deal for both parties. Danny gets to neurotically imprint on the Penguin like a small baby animal, and the Penguin gets a brilliant mind who will stop at nothing to achieve his goals.

But eventually, Danny finds out what happened to his family in his absence.

Jazz is in Arkham. Not as a psychologist, but as a “patient.” Apparently, she snapped and completely destroyed the house, leveled a few blocks of Amity Park, and conducted organized attacks on government bases (mostly GiW) for months.

Sam and Tucker helped her, eventually splitting once Jazz was captured. Sam travels to areas of extreme pollution, completely overgrowing them with her plant powers. Currently she’s in the Amazon rainforest, engaging in an ongoing feud with logging companies. Sam is winning.

Tucker faked his death, and Danny has no idea where he is. He only knows that the death wasn’t real because of a code that the three of them made together, just in case.

Ellie’s trapped in the Infinite Realms. Danny had a failsafe in place so that if she was ever cornered by the GiW, she would be sent to her haunt in the GZ. However, with the portal destroyed, she can’t come back. Danny just hopes she’s okay.

His parents are now top GiW scientists. They’re traveling the country giving speeches. They’re working on a battery powered by ectoplasm, but apparently started “having difficulties” around the same time that Danny escaped.

None of it is fair. None of it is right.

The Justice League destroyed his life, the lives of his friends, and they’re doing as good as ever. The GiW is respected, and his parents are happily working away for them.

Danny takes up some of his more experimental weapons and breaks Jazz out of Arkham. She’s a little different now, colder and more quiet, but she still loves him all the same. It’s an unimaginable comfort to him to see his sister again.

He can’t use his powers anymore. He’s so used to associating them with pain that even transforming into his ghost form is enough to take him down for hours.

However, he understands ectoplasm more than anyone else in the world. He knows how to use it in virtually everything; how it can become a weapon, how it can be used as a supplemental ingredient in poisons and nerve agents, how it can twist and distort the mind if applied correctly.

He doesn’t care what happens to him. He’s going to take down the GiW, and destroy the lives of the JL members who helped lock him away, just as they did to him.

No matter the cost.

#dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp prompt #let Danny be scary and unsettling and evil WITHOUT being Dan!! do it!!!!!#at first the JL just think they’re dealing with a normal villain who’s angry at the world #the more details they get on him the more dread they feel #eventually they realize that they locked a 16-year-old away to be experimented on by the government for YEARS #and not that same kid is determined to ruin their lives #the GUILT. the PAIN. the realization that they so completely and fully failed this child #they’re speedrunning the 5 stages of grief and Danny is just like ‘oh no! anyways’ *fakes killing Red Robin to fuck with the bat*

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elbiotipo · 10 months

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I can't do a more deep opinion on this orca thing because yeah one can say "go orcas!", it feels good, doesn't it?...

but in fact those must be very scattered cases that won't change the fact that the current situation is that ocean transport is noisy, it's everywhere, and it must be driving these very, very sensitive animals crazy. Before motors, a whale could listen to what was happening in South Africa from the Argentine coast. Now their range of communication must have dropped to only a few kilometers: moreover, all the noise must be insane. There have been studies saying that even things like lawnmowers can make permanent ear damage to small rodents, and birds have had to adapt to city noises (their songs changed to a more "natural" pattern during the pandemic lockdowns) So I can't imagine what such things must be doing to the minds of orcas, one of the animals with the most complex and intelligent behavior registered outside of primates, and extremely sensitive to sound. Can we even understand what they're going through right now.

And this is not to mention the widespread whale (baleen whales, not orcas) hunting that decimated their populations to an absurd degree. All the world is currently going through a beyond worrying trend of defaunation, but whales were particulary hurt. There were 250.000 (estimated) blue whales before whaling, and they were decimated to less than 2000. Even today, with strict conservation measures, there's around 10-25k blue whales, and that's one species. Let that sink in.

Is there a solution to this, besides returning to the age of sail and banning ocean explotation? I don't know, there might be. I hope there is.

When I read about orcas, about their behavior, about their pods with their own almost cultural quirks and even dialects, so much we don't know about them, I only remember Arthur C. Clarke, when he spoke about blue whales: “We do not know the true nature of the entities we are destroying”

#cosas mias #orcas #again to have a true opinion I need to research #these are just my raw feelings on the matter

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nonsensical-pixels · 4 months

Text

it's finally done! 🎊 to the (multiple people) who requested this, i'm so sorry for taking so long to finish it up, but hey--it's here now, just in time for the new year! i hope you enjoy this conversion of @syboubou's enchanted dreams kids' set as much as i enjoyed making it 💓

there are 25 new build/buy items to delight your littlest and not-so-little sims, all low to medium-poly. this set features not just my first functional playmat (showcased above by babble broke!) but also a functional toddler bed cloned from one of @themediocresulk's, a one-tile crib cloned from @hugelunatic's, another monique's hacked computer, and much more! peek below the cut for the deets 👇

DOWNLOAD: SFS | MF 🌼

credits go to @syboubou for the original ts4 meshes & textures, @themediocresulk for the toddler bed as a pet bed (but for toddlers) that i cloned the toddler bed from, @hugelunatic for the one-tile crib that i based the wicker stroller off of, enjatoki (deactivated?) for the playmat mine is cloned from, and anyone else whom i've probably missed! 🥰

DESCRIPTION

Originally by Syboulette for TS4, converted to TS2 by nonsensical-pixels. Part of the SYB Enchanted Dreams Bedroom Set.

THINGS TO NOTE

The Crib has no animations, owing to its shaping, so expect clipping when babies are put in and out. The Changing Table has no trash can attached, so expect some awkwardness when sims throw trash into the void. The Computer functions as a Monique's Hacked Computer and requires the files from it to work. The Dresser is repositoried to the Changing Table. The Playmat is FULLY FUNCTIONAL and functions like the Baby Mat from the TS2 Store. The Trash Bin is completely decorative. The Wicker Stroller is cloned from a 1-Tile Crib by HugeLunatic and is functional! Only babies can be placed inside. The 12 Wallpapers each have two versions; to fill a whole wall with one alternate between A and B for seamless textures.

ITEMS INCLUDED

Bed Light - 400 polys, $49 Ceiling Lamp - 280 polys, $89 Changing Table - 556 polys, $349 Computer - 1298 polys, $1799 Crib - 848 polys, $219 Crib Drape - 864 polys, $109 Desk - 1148 polys, $399 Desk Chair - 1226 polys, $99 Dresser - 504 polys, $309 Ducks Toy - 1062 polys, $29 Kid Bed - 3658 polys, $299 Kids Books - 92 polys, $29 Lamp - 650 polys, $89 Little Alchemist Table - 2648 polys, $299 Lunch Box - 392 polys, $99 Nightstand - 240 polys, $119 Playmat - 723 polys, $100 Potty - 942 polys, $149 Rug - 2 polys, $79 Stuffed Rabbit - 1656 polys, $99 Toddler Bed - 1396 polys, $199 Trash Bin - 252 polys, $49 Wallpaper - 12 swatches, 2 variants each Wall Tree Light - 1128 polys, $99 Wicker Stroller - 1424 polys, $399 A collection file has been included for ease of browsing the catalog.

if there are any issues that you find with this set, please don't be afraid to let me know! happy simming, and when you download this, do keep in mind,

( @4t2ccdatabase )

#sims 2 download #the sims 2 cc #ts2cc #s2cc #sims 2 cc #the sims 2 #sims 2 #4t2 #4t2 conversion #4t2 buy #suggestions #sims 2 suggestions

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pedgito · 2 years

Text

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭 pt. i ✧ ˚ · . 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: something that is desired all the more because it is not allowed—you find yourself torn between the idea that even though eddie is in a position of authority as your professor, he’s still what you crave the most.

cw: 18+ (minors, dni) teacher/student relationship, age gap (21 & 29), corruption!kink (eddie is well aware of what he’s doing), background ronance, max is readers bestfriend, eddie likes to wear his hair up for class and hates being formal, bratty!reader (sorta), angsty touches, a smutty cliffhanger, ect & lots more to come (pun intended)

word count: 11.6k - part two, part three, part four

The campus was huge and crowded and everything you hated all wrapped into one—but you couldn’t beat the view, the pleasant Indians weather, and all the amazing classes the college had to offer. And normally, first days would be terrifying, crippling your anxiety, but there was nothing but excitement; for now, at least.

Most of your morning was spent combing through syllabuses and trying to find your classes, which is mostly your own fault, deciding on a major so vastly different from your main course work—by the time afternoon rolls around, you’re forced to walk clear across campus, nearly ten minutes late to your class and faced with a surprisingly unirritated gentleman, who’s three seconds away from shutting the door closed indefinitely.

The man steals a glance at his watch, arm twitching slightly to force his sleeve back. His eyes glance up to you for a moment and back down, “Not a great way to start off your first day,” He comments cooly, face void of any emotion, “is this gonna be a habit?”

“No—god, no,” You respond, slightly out of breath, hand clutching the strap of your book bag, “I’m just getting used to where everything’s at—I didn’t get a chance to visit the campus earlier, I have no idea where anything is or—“

“It’s fine,” He assures, beckoning you into the classroom, surprisingly full, forcing you to the front row, positioned almost directly in front of his desk—this was the beginning of your nightmare, “let’s just be mindful of time, yeah?”

Not that Eddie has ever been punctual a day in his life. But, he’s learned that being a hard-ass is more effective than not giving a shit at all, especially when it comes to his students.

“Yeah—yes, I promise.” You swear, forcing a thin smile before making an immediate line for your desk, hoping that the further you sink, the more unnoticed you’ll be. Unfortunately for you, that wasn’t the case.

The loud slide of the chalk against the chalkboard as he writes his name across the green slab is defeating, most of the class watching in fearful silence—like there was some impending doom about to descend upon them.

“Uh, sir—“ You can see him visibly tense at the word, “are we going to be learning how to play any instruments in this class?” The voice comes from a boy who seems naturally quiet and more reserved, mortified by the fact that he even found the courage to raise his hand and ask a question.

There’s a small roar of laughter from the others, but you look along stoically, watching his face upturn slightly.

“Don’t call me, sir—please,” He laughs lightly, “it makes me feel old.”

“Professor Munson,” He corrects himself, “sorry.”

“You’re fine,” He assures, “and look—this isn’t an intro to music, it’s intro to musical therapy. We’re not just studying instruments and music, we’re also studying behaviors, the mind, how all of this stuff connects and affects people’s thought process and aiding certain struggles they may have.”

His way of talking is animated and refreshing, a stark change from the usual monotone professors you’ve run into all morning.

“So, if you’re just expecting to learn how to play the piano or something, this class probably isn’t for you,” He explains, eyeing down about a quarter of the class that makes a collective groan, “hey—I’m just being honest.”

And you knew you wouldn’t see half of those people in a week, jumping at the first chance to transfer, but you couldn’t help being intrigued. It wasn’t necessarily your first choice for a major, but it took you by surprise; your love for psychology and mind studies mixed with your love of music, it seemed like the perfect storm. Plus, your professor wasn’t the worst person in the world—yet.

He easily snaps open the cuff links to his sleeves, rolling them halfway up his arm, revealing a rather striking depiction of bats, swarming around the expanse of his forearm.

He definitely seemed like a tattoo guy, but it was still odd to see so openly—his feet tap together as he takes a seat on the end of his desk, scanning the room. You can’t help but notice his lopsided tie, wanting so desperately to fix it—it was bound to drive you nuts.

“It’s probably best to get most of your question out of the way today,” He says, “so, shoot them at me while you have the opportunity.”

A few hands fly up, he points off to your right, a couple rows behind you.

“So—are you a therapist?”

He snorts a soft laugh, shaking his head, “No—I don’t have all the proper certifications, but I assist therapist a lot when they’re looking into doing stuff related to musical therapy. I know enough to get by.”

The smile he flashes leads you to believe that he’s trying to be humble.

“Do you play any instruments?” Another student asks freely, the heads of the rest of the class snapping in their direction.

“A few,” He answers, hand waving about in a noncommittal manner, “mostly just guitar.”

He adjusts his tie again, even more lopsided now and you can’t help but stare it down, focused on nothing but the black, shiny material of it—Eddie clears his throat softly, catching your attention.

He’s staring right at you, caught red-handed—quick, think of something—

“Who do you usually work with?” You ask suddenly, “In your line of work, I mean.”

Outside of being a professor, obviously.

Another laugh, more subdued. “Veterans, mostly, and a lot of children.”

Eddie claps his hands together very suddenly, startling most of the class, including yourself. “Anyways, let’s go over the syllabus so there’s no confusion—I don’t need you guys bugging me outside of my office hours, as much as I love to teach.”

You sense another jab coming, but it doesn’t.

The syllabus review is a breeze, setting you up for what most of the semester entails, including when he was available—again, making it very clear that he wasn’t available outside of office hours.

And then he’s adjusting the damn tie again, almost like it’s wringing his neck to death. By the time class ends, he dismisses everyone with a simple wave, a few students lingering around their desks, debating on whether they should drop the class or not.

The voice that trails from the front of the classroom as you take a step down catches your attention, pulling your head up to look at the culprit. “Staying or dropping?” He asks.

Professor Munson. It felt weird and unnatural as it rolled around in your mind, still not falling from your tongue.

“Staying,” You answer surely, “I knew what this class was before I signed up—I’m not about playing roulette with taking a college class.”

“Fair enough.” He’s leaning against his desk again, hands shoved into his slack pockets, shiny, gold watch resting on his wrist, and you can’t take it anymore, the frustration boiling from your chest

“Your tie,” You say abruptly, pointing at the material, “It’s crooked.”

Really fucking crooked.

He takes a glance down, finger slipping in the space between his tie and neck, pulling at the offense piece of clothing, loosening it until it’s snapping away.

He balls up the tie and tosses it behind me, landing messily on his desk. “I never wear those after the first day—hate them. They’re so stupid.”

“Or, you just don’t know how to tie a tie.” You point on, mouth speaking before your brain can catch up—realizing much too late that this was your professor, not a friend.

Eddie scoffs mockingly, “And I’m sure you do.” He counters, watching your face drop slightly.

You did, actually—but that wasn’t the point.

“No one ever taught me.” He tells you, “So I’m wingin’ it.”

You nod thoughtfully, surprised at how quickly you managed to embarrass yourself. “Oh.” You say simply, it’s all you can manage.

You save yourself for further humiliation by offering a wave of goodbye, breaking the uncomfortable tension that had grown between you both, excusing yourself immediately.

And if that was horrible enough, your night would be even worse.

☆.｡.:*

“The Hideout?” You ask curiously, twisting the flyer in your hand, “That place is still open?

Max snatches the paper from your hand, shoving it into the pocket of her jacket, protecting her from the biting cold of wind—the beginnings of Hawkins autumn weather creeping up on you.

It didn’t help that you were barely covered from the waist down, skirt leaving little to imagine as the slit ran high up your thigh, thankfully the long sleeve top you wore was enough to save your upper extremities.

“Nancy and Robin swear by that place—plus, they’ll be pissed if you don’t go.” Max explains in her usual ‘could care less’ tone.

The only reason she was going was because of Lucas—a boy she’d met during her first class that day, who she also invited out, despite barely knowing. You couldn’t blame her, though. Max could handle herself well enough, that was for sure.

The drive is long, further out of town than you expect—hidden on some rundown road on an empty corner, bare except for the small bar, yet the place was packed with cars.

“Okay, maybe this place isn’t as rundown as I remember,” You take note of, “or everyone really wanted to get drunk tonight.”

Either way, you were definitely heading toward the latter option, following closely after Max. It doesn’t take long for Max to be pulled away though, quickly distracted by the only reason she came here, abandoning you.

“Have fun,” You remind her, “seriously.”

You could take care of yourself, settling up at one of the empty tables before the stage, perched on the uncomfortably tall seat, ordering yourself a quick drink as a server passes you.

“Hey!” A perked up voice yells out from behind you, arms wrapping around in a gentle hug—no one had the nerve besides Robin, who quickly caught you in a fuller hug as you turned to face her. “How have you been? Where’s Max?”

“She’s busy,” You laugh, giving her a pointed look, which she catches on quickly. “Where’s Nance?”

“Right here,” Her delicate voice peaks out from behind Robin, watching as her hand sneaks into Nancy’s, squeezing firmly.

You smile to yourself, but Robin sees it, shoving you an annoyed look.

At least those two finally figured it out—almost ten years later.

“So, you two know who’s playing tonight?” You ask curiously, sipping on the beer that the server passes to you on their way through the crowd.

“Yeah, he’s an old friend—we haven’t seen him in a while, though.” They both frown at the mention of it, sharing a quiet glance. “We should’ve invited Steve, Nance.”

“He never wants to leave the house, you know that.” Nancy adds, “His kids keep him busy enough.”

And it seemed like Steve got the life he always wanted, for the most part—but it’s still somber to think about, wishing just as badly that you could’ve seen him once more.

“Maybe next time.” You offer, and both of them smile.

“I’ll have to remind him to invite you to his littlest’s party in a couple months,” Nancy says, “he misses you.”

The feedback startled all of you, pulling you from the conversation and toward the stage, light dimly over the center. The lights around the bar dimmed in contrast, adjusting everyone toward the men gathering in their places on stage.

You squinted carefully, watching the guitarist adjust the microphone, pulling it up to his height. His hair was long, unruly, and obscuring his face as he leaned forward, speaking into the microphone.

“How’s everyone doing tonight?” He asks with a decent amount of enthusiasm, receiving a hearty applause in return. “We’re Corroded Coffin.”

The name blanks in your mind, not ringing any immediate bells.

It was definitely a crowd full of fans—or family, at least. They excitement was palpable, everyone leaning on the edge of their seats.

“This is our first show in a couple years, so go easy on us.” He laughs, head flicking up to move the hair out of his face—again, he spots you almost instantly.

The intake of breath is involuntarily, getting caught in your throat. The blush that creeps up your cheeks is hot and burning, noticeable from a mile away.

Eddie fucking Munson, your college professor—of all the chances and fate in the world this is how your night was going to go?

Eddie clears his throat, immediately averting his gaze. “We’re just doing cover songs tonight—so if you’ve got a request, send it through Gareth.” He instructs, jerking his head over his shoulder.

And despite how mortifying this all feels, Eddie plays his heart out; you’ve never seen anything like it. He’s a person who expresses himself through his body and his music, clearly—thrashing wildly and putting every movement he can into his playing, bouncing on his feet. He can’t be bothered to stay still, which is a complete difference from his classroom demeanor.

From what you’ve seen, at least.

“You good?” Robin asks, nothing the ghostly look on your face.

“Yeahyeah, uh—“ You reply distantly, “The lead looked familiar, but I think it’s a coincidence.”

One hell of a fucking coincidence.

“Eddie?” They both ask simultaneously, “There’s no way.”

Eddie Munson. Again, your professor—but also, a friend of a friend, and a complete fucking stranger otherwise. You must’ve pissed someone off well enough down the line to end up in this position; the biggest dose of karma you’ve ever felt.

“Like I said—it’s probably a coincidence.” You assure them, eyes still locked on him.

“Yeah—I don’t think we started hanging out with him until after you moved schools.” Nancy supplies, further attempting to assure you.

Eddie catches another glance at you and you can’t help but down the bottle of beer in one go, immediately leaving your seat to ask for another, leaving your friends to congregate at the table.

The song ends abruptly, falling off of a long guitar solo, and you can’t even dare to look in that direction, faced shoved into the drink you gripped in your hand.

“Come here, come here,” You hear Robin call from behind you, but you know it’s not for you, another rumbling voice slipping through the many others, a weak protest, “Stop being like that.”

There really was no arguing with Robin and Eddie was smart to keep quiet, following her obediently to the bar. The hand that clasps your shoulder is light and gentle and Nancy shoots you an apologetic look as you look behind you.

“Ringin’ any bells now?” Robin asks playfully, holding her hand up under his face, like he was on display. Eddie makes a face, side eyeing her affectionately.

“No, sorry,” You lie easily, shrugging him off. Eddie seems to relax at that, half-expecting you to out both him and yourself—not that there was anything wrong, it was just another freaky coincidence, “What’s his name again?”

And really, it’s just to poke fun, the slight buzz creeping into your system.

“Eddie Munson,” Nancy replies, glancing between the both of you, “Edward, if that helps.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at that, hand held up in desperation as he called out for a drink over your shoulder, reaching around you to grab the bottle. You visibly tense at the proximity and he notices, still, he doesn’t try to move away.

This was too weird.

“Nope, still nothing.” You tell them, sticking to your story.

Robin shrugs, “Well, I should probably explain—Nancy used to babysit her when she was younger, her and Max and all those crazy little kids that we always told you about—“

It made you wince; babysitter, Nancy, kids. It was the worst sequence of words that could’ve been spoken in history, to your professor, in the middle of a bar, that he was also playing at.

“Robin,” You warn, “I’m sure he doesn’t care.”

“Nah,” Eddie shrugs, leaned beside you against the bar, metal chain clinking against the counter-top, lifting the beer to his lips leisurely, “It’s nice to meet you.”

And the smile seems forced, but his voice is steady, easy—you almost believe him.

But, then Nancy and Robin are pulled off in a different direction, catching up with another small group of friends and Eddie is staring at you.

And not secretly—very, very openly.

“I swear I didn’t—“ You start.

“I don’t usually,” He interrupts.

You both take a hard stop, looking each other down.

“You first,” He instructs, bring the drink to his lips once more, “then I’ll go.”

“I swear I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight,” You explain, “otherwise I would’ve skipped out.”

He wants to ask why, but the answer seems obvious—no one wants to see their teacher outside of school.

“I don’t usually make a habit of letting my students see me like this.” He motions to his get-up, hair loose and clothes even looser, aside from the obviously homemade jacket he wore, patches hand stitched and worn at the seams, but the weirdest part of it all—the ripped jeans. It felt out of place for someone nearing their thirties. He catches your gaze, the judgement evident. “My point exactly.”

“So, that’s why you don’t know how to tie a tie.” You challenge, taking a long sip of beer, eyebrow quirked in amusement as you swallow, cheeks puffed out by the liquid.

He scoffs softly, amused at your comeback. “We shouldn’t even be talking right now, you know that?” He points out, yet he hasn’t moved an inch, still close enough that if you decided to separate your thighs, he’d fit perfectly.

You hum quietly, “Yet, you’re still here.” Another beer down, another slipped into your hand like clockwork, throwing it back easily. “So, who’s fault is that?”

Him being the responsible adult and all, not that it really mattered here. This would be a level playing field outside of any other circumstance.

“Wait—can I ask a personal question?” And maybe it was the alcohol talking.

“No—“ He answers quickly, but your brain bypasses it.

“How old are you?” You ask curiously, “You look too young to be a professor.”

Eddie looks stunned, affected by your forwardness, but he takes it in stride. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment—I’m twenty nine, a couple years older than Nancy and Robin.”

You don’t press on the additional information, but nod thoughtfully, taking another quick sip of your beer.

“Sorry—it was bugging me. I have a bad problem with filtering my thoughts.” You admit sheepishly, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, fiddling with the flimsy zipper on your skirt.

“Clearly,” Eddie laughs, bringing the bottle to his lips slowly, stopping just as his lips pressed the rim, “Are you even old enough to be drinking?”

“Are you going to kick me out if I’m not?” You challenge playfully, Eddie doesn’t bite, looking you down accusingly.

It was as if he suddenly shifted back into teacher mode, judging your choices and feeling the need to scold you.

“I’m twenty one,” You tell him, “don’t have a fucking stroke over it.”

You don’t know why Eddie’s eyes shift, scanning full body, like he’s trying to take all of you in—both of your contrasting styles outside of school are a welcomed surprise; he doesn’t really expect it from you. But, you could say the same for him.

“Wasn’t gonna,” He assures you, nursing the beer near his mouth, forearms leaned against the bar now as he looks toward you, eyes catching the way your fingers fiddled with the label on the bottle, “you cold?”

Your leg crosses over the other, goosebumps riddling your skin—it’s like he’s a mind reader, the entrance door of the bar swinging open, a cold blast of air spreading throughout. “Not really.” You lie, gripping the end of your skirt to shift it down.

You could’ve been more practical, shown up in jeans and some worn out band shirt, but you wanted to look nice—feel cute and dressed up for once, was that a crime?

“Hey, there you are,” Max calls from behind you, scattering toward you with a wide-eyed Lucas in tow, “so you met Eddie?”

You turn in your seat, staring the fiery redhead down, a smile plastered on her freckle covered face.

“You too?” You ask incredulously, glancing toward Eddie, who seemed rather unfazed by it all now. “What the hell?”

“He used to live across from me, back in high school,” Max explains, which makes sense.

You moved after middle school, leaving most of Hawkins in your rear view, aside from the occasional letters to Max—both of you swore that despite the distance, college was your nonnegotiable; both of you applied, both of you got accepted, it was some sort of divine miracle, but neither of you questioned it.

“Small world,” Eddie shrugs from beside you, finishing off the last sip of his beer, “you staying out of trouble, Red?”

“Probably not,” She replies honestly, before turning to you sheepishly, “—do you think Robin will give you a ride home?”

“Max,” You groan, her look switching from hesitant to pleading, “fine—whatever, I’ll talk to Robin.”

“I love you,” She says endearingly, wrapping you into a quick forceful hug, nearly knocking you from your chair, “I owe you one.”

“Uh huh,” You reply sarcastically, waving her away, “See you tomorrow.”

When you turn, Eddie is slapping a fresh bill on the counter-top, returning his chained wallet back to his pocket.

“I guess I’ll be seeing you Monday.”

Saying it makes it even weirder.

“I won’t tell anyone.” You assure him, seeing the way his eyes catch yours, almost thankful. He doesn’t have to say it—he didn’t take you for the type to brag, but still, it’s a comforting confession. “I promise.”

The last part feels like too much, but Eddie smiles regardless, adjusting his jacket over his shoulders, preparing for the crisp, cold air that awaits him.

Robin, find Robin. Your brain scrambled, searching around for your friend—or Nancy, but neither of them are anywhere inside of the bar.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding.

“Everything okay?” Eddie asks softly, pulling the hair caught under the lapel of his jacket.

“I think they left,” You frown slightly, preparing yourself to walk several blocks until the nearest bus station, feet already sore and achy from the uncomfortable heels you wore, “Robin and Nance.”

And Eddie has the internal battle with himself for at least half a minute, weighing the odds of how uncomfortable this could be, or how creepy it may come off, but he wasn’t going to leave you high and dry—he wasn’t raised that way.

“Where am I taking you?” He asks suddenly, swinging his keys into his palm.

“Huh?” There was no way you were taking a ride from your teacher, of all people. “—I’m fine, really. I just need to walk far enough to the bus stop.”

“In those?” Eddie asks pointedly, staring down at the heels that hugged your feet like a vice grip, already sore from only a couple hours of use. “It’s not a big deal—are you going back to campus?”

You nod hesitantly.

Eddie motions toward the door and you follow obediently—your feet could thank you later. You knew there was no harm in a ride home, either, Eddie was far from the normal sketchy men around Hawkins, but it didn’t feel right. It felt like keeping a secret from your parents and doing something that had persistently told you not to, or how often the school system looked down on relations with staff outside of school, no matter the level or severity. It seemed that Eddie was hoping you’d keep this to yourself—he was counting on it.

☆.｡.:*

“Did you enjoy the music at least?” Eddie asks halfway through the drive, one hand gripping the steering wheel while the other fishes for his pack of cigarettes; a bad habit he’d yet to break.

“I mean—they were cover songs,” You shrugged, “Metallica is alright, but I prefer Bon Jovi and Quiet Riot—“

“Are you shitting on Metallica, right now?” Eddie asks, shocked by the admission. He manages to wiggle a cigarette out with one hand, tossing the box toward the middle console, “Do you mind?”

Part of you wants to say yes, just to be difficult, but you shake your head. He flicks his lighter opening, lighting the end of the cigarette until it burns a bright amber, ashes falling from the tip.

“You dress like you’re stuck in the eighties, dude.” Eddie seems offended by the comment, but takes it in stride.

“Says the lady who still listens to Bon Jovi.” Eddie sharks, pulling the cigarette from his lips, smoke billowing from his nose as he breathes, “

You hate how nice it is to watch, his soft lips pursing into a tight line. One more hit at him and he’d probably fail you out of spite, but you do it anyway.

“Says the guy still singing eighties cover songs.” Eddie winces at the jab, flicking away the ash from the cigarette, held out in the air as he searches for his retort.

“So you hated it?” Is all his brain can muster at a time like this, brain hazy from the amount of beers he consumed—you could say the same for yourself, the alcohol buzz is still ever apparent—you wouldn’t have ended up in a situation like this while stone cold sober, that’s for sure.

“No,” You reply honestly. The music was good, the performance was even better, but still—it seemed he was searching for your approval, like it would make all the difference, “but it’s the mid nineties, you need to get with the times.”

Eddie scoffs offensively, a few more puffs before he’s rubbing the cigarette to its untimely demise, pulling into the quiet campus.

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that,” He says, coming to a stop, “—I hope this is close enough, the last thing I need is someone catching me dropping you off.”

Then he shouldn’t have offered a ride, which was his first mistake of many.

It’s offensive how handsome he looks under the dim lights radiating from the inside of his van—an odd choice for a teacher of his salary, but it still makes sense, somehow.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, sir.” You retort, throwing the last bit in for fun—he tenses again, visibly. He doesn’t correct you, though, which is even more difficult to understand.

He offers a simple wave, friendly and polite, then he’s gone and halfway across the campus before you can even process what happened.

It also doesn’t help that the first thing you see in your dreams that night is his face—ungodly in the way he worshiped your body, from head to toe; it was definitely the alcohol talking.

☆.｡.:*

Monday drags more than you expect, having nursed your hangover during the weekend, it felt like an aftershock was trying to overtake you, your focus lacking. It wasn’t unlike you.

You replay the conversation with Eddie in your head a few times that weekend, realizing that even through your drunken haze, Eddie was not attempting to be teacherly toward you—he was friendly, a natural conversationalist, it felt wrong.

It felt even worse when you fell asleep, his head stuck between your thighs as you dreamed that night, “She’s so pretty,” His voice is faded, muffled—like he’s stuck in a tunnel and too far away, “fucking soaking wet, too.”

And it feels too real as he licks a broad stripe up your cunt, moaning obscenely as his face is coated in your wetness, the tip of his nose bumping against your clit—it’s too much for you to process.

“Good afternoon,” Eddie’s voice carries through the door to his classroom, satchel and coffee in hand, looking just as worse for wear. His hair is tied back in a loose bun, no tie today, and his slacks look like they’re been worn for a week straight, wrinkles and all, “nice to see the class has downsized.”

It has, nearly half of the original class is gone—which really, it was better for you. You couldn’t focus in large classes and it felt less personal, more disconnected than you liked.

Eddie tries desperately to keep his energy up during the duration of the lesson, but he’s lacking on all fronts—maybe he had a rough weekend?

When he hands out the first assignment near the end of class, he stops by your desk, leaning on the railing to speak to the entirety of the class, “And don’t freak out—this is just a basis to see where you heads are at in terms of what music you like, how it makes you feel, it’s just a soft introduction into some of the stuff we’ll be covering over the semester.”

It’s a list of various songs, bands, genres—a mix of things dating back to the early fifties, up until more recently. “Go out, rent some of this if you’ve never heard of it, and write what you feel—that’s it. Easy enough?”

Eddie doesn’t acknowledge you most of the class, which is expected, but disappointing. He seems preoccupied, distracted, clearly bothered by something. But, it wasn’t your problem—the only focus you had now was your course work, which was the first thing you started on that night; a very giddy Max rummaging through your dorm room as background noise, so disorganized it could drive you insane.

“He drove you here?” She asks.

“Yes—but you can’t say anything, Max. I’m serious.”

You didn’t have anything to worry about, you knew that.

“I didn’t even know he taught here—or that he was even a professor. I mean, I know he finally graduated but—“

“Finally?” You ask curiously, swiveling in your chair to face her fully, interest fully piqued.

“He had a rough time in high school—he didn’t graduate until he was twenty, I think.” She explains, busy hands now stopped in their tracks. “He’s been through a lot.”

Your eyebrows raise in question, hoping Max would spill everything she knew—you couldn’t help but be curious about him, even if he was your professor.

“He probably doesn’t even know I go here,” She laughs slightly, “His mom and dad were never in the picture, though—at least I never saw them, it’s always been him and his uncle. He hung out with Nancy, Steve, and Robin a lot—closer to when he was graduating, they’ve stayed good friends, I guess.”

You nod slowly, absorbing the information.

“Is he mean?” Max asks randomly and you almost laugh, “My professors are the worst.”

“He’s fine,” You shrug, “It’s kinda nice that he’s not such a dick, you know?”

“What does he teach again?”

“Musical therapy?” You respond, wondering if that would surface any other tidbits of information.

“Oh—that kinda makes sense. He was always listening to music, then he just disappeared after graduation, but his uncle always talked about how he was helping people, doing something he really liked—I just never bothered him about it.”

There’s a long silence before Max can’t help herself, perching herself on the surface closest to you, pens scrambling to the floor as she takes a seat on the edge of your shared desk.

“What did you guys talk about?”

“The weather,” You say flatly, not receiving any type of reaction from her, “—-just music, that’s it.”

“But, babe, you love music.” Max reminds, like it wasn’t painfully obvious.

“And—he’s my professor, it’s fucking weird.” You explain, but even Max doesn’t believe you. “What—why are you looking at me like that?”

“You two are so similar,” She laughs, “It’s freaky.”

“Maxine—what are you trying to imply?”

“Nothing,” She shrugs, hoping from the desk, “—remember that I’ll be your maid of honor at the wedding, though. We pinky swore.”

“He’s my professor, Max.” You stress again, Max smiles wide, annoying you further.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, right?” Max asks, realizing that you’d used the same playful jab at him the night before.

“What?” The coincidence was uncanny.

“Eddie used to tell me that whenever I tried to justify doing something I wasn’t supposed to—I’ve grown, obviously,” That’s not entirely believable, but you keep your mouth shut, “the saying stuck with me—it’s kinda fun to use.”

“Whatever—did you get the music I asked about?” You ask, impatiently switching the topic to something less scandalous.

“Everything was spoken for,” Max explains, trying to let you down gently, “I really tried—but I guess everyone in that class had the same idea on where to go, unless you want to take a trip to the store and buy them—“

And it dawns on you, Eddie must have some sort of music collection, “Wait—what time is it?”

Max takes a quick glimpse at the alarm clock on her nightstand, “A quarter past five, why?”

Still open for office hours—you prayed silently, despite your lack of religion, hoping that he was still in his classroom.

“Give me a ride.”

Max doesn’t question it, being the best friend she is.

☆.｡.:*

“I’m busy,” He says before you can even knock on the door, your loud ascending footsteps giving you away, “come back in the morning.”

You peek through the window of the door anyways, seeing a perfectly relaxed Eddie reclined at his desk, feet propped up as he jotted something down in a book, tongue poked out in focus.

“Uh Professor…Munson,” It felt foreign and weird, “I just had a question.”

His demeanor changes on a dime at the sight of you, unbusying himself completely. It’s a little hysterical, but endearing nonetheless. It makes your stomach flutter at the sight, scrambling to button his shirt higher, seem more professional, not that you hadn’t already seen him outside of work.

The door creaks open, his head popping through as you back away, “What’s going on?” He asks, surprised that anyone would dare to bother him outside of normal class hours. It doesn’t take you long to realize that he only mentioned the office hours out of courtesy, he didn’t actually expect anyone to bother him.

“I was trying to work on your assignment—“ His eyes softened, and it made you flinch, feeling exposed, “I don’t really have the money to buy any of the music and everything was already rented out—-so I wasn’t sure what to do.”

“Oh,” He wasn’t sure what to expect but he finds himself opening the door wider, welcoming you inside, “Yeah—a few students raided my shelf before class was over but I’m sure there’s some left.”

“Thanks,” You reply shyly, squeezing beside him, watching as he lingered by the door still, hands shoved into fists in his pockets, “I didn’t mean to interrupt you, sir—“

“You can call me Eddie—here, at least.” And that definitely doesn’t feel appropriate, but if he’s insisting, well…

“Sorry, it just feels…strange, I guess.” It’s not how you wanted to describe it, but it’s the only word that comes to mind. “I can’t imagine how weird it is running into your students outside of class.”

“Probably as weird as it feels running into your teacher,” He adds playfully, lightening the mood. It’s nice that he’s not so bothered by all of it, “Oh—I’ve got some Elvis in there, a lot of classic rock. I’m not sure about the newer stuff, though.”

“Max has some of it.” You comment without thinking, sifting through the box of music, picking and choosing as you went.

“Max?”

“She’s—she’s my roommate here.” You answer quietly, unable to meet his eyes as he walks closer, leisurely making his way around his desk.

“I guess I should’ve put that together,” He says, taking a moment to examine the sweater you’d shoved on, “You two share a closet?”

“Among other things.” You smile, grasping the stack of Cd's in your hand, “How did you know?”

You share a glance down at the faded sweater, reading off the name of some random skate shop back in rural Hawkins, a place you’ve never stepped foot inside of.

“I got that for Red on her sixteenth birthday, before I left.”

Eddie’s frowning now, nearly unnoticeable, but you see the way his mouth creases, eyes turned down. “It’s her favorite,” You say, in an attempt to make the mood less dark, “but I always steal it from her—she’s let me take residency over it at this point.”

“It looks nice,” Eddie says suddenly, feeling the slip up as it slides off his tongue, rambling even further as he says, “on you—I mean, it’s a nice sweater—that’s why I bought it.”

You laugh softly, bottom lip jutting out as your mouth curls into a smile. “Thanks, Eddie.”

He scratched at his temple, ringed finger shining against the light refracting from the lamp on his desk. You’ve never noticed it before—or them, since his hand was adorned with three, that you could see.

“Hey, those are cool—“ You point out, finger pressed in the direction of his upheld hand. He stops, views his hand, almost like he’s forgotten he was wearing them, “I’ve noticed them before.”

“I try not to wear them during class hours, the administration thinks it’s unprofessional.” The nature of the rings, not the fact that he wore them—if he had a wedding ring it wouldn’t matter, but the thought of marriage made Eddie want to vomit.

“Fuck ‘em.” You say crudely, shoulder shrugged In indifference.

Eddie’s mouth hangs open slightly at the sudden outburst, amusement flooding his face, “I’m still your professor—probably should keep that type of language to a minimum.”

You snort at his indication that he had any type of hold over what you do—he couldn’t be further from the point.

“Or what?” You say challengingly, “This isn’t high school—it’s not like you can give me detention or tell my parents.”

“I am the one handling your grades.” He counters, hip leaned against the edge of his desk. Your free hand travels to your waist, slipping underneath the sweater to rest against the skin.

“You don’t intimidate me—I hope you know that.” You remind him carefully, eyes narrowing in his direction. “The other’s are terrified of you, but that shit doesn’t work on me.”

And he should know better—you shouldn’t even be here and he definitely should be flirting with a student, if you could call it that. Was this flirting? Was this crossing the line? He’s studied body language for a long time, through the process of his treatment of people, and he can’t help but notice how relaxed you seem, almost enjoying the back and forth.

“You should go,” He says quickly, avoiding any further lines being blurred or crossed or misconstrued; you were his student and it was unprofessional, “my office hours are closing soon.”

“Uh huh.” You nod slowly, adjusting the stack of music under your arm, watching the way Eddie’s fingers drum against the desk impatiently, like he can’t wait to get you out of there.

If he was really that bothered, he could’ve said something.

“Thanks again, professor.” You say with grandeur, motioning to the stack of Cd's, “It’s greatly appreciated.”

Eddie tries to ignore the small sliver of skin that shows underneath your slightly raised top that was no longer obscured by your hand, almost like you’re doing it on purpose.

Which, yes, you absolutely were.

You slip by him silently, avoiding the way his eyes follow you. It felt predatorial, but not uncomfortable—and that’s what you hated about it.

He didn’t look at you as a student—he looked at you like something else; you couldn’t put your finger on it.

Eddie turns on the heels of his shoes, “I expect those back tomorrow,” He warns, but there’s no sense of actual ramifications behind it.

You don’t answer fully, a small nod that Eddie doesn’t quite notice. He grabs the sleeve of your sweater gently, his fingertips pressing against your covered arm. “I mean it.”

You look at the hand that gripped your arm for far too long, Eddie still holding on just as hard. “I know.” You appease him, “And if I don’t—you know where to find me.”

The glance to your desk is silent, but done in unison.

“Wanna let go now, sir?”

Eddie hates the way his dick twitches under the material of his corduroy slacks, releasing the bunch of material from his grip. You half-expect him to scold you for the remark, but he’s speechless, for once in his life.

“Sorry,” He apologizes, feeling like he’s made things uncomfortable, but it’s so far from that—he has no idea, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“On time, hopefully.”

It’s just another playful comment, but it has Eddie gripping his thigh from the inside of his pocket, muscles tensed in frustration.

You leave with a wordless smile that’s burned into Eddie’s mind for the rest of mankind—and it’s definitely not the first thing he thinks about when he slips his boxers down his thighs that night, cock still half-hard from earlier in the evening.

☆.｡.:*

He becomes a permanent fixture in your dreams as the weeks grow on, unbeknownst to him—not that he can say much for himself either, annoyed by the finite nerve you have to walk into his classroom, skirt pulled halfway up your waist, ass barely peeking out of the bottom of the pleated material.

He knows it’s wrong and going against all of the rules set it place for this very reason, but he can’t help himself. So, he suffers in silence—not that it was anything new to him, he’s done it his entire life; under different circumstances and situations perhaps, but the basics of it still remained.

“Fuck—spread your legs,” His voice is hushed, quiet against the skin of your leg as he sucks a deep purple mark into the skin, jerking at the touch of cold metal, the outside of his rings grazing your thighs, “wanna taste you.”

It feels too real—you toss and turn in your sleep restlessly most nights, dreaming about your professor with his hands around your thighs and his mouth buried deep into your cunt.

And with little to no interaction during class, aside from the occasional glance in your direction, he kept his distance—which wasn’t a surprise, he had no idea.

He had no idea that his student was practically pining after him. It doesn’t help that you’ve seen him outside of the classroom, dress downed and free of an inhibitions or rules; it was a special kind of torture.

It’s late October when Eddie speaks to you directly, alone—he’s got most of the class set up on various different instruments of their choosing, allowing them to feel them out and play freely, and somehow—by some fucked up fate, you get stuck with a six string and not a clue how to play.

Fake playing wasn’t working, Eddie could spot it from a mile away. You don’t chance the glance up at him, but the squeak of his shoes is enough warning, bracing for whatever remark was going to be sent your way.

“Have you ever played before?” He says instead and your eyes immediately shoot up to him, all previous restraint thrown out the window.

“No, not really.” You say truthfully, watching as Eddie pulled up a chair in front of you, facing the back of it in your direction, thigh swinging over the side—his jeans tightening with the action, along with your thighs. You really needed to get your shit together.

“Here,” His hands come out to rest over yours, adjusting your left hand over the base of the guitar, your right hand around the neck, “This is A,” He presses your finger over the cord, instructing your other hand to strum.

It’s slightly out of tune, but the guitar seems old—probably provided by the college rather than Eddie himself, “That’s good,” He praises calmly, “Now try playing an A sharp,” He guides your hand further down the neck, the warm, rough skin of his hand covering your own. He feels tough and worn and you notice the small cuts around his fingertips at this proximity, breath catching as his hand grasps around the wrist that was actively strumming the guitar, “it’s really complicated at first, there’s a lot to learn.”

“Clearly,” You say, forcing down the smile that threatened to break through, “how long have you played?”

He seems surprised that you cared or even tried to ask.

“Since I was about twelve, probably.” He answers honestly, “More than half my life.”

Eddie still hasn’t moved his hands, either—he can’t be bothered. It doesn’t look as incriminating as you thought, but still, you knew. He helps you play through a few more notes until he’s gotten you to the point of playing a small, five second tone—but it’s all you can really manage.

“It takes a while.” He assures you, not that you wanted to pick up a guitar again after this.

“Why don’t you play?” You ask sweetly, smiling flashing with nothing but devious intent, handing the guitar over toward your professor.

“Nono—I’m really not—“ He protests, setting the guitar back on its stand beside you.

“Not what? That good?” You ask curiously, he was worse at lying to himself than he was to you.

“Are we forgetting how I saw you play that night?” You ask quietly, nothing how his gaze lingered with yours, “Because if that wasn’t you then—“

He gives you a muted look of warning, wanting you to drop the topic of conversation, but you can’t be bothered. He wasn’t in charge of you, not really.

“You can play a Dio song blindfolded, I bet,” You point out, still keeping enough of a hushed town that only Eddie can hear, “Your eyes were closed that entire set.”

“It was my first time back home in a while,” He defends lamely, “It helps with the nerves.”

“I thought it was really good.”

Eddie’s eyes light up in a way you can’t ignore, bordering on shock and adoration, it’s the first real smile you’ve seen from him.

The end of class comes quicker than you want it to, forced to pack your belongings back into your bag in a rush, everyone’s already managed to file out before you can even think of zipping your bag up.

“Hey,” Eddie calls out, every other student already long gone, “here, take this.”

It’s a flyer, similar to the one Max shoved into your hands a few weeks prior.

A different bar, same band; one night only.

“I’m probably breaking a thousand rules by giving you that,” He explains carefully, “but maybe you and Max could come out and watch us play—tell her I’ll even throw in some free Kate Bush.”

Your smile is warm, folding the flyer and stuffing it into your pocket. “I told you—I’m not the type to blab, Eddie.”

You hate how easy it feels to say his name in such a setting, still dressed up in his ridiculous attempt at seeming studious and professional. You knew he hated it, he knew it too.

“I can ask her—if not, I’ll still show.” You tell him.

He was only inviting Max to be courteous, but that wasn’t up for him to decide whether or not you actually brought her along. Either way, he was appreciative. He knew that a lot of the support he received back home was mostly done out of obligation and sympathy, but with—it felt real. He didn’t know you, he didn’t have anything to prove to you, and more importantly, you were genuine and honest; he hated that you took up this class. Hated it.

“It’s not a big deal if you can’t.” He offers as an out.

There was no way you were going to miss it, not with how Eddie was looking at you now; despite the circumstance, it was so blatantly obvious to you how badly you wanted him.

“Eddie, I’ll be there.” You assure him once more.

And if the smile that spreads over his face isn’t something worth worshiping, you’d surely find something else.

☆.｡.:*

The bar is small, on the complete opposite side of town—but Max still offers to drive you, but it’s definitely not for your own benefit. She hasn’t shut up about Eddie since you’d told her the situation, the weird looks he gives you, and the horrible filthy dreams you’ve been having; sans the super embarrassing details. She gets it—it’s incredibly amusing to her, but she gets it.

“You sure you don’t want to stay?” You asks, fingers tapping nervously against the ripped denim of your jeans, frayed material pulled between your fingertips. “He did invite you.”

“Babe, I’m doing you a favor.” Max interjects, halfhearted smirk on her face.

“He’s my teacher—for the last time,” You begin, beyond desperation, the words falling from your tongue weren’t even believable to your own ears, “I’m not trying to fuck him, Max.”

“I did not say anything about fucking him,” She laughs amusingly, turning into the parking lot of the bar, “—it’s just not as weird as you’re making it out to be. I’ve known Eddie for a long time.”

“You’re really missing the point.” You say, rubbing the frustration on your face away with your hands, eyebrows furrowing in annoyance.

“Oh whatever, don’t tell me you suddenly have some strict moral compass,” Max replies flippantly, “you want to screw him and you know it.”

The suspense is enough of an answer. There was no lying to Max, she knew just about every deepest, darkest secret you carried.

She pulls to a stop outside the entrance, turning toward you carefully, “Also—I can’t pick you up so you’re gonna have to ask him for a ride. I love you.” She rambled it off in one breath, barely giving you time to process. “See you tomorrow?”

It’s the one fight you decide not to pick with her, because for some reason, you know it’s for your own good.

“Hey—you made it!” The familiar voice calls from behind you—Eddie, guitar case in hand, the rest of his band mates in tow. “Red.” He acknowledges, offering her a nod. “There’s parking in the back.”

“Oh—I’m not staying,” She shouts from the driver’s side, “take care of her or I’ll murder you, Munson.”

Max is pulling off before you have any last fleeting chance to run, leaving both you and Eddie at a loss for words.

“Pulled a fast one, didn’t she?” Eddie asks after a moment, gathering by your side, following you into the bar. “She’s sneaky as hell, I’ll give her that.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” You huff softly, watching your step as you crossed the threshold, hit in the face with the smell of cigarette smoke and cheap beer.

“A beaut, isn’t she?” Eddie asks sarcastically, but despite that, the bar still garnered a decent amount of attention, packed to the brim with older gentlemen—nothing like bars near campus.

“I think I found your target audience,” You joke lightly, catching the smirk that crosses Eddie’s face as you glance over your shoulder. “I’ll fit right in.”

Eddie slaps a twenty into your hand, “Here, drinks on me—since I forced you here,” You look at him reluctantly, “I don’t want to hear it.”

“I didn’t plan on drinking tonight.” You insist, forcing the bill back into his hand, “I’ll be okay.”

“You sure?” He asks, eyeing you carefully, like he’s trying to find a hint or tell, something to figure out what exactly your mind was fighting against—which right now, it was the fact that Eddie looked ridiculous with eyeliner, yet, still criminally attractive.

It’s exactly why you shouldn’t have come tonight, because whatever could happen—you weren’t sure if you had it in you to shut down.

You nod with finality. Eddie takes the money back reluctantly, stuffing it into his front pocket. He feels terrible that you have to sit there, alone—all to watch a shitty cover band play a few songs.

But to you, it was worth it.

You sit and wait, forcing away the bartender a few times until he finally gets the message, leaving you be. It’s quiet, aside from the hum of laughter and idle conversation, Eddie and his group setting up silently onstage—that impending feeling in your gut expanding further as you watch him move around, guitar strap swung over his neck, watching shamelessly as he adjusts the instrument against his body.

He catches your eyes then, sending you a cheeky smile that has you face burning on the spot—at this point, you care less about your professional relationship, if it could even be considered that.

Eddie plays with all the gusto you expect, belting out lyric after lyric on his performance high; it’s unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed. It’s hard not to compare him to his classroom demeanor, more restrained and relaxed—it was forced, that was easy to tell. But this—this was Eddie, unafraid and free to behave how he pleased, it was unfair how attractive he was, both in looks and personality. It felt like you’d know him longer than just a few weeks; months maybe? Years?

It was like hanging out with an old friend, discovering new and old things about one another; you’d spill your heart to him at a moment’s notice if he asked—and that’s why this felt so dangerous.

☆.｡.:*

“How was it?” Eddie asks as he rounds the corner, still slightly out of breath and face covered in a sheen of sweat. You hand him a napkin in silence and he laughs, but accepts the offer.

“Good,” You smile honestly, “I really enjoyed the gradual crescendo from Holy Diver into Living After Midnight—“

Eddie could kiss you on the spot, which is such a startling thought that it stops all thinking completely—you were absolutely too good to be true, it was a constant reminder every time you spoke, making him fight with this taboo feeling more and more every day.

“Do you still need a ride home?” He asks suddenly, interrupting your waterfall of compliments, “I was going to head out already.”

“Well, considering Max left me stranded,” You say with an empty bitterness, knowing that her attentions were mostly good, “yes, I do.”

Eddie nods a silent direction—and just like the first night, you follow without question.

☆.｡.:*

The foot that isn’t pressed on the gas pedal is shaking insistently, leg bouncing against the leather of Eddie’s seat, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He can hear you humming, mumbling the song on the radio to yourself, another classic—one of Eddie’s favorites, and he really can’t help himself anymore.

It was just a small, innocent indulgence. Who could it really hurt? You were both consenting, capable adults—and the worst thing you could do was turn him down, which Eddie really hoped wasn’t the case, but he was beyond caring about norms and rules, driven by the pure fact that he just wanted—wanted you, in any sense of the word.

“What are you doing?” You ask curiously, watching as Eddie searched idly through his stack of music, somehow still managing his focus on the road.

“Changing the song,” He comments simply, pushing the disc into the player—the soft synth of the song pushing through the speakers of his van, “do you know it?”

“Corey Hart, right?” You ask, taking a wild guess. You’d only heard the song once, but it was still catchy enough that it stuck around in your brain, “I didn’t picture you as the type.”

“You’d be surprised.” He comments oddly, turning the volume up slightly.

He notices the humming again, the small head bop along to the beat. “You like it.”

It’s more of a statement, rather than a question. You catch the side of his face, the small glint in his eye as he focuses back on the road.

“That's presumptuous of you,” You retort, hands twisting in your lap, “it’s alright, I guess.”

“Mind if I do a little study?” He asks hesitantly, breath catching in your throat for half a second.

“Of me?” You ask with a laugh, “I mean—if you want?”

“Your heart is racing, for one,” Eddie points out slyly, watching the rapid rise and fall of your chest as the beat picked up, chorus running through the silence that filled the air, “and you’re squeezing your hands.”

“Okay, genius,” You remark, “You’ve got eyes, good for you.”

He’s not really using his degree in this situation, it’s more of an innocent observation of the already underlying tension that Eddie couldn’t help but notice—the obvious body language giving you away. The song was just a secret favorite of his, but you didn’t need to know that, not yet.

“Mind I make one?” You ask, “An observation, I mean.”

What was the harm in it anyways? Eddie nods for you to continue.

“You’ve been shaking your leg since we left.” You point out, the bouncing coming to an abrupt stop, “and I’ve never seen you do that—ever.”

“It’s the after performance buzz.” He replies cooly, but you can’t be bothered to believe it. “It’s not that unusual.”

“Eddie—you’re making that up,” You tell him, eyeing burning into the side of his face, “what’s your deal?”

“My deal?”

“Yeah—why are you lying?” It’s a bold question to ask, heart fluttering in your chest. But, the way he looks at you has your legs crossing in frustration, squeezing together to relieve that ache growing between your legs.

“So, you want to pretend I didn’t notice that either?” He asks, eyeing the full expanse of your body before stopping on your legs, still firmly crossed in the seat, hands white knuckling each other under the long sleeves of your shirt. “Uncross your legs.”

“What? No.” You scoff, offended by his forwardness for a brief moment.

Eddie slips his hand under your knee wordlessly, prying your legs apart. You can’t help but look at him as if he’s lost his fucking mind—that doesn’t stop your legs from following his order. It made the ache that much worse.

“Don’t,” He warns hesitantly, the small shift in your leg giving you away, “it’s not gonna help.”

“Help what?” You reply dumbly, “I can’t cross my legs? Is that a crime?”

Eddie’s gaze lingers for far too long, noticing the flush of your chest and the way it creeps up your cheeks—they felt like they were on fire. In the midst of all the back and forth, it’s hard to keep focus on the main fact at play—teacher, student, your mind screaming, wrong.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

“I can help.” He makes a subtle nod toward you.

It didn’t take a genius to know what he was talking about. You were very well aware of the issue. You want to weigh your options, come up with some stupid reason to wiggle out if the situation—but nothing comes to mind. The way Eddie’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel has you digging your nails into your own thigh—you’re going to cave, you can feel it.

“Eddie.” You warn, watching as his hands lingers toward the gear shift, resting against the cracked and worn down plastic covering.

“Our secret, right?” He teases, like this whole situation wasn’t built on secrecy. You nod willingly, legs spreading a few inches wider. His fingers trail the seam of your jeans, stopping on the button, popping it open with deft fingers. “Move this way—yeah, there.”

And when his fingers breach the seam of your underwear, your mind sings a soft praise of release, watching as his hand forces its way into the tight space, leaving him no other option but to cup your cunt with his full palm.

There was no turning back now.

His middle finger drags through your folds testingly, matching the slow undulating beat of the song, like this was a game to him. You have no idea how to handle your hovering hands, too afraid to touch him, so they wrap around the headrest behind your head, fingers gripped tightly together.

Your legs spread wider, giving him better access—you were rutting into his hand at the shift of position, feeling that familiar tingle of pleasure as it shot through your body, mixed with the feeling of a bite of forbidden fruit, avoiding Eddie’s heated gaze as he shifted between you and the road.

It feels reckless and stupid, but you can’t find the courage to stop.

The first dip of his finger is like heaven, feeling unfamiliar after so long, despite how often you touched yourself, you couldn’t remember the last time there had ever been anyone else but you—not since the first summer after you graduated; freshly eighteen and naive, letting a much older man have you how he wanted—it’s uncanny, the situation your in now. But this, it doesn’t feel like that.

“Fuck—“ Your voice catches, stomach clenching at the curl of his middle finger as it slipped inside of you and back out, pace so insufferably slow, “—need more.”

“There she is,” He smiles to himself, confidence oozing in his tone, “—shit, you’re such a liar.”

It takes you a minute to realize that he’s not talking to you at all—which sends you down a different wave of emotions, pussy clenching around his lone finger, gasping at the way he curls it against the soft walls of your cunt, searching desperately for something out of reach.

“How long has it been like this?” He asks curiously.

Since the moment you met him, is what you want to say.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You reply breathlessly, back arching away from the seat, cunt pressing further against his hand as he slips a second finger inside.

At the lie, Eddie stops without warning, and it gives you a headache, that slow build of pleasure deflating immediately.

“The truth,” He says, though, it’s more of a demand, “tell me.”

And fuck, if you weren’t putty in this man’s rough, calloused hands.

“Since earlier,” You reply, rewarded with the soft brush of a fingertip over your clit, you quickly unzip your jeans to allow for more room, “when I saw you onstage.”

Eddie’s groan in response tells you everything you need to hear. He slows to a stop at a red light and it’s the first real glance you share with him the entire evening, both of you seeing straight through each other, bodies overran with pleasure.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” He says, and it seems a little late for a realization like that, you can’t help but laugh, “what—you think it’s funny?”

“You’re the one with your hand down my pants, sir.” You retort, earning a disciplined squeeze as he shoves his two middle most fingers back into your cunt, molding around him like glue.

“Sorry—I know you hate that word,” You say playfully, “But do you mind if I use it? Or, do you prefer professor?”

It was your turn to play into the guilt he was feeling, though it didn’t seem to be concerning if he still had his hands shoved down your pants so willingly.

“Shut up,” He forces out, swerving slightly at the way you cunt clenched around his fingers, insides fluttering as he curves his fingers wildly, grazing that sweet spot deep inside of you, “don’t call me that.”

His hands were larger than yours, making up for all the work you missed out on.

“Too far?” You ask teasingly, knowing that was the least of your worries; all moral lines crossed, blurred, forgotten about entirely. Eddie’s fingers pull back to graze over the sensitive nub, rubbing in small, leisurely circles, “Fuck that—that feels—“

Your moan is so unashamed that it surprises you, hips bucking up into his hands as you nearly leapt out of the seat.

Eddie can’t take the suffering much longer, pulling off onto the winding side road, tucked into a nest of trees. He unbuckles his seatbelt, allowing fuller access as he turns toward you, switching his hands with practiced ease—you couldn’t even open your eyes, face drawn up in pleasure. You knew the moment you looked at him you were done for.

“Look at me,” His voice echoes alongside the melodic tune of the song, his fingers matching the catchy beat—the damn music aficionado he was, toying with you, fingers strumming against your swollen clit like the strings of his guitar, “—I said, look at me.”

Your body works for you, eyes opening on instinct—his voice was rough, authoritative, leaving no room for argument.

“Good girl—It’s what you wanted, right?” He asks with a semblance of a smirk on his face, “It’s why you came tonight?”

You laugh weakly at his words, double entendre, unable to go unnoticed, “As far as I’m concerned, no one’s came tonight.”

His eyes darken, shifting toward your cunt, covered by your clothes, his wrist poking out above the thin material of your underwear.

“You can stop—stop acting like this is my fault,” You hiccup, gasping as he applies heavy pressure to your clit, rubbing steadily, hating how shameful it feels as your cunt clenches around nothing, wishing his fingers were still buried inside you. “Please—fuck, I just—“

All self restraint forgotten, you hand searches for his face, finding its way into his curls, pulling gently at the root, the softest hint of a grunt falling from his lips—the first noticeable sign all evening that he was even slightly affected by this—by you.

And maybe you’ve gone too far, the idea of touching him is where things go wrong, but you can’t be bothered to hold yourself together anymore.

“It’s okay,” He assures you, leaning over the middle console, hand working quickly against your cunt, moaning loudly into the confines of the car, ashamed at how wrecked you sound, “I like it.”

He must’ve noticed your expression, lingering on his face—you could do anything and he’d fall to his knees.

“It hurts—“ You plead, begging for release, “—please?”

It sounds too pretty coming from you, deciding that putting you out of your misery was easier than watching you suffer, on the verge of a mind-blowing orgasm, Eddie’s hands feeling so much better than your own, or anyone that’s touched you before.

Your mouth hangs open on a wordless gasp, eyes squeezing shut at the force at which your high hits you, his fingers gently coaxing you through the descending pulse of your orgasm, near the point of over stimulation.

“Okayokay—“ You ramble, fingers wrapping around the length of his wrist as you pulled him away, heart skipping in your chest at the sight of his fingers flexing against your stomach as he pulls away, fingers covered in your wetness as a result of what just happened.

Your head rests against the back of the seat, chest heaving rapidly as you try to catch your breath. “Not that I’m complaining—“ Eddie’s voice pulls you out of your hypnosis, “but you might wanna let go.”

“Shit—I’m sorry,” You apologize softly, letting go of his hair, looking at him sheepishly, hands returning to your lap to fix your pants.

The song had ended long ago, the gentle rumble of the engine filling the quiet like an ambiance, realization settling between you both.

Who speaks first?

He’s quiet, wiping his hands on a black handkerchief that he seemed to have pulled out of nowhere, before stuffing it into his back pocket—where it must’ve been all along.

“I’m—“

“Should I—“

The stare you hold is long and tense, brimming with even more sexual tension than before, searching for some way to cope with whatever just happened.

He glanced down at the hard bulge of his jeans, noticing the way your gaze catches. He shifts, pulling at the front of his jeans to adjust himself. “It’s fine.” He lies, not ready to allow this to go any further than it should have.

“I don’t mind,” You reply slowly, voice hesitant as you lean forward, “I want to.”

He feels himself flex at the thought, the idea of your mouth—or even your hand, wrapped around, he was ruined. But, he’s insistent.

“I need to get you back to campus, right?” He asks, though the answer is obvious. It was a grasping at straw attempt to change the subject. “Red’s probably worried about you.”

Not a fucking chance.

“Yeah—you’re right.” You answer, trying to hide dejection, wanting nothing more than to touch him, as intimately as he had you. “We should go.”

It’s like he’s turning on his classroom demeanor before your eyes—and frankly, it’s ridiculous. He’s regretting every choice he just made and you know it, watching as he flips the gear into place, back on the road with one swift twist of the steering wheel.

And it could’ve been the heat of the moment or the copious amount of drinks that Eddie had been offered that night, obscuring his rational thinking—but he didn’t reek of alcohol, not a single drop on his breath. So, if anything, it was regret, obvious and plastered over his entire face.

But to Eddie, it's shame.

Shame at the idea of breaking so many rules, risking his job at the hands of some young women—who he couldn’t help but be lured by, entranced at how much of an enigma you were. He couldn’t describe it, couldn’t even put it into words.

And even after he drops you off that night, he comes in his hand, against the soft expanse of his stomach, the image of your face in his mind as you come apart by the work of his own hand.

He knew there was no going back, allowing himself to fully succumb to the idea that if you were willing to let him have you like that, you’d let him do just about anything.

It was exactly what you wanted.

author's note: and an extra special thank you to @hellfirehoe for dealing with my nonstop horny thoughts about this and helping me proofread.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #my writing #1kfic #5kfic

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amandacanwrite · 2 months

Text

The Bear and the Fox - A Halsin x Reader One Shot

Word Count || About 6,000 Words

Scenario || You are a druid adept that has been imprisoned by Kagha for trying to stop the Rite of Thorns in Halsin's absence. He returns to find you and is none to happy to see it, especially after all you have been through.

POV || 2nd Person, ungendered tav/reader.

CW || mentions of entrapment, trafficking, self-deprecation, trauma. (Please let me know if I forgot anything.)

A/n || I have been a little stressed out and have been using this as a distraction/escape. I would appreciate so much if you all let me know what you think! Requested by the lovely @drabblesandimagines, thank you for the idea and I hope you enjoy it!! Thank you for your patience in waiting for this one!

You’re almost certain Archdruid Halsin doesn’t know you exist, but it doesn’t stop you from being devastated when he doesn’t return to the Emerald Grove from his travels to the nearby goblin camp. Even if he doesn’t remember you, you certainly have never forgotten him. Nor have you been able to wrench your heart from the grip of the merciless pining that has plagued you ever since you woke up on a pile of soft hides on the floor of his vault beneath the temple..

The truth is, Archdruid Halsin had saved you.

You’d been captured, at the time, by a troupe of traveling drow with the intention of taking you deep into the underdark to be used for whatever nefarious purposes they deigned. You were one of many captured, but the only druid in the lot.

They’d entrapped you in a cage, preventing you from even taking your wildshape to flee. They’d gone between distressing you in both forms, though. They’d seemed to have a particular talent for making you miserable, and in time you’d lost a bit of your humanity to the shape of the russet and auburn fox you often favored.

When he’d reached in to coax you out with a gentle hand, you pounced on the appendage–far too entrapped in the fear-addled mind of an animal that would sooner gnaw its own foot off than let a hunter find it caught in his leghold trap.

But he hadn’t flinched; hadn’t even grimaced as you sank your sharpened teeth into the thick flesh of his muscled forearm and tore at it. He’d simply watched calmly as you got it out of your system. When you’d realized he was an unyielding mass of man, you’d backed into the farthest corner of your kennel and cowered.

“Fear not, little one,” he’d cooed with that gentle, gravelly tone. “You are among friends now. I only wish to ensure you’re uninjured, and you can be on your way to find your mate or your burrow.”

You’d only blinked and he swapped his bleeding arm for his other one. You’d sniffed cautiously before dropping your head and your ears. He’d not needed any other sign, he’d known the way animals communicate; with gestures and body language rather than sounds.

He’d smoothed a hand over your ratty coat; it was the first kind touch you’d felt in months. You’d leaned yourself into it and he’d used the opportunity to scoop you up into his arms.

Perhaps it was at that moment that you’d fallen for him. Because as soon as you’d registered the strong and tender support of his warm, cradling arms, you’d suddenly realized how exhausted you’d been. You lost hold on your wildshape and changed back to your humanoid form, unclothed and skinny.

He’d started, adjusted his grip a little clumsily as you’d spilled out of the space he’d allotted in his arms for you; but he didn’t drop you.

“You surprised me, child,” he’d said as you’d started to drift into unconsciousness. “I’d certainly thought it was strange to go through such stringent measures for a single fox, but I see now why they’d made such efforts to keep you entrapped.”

He’d reached up to brush your tangled hair away from your face. “I can see you’re exhausted. Rest now; when you wake, you’ll be safe and warm with a meal and a warm bath awaiting you.”

He hadn’t lied, and the Emerald Grove had quickly become your home in the months and years that had passed since then. You’d seen Halsin around, of course. And he always seemed to have a smile to spare for you as you passed like swans floating in a pond. But you’d never quite been able to find a way to speak to him in private.

Perhaps it was your fault, you think, as you find yourself in a new cage, heart broken and aching as it seems less and less likely that he will ever be coming back.

You know Halsin to be strong. He’s a seven foot elf and built like the cave bear he so often likes to take the shape of. But there is only so much a single druid can do on his own, even one as competent as Halsin.

It hurts to be facing the possibility of rotting in the cells below the grove–below the place that had so much begun to feel like home for you, finally. It hurts to realize you may die here having never told Halsin how you feel about him.

But perhaps it’s better this way. Perhaps it is better to die having never faced the awkward acknowledgement of feeling that could never be returned.

Halsin has always been effusive, warm, welcoming…brave.

But there is a reason you chose the fox for your wildshape.

You have always been furtive, timid, too reliant on a single person. It has always been your nature, but you can’t deny the fundamental absurdity of the fox falling for the bear. At best, you could only be an inconvenient pest to him. You’re sure of that much.

Still…you miss the sun…you wish you could see it one more time. You’d always wanted to die bathed in the sunlight, not cold and damp in a stone chamber flooded with three inches of water. You curl into yourself, hugging your knees close, trying to remember the feeling of those warm arms around you as the Rite of Thorns continues somewhere above ground, heedless of your pleas for stalling, uncaring of the courage you’d had to summon to stand up to Kagha at all.

Kagha had never cared much for you; found you weak and miserable.

Pathetic. That was the word you’d heard bandied around when she didn’t know you were within earshot or when you were cozily cloaked by your shadows.

“You should have just kept your mouth shut,” you tell yourself.

But even you don’t really believe that. Not truly. You found kindred spirits in the Teiflings who had come to find refuge in the grove. You’d even played with the children in their little hiding spot beneath the old stone structures.

When the goblins came screaming the name of the Absolute, when Halsin left to learn more about the parasites, you’d been shocked and frightened by the sudden turn of sentiments against them and gotten swept away in your own outrage over it. As far as you’d been concerned, everyone in the grove should have been well aware of what Halsin would have tolerated. They should have known that he’d want any living being to be safe and fed–especially the children.

But it’d seemed that even the Emerald Grove druids were merely people; they were just as vulnerable to intimidation, coercion and power hunger as anyone else in Faerun.

You shiver in the cold and the dank, wishing you could get some rest so that you could take your wildshape and find warmth in the silken texture of your auburn coat.

You think of the nights curled up by the fire in Halsin’s secret cache while he allowed you a smaller space to acclimate to when you’d first arrive. You remember the feeling of large, gentle hands cradling your small, vulpine body in comfort as you slept.

It’s at that moment that you hear the scuff of loud, fast foot fall on the decrepit stairs that lead down to this sodden prison. It’s followed by heavy, hurried sloshing before, as if out of thin air, Halsin stands before you. His hands are wrapped around the thick, stone bars of your enclosure so tightly that they are white at the knuckles. His broad chest rises and falls with exertion; or is that emotion? It is hard to know.

He looks…utterly stricken. So much so that you wonder what happened to devastate him. Did he get back to The Grove to find all of the tieflings slaughtered? Did the tieflings rise up and destroy the grove before the Rite of Thorns could be finished?

He opens his mouth and you expect terrible news–expect the worst.

“A-are you alright?” is what he chokes out instead.

You’re quiet for a moment; the question not making sense to you. Why in the world would he care if you were alright? You were…nobody. A druidic adept that found much more comfort tucked into a nest of blankets than anything else. You’d failed to stop the Rite. You’d failed at almost everything in your life so far.

Has he…is it too dark down here? Does he think he’s talking to someone else?

He grits his teeth and starts to wrestle with the door to your cell.

Its mechanism is like the others in the temple; controlled by a stone tablet which should be placed in the proper slot and then activated with druidic magic. But he’s trying to use his own raw strength to open it.

“Forgive me,” he grunts as the stone actually begins to give way, heeding his command. “I should have never left you here while The Grove was tangled in so much unrest. Had I thought the Kagha…had I known–”

“Archdruid,” you stammer. “You’re going to hurt yourself–”

“I care not,” he says, his tone taking on an almost ferocious quality that has you lifting your shoulders and shrinking into yourself. “It is you I am most concerned for. You had only just begun to smile and I– because of my negligence I find you entrapped all over again.”

Your mouth drops open as you realize that he actually came down here looking for you. Specifically to find you. To save you again.

You are small; practically half the size of the archdruid. Yet, you suddenly recognize that he is trying to free you and you are just sitting there like some kind of dead fish. You stand to your feet and hurry over to the bars, grasping two of the other juts of stone and pulling it as he pushes.

You’re not sure, but for a moment you think you see the barest ghost of a smile before his teeth clench again with effort.

When the door is finally forced open a few inches, you release the stone. You roll your shoulders, shake out the tension in your hands. You will yourself to become smaller, to become lithe. You will your mouth to grow sharp, unforgiving teeth. You become vulpine.

You slosh through the water on four padded feet and dash through the opening.

For a moment, you almost flee up the stairs, ready to retreat to the fresh salty air outside. Ready to resign yourself to life as a fox.

But Halsin drops to his knees and you look at him as he looks at you.

He reaches a hand out to you, and you see the faint, silvery scars on his forearm from where you tore into him on the day you met. You sniff at him for a moment, then you shift back to your human form, carefully cradling his arm in your hands.

“Did it get infected?” you ask. “After I gnawed at you?”

His brow is low and lips turn down at the corners.

“No,” he says.

“I don’t understand,” you say. “You shouldn’t have scarred…you should have been able to simply heal yourself.”

“I was able,” he says. “But I was unwilling. I…I didn’t want to forget.”

You look up at him. “Why?” you ask.

There is the sound of chaos from up the stairs. You turn your head, letting your ears tune into the finer details of it as the quiet ambience of the water dripping and sloshing around you obscures it. As your focus narrows, you hear her.

“She’s back,” Halsin sneers. “Kagha has finally returned.”

You look at him, your eyes wide as if you’re seeing him for the first time. The expression on his face is nothing short of raw, wild fury. He is the snarl of a wolf, he is the crackle of wildfire, he is the dark promise of death in a row of pointed teeth.

He draws his arm back, stopping to take both of your small hands in his. His expression softens. “I will tell all,” he says. “But not before I punish the one who did this to you. Not before I see justice properly served for all of the disarray and cruelty enacted in my absence.”

You try to find a way to answer, but you can’t, settling instead for a dumbfounded nod.

He stands and, once at his full height, shifts the position of his hand to cradle yours; offering you help, but also offering you the chance to help yourself. You grasp that hand and he tightens the muscles of his arms as you use his strength and stability to get yourself back up to your feet.

“I am loathe to leave you down in this terrible place…but if you’re too frightened to face her…” he offers.

“I’m not…” you say. “O-or at least I won’t be…not with you there.”

He graces you with the first real smile he’s given you since he suddenly appeared before you and you think you may no longer need the sun if he can continue looking at you just like that.

“Come,” he says. “I want you to be part of this discussion.”

You follow Halsin, dwarfed in his shadow as you ascend the craggy steps, your soft leather shoes uncomfortably soggy and embarrassingly loud as you go. It feels almost surreal to be acknowledged by Halsin. Even more strange that he remembers you–that he seemed to have come to seek you out before anything else.

There are more questions than answers immediately available, and you’re not sure you’ll have the nerve to ask those questions when all is said and done.

When Halsin reaches the top of the stairs, he stops and looks back at you, giving you a calm smile as you quicken the pace of your last few steps to catch up with you.

Now that you’re in better light, his brow faintly tenses and he reaches out for you. You go utterly still as he places two of his fingertips under the very tip of your chin, using the most minute bit of pressure to turn your face.

“You’re hurt,” he says. “I didn’t see it in the darkness of the cells.”

You’d forgotten about the injury on your face–it’s not one you’d actually gotten to see before you were imprisoned, but you’d felt it throbbing for the entire day you were there.

“It’s just a bruise,” you say.

He removes his hand from beneath your chin and draws those same finger tips carefully over the curve of your brow. You wince slightly as he touches the most tender part and shakes his head.

“There’s a split in your brow,” he says. “It will scar…”

You heave a little breathy chuckle. “Perhaps it will make me look more distinguished,” you say as you meet his hazel eyes. “You certainly wear them well.”

His heartbroken expression eases up and he shakes his head, hesitant amusement on his face. “If I wear them well, then you’ll be exquisite as ever with your own,” he says. “Still–that you were hurt because of my absence–”

“The fox was caught sticking it’s nose where it didn’t belong and was appropriately punished for it,” A familiar, haughty voice interrupts. “Don’t let the little bandit fill your head with untruths.”

Halsin takes your hand in his and pulls you slightly behind him as he also moves to block you from Kagha’s sight. It’s a protective measure, but he doesn’t force you to hide. Instead, it feels like he’s asserting his position as your protector–as the protector of any who are weaker than him–while allowing your agency to remain intact should you wish to take the lead.

“I don’t want to hear about your paranoia Kagha–I’ve heard enough of it to turn my stomach,” he says, that gravelly voice gaining an almost abrasive quality. “Tell me why I shouldn’t turn you out–or hand you over the shadow druids you’ve been cavorting with?”

You watch as Kagha goes pale and your stomach churns with a dizzying mixture of nausea and fear.

The shadow druids. The order of druidic magic that lay closest to the dark. The drow, the deep gnomes, Shar. Everything that represents the terror you’d once experienced crammed into a too-small cage.

How could she? How could she want to work with them?! And then to have a nerve to call you a fox in the hen house.

“I didn’t do anything,” you say, your voice quiet but steady. “I was only looking for a way to convince you that we needn’t go through with the ritee…”

“By snooping in places you DON'T belong,” Kagha says.

“Perhaps it is you who does not belong here,” you snap.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Halsin growls. “You do not deserve to remain here, yet it is Nature who will determine what becomes of you. One thing is certain: my teachings have clearly not made the difference here. You are to start anew—be made a novice once again.”

“You can’t do that—“ Kagha starts.

“I am the First Druid in this Grove and I will do whatever I see fit to protect the people who call this place their home!” Halsin booms. “Kagha, you failed me. You failed everyone who relied on you!”

“That fox is an outsider. Ever since you pulled it in by its scruff it has done nothing but consume priceless resources and shrink into the corner like a frightened rodent. If you so crave balance—“

“Enough!” Halsin barks. “I will hear no more of this.”

“But—“ Kagha says.

“I said enough. Get out of my sight before I lose hold of my humanity and tear you to shreds,” Halsin snarled.

He says it loudly and deeply enough that it echoes in the stone chamber. Even you flinch a bit at the sudden fury coming off of him. You can almost smell it coming off of him–the adrenaline, the willingness to fight and gnash at Kagha.

Kagha has the good sense to dip her head in deference.

“Understood, First Druid Halsin,” she says.

“Good,” he says, his voice a low rumble in his chest. “Now. Apologize.”

Her head snaps up again and her gaze slides over to you, sharp as an arrowhead. The silence between you carries the same anticipatory nausea of waiting for a cobra to strike. You can sense quite well that Kagha may be properly chastened for her actions in the grove, but her opinion of you seems to remain the same.

Pathetic, you remember. That’s what you are to her.

“It’s fine,” you say. “I’m just happy to be free again.”

“No,” he commands. “It is not fine. You did what was right and were punished for it. Kagha. Will. Apologize.”

Your heart stutters and pounds in your ears. You know Halsin means well. You know he is angry on your behalf, and that he wants to see you treated kindly, but you don’t like confrontation.You think that ferocity is meant to be directed to Kagha, but you’re not entirely sure. Flashes of terror and confusion climb out of the burial ground of your mind. Memories of a cramped cage, the smell of blood, the sound of pained mewling, angry shouting in a language you don’t understand and the pain of punishment when a command you didn’t understand was not followed.

You don’t want this display; you do not want to be the vehicle of this lesson. You don’t want to rock the boat unless the situation is absolutely dire; especially now that you’ve proven just how little efficacy you have when you insert yourself into the matters of people who do not like you or simply have more investment in their own interests than in the interests of the collective. It feels like a leg snare waiting to lock down on you and you’re not sure you can escape it this time.

The tension between Halsin and Kagha sings at a tenor that pierces your ears. Or is that your adrenaline? You’re not sure. Whatever it is, your muscles are sore and aching; wound tightly and ready to spring at the first sight of danger; the first sign of movement toward you.

Halsin spares a glance your way, perhaps sensing that growing tension. Your eyes dart up to his as your body starts to tremble, not with fear, but with the urge to act. You are a small, scrappy creature locked in a stand-off with a larger predator.

His expression softens, looking almost apologetic.

“Easy, little one,” he says as he reaches his hand out to touch you.

Your mind is more feral than human by then. Just before he can actually touch you, you drop into a crouch and dart away from him, your heart hammering painfully against your sternum like an animal backed in a cage. You feel that wild urge to scratch, to gnaw, to snarl.

His expression drops into one of worry, his guilt clear in his expression and in the way he bends at the knees, lowering himself and making himself small like one might when trying to calm an injured animal.

“You are safe, dear one,” he says. “You are safe.”

You don’t believe him. It doesn’t feel safe here, not anymore. Perhaps never again.

A sound comes from behind you and you lurch forward, losing your footing on your slick, damp boots, falling hard onto the palms of your hands before you get back up to your feet and fly through the old temple and scrambling out of the door.

You simply run, your mind a blur of colors and raw, terrible fear. You can’t even register and savor the feeling of the sun on your skin or the sweet, salty breeze coming off of the lower cove. You run, and run, and run until familiar sights bleed into unfamiliar ones; until the wound up tension in your muscles gives way to trembling exhaustion.

You don’t immediately recognize where you are, but you find a little alcove tucked into a glen of oak trees, their trunks fat with age and their canopies heavy with acorns and boughs full of leaves.

The sun shines through the eaves, coloring the long grasses in deep emeralds and dappled yellow light. You sit against one of the trees, feeling the steady presence of Sylvanus as you gulp in desperate, exhausted breaths, your heart still hammering loudly in your ears. You rest your head back against the tree and close your eyes for just a moment. You breathe, and then you breathe again. Distance from the grove gives you a moment to realize just what being in that place was doing to you.

The politics, the prejudice, the precarious balance between the available resources and the people who needed them most. You always do better on your own. There’s a reason the form of a fox comes to you most naturally; they aren’t pack animals. As it so happens, apparently, neither are you.

So why had you stayed so long?

The fear of being captured again, perhaps.

Or maybe it was the Teiflings–you’d found a little group of friends among them; enjoyed sharing a drink with Dammon once in a while.

But neither of those seem to ring true for you, in reality.

No, what really seems to be the reason is the other part of foxes that makes the most sense to you.

That they tend to find a mate, have a family, and remain with them for life.

A reality you’d spent the last several years trying to avoid. Because there was only really one person keeping you at the grove. And that person was Halsin.

He’s just…

He’s everything you wish you could be.

He’s everything you wish you could have.

But you can’t. Because at the end of the day you’re just some animal, fleeing the first offer of help and biting down on the hand that feeds you. There’s regret in this moment. Regret that you will never get to inquire about the expressions on Halsin’s face; about the reasons he came to free you so quickly.

But the regret gives way to exhaustion and as you soak in the speckled rays of sunlight, feeling truly warmed for the first time in days–perhaps even weeks–you drift into a dreamless sleep.

It’s the quiet sound of metal against wood that wakes you.

The manner in which you wake is not a lurch; not an abrupt burst of movement that feels like you’re gasping for air. It’s the slow, soft blinking of an afternoon nap becoming an evening laze. In breathe in through your nose, slow and deep, faintly aware of the feeling of soft fur against your bare feet.

You feel swaddled by warmth. Wrapped in the familiar scents of clove, moss and tobacco.

You finally open your eyes and find a fire crackling before you, hemmed in by stones half-darkened by clay, as if someone collected them recently to guard the oaks from the danger of an unkempt flame.

You don’t put it together at first that you’ve been moved; specifically that you’ve been laid down within a comfortable bedroll. That the smell infused into the furs is comforting because of the man sitting not even a few feet away; the source of the sound of metal against wood.

You crane your head up to find him. Halsin Silverbough quietly focused on a block of soft wood, whittling away at it. You just watch him for a few seconds, almost dazed that he’s here with you.

“Is this a dream?” You ask.

His knife slips a little clumsily, he hadn’t noticed you were awake. He drops his hands into his lap and turns his head to smile down at you.

“Do I often visit you in your dreams, dear heart?” he asks.

Hearing that gravelly timbre and that tender pet name sets your blood on fire. You feel a flush rising to your face and you can’t keep from bringing the covers up to hide the evidence. His eyes crinkle with mirth and he lets out a pleasant, easy laugh. The easiest you’ve heard him laugh in…well, ever.

“Forgive me for laughing,” he says, setting his little project aside. “You gave me quite a scare when you ran off like that. But I suppose I can’t blame you for reacting that way…I know how hard it is for you when tension is high. Forgive me for being inconsiderate of those feelings by making you the instrument of Kagha’s repentance.”

You’re quiet for a long time, unsure what to say. You finally settle for, “How far did I run?”

His brows rise a bit and he heaves out a bit of a grumbling breath as he thinks about it. “Hard for me to ever tell how long a distance is, but we’re somewhere near the goblin camp at that old temple of Selune,” he says. “Lucky for us that I cleared it with a group of adventurers today. Otherwise, I fear I would have made things much worse for you by tackling you down before you could get too close to their camp.”

You bite the inside of your lip, trying not to imagine your body tangling with his. Your face is red enough.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you say, still beneath the covers. “I was so devastated when you didn’t come back from the goblin camp.”

“I’ve been worrying about you since I left,” he says. “I was…I wasn’t behaving calmly when I found you. I wasn’t acting in a way befitting a First Druid.”

“No one is above their own natural drives,” you say. “Anger is a natural reaction to disobedience.”

He looks at you, his brow creasing. “You think I was angry because Kagha disobeyed me?” he says.

“It’s as good a reason as any,” you say.

He inhales. Hesitates. Then inhales again before saying, “You asked me about the scars on my arm. Why I didn’t want to forget them.”

“Yes,” you say. “But then Kagha came back…”

“I know,” he says. “But I’d like to answer that question now. Now that I’m calm.”

There’s something in his gaze that feels heavy and significant. You slowly rise from your position tucked away in the bedroll, letting the furs fall away from you. You notice, now, that your damp boots have been placed on the other side of the fire to dry, along with your socks. A small act of care a lesser man may have never thought to do for you.

You turn to face Halsin and he turns to face you.

“When we found you…that day with the drow,” he says. “You…reminded me of something I went through as a young adept. A time in which I was kept as an unwilling guest in a drow lord’s estate. As time goes on, it’s easy to forget those things that have happened to me, or to minimize what I went through.

“In truth, I admired you. I admired how you snarled and gnashed at my hand when you were barely the size of my forearm. I admired the way you reached out for care when I housed you while you got back on your feet…for a while I feared that you were never going to heal. But then I realized that you were strong in a different way…in a way that I was not.”

“I’m not strong,” you say, shaking your head.

“You are,” he insists. “Strength is not only measured in brute force. It’s not measured in violence and demands and power. It’s in how you wake up every day, how you rise out of your bed and try to be better than the day before. What I experienced…I shoved it deep down inside of me until the pain was forgotten, but I watched you facing yours every day.”

You’re shocked to hear this, because in your recollection you struggled each day. In the beginning, you were frightened of everyone and everything, and the only thing that allowed you to function at all was the desire to be worth the effort Halsin made in saving you.

“Then…then I learned of you trying to stop the Rite of Thorns, and of you winding up imprisoned again in the very place you should have been safest,” he says, his anger a quiet undercurrent as he remembers newly. “I was so terrified that you would fully retreat back inside yourself, but then you stood and put your small hands on the stone door, snarling at your entrapments just as you were that day I met you.”

You remember his smile, a brief flash when you came to help.

“Am I still strong if I run away from the grove?” you ask.

“You wish to leave?” he asks.

“...I’ve realized, Halsin,” you say, your voice quivering. “I’m not well suited for the social hurdles involved with remaining with the druids…and that the only reason I’ve stayed is because…”

You swallow tightly, words lodging in your throat. Halsin is silent, ever patient as he waits for you to speak.

“Halsin, I have loved you for some time now, I think,” you say. “I know that I am young and that I can’t hope to compete with your past lovers or even the braver druids back at the grove. I know that you hardly have the time for romance, and that even if you did, you likely wouldn’t spend that precious time with me–”

“Hah…you sound so certain,” he says, his voice quiet and contemplative.

It’s your turn to be silent, now. You bring your gaze up to meet his again and he is smiling so gently at you. “The only reason,” he says finally, “the only reason that I have not invited you to my bed is that I didn’t want to cause you inadvertent harm by placing pressure on you that you wouldn’t have the resolve to deflect. I didn’t want to risk my position as the first druid making you feel as if you couldn’t say no to me.”

You blink, the world coming to a screeching halt around you.

Halsin…wants you? You?

You shake your head, feeling your face begin to blaze like you’ve come down with a fever.

“Well, I suppose it’s moot,” you say. “I can’t expect you to leave the Emerald Grove with me.”

“You don’t have to,” he says. “I’ve already left.”

“What?” you say.

“Did you think I packed a bedroll and a pack just to come retrieve you?” he says through a chuckle before he heaves out a rough sigh. “No, truth be told, my heart, I have long become disillusioned with my place among the druids in the grove and with you and the ache of old pains, I can no longer say that my heart is fully in it. The adventurers who released me…they are making their way to the shadowlands and I hope that if I join them, I can undo an old failure from a century ago. Finally heal the ache instead of simply avoiding it. I’m hoping that I can be more like you.”

You feel breathless for a moment, even more so when his eyes lock on yours.

“It will be frightening, my love,” he says. “The shadow curse makes the underdark look like a stroll after midnight. But if you still feel the way you’ve told me you do and if you can trust me to continue protecting you, I would have you in my tent with me greeting each day together.”

You don’t speak, not because you’re uncertain, but because you want to savor this moment.

Halsin loves you.

The bear has fallen for the fox.

And he wants you by his side.

It is the purest bliss you have ever felt. You think you could die happily in the shadow cursed lands if it is a sacrifice you make for him.

You will protect him.

And he will protect you.

“Dear heart,” Halsin says, his nerves coming through his voice. “You torture me by keeping me in suspense. Please know if you don’t wish for this you needn’t agree. I know what I ask of you is–”

“I’m going with you,” you say freeing him from the discomfort you’ve resided in for years. “Of course I’m going with you, Halsin.”

The smile he gives you is nothing short of miraculous.

“Nature blesses me with you,” he says. “Now come here, I need to enjoy you before I take you to meet the others. I have waited so very long for the opportunity, and I have until nightfall to make good on it, if you will have me.”

The image of your body tangled with his appears in your mind’s eye again. You rise to your feet and stride over to him, slipping your fingers into his wild hair. He cups the back of your thigh with a large hand before coaxing you to sit on his lap.

Where he kisses you for the very first time.

May the oak father bless you with countless others.

Taglist|| @itty-bitty-dancer @thoughts-of-bear @tryingtowritestuff24 @drabblesandimagines @soupaisu @ladyoakenshield157 @ladytesla @incrediblethirst @baldurs-gate-simp @themidnighttiger @rayskittles33 @hippiewrites @whisperingwillowxox @ethereal-sk1es @cosywinterevenings @themartiansdaughter @brain-has-left @any59 @madwomansapologist @midnightmoonytales @unaliveoni @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @kellerybird @tiedyedghoulette @jenn-duncan @thelittledoe @esotericeribos @robingreysantos @erwinmybeloved @itdobe-foggy @witchywannabe3263 @kaimxri @cryingoverpixelsetc @theoriginalannoyingbird

#writing community #writers on tumblr #writing #authors #writeblr #my writing #romantasy #historical fantasy #bg3 fan fic #halsin x tav #halsin x reader #bg3 #bg3 halsin #halsin silverbough

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azure-cherie · 29 days

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PAC : Who of the nine Greek muses do you embody ? A message from the muse

➪Pile : 1-2-3 ☟︎︎︎ 4-5-6 ☟︎︎︎ 7-8-9

Hii loves how have you been , I'm back again with a reading, I hope you enjoy this please choose with your intuition and take what resonates , Reblogs, comments feedbacks everything is highly appreciated ❤️

If you liked this and would like to book or would want a bigger reading on the same topic :

Masterlist , paid readings , paid readings 2

Pile 1 :

Muse of music and lyric poetry

Channelled messages: " let go of societal restraints " , " paint the canvas of your life , write a poem about a wall " , " often see yourself as an ancient women of honour " , " feed the doves "

She comes forth to tell you about your potential how you're a very meditative being , you are so good at chanelling and you should do it more often , ask her to be your guide and write down all that comes through to you flow in your thinking and the ideas that come forth

Lean more into the devotional aspect of your life , see everything with the vibration of love. The trees the humans the animals , devote more into self love and worship the gods you already do .

Learn the right way to connect to the moon , you're in your journey and this is one of the crucial times , you're almost at the end of a karmic cycle stay stiff and strong

Don't get into arguments , if you do have mishaps with someone , lean into releasing the anger through creating music or producing tunes .

Take practical approaches to life , if someone says no to you do the thing on your own , your guides are always taking care of you .

Pile 2 :

Muse of dance and choral poetry .

Channelled messages : " learn about the folk music and dances where you stay " , " when in the blues play the beats " , " give more to the society in forms of art " , " start the YouTube channel"

Your devotion towards your deity or your guides is really admirable and that is something that's one of your best qualities people online or in person admire your liking towards a deity you inspire them .

The calmness of mind that can be attained through yoga is something she wants you to do , imagine a blue beam of light when you meditate , she tells you to connect to your primordial life form your soul .

Know about the necessary sacrifices one has to do in their life , your sacrifices now will bring you rewards later , don't fall for instant gratification

Abundance is soon to come in your life but work on cultivating a sense of detachment towards money , obsession ruins everything.

There might me a rock bottom moment in your life soon , she asks you to remain in your path as a human and as a soul take the lessons and move on soon you will alchemize your pain into passion and glory . You transform everything you're a becon of light .

Pile 3 :

Muse of hymns and sacred poetry

Channelled messages : " Levitate " , " dream big " , " nice downtown tshirt " , " the life that one has is a sum and minus of that they do "

If you're interested in writing do it , there might be an opportunity approaching you soon in this sector , though there's a warning about a setback if you don't take the opportunity at the right time don't worry you'll do great believe in the power of wishes.

You might rekindle a childhood bond on the basis of liking of movies or songs .

Business sector might have new opportunities your fortune is about to change you're gonna have the power to do what you want in your life because you're the creator of it , your destiny is now on hold make the best use of free will.

Connect more to the oceans and moon , fireflies etc , be in nature more and stay grounded .

Honour your soul by serving the temple you're in your own body , take care of your body give it ample rest and food .

Pile 4 :

Muse of tragedy

Channelled messages : " Dwelling on past has no rewards " , " crazy is as good as the sane" , " time flowes and glows and you grow "

Don't choose a hard life away from your desires because you're scared of disappointing people your path is enlightened more as you connect more to yourself .

Give into dark feminine energy and live in your truth , if you remain often confused or scared work on your root chakra .

Connect more to your guides through paintings and leave offerings of metal , feathers , corn etc

It's time to finally shine you're going from the hermit to an influencer you're gonna be famous it might start small but it will build up .

Keep away from external influences that stop your growth drop bad friends and family .

Pile 5 :

Muse of love poetry

Channelled messages: eat healthy and enriching foods , read about the love you already behold , the depths of see are beautiful and so is your heart of depth.

Abundance in the sector of love is coming soon you're gonna make the haters jealous , might even win a pagent or competition.

You might have felt Beauty is your curse but life's gonna show you how it's not you're gonna be so hight so uplifted I see you shining like a star

One has to prepare for glory start by saying affirmations and working on your third eye and root chakra .

Read more about lovers from mythology like Persephone Hades , Aphrodite ares , Radha Krishna etc

The boons served by the goddess are yours to keep and no one can question that , you're being divinely blessed and you'll be happy and dancing soon .

Pile 6 :

Muse of comedy and Idyllic poetry

Chanelled messages: Search for the small joys, poppies , these boots are meant for walking , spring equinox fairy

There's a confirmation in case you wanna go for the acting sector , this sector will require a lot of hardwork .

There's also a warning regarding someone in your job your boss or your guru they might take credit for some assignment you did beware and if possible say no because that thing might get your superior a promotion

You are to search bliss in satisfaction about what you already have the moon is to be admired by you the power to be soked it , are you ready for the full moon .

You're intelligent and people really admire you for that , gemini energy.

Move in your life in your true path of light don't be afraid or dim your light , your aura might have hints of white colour .

Pile 7:

Muse of epic poetry

Chanelled messages: Blow the bubbles up , get into kitchen witchery, Artemis , cry me a river

Don't give people the benefit of the doubt if you don't like someone let them go .

Fame is eminent in your energy, life coaches might help you , your aunt is giving you good guidence follow her .

Do your school projects and specially eat tangerine and other fruits that make you feel happy

Serve the world and create peace each small step is a long one in the collective , small things create big impact do your part and be sure of the effects .

Moon water energy and full moon is great for you to invite luxuries in your life , ground your root chakra and connect to your third eye your ancestors will be sending you messages.

Pile 8 :

Muse of astronomy

Chanelled messages: Fly me to the moon , peals and sandbox , honesty is the best policy , go go cheerleader

The first message for you is to balance all your chakras it's crazy my oracle deck pulled all chakra cards omg I feel like there soon will be a kundalini awakening for you

You're almost in your last stage of awakening get into the cosmic dance of life your life is about to change , abundance is coming

Hard message to get through but someone in your relationship might be cheating or there might be someone who has an eye on your partner and might try to frame them . Only for some people

Listen to your higher self write a letter to them

Your path from now on is of the hermit it might be lonely but it's worth it discoveries are on your way in fields of history, psychology, quantum mechanics etc.

Pile 9 :

Muse of history

Chanelled messages: 13 missed calls , glow up is loading , search in the Egyptian archives , glow and peach coloured cheeks

The number six is significant, also specifically for someone there's this person who is delaying your glow up by doing some nasty as spell , might be a close friend

You are ignoring some signs from the universe , they're coming again and again and you're ignoring it look into it closely , you're elevating in your consciousness.

Your energy levels are high and you're matching ahead in your journey setbacks are never the end the sheer power of desire iss enough to keep going .

You're slowly climbing the stairs of life to become confident and assertive you might even call upon a partner soon who is very sure about themselves.

You should plant more trees and learn about them about their origination etc , i specifically get about Tulsi and the lore behind it . Some others would be eucalyptus, basil and marigold.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this

Have a great day/ night ♥️🌹

#pacreading #pac tarot #pac readings #pac #pick a card tarot #pick a picture #pick a photo #pick a card reading #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot card reading #tarot reading #tarot deck #tarot cards #tarot community #tarotblr

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sweetchildcloud · 2 months

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How Alastor would be as a boyfriend/lover

Pairing: Alastor x A!Reader

Tags:fluff,cute,maybe OOC?[out of character],kisses,pecks,snuggling.

P.S: this is my first time writing about Alastor so im sorry if its not good :/

A/N: this picture is how Alastor will look at his SO and nobody can change my mind

Alastor is a very devoted lover and would often do thoughtful and charming things for you like leaving flowers on your doorstep (even tough you both stay at Hazbin Hotel in the same room) or cooking elaborate and delicious meals for you.

He never really strayed from his polite, elegant demeanor or charmingly cocky smile, and seems to truly care for you a great deal. (everyvone at the hotel will always look at you with a stunned look because the radio demon actually fell in love with someone?)

You loved how sweet and kind he was to you and how charmingly adorable he was as well.

He would often shower you with gifts (of stuff you like) and affection like holding hands and quick pecks on the cheek.

You can always rely on him to lift up your spirits whenever you felt down.

You two had a very healthy and happy relationship and brought out the best in each other.

When you two got home [Hazbin Hotel] from dates, you would often watch anime together[the most gruesome ones the better] while snuggling and discussing the episodes.

You especially loved how he would let you hold his fluffy tail and play with it whenever you wanted to and you would always told him how fluffy it felt [obviously in the privacy of your own room,who wants to see the all mighty and scary radio demon...being cuddles by their SO with his tail? probably killing them on spot so that they will not tell anyone]

He would make you hot chocolate and bring blankets to cuddle with on cold days.

On holidays like Valentines day, he would get you elaborate boxes of chocolate covered strawberries, and take you on romantic walks in the forest of his room where the two of you would hold hands, talk about your dreams and hopes, and enjoy the beauty of nature together.

His ears would flatten whenever he was in a playful mood, and they certainly seemed very fluffy. They often brushed against your face whenever he leaned close, and the feeling of his soft ears against your cheeks always made you smile.

Alastor would often let you play with his fluffy ears and would sometimes rub you head affectionately adding a peck on the cheek in return. His ears were soft and adorable to pet, and you really enjoy stroking and touching them whenever he let you. [I LOVE WHEN HIS EARS FLICKERS LIKE UGHHH]

Whenever you two have a disagreement and you start arguing, he becomes very calm and stoic. He is not easily provoked and is able to keep his composure even when you are angry and arguing at him. He never raises his voice or shouts at you, and rarely even scolds you. Instead, he listens to you calmly, tries to see your point of view and eventually tries to find a solution that works for both of you. He is a patient and understanding partner who values harmony and communication.[since he's the radio demon and stuff and radio is communicating trough words]

He recognizes that arguing and fighting is natural in any relationship, but he also realizes that it is not the best way to resolve issues. Instead, he seeks to find common ground with you and to find a compromise that works for both of you. He is also quite good at apologizing when he made mistakes, and is willing to accept his share of the blame whenever the issue was on his end as well.

But in situations where things escalate and you start to get overwhelmed and emotional, he will immediatly stop and comforting you and try to calm you down in a gentle manner. He will be very understanding and comforting, stroking your hair and holding you tightly, whispering soothing and calming words into your ear and even offering to make you a cup of hot tea.

Alastor is very protective of you, since he had developed a very deep and abiding love for you. He is quick to defend you from others and will do whatever it takes to protect you.

He is a very powerful demon and when he is very angry or feels that someone has hurt you, he becomes very vicious and ruthless.

He has a fierce temper when he fels that anyone threatens to harm the ones he cared about, you most of all. The thought of someone even attempting to harm you incensed him and filled him with a burning rage. This trait is one of the things that you loved about him as you feel secure and safe with him.

When Alastor is upset or angry, his smile never fades from his cheeks but it shifts into a psychotic grin that frightens many,but not you. His eyes become hollow and cold, his breathing becomes rapid and his grin seems even wider than before. He gives off an air of menace and it is clear he is about to go on the attack. In this state, He often seems unhinged and out of control, but it is clear he still remains calculating and calm underneath. This state of his is frightening to many other demons, who tend to avoid him when he is like this.

When you're sick, he does his best to take care of you. He will cook you hot soup, brew you tea, bring you fresh water bottles and even rub your back and wipe your forehead to keep you comfortable. He is very attentive and caring when you are feeling ill and he will do everything he can to help you recover quickly and smoothly.

He will also do his best to entertain you while you are in bed, showing you all his favorite movies or programs [on his old tv],radio talking, joking around to make you laugh and even reading all the best books to you. [he will end up falling asleep cradling you on your bed,the radio will play 30' music,as Charlie gasps soflty saying how cute the two fo you looked as Vaggie tries to drags her gf away to do not disturb you.]

i hope you liked this and if you want more tell me and if you have doubts or questions if in the era of Alastor there were TVs, yes there were TVs at that time as the first TV was created in 1927 and he was killed in 1933.

i think Alastor would love old tvs unitl 1970 or 1980 because the others will remind him of Vox XD.

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 7 months

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Practice On Me — Part Four — Azriel x Reader

Summary: It’s Solstice! Reader decides she should probably be honest with Azriel about some stuff. Things don’t quite go to plan.

Oof. Okay. This could be uncomfortable reading for some. There are some hints and depictions of domestic abuse and also of alcoholism, so if that’s something that might trigger you, please, please do not read this. The last thing I want is for my writing to be harmful to anybody. Read with caution. Take care and put yourself first. Lots of love.

Also, please don’t hate me for this 😭we know I’m a hoe for angst and it wouldn’t be one of my fics if there wasn’t some sprinkled in there lmao.

Word Count: 5k.

Warnings: Depiction of abusive behaviour. Heavy drinking. Some violence.

On a brisk winter morning, when the sun hasn’t yet graced the sky, the last place you wish to be is at the Windhaven crèche, watching over a group of tired, grouchy younglings. Every second thought that passes through your mind is a longing one, lamenting on how desperately you wish to be back in your bed.

But alas, you owe your friend, Vegha, a favour, making you the sole minder of ten restless little girls, all annoyed that their brothers get to join their fathers for training, while they have to stay back and be…girls. A downfall, according to most Illyrian males.

You’re supposed to be watching over them for a couple of hours while Vegha runs an errand. And that time is going very, very slowly.

You’re in the middle of reading a storybook — and, yes, doing all the voices — when the door opens behind you. You feel a glimmer of hope that perhaps Vegha is back earlier than planned, but when you swivel on the child-sized chair you’ve perched yourself on, it’s Azriel who looms in the doorway.

And you…your heart does a silly little thing in your chest.

“Don’t let me interrupt.” He says. “I can wait.”

Your eyebrows flick up in amusement. “Come take a seat, then. It’s story time.”

His lips twitch, and he goes to reach for one of those infant chairs — which you’re not at all sure can handle all his muscle — but this sparks a flurry of complaints from the girls, who all insist that they want to sit with Azriel the most, and within seconds, he’s cross-legged on the floor with the children somehow managing to settle around him without bickering, and they’re all able to command his attention at once.

Happy mediums, and all that.

Your gaze lingers on him as he does all the right things; leaning his head down so he can appear less…huge, while listening with rapt attention to one of the girl’s chattering; steadying another one as they climb over him to get themselves seated; gently telling them all that they have to be quiet if they want to hear the rest of the story. That, of course, achieves immediate near silence.

And thus begins an entire performance of you continuing the tale, and the girls — and Azriel — responding in all the right places. They howl when they’re supposed to make the sound of a wolf, and roar when it’s a mountain cat, and you don’t miss that Azriel helps the tiniest of the girls to remember which animals make what sounds.

Most males in this gods-forsaken place are an intimidating presence to these children, frightening them into silence whenever they’re around, because girls are supposed to be seen and not heard. But Azriel is always gentle, always kind, and they adore him for it.

It’s a combination of all these things that force you to face a truth that’s been rapidly snowballing inside your mind and heart for the past four days — something has changed. Shifted. Has been shifting and changing for a while.

You laid awake for hours that night in the dormitory, listening to Azriel’s breathing as he slept deeply, happily sated from the pleasure you’d given him. Your mind had been too much of a war zone for you to drift off.

Nine years, you’ve called this male your closest friend. Ever since the very first day you’d met him, when a group of males had pushed you to the floor and kicked mud at you, and he’d jumped in and defended you for no other reason than that he’s good to the bone. Nine years, you’ve been by each other’s sides, and it’s been comfortable and familiar and just…right.

But now — now, you think you may have jeopardised that all by going along with Azriel’s request for help. Help with kissing. Touching. Experiencing.

You’ll always want to help him in any way that you can, of course. But you didn’t quite anticipate the predicament you now find yourself in. That you want all of those things and more, not just under the ruse of building your friend’s confidence. You want to explore more with him, feel more with him. You’ve been able to think about nothing else for days.

And it might make you a total wretch, but you want Kaeda to be a distant memory. The thought of Azriel taking what you’ve shown him, shared with him, and putting his all into somebody else…it sours your stomach. Makes you feel sick.

Makes your heart hurt.

And, well, you’re fucked, really.

It’s a kind of hurt that won’t go away on its own. It isn’t avoidable nor ignorable. And so your only option is to confront it, be honest about it. Whatever the outcome may be.

The story comes to an end, and the girls are calmed and sleepy enough that they look ready to curl up on the floor and doze off. Azriel peels himself away from the cluster of clingy children and stands up, strolling over to you.

“Well that was fun.” He comments quietly, taking the book from your hands. “Who knew I was so adept at doing animal impressions?”

“One of your many talents, I suppose.” You smile, drinking in the sight of him. He looks tired this morning. Tired, but beautiful. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

His expression sobers slightly, and he tells you, “We’re leaving this morning. For the training exercise.”

Immediately, your stomach churns. Being away from your friends sets you on edge. Windhaven is a lonely, lonely place to be without the love of Rhys, Cassian and Azriel to warm you. And not even Rhys’s mother is here to make it a little more bearable.

Az immediately recognises the bleakness that passes your face. He steps closer, his hand a gentle brush against yours. “I’ll be back for Solstice.” He reminds you yet again.

“I know.” You attempt to force an easy, breezing smile. “What’s the plan for Solstice, anyway?”

Normally, Rhysand’s mother would cook a meal in the cottage. You wouldn’t be able to attend, given that you’re always stuck at home with your father, but by the time he would pass out drunk, you’d sneak out and make it to the cottage just as the games were starting. Some of your happiest memories are of being curled up on one couch with Az, Rhys and his mother on the other, and Cassian stood in front of you, making a terrible attempt at playing charades.

But it’ll be different this year. With the High Lord keeping a tight leash on his pregnant mate in Velaris, there will be no meal, no charades. You, Azriel and Cassian would most certainly not be welcome at their intimate family celebration.

“Rhys will spend the day in Velaris.” Az tells you. “Cass and I will be getting drunk. There’s a celebration being held at the dormitories in the evening, so I suppose we’ll all end up there.”

You dip your chin. “I’ll come and find you there, then.”

His responding smile is a gentle one; one that says he sees right through you, right through to the panic that’s eating away at you, and he understands.

There’s no way he sees everything that you’re feeling, though. Perhaps that’s a good thing.

Your body goes slightly rigid as he dips down and presses a kiss to your forehead. His hand squeezes yours, and then he’s pulling away. “See you on Solstice.”

He bids a quiet goodbye to the dozing girls. It’s as he’s heading for the door that you find yourself stepping after him. “…Az?”

He turns, hand on the doorknob. “Yes?”

“There’s…something I need to talk to you about, when you get back. Something I need to tell you.”

Okay. Shit. You’re really doing this.

Azriel’s eyes rake over you, and then he smiles. “We’ll talk on Solstice.”

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Your head’s not all there today, as you stare out of the window of your father’s forge. Azriel and the others have been gone almost a week, and you’ve spent every one of those days thinking about how you’re going to tell him…whatever it is you’re going to tell him.

You’re not even certain, yourself.

Just that…that things are different. That you know, to begin with, that this was about him and Kaeda — but it’s shifted in your brain at an alarming rate, and now that you’ve shared something so…so meaningful, with him, you’re not sure you can go on acting as though it was all just a favour.

Yeah. That should do it.

And it’s a huge fucking risk, of course. There’s every chance he won’t return the sentiment, and then a giant wedge of unresolved feelings will exist between you.

But you need to — perhaps selfishly — confront this before things between him and Kaeda progress. In case there’s a slight chance that it’ll alter the path it’s heading down.

And you haven’t thought any further than that.

The snow has started again, and you watch the flurries sweep past the window and join the thick layer on the ground. You’ve become so accustomed to the noise of the forge that you hardly notice it anymore — not the constant clanking, nor the heat that the fires swathe the shop in. You used to beg your father to teach you his craft, to allow you to get stuck in and get your hands dirty, but he’s always stubbornly maintained that it’s a male’s job, and that he needs you for the bookkeeping. You’re surprised he trusts you with that.

You breathe a soft sigh, your thoughts once again flitting back to Az. To what he might be doing, thinking, feeling. Whether he misses you as much as you miss him.

But before those thoughts can take a hold of you and sink you deeper into your predicament, the door opens, the bell above it ringing and a gust of cold air momentarily biting you.

It’s rare for females to come to the forge. Very rare, indeed. Which is why, for a second or two, you just stare.

That — and because she’s incredibly beautiful.

Her eyes — the colour of emeralds — sweep the workshop, before landing on you, and she smiles. She has the telltale tanned skin of an Illyrian, but instead of the dark hair that’s so typical around here, hers is red — not orange, not auburn, but blood red. You’ve never seen a shade quite like it.

And if that’s not enough to completely bowl you over, your gaze rakes over her clothing, and you stop, stunned.

Females around here wear homespun dresses of simple brown shades. A few, like yourself, favour basic tunics and breeches. Clothing is just a necessity, not something you lend much thought to.

But this female wears Illyrian leathers. Never, in your life, have you seen females wear Illyrian leathers. It’s simply not a done thing.

But she looks resplendent in them.

They cling to supple curves and accentuate a figure that you don’t think you’d ever be able to achieve with any amount of training. And perhaps the most shocking thing of all — and the most enviable — is the presence of brilliant, beautiful wings at her back. Unclipped. Untouched. Unruined.

How your wings might have one day looked, had your father not destroyed them.

You’re not entirely convinced that an angel hasn’t just stepped into your father’s forge. Or perhaps this is the Mother that everyone worships. Part of you wants to worship her, too, and beg her to bestow upon you her blessings—

You snap yourself out of it before you can fall head-over-heels in love with her. She’s just a customer.

A very, very beautiful customer.

“Good day to you.” She says, approaching the counter. Her voice is like pure music.

You incline your head in greeting. “And to you. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I’m interested in having some gifts made for my father and brothers. For Solstice.”

Once again, you’re gawking.

Another thing that’s unheard of; females liking their family members enough to have gifts made for them.

You clear your throat, blinking out of your thoughts. “What…what kind of things were you looking for?”

“Personalised daggers.” She answers, and then she grins in a way that makes you want to tell her your life story, and leans closer. “A male can never have too many daggers, right?”

You breathe a laugh. It doesn’t sound natural. “Absolutely.”

“I’ll be needing three. One for my father, and one each for my two brothers. Can that be done in time for Solstice? I can pay extra…”

This female has beauty, leathers, wings, a relationship with her family members, money. She’s magnificent. A few exchanged words, and you’re awed by her.

Who is she? How have you never seen her before?

“It can be done.” You tell her with a flustered smile. “I’ll just need to sit with you and get some details of exactly what you want made, and then my father will get straight to it. I imagine they’ll be ready for collection by Solstice Eve.”

Her eyes light up in a way that reminds you of sunrise. “That’s perfect.”

There’s a second or two where you just…can’t help staring. Her beauty has knocked you speechless.

But once again, you snap yourself out of it and try to retain some semblance of professionalism.

“Can I take your name down?” You say, and clear your throat again. Gods, you hope you’re not blushing. “For the order.”

You grab a piece of parchment and a pen, hoping you’ll remember how the fuck to write.

“It’s Kaeda.” She says, and the pen nearly slips from your hand. “Kaeda Baralas.”

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Solstice morning sweeps in just as abruptly as the fresh onslaught of snow that once again batters the camp.

It’s going to be a rough one. You can feel it in your bones.

You dread it every year, but this year is made even worse by the constant stream of thoughts that have been plaguing you over the last week. About whether telling Az about your feelings is a good idea. Not just because of what it could do to your friendship, but because…

Because you can’t deny that since seeing Kaeda in the flesh, you’re doubting yourself more than ever.

Of course, you can see why Azriel would want her. And why he’d want to be good and experienced for her. And you…you’ve been facilitating that. You’re the practice dummy. Kaeda is the real thing.

At least the chaos of Solstice keeps you busy.

You wake early, and from the noise and foot traffic outside your bedroom window, you know Az’s unit has safely returned from their training exercise. Your relief is short-lived, replaced by the dread of your father hitting the bottle.

Every year is the same. You spend the day trying to focus on your preparation of the huge meal you’re expected to cook, while your father knocks back drink after drink and gradually gets rowdier. You tell yourself that the more he drinks, the better — he’ll fall asleep eventually, and you’ll be out of here.

But then the front door bursts open.

It’s four of your father’s friends who pile into your cramped home, singing at the tops of their voices and reeking of booze. You’re only just able to stop one of them knocking a pot of potatoes off the counter with a careless, wayward wing. They barely acknowledge you, filing through to the sitting room to greet your father. Their voices get louder, and an ache is building behind your eye.

Day bleeds into late afternoon. You try to ignore them, to focus on the task at hand. Cooking is usually enjoyable for you, but with an unwelcome party happening in the next room, you find yourself getting more and more stressed.

By the time your father bustles his way into the kitchen and begins sniffing around the food, you’re close to losing it.

“Isn’t it ready yet?” Your father rudely demands.

You stare out of the kitchen window, at the dwindling light of approaching evening, clenching your jaw. “It is. I’m waiting for your friends to leave.”

“They’ll be eating with us.”

You whirl on the spot. “We don’t have enough food for that.”

“I told you we’d have guests.”

No, he absolutely hadn’t. This is a power play. He does shit like this all the time. Backs you into corners.

“I bought food for two people.” You snap, unable to stop yourself. “Not six.”

Your father’s nostrils flare. You know that look on his face a little too well — the one where his cheeks redden and his eyes turn cold. It’s always, always made your stomach lurch.

He steps closer, and you press your back against the counter, trying your utmost not to look intimidated.

“You’d better rectify that, hadn’t you?” His tone is deceptively gentle. “Be a good girl and find a way to make the food go around six people. You wouldn’t want to ruin Solstice.”

It’s a veiled threat. One you’d be wise not to ignore.

So you stare at him and he stares at you. And when he eventually nods and leaves the room, you turn and try to work out how to make a meal for two a meal for six.

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The mountain of a male beside you jostles your chair so violently that you almost fall out of it.

His hand grabs a roast potato from your plate. He shoves it into his mouth, chews, and grins. “You weren’t going to eat that, were you?”

The entire meal has been like this.

Perhaps it’s your ice-thin temper that has you staring him right in the eye; a thing many Illyrian males consider a great disrespect from females. “Would it matter if I was?”

He swallows and swipes the lone, remaining potato you hadn’t planned to touch. “Not really, no.”

The dinner is usually the only part you enjoy of Solstice. A meal that you spend hours perfecting, of slow-cooked meat and roasted potatoes and a colourful array of different vegetables that are cooked to perfection. It’s the one part of the day where you can just sit and breathe, because even your father doesn’t usually have a bad word to say about the meal you’ve presented.

This one has been pure, unadulterated hell.

To accommodate your unwanted guests, you’ve skimped on your own food, barely affording yourself a couple of mouthfuls. Wine and ale has been spilled across the table, and the conversation around it has only grown more and more uncomfortable — and vile — as the night has worn on. You want nothing more than to get out of here and find your friends, but your father and his cronies show no signs of slowing down.

You sit, staring emptily at the plates, the little remaining morsels of the meal you spent all day cooking. You try to block out the laughter and jeering, the disgusting comments, the blatant disrespect, but it’s all getting to you, riling you up. You’re not sure how long you’ll last without snapping.

Your answer comes when your father looks at you. And he snaps his fucking fingers at the finished plates.

“Clear this up, Y/N.” He says.

You know your father. You know what he can be like, the damage he can do. Your ruined back is evidence enough. And you know the wisest and safest thing is for you to comply and rant about him to your friends later.

But you’re far beyond that point.

You meet his gaze, and your jaw ticks as you shoot back, “Why don’t you clear it up yourself?”

You regret it the second the room falls deathly silent. All the noise is gone in an instant. Every face is looking your way.

But it’s your father’s face you’re concerned with. The expression that tells you you’ve made a grave, grave mistake.

“What was that?” His voice is quiet. Too quiet.

You look away. Wish you could cram the words back down your throat. “Nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing.” The male beside you sneers. “You speak to your father like that, girl? If you were my child, I’d string you up by the remains of those wings you never should have been born with.”

“I’d do a lot worse than that.” Another one remarks, a sickening laugh in his voice.

Throughout it all, your father is staring at you. Saying nothing.

“Did it hurt, anyway? Having them ripped off like that? I bet it did. I hope it did.”

Your final straw is when the pig at your side has the audacity to reach around and touch your back. You tense immediately, and you’re shooting up from your chair, knocking it over as you do.

“Don’t ever lay a finger on me again.” You will your voice to be stronger, firmer, but it won’t comply. You shake as you gather the plates up in your hand. “I’m cleaning this up.”

That’s met with a chorus of laughter, a pelting of comments. You tell yourself to block it out, block it the fuck out, balance as much as you reasonably can in your hands and book it into the kitchen. You dump the plates onto the counter and grip onto the sink basin, trying to draw in deep, slow breaths.

But then there are footsteps behind you. And the kitchen door closes. And you know that’s not good.

“Y/N.”

Your eyes shutter. You release one of those useless breaths before you dare to turn and face your father.

And when you do, his face is…soft. Eyes filled with concern.

But you’re not stupid enough to buy it.

You’re taut as a bowstring as he approaches you, stopping inches away. He drinks in the sight of you, tilting his head. You wait for him to tell you that you look just like your mother — a fact that only contributes to his vitriol. As if it’s your fault that she abandoned him, abandoned both of you.

He thinks it is.

His hand touches your cheek, his thumb sweeping the skin there. You swallow, hoping he can’t feel the way you tremble beneath him.

“What’s gotten into you, my girl?” He asks quietly. “What did I say about not ruining Solstice?”

You swallow. Lower your gaze. “I thought it would just be the two of us.”

“Do I not have the right to invite my friends into my home?”

“I’m just saying that a little bit of warning would have been appreciated. I didn’t spend hours cooking a meal just for your friends to come along and ruin it.”

“Your attitude has become insufferable. Perhaps it’s those three males you’ve been spreading your legs for. Giving you too much of an ego boost.”

You almost want to laugh in his face — laugh at his cluelessness. But your anger wins. Maybe you’re more like him than you ever thought.

“Or perhaps, father,” you snap, “it’s an accumulation of anger and desperation after twenty years of living with a repulsive, sanctimonious—”

He strikes you so hard that for a moment, you’re simply stunned as to why you’re suddenly on the floor. But the thwack of his hit rings in your ears, echoes through the kitchen.

And then the metallic taste of blood is coating the inside of your mouth. It’s streaming down your chin, and you’re not even sure where it’s all coming from, only that it hurts and your eyes are stinging.

Your father stares down at you. And in that moment, you realise that the eeriest thing of all is that he never glares at you. You think you’d prefer that.

He always stares with that emptiness. That icy vacancy. It makes his actions more unpredictable, more dangerous.

He lunges down so suddenly that you flinch, yanking you up by the front of your shirt. Your legs don’t want to comply as he shoves you towards the door.

“Get the fuck out of my house.” He hisses at you, ripping the door open. “Go on. Fuck off, just like your mother did.”

And then he’s shoving you into the snow, a plume of it erupting around you. You hardly notice the cold. You’re too stunned.

Not stunned enough, though, to refrain from biting back at him. Just like a threatened animal would.

“Fuck you.” You sneer, the words contorted by a mouthful of blood that you spit onto the snow. “Fuck you, father.”

The bastard laughs in your face. Just as he’s always laughed in your face. And then he kicks snow at you because he can and steps back into the house.

When the door shuts behind him, you push to your feet. You’re trembling all over. It might be the cold. It might be the shock.

There’s only one person you want to see right now. So you wrap your arms around yourself and head towards the dormitories.

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Halfway through trudging across the camp, your shoes sodden with snow, your lip still bleeding, the emotions begin to hit.

You resent them. You resent feeling anything at all towards the male who is your only blood relative in this hollow, hollow place. The one who took your wings. The one who has tried to keep a firm grasp on the control he has over your life.

But you do feel things. Hurt and rage and humiliation and — bizarrely — betrayal. As if some small slither of hope had followed you from childhood into adulthood — that your father would one day miraculously awaken as a different person. A family member worth holding onto.

He never would.

No, your true family has always been the small, loving group that crams themselves into a cottage across the camp; a place of warmth and welcoming.

Rhysand and Cassian and Azriel. Rhysand’s mother, too. They are your family. They have always cared, since the moment you met them.

It’s for that reason that you persevere with your walk, even though you’re frozen to the bone. You think you might be crying. You’re not too sure anymore. Your friends will make it better. They always make it better.

The dormitories glow in the distance; a welcome sight, for once. You kick through the snow with desperation, and you’re definitely crying, definitely shaking all over, but the sounds of the celebrations coming from inside are a relief. Playful jeering and someone strumming a lute and off-kilter singing.

You push your way through the door. Inside is as crowded as you expect it to be, but you don’t even care. Anywhere is better than at home.

Your eyes — not really taking in much at all — scan the corridors, the common area, looking for any of your three closest friends. You see none of them, but a hand lands on your shoulder, and you turn to find Vegha there. Her eyes widen immediately at the state of you. You dread to think how bad you look.

“Y/N, what the fuck?” She blurts. “Why are you bleeding?”

“Fell over.” You know how stupid it sounds. “I…I need to find Azriel. Have you seen him?”

“Oh, I think he skulked off to his room a little while ago. Everyone knows he hates big parties like this—”

Perfect. You’ll hole up in his room together and block the rest of the world out. You’re already turning and pushing through people. You’ll apologise to Vegha for your rudeness later. Right now, you just need Azriel’s comfort, his love. The conversation you planned to have with him tonight is now a distant memory, an issue to confront later. You just…just want him. He always makes everything better.

You don’t notice the drink that gets spilled on you, or the disgruntled groups of people you have to shove through. None of that matters. Azriel is your family. He matters.

Finally, you make it to his room. The soft glow of faelights shine beneath the door — an indication he’s inside. You almost sob with relief as you grab the handle and burst in.

Two faces immediately look round at you.

Azriel’s.

Kaeda’s.

Kaeda lies on top of him, hands either side of his head. Her lips are swollen and inches from his. Azriel is palming at her waist, holding her against him. They’re both fully clothed, but…but you get the sense they wouldn’t have been for much longer, had it not been for your interruption.

Azriel drinks in the sight of you, his chest heaving. He blinks. You…you’re rooted to the spot.

And you fucking wince as Kaeda sits up slightly. Az’s hands fall back to his sides.

The beautiful female eyes you, tilting her head. And you want to get out of there, to fucking run, but you can’t do anything but stand and blink as something shatters inside of you.

“The shop hand from the forge.” Kaeda states in surprise, as if it’s ludicrous to consider that you might sometimes venture outside of your father’s workshop. “What happened to your face?”

Azriel is finally springing into action, then, sitting up and scooting out from beneath Kaeda. “Y/N…”

You cannot bear the gentleness of his voice. It may just finish you off.

All of this might. Staying here a second longer might.

So you, for some reason, shake your head and back slowly out of the room. Azriel lurches up, but you’re grabbing hold of the door handle firmly.

“Sorry for interrupting.” Your voice is all wrong and fractured. You quickly shut the door before it can morph into a sob.

You think Azriel might call after you, but it’s probably wishful thinking. You don’t know. Don’t know anything. Don’t know what to do next.

So you simply walk away.

You suppose you’ve taught Azriel everything he needs to know.

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