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lewsnumerounofan · 1 year

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when in france (lh x reader)

summary: you bump into your ex, lewis, at a club in france. what’s the worst that could happen?

notes: nswf, ex-relationship, unprotected sex, oral (m/f receiving), little bit o’ angst, 4.6k words, not edited

+ check out other works here

+ switched the tense halfway thru again. but im too lazy to change it rn!!! sry!

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“Lewis is here.”

You don’t hear your friend the first time she says it, the club’s music too loud in your ears. But she presses herself up against you the second time, puts her cheek alongside yours and you feel the shape of his name in her mouth as she yells.

Lewis.

You hadn’t expected him here. Sure, it was the night after a big victory -- a Mercedes two-three finish (not that you’d been watching) -- but from what you’d heard he wasn’t partying these days. He keeps to himself, were the words your mutual friend had used. You didn’t ask about him after that, didn’t want to remind yourself that you were no longer familiar with Lewis’ life, with the little things he did.

You pull your head up from the tight-packed dance floor and try to find him -- the tight braids, strong shoulders. And sure enough there is, being led up the wall-mounted staircase to the VIP area. Even from a distance you can see the heavy black cargos, the flimsy white tank top barely covering his shoulders, the dark press of his tattoos underneath.

“He’s so fine,” your friend murmurs. You turn, letting your shoulder shove into hers. Trying to slow your breathing, calm yourself. Lewis is here, in the same club as you. So close, and-

“He’s looking at you.”

“What?”

You whip back to your friend, but she’s suddenly busy dancing with a blue-haired girl, sending you a guilty kiss as the two move away. Some friend.

So it’s just you who has to turn back to where you know Lewis stands, remembering suddenly the time you surprised him by flying in for family Christmas. How his mother had grinned and shushed you at the front door, how he’d started smiling as soon as he’d seen you, how warm his hands had been wrapping under your stupid holiday sweater. You’re here, he’d said. But that had been months ago, before your promotion meant you could no longer spare weekends to watch his races, before he started calling you hammered from parties, other women's voices shrill in the background, before he stopped calling at all.

But when you look Lewis isn’t there. The stairs are empty, the glint of his jewellery nowhere to be found. Probably for the best, you think.

Probably for the best.

You manage to work back in with some people you’d met in line, joining them in another round of shots. By now everything is starting to feel a bit hazy, tingly, loose. A tall Frenchman presses at your back, his murmur low in your ear. You can’t hear him, laugh, continue dancing. Lewis is almost passed from your head. One more drink and you’re sure to be clear of him, one more… You part from your companions again, narrowly escaping the hands of your dance partner.

“I’m just gonna get another drink, be right back. Promise.”

Clumsily you make it to the bar, heave yourself onto the counter, admire the sea-glass collection of liquor bottles stacked along the shelves. Your head is slowing down a bit and your feet hurt. You order from the bartender and make to pull out your card when a thick British accent speaks from over your shoulder.

“Make it two. And you can add it to my tab, thanks.”

Lewis.

You let the heavy wood bar press into your back as you turned to face him. The same markings of facial hair at his jaw and above his lip, the same glittering stud in his nose. Same warm brown eyes, even the same chain at his neck -- the chain you’d given him after the horrible season end in Abu Dhabi. Still I Rise carved in small lettering on the private metal beside his neck.

“Hi. I was looking for you,” he says, easy, like the last time you saw each other wasn’t when you packed up your things and moved out of his apartment.

“You found me,” you say, because there’s nothing else to say and the club lighting is throwing soft shadows over his shoulders, his arms. He looks older than you remembered, more mature. You’re not sure how you get the words out -- your throat feels tight, your heart taking up all the room in your body.

Behind you the bartender sets down your drinks and you don’t give yourself time to think before offering one to Lewis, your outstretched arm as much a peace offering as you’re willing to make. Your hands brush as he takes it, nods. His eyes don’t leave yours. He says something to you but you’re too distracted by the shift in his throat as he swallows to hear. Or maybe it’s the music.

“What?”

He grins, flashing the tooth gap you’ve been thinking about for months, leans close enough for you to smell the alcohol on him, the cologne. Your heart is racing.

“Wanna go upstairs?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Another grin and he takes your hand. Laces your fingers together like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He leads you along the edge of the crowd, the dark skin of his shoulders shifting as he navigates alongside the wall. His rings are warm against your knuckles. You trail up the stairs behind him, know he’s going to stop in the dim landing of the alcove before he does.

He keeps both hands over yours, like he’s scared you’re going to try run away. Between the dancefloor and the speakers of the VIP lounge is quieter. You think you can hear Lewis’ heartbeat.

“I just- I wanted to say I’m sorry for how things ended. Between us,” he says, and his eyes are crinkled and you knew he really cares.

“S’okay, Lewis. It’s okay.”

Hope. That’s the little gleam in his eye as he lets his tongue push out into his cheek.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And then his hand is cupping your neck, the tips of his fingers already curling through your hair and you can’t help but smile back, rub your face into the soft skin of his palm.

“Wanna get drunk with me?” he whispers, like you’re teenagers again, like this is your shared secret plan.

Yeah. Yeah, you do.

You promised yourself you’d call an Uber home but Lewis doesn’t let you. He pulls your phone away and you’re too inebriated and slow to get it back. Too happy and giggly to care. He dangles it just out of reach and you let yourself play, pressing your body against his, stretching until you feel the hot fan of his breath on your neck. His hands settling on your hips, his lips on your neck. Come home with me, he’s saying, and you’re nodding into the crook of his shoulder, breathing him in.

In the car he slides closed the privacy screen between the driver and the backseat. Doesn’t even let you get all the way in before he’s pulling you onto his lap, hands framing your face, teeth biting at your lower lip. When you pull away his eyes are sleepy and wholly black, his mouth quirked up at one side, red from kissing. You want him in your mouth then, want to see if he tastes the same as you remember.

You’d done this once before on the way to some fancy event. There had been no time in the hotel beforehand, and Lewis’ cropped outfit had been irresistible. Hidden between his legs, careful not to disturb the fine fabric of his pants, you’d let him hit the back of your throat every time the car went over a bump. The way he whimpered as you kitten licked him, ringed thumb feeling his own cock through the skin of your cheek. You’d barely finished swallowing and tucking him back into his pants when you’d arrived. He’d kissed you real hard hidden in the privacy of the car. Kept looking over at you during the event speeches. Smiling, looking down, shaking his head. You’d squeeze his hand or shove him. He returned the favour in one of the bathrooms, slight scuff marks on the knees of his suit the only hint as you two returned for dessert.

But this time is different. Lewis doesn’t pick up on what you’re doing at first, whining when you break away from him. His hands are grasping at your shirt but you push him off, shaking your head, grinning.

“Wanna touch you,” he says, and his voice is rough and low. You almost abandon your plans. Almost. Instead you move your legs from around his hips to between them, dropping to the floor of the car. You pull your hair up too, knowing that Lewis will pull at it anyways.

“Oh.”

You give him one more wicked smile before finding the button of his pants, tugging his zipper down. Already Lewis is impatient, muscled thigh bouncing up and down lightly in your peripheral. You slide your hand along it, soothing turning brazen as you continue your path to trace the hard shape of him through his briefs.

He curses, jerking under your featherlight touch. You can see his clenched fists pressed on either side of the seat in a desperate attempt not to grab for you. Not to upset the odd balance that somehow found you at the same club, on the same night, and now on your knees before him.

“You can touch me, Lewis,” you joke, but it comes out slow, sounds sanded down by your inebriation.

His fingers find your hair, tucking back stray strands so he can see your mouth. Quickly, hands fumbling slightly, you pull him out of his boxers. Quiet, pressing kisses to the head of him, the shaft, the sensitive skin of his pelvis. You let the short hair there scratch at your cheek before you lick an unbroken strip up. Above you, Lewis’ chest heaves, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. He’s always been transfixed by this, by watching you. So you look up at him, at his sleepy hooded eyes, as you take him into the back of your throat. He makes a desperate hurting sound, his hand gripping harder at your hair. You hold him there for a moment, letting water collect at your lash line, letting your gag reflex kick in, before humming once and pulling up, spitting into your fist, stroking him.

Lewis is everywhere — his laboured breathe in your ear, the musky taste of him in your mouth, his smell.

Stupid of you to think your memories could be fonder than reality, that the velvet of his skin couldn’t be as all-consuming as you recollected. He is beautiful before you, his powerful thighs and wide, strong torso. The gentle stroke of his fingers at your scalp. You had missed this, missed him. You swipe at his precum with your tongue, savouring the hot smooth skin there, the way he moans under the small gentle touches of your mouth.

The car comes to a stop before you can take him into your throat again, and Lewis doesn’t even bother fully zipping up his pants as he leads you out of the car. His kisses on your neck, shoulder, cheek, murmuring that he’d missed your mouth, that you looked so pretty on your knees. You blush -- not minutes after sucking him off in the back of a car you’re blushing at his praise.

He takes your hand as you hurry through the hotel lobby and over to the elevators. You shush each other, both frantically pressing at the up button and laughing at the fullness of the moment. You’re drunk off Lewis.

As soon as the elevator doors open he’s on you, pressing you back to the mirrored glass wall, licking into your mouth, your teeth. His hands are all over, hiking up your dress, pushing back your hair, grasping and tilting your face to where he wants it.

“Lew-”

He hums into you, reaching between your legs to cup your core. It’s so brazen, so claiming that your legs feel weak. You let your arms fall around his neck, let yourself take everything he gives you.

The elevator pings, the doors open. Lewis pulls off your mouth, forehead pressed to yours so your breathe mingles. His brow furrows and for a second you’re terrified this has all been some misunderstanding. That the next sentence out of his mouth will be this was a mistake. That this was all some horrible attempt to cushion your feelings or not make you feel stupid.

“It might be a little messy in my room-”

You laugh and blow right by him, ducking under his reaching arms.

“Hey,” he calls, but you’ve already made it to his door and are in the middle of an attempt to take off your heels, catching desperately at the wall for balance.

“Hey what,” you echo back, pulling your head up to find him real close now. Watching you. This is how it felt when we were first falling in love, you think. You want to hide it, keep this precious idea lingering in your subconscious for a little longer but there it is, glaring, almost, in the little smile playing across Lewis’ lips, the crinkle at his eyes.

“Just hey,” and this time he says it onto your mouth as kisses you, spins you around, lets you squeal into his cheek as the carpet and the lights twirl.

Behind you the click of his keycard and then he’s crowding you into the dark hotel suite. You feel up at his face, push your palms flat to his cheeks, stroke first his brow then his full lips with the pad of your thumb. He barely breathes as you move, only watching you from under his long, soft eyelashes.

“So beautiful, Lew.”

You don’t mean to say it, stopping your fingers when you hear your own words. So loud in the new space. But it’s dark too, and Lewis lets his head drop to kiss you again -- slow this time. First your temple, then each closed eyelid, your cheekbones, the tip of your nose. You sigh into him when he slots over your lips, when he traces his tongue over your front teeth.

“Lewis.”

“I know, I know baby,” he practically coos it into your mouth, big hands holding your face.

Then you’re scrambling to find the bed, tripping over suitcases and couches. Lewis wasn’t a messy person -- this weekend must’ve been hectic for him to be leaving his place like this. Or maybe he just doesn’t have anyone to keep it clean for anymore, a voice somewhere in the back of your mind adds. You push the thought away, focus instead on the dim shapes of the wall, the inky black patches that must be doors. You’re stumbling, but Lewis’ hands catch you, forearms banding over your middle. At your back, pressing up against you, kissing into your neck.

“I got you. I got you,” he murmurs, and the husky timbre of his voice has your thighs pressing together.

“Lewis,” you whine again, desperate for his fingers, his tongue, his cock.

Shuffling, hand out, Lewis leads you through the door and to the bed, spinning you round to face him before he’s pushing you back onto the soft sheets. With his help you lift and discard your dress and shoes. Already you’re itching to do the same to him, but Lewis only sinks to his knees and pulls you to the very edge of the bed. Such a familiar strength as he tugs at the back of your knees. Easy. Gentle. You could get used to this.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, trying to keep your head silent from now on. But the thought lingers as Lewis mouths slowly at your calf, kissing to your knee, your thigh, licks into the crease of your hip. You jump, watching him hide his smile against the soft skin of your stomach.

“Shut up.”

You let a hand fall lazily to shove at his cheek. He turns, catches your palm instantly -- fast, sometimes you forget how fast he is -- bites at your fingers. You squeak but let him hold you there, considering the flesh and bone. You catch the dangerous glint in his eye immediately.

“Lewis..”

He shushes you, his predatory focus on your fingers indivertable.

“Trust me sweetheart,” he says, and you know there’s no use fighting it. Slowly, as if still thinking the idea over, Lewis turns your hand over, pressing it towards your own core.

“Lewis, I don’t know-”

But already you can feel your pointer and ring finger pressing where you’re overheating, and Lewis is gazing between your legs like there’s something beautiful there.

“Let me do this,” and his voice is practically begging. Cheeks aflame, you can’t watch as Lewis guide your fingers in, in, in. You moan at the same time he does, squirming at the need for more, at the knowledge that Lewis is practically hypnotized watching you finger fuck yourself for him. He guides your digits out with a full tug at your wrist, and then bares them back again, letting the wet sound you make travel up to you.

“Lewis-”

No longer hesitant now, you’re needy for more, for him. But Lewis doesn’t heed any of your whining, only pushing your fingers back and forth at that same excruciating pace, practically eating you with his hungry eyes. He knows the slight humiliation of getting yourself off in front of him keeps you docile so he pushes it -- pushes you -- until you’re practically writhing beneath him. Until you surrender to him like a fever, until he is the only thing, the only shape your mouth can form. Then he relents, pulls your fingers out fully, lets you flutter in their absence, sucks the digits clean, grunts at the taste of you.

You sob his name again and then he’s locking your thighs open and licking you in one long stripe. You’re frenzied after that, breaking quickly into a white washed orgasm, bucking as he works you into you into an oversensitive mess.

“S’okay, I got you,” he’s whispering, moving up your body to handle your limp figure, letting you curl up boneless in his lap. He kisses out constellations on your shoulders, says: you did so good for me baby, so proud of you.

You don’t move for a while, eventually coming to trace the lines of the tattoos on his collar bones. The hotel heater kicks on, huffing quietly across the room.

“I always loved how you’d do that,” he says. Your orgasm has left you cold and you press further into the steady heat of him, the small patches of skin open to you through his clothes.

“Missed you, Lew. Really missed you.”

It’s all you’ll let yourself admit back to him, but he takes your face between his hands, enveloping you, hiding you from the rest of the world and kisses you so gently you think you’ll break.

“Lewis.”

The moon shines through the window and Lewis’ eyes are bright with it.

“Yeah.”

“Have sex with me.”

He sighs, slow and long because he knows this will change things. Then he’s kissing you again, lips delicate on yours, sliding over your jaw, searching out the sensitive spots on your neck. You’re gasping and Lewis is tugging off his shirt.

He goes for his pants but halts under your tracing hands. First the lion snarling, then you’re thumbing over the compass, the hard press of his solar plexus. You kiss him there once, twice, right at the center of him. Like you’re marking him, saying I was here. He shudders and shifts you off his lap to fully strip out of his cargos and briefs. He’s leaking and red, standing out from his stomach.

“Poor baby’s been so neglected,” you coo and he pushes you back into the mountain of pillows at the headboard. You’re joking, maybe. You can never tell with Lewis. He’s sizing you up too, one knee propped on the bed, hand absentmindedly stroking himself.

“Why don’t you do something about it then?”

He’s so much bigger than you, stronger than you, when he talks like this. Reminds you of him in the car, the crude way he’d sometimes talk to the other men in the garage. Your heart rate kicks up, just a bit.

“C’mere.”

He obliges, covering your body and face in shadow as he holds himself level with you. One hand on his bicep --- so solid, so heavy under your hand -- the other to the hot length of him. His mouth open and brow furrowed as he watches you notch him at your entrance. And then just you and him, watching.

“You’re sure?” he asks.

You look again at the tired warmth of his eyes, the smile lines you’d been lucky enough to frequent for years at a time. Lewis and you played around it, letting yourselves get distracted by the petty everyday stress of relationships, dating, fame, but here you were. Back in his bed, back in his arms, back in the same club. You and Lewis were just that: you and Lewis. You were destined to orbit around each other. Perhaps this time you could get away with colliding.

You kiss him, all the answer he needs to start pushing into you. You keep your lips connected until the stretch of him, the size of him, is too much, has you gasping into his shoulder. You’d forgotten the press of him between your legs, in your head, until he was shoving everything else out, only Lewis. Too tight, too big. Your breathing is ragged, tears finding their way past your clenched eyes.

“You can take it baby,” he says as he keeps baring into you, kissing at your tears. You leave red lines down his back. You feel dumb on his cock, on the way it takes up every space in your head. He kisses your temple when he bottoms out, shaking above you. Maybe you are too, but when you open your eyes Lewis is staring at you like he’s seeing you for the very first time, eyes wide. He leans down to kiss you, keeps his eyes closed as he whispers, “I love you.”

And then he’s pulling out, almost to the tip, not letting you reply before thrusting back in. The power in his hips knocks your breath away, only able to claw at his back as he hikes up one of your legs. The angle has you seeing stars with each new push of him, eyes near rolling back into your head as he pants over you. His chain -- the chain you’d given him -- dangles above you. Funny, you think dimly. Even with everything a part of you was with him always. It hurts your heart a little, but then Lewis is shifting, pining your hips down, forcing you to take even more of him and you think you’re tearing apart.

“Lewis, Lewis,” you’re crying his name, desperate as you cling to him, clench around him.

He’s murmuring something at your ear but you can hardly hear him over the growing crush in your ears, twin to the ever-tightening climax knotting in your core. Then: Lewis’ hand, coaxing at your cheek. He tips your face up ‘till you’re looking at him, eyes wide, vulnerable. For you, only for you. One arm is wrapped over his shoulders, the other coming up to hold him, to push back two braids working themselves loose. He’s mumbling it, I love you, over and over, so you kiss him to make him stop, to try slow down this beautiful spinning wheel you two have found yourselves riding.

You’re too hot below him, the heat of his body covering you, pressing at you. He slips his thumb down to circle your clit and you can’t help but buck into his calloused finger. Everything is too much -- Lewis urging you forward a frenzied peak, the stretch of him between your legs, the quiet way he moans into you.

The warm lick of his tongue through your mouth, the way he licks over your mouth like he owns it has you breaking. Finally you’re crumpling over his cock, crying out as Lewis fucks you through it. Eyes closed, you let yourself burrow into him as your senses mute, vision white. Each raw drag of him has you whimpering, keening into the over-stimulation.

“Can I-” he starts to ask and you nod, lock your legs behind him. Something pained flashes over his expression, something you want to kiss away, but then he’s cumming, so hard he stops breathing. You coax him through it. Kiss at his hairline, brow. He slumps into you, letting his whole weight bore you into the mattress. Pressed to the underside of his arm you just hold him, this beautiful creature you’ve found again. He lies there until his breathing settles and you think he's fallen asleep when he rolls enough to eye you -- one drowsy brown shape watching beneath his messy braids.

“Hi Lewis.”

He whispers back, gentle into the sheets.

“Hi.”

You’re smiling at each other softly, like this could be the start of something, like this might not be the end after all.

Slowly, like it’s the greatest effort of his life, Lewis heaves himself onto his back, rolling you with him. His cock is still inside you, but you know his cum will be leaking out soon, a dirty little reminder of what you let him do.

“Have to get up,” you tell him.

His arm tightens at your side, face suddenly closed off in a way you hadn’t seen all night.

“You gonna come back?” he asks.

You kiss the corner of his mouth, heart hurting at the question, how young he sounds saying it.

“Yeah Lew, I’ll come back.”

When you return from the bathroom he’s sleeping, chest rising under the thick hotel sheet.

You pad out to the kitchen, marble tiles cold against your feet. You try your best to find a glass without waking him, shuffling quietly through cupboards until you get the right one. Wincing at how loud the sink sounds in the high-ceilinged room. I love you, he’d said. Pushed the words onto your lips reverently, gifted them to you because he couldn’t keep them to himself. Oh, Lewis.

You watch out the high skyline of the apartment as the sun begins to colour the sky, sipping occasionally at your water, thinking.

Your legs are getting cold when Lewis comes out of the bedroom, eyes dark. He doesn’t notice you at first, only breathing hard in the open space of the hotel. He looks -- devastated.

“Lewis?” He starts at your voice, only staring at you for a moment before releasing a hard sigh, starting towards you and stopping abruptly at the edge of the kitchen.

“I thought-”

His voice catches and you cringe at the question in his speech, how his voice wavers.

“I thought you left.” His eyes, searching, scanning yours as you put down your water, trace around the kitchen counter to him. Stand before him, close, almost touching. You take his hand, look at the easy way your fingers connect.

“No, Lewis, I’m not leaving.”

Hope. It was what you’d seen earlier at the club and you knew if you found Lewis’ eyes you would see it again now. You’d made your decision -- made it when you first took his hand at the bar. You catch his gaze then, smile, just for him.

“Couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

He’s smiling too, just the beginnings of it, eyes bright again. Over his shoulder the sun breaks the horizon, golden light washing the hotel.

“Couldn’t because I love you, Lew.”

#bigkeepup #lewishamiltonfic #lewishamiltonxyou #f1xreader #f1smut #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton x reader

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darklinaforever · 11 months

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So... There's really just interest that the Wyler relationship is on hiatus, instead of the writers having just taken the romantic aspect out of nowhere. Because removing the romance between these two makes no sense. Especially when Jenna said that Tyler was off the mark in terms of romance, the writers corrected it by saying that, yes, Tyler's feelings for Wednesday would continue to be explored. But if they took off their jackets and just took off the romance to please Jenna, they're cowards. I'm sick of these writers who create romances and then try the next season to pretend it never existed. Either Jenna is lying so we don't get spoilers. Or else she's delirious. Everything is possible. Actors have lied before to avoid spoilers, and sometimes other actors, like those on HOTD, make statements about their characters that have nothing to do with what's happening on the show. Like Emma D'arcy saying Daemyra is a grooming relationship... So let's wait and see before we freak out.

Also, what's Jenna's problem with ROMANCE ?! In case she doesn't know, she and others who criticize this aspect of fiction, well it's actually the best and best selling type of story ! People like it ! I'm seriously sick of the fact that today romance is considered almost dirty. That's the limit. A story with romance in it, even if it's not the central subject ?! "Yuck ! How horrifying ! Besides, it's so unmature and unoriginal !" Like... Are you going to get people treated. Already because originality, regardless of the type of story, no longer exists. It is not for nothing that we find similar codes in yet very different stories. Then, if you hate to see romance in fiction so much, to the point that it's not mature for you to represent it, I would like to know how you consider it in reality ? You didn't want to fall in love ?! Love is somewhat the basis of human relationships, whatever the form. And I don't understand why today, representing romantic love in fiction is so critical, even almost shameful, as if it were worth less than other types of relationships on this planet ?! I find that seriously infuriating.

Also, I've never seen anyone complain that romance wasn't something appropriate for Wednesday in the movie "Addams Family Values" or even the musical ! And in both versions, the "romance" is between Wednesday and a normal guy. Here, Wednesday's love interest is literally a monstrous creature ! It's much more interesting than these two previous models that NO ONE has ever criticized ! (At least I never have them be...)

Or is it that they don't care about the character of Wednesday to say that romance is not something made for her... She's a fucking teenager ! Shit ! And before you tell me that romance has nothing to do with the general universe of the addams family... GOMEZ AND MORTICIA ?!

It's a universe that has literally given us one of the most beautiful romances of all time ! Why wouldn't their own daughter have the right to give us another fucking iconic romance ?!

So apparently romance isn't something cut out for Wednesday's character. My question is : Why ? Most of Wednesday's performances are when she's a little girl, so okay from then on. But when she is depicted as being in her early teens or as a teenage girl, romance has already been touched on for this character, in two different mediums, a film and a comedy musical.

And nobody had questioned it saying that it was not something appropriate for the character ! The only things that change with the series is that the romantic interests were human and that Wednesday was not the main character, but one of the main ones, since the subject generally remained the Addams family. But in the show, although Wednesday becomes the main character, romance isn't the main topic either, just one of many topics about her, so why is it so bothersome here ? Romance is a part of life, at least for some people. Especially teenagers. And this idea that Wednesday, in particular, is not a character made for a romance, is in fact totally unfounded and biased by this momentum that today society has absolutely associated strong women with celibacy in fiction. Shit. Women can be strong and in love ! One does not prevent the other ! And to think otherwise is very frightening ! It's actually just as scary as the time when women were only associated with romance ! To do the opposite extreme is just as horrible. Especially since I never see this kind of debate when a guy is the hero and he falls in love, even though that's not the main subject of his story. Strangely, no one will criticize…

Also, another detail, the series is somewhat associated with Tim Burton, the majority of whose works contain romances and or couples...

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wordynerdygurl · 1 year

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Two Sizes Too Small

Author’s Note: Well, lovelies, I pulled an all-nighter to finish this one. I just really wanted to give Eddie Munson a wonderful Christmas. That it involves love and my favorite holiday movie, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, well, how could I resist? Full disclosure- there’s a lot of holiday movie and music references! Also, my taglist is open, so let me know if you’d like to be added! Lastly, I hope everyone has a lovely and restful holiday season!! Pairing: Plus Size Female Reader x Eddie Munson

Summary: Eddie hates Christmas, the whole Christmas season, and maybe his heart is too small but it’s Christmas and miracles can happen at the holidays!

Warnings: SMUT, a touch of dubcon in the beginning, and also some angsty pining!

If it weren’t for Wayne, Eddie would have given up on Christmas a long time ago.

Around the time when he realized that Santa was his uncle scraping up extra change to ensure that there was something for him to open under the tree, Eddie’s heart had hardened against the holiday. Wayne already did so much: working double shifts, making sure that Eddie had food, clothes and a safe way to get to school each day. Why add to that burden with a day set aside for the sole purpose of spending money on stuff that no one really needed? Oh, he’d heard the arguments about showing people how much you cared this time of year. That the depth of someone’s feelings was greater than or equal to the quality of whatever sweater, baseball cap or new crock pot could be wrapped in pretty paper with a ribbon slapped on top. In his opinion that was a shitty system for communicating how much you appreciate someone, not to mention it only happened once a year.

There was no question in Eddie Munson’s mind that Wayne loved him. He didn’t need a stocking full of candy or a gift boxed t-shirt to show him what he already knew to be true. So, why make a big deal about it? It was just another day on the calendar.

Regrettably, his sentiments weren’t shared with, well, anyone else. All of the people around Eddie, his uncle especially, seemed to go Christmas Crazy. Shopping all the time, planning events and scheduling parties, worrying about what to buy everyone and where to get the best sale price. It didn’t make sense to him. The decorations, the lights, the ornaments, all of it was sentimental in a way that Eddie just couldn’t abide, “What’s the point? You’re just gonna pull all this shit down in a week.” Not dissuaded, Wayne snorts indignantly, digging through a dusty box marked X-MAS, “The point is, I like it. The point is, it reminds me of when you were an excited kid who liked the simple things in life. Things like bikes and blocks and crayons, not girls and drinking and rock music.” “Ok, ok, you made your point.” Eddie concedes, helping to tape a strand of red tinsel garland along the shelf of mugs which had all been gifts to uncle over the years. Wayne stoops low, child-like glee on his face, as he readies to plug in the light strand, “Ready for the tree?” It was like this every year and Eddie nods, ready to get this part over with, faking his way through Wayne’s Christmas crankiness. With a snap of electricity, the three foot artificial tree lights up. It’s filled with paper Santas scribbled in red marker, macaroni stars and once glitter covered foam gingerbread men. It is an annual homage to Eddie as a kid and Wayne adores it. Despite the grumbling from his nephew, Wayne refuses to give it up, at least, not without a serious fight. Unimpressed, Eddie drones, “Very nice. I like how you managed to keep all the ugly ornaments facing the window. The neighbors are gonna love ‘em.” Incredulous, Wayne scoffs at his semi-scowling nephew, “They should! I’m damned proud to have them.” A heavy wave of nostalgia falls over the old man, making his proud chin quiver with unspoken words of affection for the little boy turned man standing in front of him. Eddie hears the dip in his uncle’s voice, recognizing his yearly Christmas melancholy from a mile away. What was it about this time of year that made everyone go a little nuttier than usual? Was it the weather? The food? Or just the expectations that the holiday season seemed to carry? Screw that. Eddie wasn’t going to give into the commercialized crap that seems to sweep everyone else along in December. Christmas was for suckers and Eddie Munson was nobody’s fool. Well, almost nobody’s fool.

His hand lands on Wayne’s shoulder, going for fondness while ignoring the emotions playing out behind his uncle’s faded eyes. Softening a bit, Eddie offers an olive branch, “Wanna get drunk and watch White Christmas? I had Steve snag it for me.” Patting at his damp cheeks, Wayne nods happily, sappily, “That sounds great-” The phone trills shrilly, cutting through their conversation and Wayne lifts his eyebrows in Eddie’s direction. But his nephew shakes his head. “Ignore it. I’m exactly where I want to be.” Whoever was looking to score was gonna have to call back. Three rings later and Wayne is practically shoving Eddie towards the receiver, “Just answer the damn thing!” Grumpy and gruff, he gives in, whipping up the phone, “Yea?” —-------------- It was December 23rd and the party at Barry’s house was winding down, thankfully. People had been peeling off in pairs and trios, leaving just a few of your boyfriend’s buddies drinking the night away and ignoring you. At some point you looked around and realized that Barry was just gone. The house he grew up in- still lived in, with his family, was, in a word, enormous. There were dozens of rooms and thousands of doors which made your search all the harder. It was just like him to vanish, leaving you to fend for yourself when he had assured you that this time it would all be different. Arms circle your thick waist from behind as he pulls you into the second floor bathroom, pressing you against the granite countertop while lifting your pretty green skirt, “I’m so hard right now, gotta fuck you.” You giggle uncomfortably, already feeling a little too full of bubbling champagne, “Barry! Here? Now?” But you don’t get an answer beyond a rough tear in your tights, Barry’s fingers shifting your panties to the side abruptly, “Yea, right fucking now.” And then he was pushed inside of you, his thrusts sloppy and bordering on painful as he drunkenly rubs at your full breasts through your sweater. If he was concerned with your needs, it didn’t show in the fast sawing motion of his hips, and before you could even trace the beginning of your own ending, Barry was babbling through his own. Curving over your back, he pants in your ear, “Hmm, that was great.” Pulling out of you quickly, Barry tucks himself back into his chinos and presses a tiny kiss to your cheek, “Make sure you clean up before coming out to say goodbye to everyone.” And then he’s gone, leaving you frustrated with sticky thighs. You thank a god you don’t believe in for birth control pills and shuffle over to the toilet, eager to tidy up the mess Barry had left in his wake. Swiftly removing your torn pantyhose, you toss them in the trash can, regretting the loss. Money wasn’t exactly tight, but you were trying to save as much as you could, unlike your upperclass boyfriend. Flushing behind you, you replace your panties and wash your hands. Wiping some water over your cheeks, you smile at yourself in the mirror, confident that no one would know what had happened in the bathroom between you and Barry. Carefully, you shut the bathroom door, surprised when you hear voices, low pitched, in the nearby hallway. Whispers that carry the weight of the familiar voice of your boyfriend begging quietly, “Come on baby, it’s Christmas.” “So? You told me you were done with that trash, Barry and then, then you bring her here. Throwing her in my face? Are you trying to hurt me?” “Dawn, please. You know I only want you.” “Barry, I want you too, baby. But I won’t share you, not with someone like her-” And then the sounds of sloppy kisses gain strength, complete with moans and grunting. It was bordering on pornographic, like something private that shouldn’t be witnessed by anyone but those involved and you wish that you weren’t having to hear it at all. A gross knot of nausea welled up inside of you at the realization of what was happening, and so soon after Barry had cornered you in his bathroom. Disgusted now, you knew you had to leave. The sooner the better. On quiet feet you tiptoe into the nearest bedroom and choking back tears, reach for the phone. Dialing the only number you can think of, the only you have committed to memory, you pray to that same god that he’ll pick up. Finger twisting in the beige cord as you wait through four long rings, nervousness and shame filling your belly as you wait for the call to connect. “Yea?” His voice is gruff, grumpy, which takes you by surprise. It makes your own sound small as you ask timidly, “Eddie?” “What’s wrong? Where are you?” It’s immediate, that change in tone, his understanding of your need, and you drop into a whisper, “Would it be too much trouble for you to come and get me? I- I don’t think Barry-” He breaks in, direct and guarded, “Meet me at the corner. I’ll be there in ten.” The line went dead in your ear, a sure sign that Eddie was already en route to you. Sneaking away was easy when your boyfriend was frenching someone else and no one else at the party cared about you. Scooping up your fuzzy holiday sweater, you went right out the front door into the chilly night, without anyone noticing. Sobbing openly, you scurry to the corner, suddenly overeager to get away from this whole night. Eddie told you ten minutes, but he made it in seven, the van idling loudly when you rounded the corner. Dashing away tears, you climb into the heavenly heat of his vehicle, smiling tightly, “Hey Eddie. Thank you so much, I just- I really needed to get out of there.” He eyes you, a look full of questions, but wisely Eddie asks none of them. Waiting for you to buckle up, he rests a broad palm on your thigh, patting it twice, “No problem, sweets. Where we headed?” “Just home, if that’s alright. I’m- I’m kinda tired.” Putting the van in drive, he appraises you from the corner of his eye. Something about you was so small tonight it made Eddie’s heart hurt. When he heard you on the phone that damaged sound in your voice was enough to make his Spidey sense tingle. It was wrong, the way you had whispered, asking- no, pleading for him to come and get you. Wayne completely understood why he had to leave, even if it was in the middle of putting the final touches on their Munson Christmas traditions. Besides, nothing was going to stop Eddie, not when you sounded so shattered. Clearly something had happened, something not great. And it was something big enough for you to run away from Barry’s huge holiday party, something you had been talking about for weeks. So, while Eddie appreciates you calling him in your hour of need, he absolutely wants to know how to make it better for you and make sure that you’re really alright. “That’s okie-dokie artichokie. But, uh, can you just tell me-” turning to you now, his deep eyes searching yours, full of concern, “-you’re not hurt, right?” He couldn't stand to think about what he might be capable of if you said that you were, or had been. But still, Eddie needed to make sure that you were okay for his own sanity’s sake.

You nod shyly, appreciating the kind hearted way that Eddie handles your privacy, and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Looking away, you hum lowly, “Yea, Ed. I’m alright.”

“You sure?” “Uh huh. Just got my heart hurt, so, ya know, nothing too serious.” You try for lighthearted, breezy, but you don’t sell it because Eddie frowns, “Just your heart? Oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.” There’s a lot of things you find hard to bear, but Eddie’s pity is just too much. It punches the air out of your lungs. It crumples your bottom lip, setting your chin wobbling as you give into the burning tears of your heartbreak. Smoothly, Eddie pulls over although you’re not too far from home by now. You can hear his seat belt unlock and then your own is set free so that Eddie can scoot you closer. His chin rests on the top of your head as you cry into his neck, his voice soothing as he comforts you, “It’s ok. It’s going to be alright, sweetheart. You’re going to be ok. Hush now.” You don’t know how long you let Eddie console you, his leather jacket warm under your damp cheek, but eventually the sobs become sniffles and the sniffles fade to hiccups. Pulling out of the comfort of Eddie’s embrace, your eyes red and cheeks chapped, you lament thickly, “I got you all wet! I’m so sorry, Ed!” “Hey, stop that. I’m fine.” Brushing wayward hair from your streaky and sticky face, Eddie tuts, “Are you sure you’re alright?” “Yea.” It’s sad sounding, but you’re being honest. You will be ok once you get home, have a shower, and start putting Barry behind you. It helps to have a friend like Eddie Munson there to offer his shoulder to cry on. He fusses over you for another minute, wiping away the crystalline dew of your tears with his thumbs, “I’m here for you, whatever you need.” Eddie makes you stay in your seat until he can open the door for you, like a gentleman should, and walks you to your door. His hand is loosely holding yours as you slide your key into the lock. Almost embarrassed, you look his way, suddenly shy again, “Wanna come in? I’ve got some beer and I think The Grinch is on tonight.” Laughing a little, Eddie shrugs, agreeing easily but still giving you the option for backing out, “Alright, if you don’t mind?” “Of course not.” Once inside you slink out of your coat and motion for Eddie to do the same, “Have a seat. I’ll be right back with something to drink.” Your place was very sweet, just like you, with a tinsel tree glowing with colored lights and other small holiday decorations set out just so. It seems to Eddie like you’re also on the Christmas Crazy-Train. There are two small boxes laying on the red plaid skirt beneath the tree and a single stocking tacked under the television stand. He half expects you to leave out some cookies and milk, as if Santa was going to shimmy down your chimney tomorrow night and deliver you a Christmas miracle. Eddie couldn’t help it. He thought it was precious, sorta like you. And if he’s being honest, he feels as though his own Christmas miracle is happening, right here, right now. For two long years, you had been friendly, a close relationship beginning when you both reached for a recently returned copy of Evil Dead at Family Video. In a moment of unprecedented cool guy maneuvering, Eddie’s suggestion that you come over to his place and watch it together. When you agreed, offering him that sweet smile of yours, well, that had started everything. He didn’t regret it, couldn’t even if he wanted to. It wasn’t your fault that Eddie was using you as the standard against which all other ladies in his life would be judged. And even though, in a bunch of unsuccessfully small ways, Eddie had tried to nudge your friendship in a more romantic direction, he was still as sprung on you as he had been from that very first moment. Now, he was here, with you, and so close to the big holiday. It felt like his own Christmas miracle might be possible, if he believed in that kind of stuff- which he didn’t. Because Christmas was a commercial product. It was soulless, despite what people said to the contrary. But still, he rubbed his hands over his thighs nervously as he thought that maybe tonight was the night. Tonight you would see him as the charming, romantic leading man that you deserved in your life and not just the guy who bailed you out when trouble came around. Eddie’s seen enough of the fluffy, feel-good films that capitalize on the holiday season to recognize that he may be a part of one, with you. Because it couldn’t just be a coincidence that you called him on Christmas Eve, needing help and knowing exactly where to go to get it, right? From the sound of things, Barry was quickly moving out of the boyfriend column and into the exes pile. Another coincidence? He sure as shit hoped not, but Eddie can’t get his hopes up, they’ve been dashed too many times. With eyes that couldn’t seem to settle on anything in particular, Eddie’s mind strays to the countless other times where you had required rescuing and he had charged, nobly, into the fray. Finding you crying on the nearest corner after running out on Barry’s insensitivity, pulling up in his ratty van outside of a party where you had clearly been unhappy, and once driving to the Indiana state border to fetch you from another one of your idiot boyfriend’s debacles. Each time he promised himself that it was the last time- that he was going to protect himself, he was going to stop answering the phone, he was going to tell you how he felt. But the calls, they just kept coming. Happening way too frequently for his liking, the worn muscle of his heart tightening every time Eddie had to hear you sob, or listen to you talk about the belittling way Barry treated you. Over and over again, you let the guy break your heart, only to take him back after some groveling and half meant apologies. And over and over again, Eddie could feel his own aortic organ shriveling up from the knowledge that you refuse to see him as anything more than your second choice. Tensing, he rubbed the back of his, wondering why he was here, waiting for you. Sometimes, it seemed to Eddie, like he was always just waiting around for your next phone call, your next emergency. On hold until the phone rang, on the shelf, out of use. Sure, he went out, hanging around other people; Steve and Robin, obviously, the Hellfire crew, his band. Other than that, Eddie was at home, puttering around, on alert for the jingling ring that means you’re tagging him in for an assist. And he hates it. He truly does, because even though he hasn’t said it in exactly these words, Eddie needs you too. Even more than that, he needs you to need him. It gives him a purpose, a reason for sticking around this one horse town that isn’t connected to tragedy or trauma. You were unavailable, sure, but always present, the living embodiment of his happiness and his sadness. Eddie couldn’t help that the ache of wanting you for his own and always coming up short, time after time, was starting to splinter him into pieces. Snapping his head up at the scuffing steps you made, you pad back into the room wearing a cozy flannel nightgown, complete with elastic wrist cuffs and satin covered buttons at the throat. In place of your make-up was a scrubbed clean face, glowing from the effort. Your heels had been replaced by a pair of simple slippers. Eddie swallows thickly, all of his other thoughts knocked out of his head. Never had a woman been more covered up and still so alluring. The old fashioned sleep shirt skimmed over the sweeping curve of your hips, but still managed to show off your shapely legs and graceful neck. He isn’t sure why it affected him so much, this comfortable and easy version of you, but it did. “Do you still want a beer?”

He’s seen your mouth move, shaping the sounds of your question, but Eddie is dumbstruck by the innocent version of you hovering at the doorway. Tossing his head, mostly to clear away the fog of his want, he croaked, “What?”

Giggling softly, you take a step closer, “I asked if you were thirsty. Still want that drink?” “Oh, that? Yea, yea sure.” Knowing that he must seem mental, Eddie shifted on the couch, rolling his eyes at his own erratic behavior. From over your shoulder you ask him to turn on the tv, “The Grinch is on channel five, I think.” “Gotcha!” The snap of the television coming to life fills the small space and you were practically running around the corner by the time Boris Karloff starts his narration. Plopping down right next to Eddie, you gently hand him a bottle and drop a bag of chips onto the table, “Just in case we get hungry.” “Uh huh. Since when do you like Doritos, huh?” Flicking at the plastic bag, Eddie gives you a friendly side-eye look, full of teasing. Settling back into the cushions, you tug Eddie’s arm around your shoulders, “Since I’ve been forced to eat them with you.” An appreciative tone rang out from Eddie’s chest as you pressed your ear over the dip in his torso, right over his heart. The gentle, even rhythm you found there was one of your favorite things and you took every available opportunity to listen to Eddie’s heartbeat. You couldn’t say why it was important or what it was about his particular pulse that made you feel better, but it did, and Eddie, well, he never seems to mind. His fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, petting sweetly over the strands of your hair that trailed down towards your shoulders and he saw you shiver, “Here.” Eddie tugged the knitted afghan from the back of the couch, tucking it in around you. Sighing, you snuggled into him, letting your eyes shut, feeling truly and completely at ease finally, “Hmm, thanks babe.” Babe? Oh shit. That wasn’t good. Not for his spiraling thoughts. Sipping his beer, he refocused on the green Grinch stomping on the screen. He couldn’t bear to look at you. Looking at you, right now, was dangerous. You were too precious. And the scene around him was too domestic. It was exactly what life should look like if you weren’t the town scapegoat, raised by your uncle in the worst part of town and Eddie didn’t trust himself not to do something stupid in pursuit of that idealized image. Against his thigh, Eddie felt you shift as you drifted off. You were practically in his lap with your head nuzzled into the center of his chest, eyes gently shut. If he wasn’t careful, Eddie was going to enjoy holding you like this, so close and so easy, a little too much. The Grinch was complaining about noise and Eddie understood the sentiment a little too well because right now he was struggling to ignore the little kitten snores you were making with every exhale. Your tiny huffed puffs blowing against his tummy, beer scented and sweet. He smiled down at you, full of affection and pulled you tighter to his side. Unable to stop himself, Eddie brushed a peck to your upturned forehead, whispering a rueful “Fuck” into the night. When The Grinch ended and Charlie Brown’s Christmas started, Eddie sat still, his empty beer bottle in his hand, afraid that any movement would wake you up. A news broadcast, filled with updates on the coming snow storm’s progress and holiday toy drive details wrapped up before the intro to Johnny Carson began. Through it all, Eddie kept his arm around you, enjoying the worn in feel of your nightgown under his hand and the way you were burrowed into the crook of his shoulder. It was hard to be in your space so intimately and not touch you, even if his hands burned at the effort of keeping them to himself. So, he didn’t trace the sweet sweep of your nose or tuck your hair behind your ears. And somehow, Eddie managed to keep from pulling you into his lap fully, just to pet you, like he would a sleeping kitten. Instead, he relished the trust you put in him, content to imagine happy kisses shared between the pair of you, while you dreamed next to him on the sofa. And you slept just like that, curled into Eddie Munson’s warmth until the strains of the National Anthem faded into staticy snow. You sat up quickly, pulling back from the shared heat you and Eddie had created with a yawn. Blinking his way sheepishly, your words full of drowsiness, “Sorry Ed- Did-” you rubbed your still sleepy eyes, “Did you- did you stay all this time just to let me sleep?” It was his turn to look bashful, and glancing out your window, Eddie nodded, “Yea. What can I say? You were too cute to move, sweetheart.” Snorting, you rolled your eyes at his kind words, “Oh, I bet I was! All drooly and-” But he cut you off with a firm finger under your chin that yanked you near enough for his lips to press into your own. A hungry sound, the kind a man makes when he’s digging into his favorite dinner, rolled through Eddie as you let your mouth part. Thick and probing, Eddie licked over your bottom lip, letting the kiss deepen as your hands tangled into the second skin of his t-shirt. His forehead rested against your own, chest rising and falling rapidly, as Eddie’s dark eyes locked on yours, “Hey.” “Hey,” you echoed, keenly aware of Eddie’s presence in your sphere, breathing him in with short inhales as you tried to quiet your racing heart. Hands that you know as well as your own come down to cup your face, handling you as if you were porcelain- precious beyond measure and utterly breakable, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” Looking like a happy kid on Christmas morning, Eddie’s dimples show as he smiles your way, his fingers threading with yours. Falling back into his original spot, he drags you with him, eager to have you in his arms, but you hold yourself back, teeth toying at your bottom lip as you blurt, “But Barry. He’s-” Your words stick in your throat at the sight of Eddie’s crestfallen face, a new iciness filling each syllable, “What? He’s what, sweetheart?” When you don’t answer right away, a rage that he normally can keep in check threatens to overflow, as Eddie carried on in a rising voice, “I’ve seen- shit-” a fist slams into the meat of his thigh, his anger focused on that one spot as hurt filled eyes find yours in the silver light of the running television, “-I’ve seen what he’s done to you. How he treats you. How he hurts you over and over.” Slender fingers reach for your cheek but Eddie doesn’t touch you. Instead he lets his hand drop into his lap, his heart falling into the abyss as he manages to choke out, “And still, you’d rather be with him?” For a long second you didn’t answer, your brain too full of thoughts. A lot had happened in the few minutes since you woke up, huddled around Eddie’s middle and you still weren’t thinking straight. How could you after an incredible kiss like that? And Barry. What about him? Were you together? You didn’t think so, not after what you had overheard, but that final conversation hadn’t happened yet.

Eddie’s words surround you though, the pain in them unmistakable. Shaking your head slowly, you huskily counter, “I didn’t say that, Eddie. It’s just-” But he pushed to his feet without giving you a chance to explain. Swinging his jacket over his broad shoulders with furious flare, “Ya know, what? Don’t. I don’t wanna know. Just uh-” in three long strides Eddie’s jerked open your front door. His back is to you, the handsome face that you’ve come to associate with protection and honor haloed by the streetlights, Eddie chokes out over his shoulder, “Merry Christmas.”

Your door, red bowed wreath swinging, slammed shut and now, now your apartment feels really empty, cold. The lights on your tree seem garish and glaring as this year’s holiday slowly but surely becomes the worst kind of memory. Feelings that you’re too tired to process flow through you, but in the end you drag yourself to bed in the early hours of Christmas morning, wishing it all away as a bad dream. Flopping into bed, you clutched your pillow in your arms, disappointed that it didn’t have a pulse to share with you. Already missing Eddie, you kicked yourself for being so indecisive, for ruining the precious seconds where only you and he existed in the twinkling glow of Christmas lights. Pale sunlight was streaking the sky when you finally closed your eyes, hoping that you’d wake up to a world that was back in its proper alignment. Only, morning finds you, just the same, and unfortunately, there are no singing Whos to make you feel better about the night before. There’s no one to kiss you awake and wish you a Merry Christmas Eve or tell you about the snow that is just starting to fall in fat, perfect flakes. You don’t have anyone to cook for or watch open gifts. It’s just you, all by yourself. It was always going to be a small Christmas, you knew that, truly. You didn’t have much family and only a few friends, except for the people you met through your boyfriend or Eddie. In fact, the gifts laying under the tree had been for them, of course. Now they both were ghosts: Christmas Past and Christmas Present. At some point you throw yourself onto the couch, clicker in one hand, a can of Coke in the other even though it was still breakfast time. It was around that time he’d called, much too early for your liking, so you let the machine get it. With a self assured voice that proved how little he understood or cared about you, Barry had left a message asking you to bring a dessert when you came for dinner that night. A last minute request for a last minute invitation. He was so sorry, but you would do it, right? His call went unreturned. Angry, you immediately erased the tape and took the phone off the hook. After last night with Eddie, you were fairly certain that no one else was going to be calling. Not on Christmas Eve when there were presents and parties and people to enjoy. Besides, all this silence gave you time to think, so while Danny Kaye and Bing Crosby tap danced across the twelve inch screen of your tv, you did just that. And if your eyes got misty at Rosemary Clooney’s gift of a knight on a white horse, then that was just how good the movie was, right? It didn’t have a single thing to do with a certain man willing to ride into battle on your behalf, over and over and over again. The more you thought, the more you realized that Eddie hadn’t been wrong about the ways in which Barry failed you as a boyfriend. He had been treating you like garbage for a very long time, longer than anyone should tolerate, but when you had so little, even the scraps seemed significant. Swallowing down your less than festive Swanson’s turkey dinner lunch, you realized that you didn’t want scraps- not anymore. Changing the channel, Jimmy Stewart’s drawl takes over the room, but you're not thinking about bells ringing. You’re thinking about Eddie, again. Still. You’re thinking about how, even now, your nightie smells like tobacco and light beer and old leather. You’re thinking about the sacred synth beating of his heart and how it always seems to settle you. You’re thinking about that tender kiss he laid on you when your brain was still fuzzy but your body knew just how to respond.

You’re thinking about Eddie this Christmas Eve, but is he thinking about you?

— Eddie has never been more miserable in life. Surrounded by all of his friends, gorging themselves on pie and turkey and ham and potatoes and cookies cut to look like snowmen, mittens or bells, Eddie is cursing the whole Christmas season. All of the trappings are just red and green reminders of what he doesn’t have, what he can’t enjoy, what he had with you last night when you were tucked into him, safe and sound, while The Grinch stole Christmas. “What’s eating you?” Steve’s got a small paper plate in his hand, balancing a slice of lasagna along with a piece of cake that’s been stabbed through by a white plastic fork, as he dropped down beside Eddie. “Nothing.” Leaning his chin into his hand, Eddie’s elbow dug into the meat of his thigh, a grouchy position for a grouchy guy. Licking frosting off his fork, Steve hummed, “No way. Something’s got you all pissy. Pissier than usual- and on Christmas too! Come on, lay it on me.” Rolling his eyes Steve’s direction, Eddie sat back reluctantly, “I- I think I fucked up.” Steve’s bite of lasagna hovered in midair, between the plate and his open mouth, as he tossed his infamous locks, “Impossible. It’s Christmas.” “What’s that got to do with it?” Eddie grumbled, sitting up swiftly. Really, was that any kind of explanation? It was December 25th so your life couldn’t be totally screwed up? Humbug. Chewing loudly, Steve nodded, holding up a finger as a silent indicator for Eddie to wait up until he swallowed. With a sip of his egg nog, Steve twisted in Eddie’s direction, “Well, first, everyone loves Christmas. Everyone but you, I mean. It makes people feel better. Want to be better, do better, ya know?” “So?” “So, you’re more likely to be forgiven for fucking up. I mean, shit. Nance and I got back together over Christmas. It’s magical, dude.” Blowing out a noise that was similar to a fart, Eddie shook his head in frustration, “It’s a day, Harrington. One day out of 365. Why does everyone make such a big deal-” “Are you kidding me? Have you like, never seen A Christmas Carol or, or watched ‘Rudolph’?” Confused, Eddie shrugs, “I have, but-” “But what? All the songs, the movies, the stories, they’re all about loving each other- and, and being kind at Christmas time.” Throwing up his hands, Eddie stared at his friend, his smile sort of sad, “Well, what if you kiss someone who’s still hung up on their asshole boyfriend?” With rounding, wide eyes, Steve stuttered, “You- you kissed her? It’s about damn time, man!” Flopping back, his long haired head resting against the tall cushion of the Wheeler’s couch, Eddie groused, “Naw, Harrington. She-” sighing deeply, willing the pain out of his tone, “-she’d rather stay with Barry.” Steve tossed down the empty plate, standing quickly, “No. Nope. Nuh uh.” Looking around, shocked by Steve’s sudden movements, Eddie can’t help asking, “What’s happening, Steve?” Bending at the waist, his handsome forelock falling forward, Steve’s hands find his hips as he admonishes the depressed rocker in front of him, “I’ll tell you what’s happening. You’re getting up and going over there. You have to talk to her, man.” Glaring up at his friend from under his shaggy bangs, Eddie shook his head defiantly, “No way. No fucking way. She-” Leaning down further, dad stance activated, Steve snapped, “Do you like her? Do you-” pausing to cock an eyebrow skyward, “-love her?” Gulping guiltily, Eddie’s head bounced in response as Steve added, “I thought so. Well, the good thing for you is that this magical day isn’t over. You never know what might happen if you go and talk to her. I mean, it’s Christmas, man. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find out you didn’t fuck up everything after all.” “Is this some kinda motivational speech, Harrington?” Tilting his head as that wicked grin spread over his face, Eddie isn’t laughing at Steve, but he can’t help mocking him just a little bit. Confusion filling his face, Steve faltered for a second, “Uh, is- is it working?” Genuinely this time, Eddie smiled genuinely, “Yea, I think it is.” Straightening his spine, resolute, Steve countered, “Then, yes. I’m motivating you with my speech. Now, uh, get lost, Munson.” Offering his unlikely friend a hand, Steve pulled Eddie to his feet and was already ushering him towards the door. “Alright, but if this backfires, I’m coming back here and kicking your ass to the tune of Jingle Bells.” “Fair enough.” Steve tapped him twice on the back as Eddie slid towards the van, his sneakers not offering much traction in the snow, “Go get her, Munson.” Eddie started the van and gave Steve a thumbs up before backing slowly out of the driveway. For some reason, his heart felt lighter, buoyed by the pep talk from his buddy. Maybe Steve was right. Maybe there was a way to save this Christmas after all. Mind whirling, he was already planning out what to say to you- an apology to start. And he was sorry. Sorry for kissing you out of the blue. Sorry for not telling you how he felt. Sorry for talking about your boyfriend.

Ex-boyfriend? Whatever the hell he was now. But mostly, Eddie was sorry for walking away without telling you what was going on inside his head. You deserved that much at least. Snow was falling faster now, dusting the whole town in powdered sugar whiteness, and he found himself hunching over the steering wheel to see better between the drifting flakes. His defrost was working overtime, struggling to keep the fog off his windshield, as he cursed, “Jesus Christ!” As he got closer to your place his headlights illuminated a person, bundled up like a snowman, trudging along the barely plowed street. Shaking his head as he slowly rolled past, Eddie couldn’t understand what would possess someone to do something like that, even if it was Christmas Eve. What was so damned important that you went out in bad weather, a soggy sack of gifts melting under the swiftly shifting snow, he’d like to know. Pressing on the brake, Eddie stopped, disbelief flooding him. “No. No way-”

— Snow was dropping down in gentle swirls when you decided that you had to see Eddie, regardless of the fading sunlight, before Christmas Eve came to a close. Too much had been said, too much left unsaid, for your mind to let it go. Not to mention the way your heart ached dully when you thought about the wounded look on his face before he’d left you, stunned and speechless, after that tasty kiss. No. It was Christmas, dammit. And at Christmas, you told people how much they meant to you. How much you needed them. How much you relied on their strength, their warmth, their willingness to take teary phone calls at all hours of the night and then come rescue you from shitty situations time and again. How much you, gulp, loved them. It was Christmas Eve and you were only just now realizing that there was one person who you needed to make the holiday happy and bright. One dark hued, leather wearing metal head who just happens to be the white knight of your personal story. You just hoped it wasn't too little, too late. Jamming his gift into a bag, you dressed as warmly as you could, layering up like a cake before lacing up your boots. Pulling on a striped winter hat, complete with a fuzzy pom pom on top, you zipped up your heavy coat and stepped outside, shivering in the chill. You didn’t have a car of your own, so you were going for a wintery walk to the trailer park, all in the name of love.

With a foggy exhale, you hummed to yourself, “Oh, the weather outside is frightful-” On a good day, the walk to Eddie’s place was about fifteen minutes. Today, Christmas Eve, during a snowstorm, that quarter of an hour turns into forty five minutes easily. Color rose up on your cheeks, across your nose, and the tips of your ears. Anywhere you couldn’t cover with a scarf or coat was chapping in the cold air. And you had long ago stopped your singing. Forced to walk on the road since most of the sidewalks were untreated, you didn’t mind, but you were incredibly cautious about oncoming traffic. You wanted to talk to Eddie, not get turned into road pizza on the biggest holiday of the year, so you are walking into the wind and making yourself as visible as possible in the coming dusk. Still, it required a lot of effort on your part, even if you had started to question the sanity of your idea.

Headlights catch your eye and you raise a hand to block the brightness. The driver was going slow due to the snow and you move as far to the side as you can while also avoiding a slushy splash. Tucking further into your scarf, you trudged on, rehearsing the speech you were going to give when Eddie opened his trailer door. And maybe that’s why you didn’t notice when the passing vehicle slid to a stop before reversing on the empty roadway. All you know is that one second you were inside your head, white flakes flying past in swirling cyclones, and the next you hear a shout, “What the hell are you doing?” “Eddie?” Stopping short, your head snapped up at a voice you know as well as your own. He was out of the van in a flash, his hands gripping onto your shoulders tightly, “It’s cold as fuck out here, not to mention snowing like crazy, and you’re just- just walking around?” Tipping your chin up, you eyed him from under the brim of your stocking cap, “I was going to your place. I- I have a gift-” “A gift? Sweet fucking Christ! You coulda been killed! A car could have- or, or, you could have slipped on ice and hit your head. I mean, do you have any idea-” Horrible scenario after horrible scenario filled Eddie’s mind. Worrying about what could have happened to you and knowing that it hadn’t could not stop the flipped switch of his panic. With a cracking voice, Eddie pulled you into his heart, his warmth, questioning you brokenly, “What if I hadn’t seen you? What if- what if something happened to you and I wasn’t able to stop it. To save you?”

His grip tightens around you and your bulky coat, almost lifting you off the ground, “What would I do if-” A sweet half smile curls over your face as you put a mittened hand over his chest, cutting him off, “Eddie.” Your voice stills him, those wide burnt sugar eyes locking on yours, as he tips your head up, “Yea?” Pushing up onto the toes you could barely feel, you pressed a chaste kiss to Eddie’s warm mouth, lingering in his cinnamon gum scented sphere. For a second, he froze, your cold nose rubbing against his as your eyes fluttered shut. Then, his arms pulled you as close as your jacket allowed, those lips of his finding your chapped ones with a happy hum. Heat rushed through you, a welcome change from the dropping temperatures out on the snowy street. Only this heat was spreading from the clenching muscles in your tummy, a fire ignited by the wanting way Eddie moaned into your mouth. His nimble tongue danced alongside yours as the sky deepened into an inky indigo, dotted with picture perfect snowflakes. Fingers, pinkening from the cold air, tug on the ends of your scarf ensuring that you can’t get away from Eddie this time. He didn’t need to worry. You weren’t going anywhere, not without Eddie Munson, anyway. Not anymore. Parting in a puff of heavy air that turned silver in the snowy night, Eddie’s forehead bumped against the cuff of your cap, a goofy grin making his dimples impossible to ignore, “Hey.” “Hey.” Looking up at him through the curve of your lashes, expectant and excited, you were waiting to see what Eddie’s next move would be. You were rosy from cold, eyes shining bright in the fading light of day, and Eddie had never wanted you more. Swallowing thickly, you watched his Adam’s Apple bob while his arms rubbed over your thick sleeves, “Can I- Will you let me take you home?” Biting into your bottom lip, you nod quickly, “Yea. Yes, please.” Guiding you, Eddie ensured that you’re safely situated in the passenger seat before securing your buckle and shutting the door. You giggled as he moved around the front of the van, slipping in the slush, his face illuminated in the headlights. Catching your eye, he winks wickedly and then is seamlessly sliding behind the steering wheel with a wild toss of his snow-dampened hair, “Where to m’lady?” Sighing deeply, but happily, you pull off your winter hat, staticy strands sticking up at odd angles, “I’d normally say take me home, but-” “But?” There’s caution in Eddie’s voice. Like a skim of ice on the lake, things between you are still tentative- not solid, and he has a momentary lapse of confidence. Laying a hand on his denim clad thigh, leaning closer to reassure him, you shrugged, “But I don’t want to be alone. Not tonight. It’s Christmas Eve.” It gives Eddie an idea. A wonderful idea. A perfect, Hallmark Card, winter wonderland idea. “Ok, but just remember… You asked for it.” His tone is playful when Eddie swings the van in a circle, turning from the direction of your place back the way he came. Oh, he’s nervous. There weren’t a lot of people who had been to his trailer; just the closest, dearest of friends. Steve had seen the inside of the clean and cozy space a time or two, Robin and Nancy for sure, but mostly, Eddie was the guy pulling up to your place, not the other way around. A small Christmas tree, loaded with lights and ornaments faced the gravelly road where Eddie’s uncle was already parked. There’s strands of blinking lights criss-crossing the awning and a small sign that says, “Santa Stop Here” propped up on the porch. It’s a sweet sight, a glowing, golden invitation on a cold and snowy Christmas night and you can’t help the dopey look of glee on your face at what you’re seeing. Pulling the van in smoothly, Eddie held up a hand, “Wait, k? I haven’t been here to shovel.” Agreeing with a head bob, you sat patiently as he stomped around, snow high enough to cover his sneakers. Snagging your bag, you are prepared to step into the snow, but Eddie doesn’t give you the chance. One foot touched the ground and then he’s bear hugging you, walking you straight to the stairs as you laugh, “What are you doing?” “Keeping you from getting cold feet. Obviously!” Once he’s sure you’re on the firm ground of his steps, Eddie bounced back and kicked the van’s door closed. He brushed by you, his hand finding your elbow so that he could haul you inside, calling out warmly, “Hey, Uncle Wayne! Hope you don’t mind-” An older, more worn in version of Eddie, minus the long locks, popped a head out from the kitchenette, “Wha? Oh. Oh, we’ve got company then?” Wiping his hands on a well used dish cloth, he moved closer, arms wide, “I’m Eddie’s uncle- Wayne, in case you didn’t get that part.” The hug is crushing and so full of tenderness that you can’t help but wrap your arms around this new person, squeezing hard as he welcomes you. Stepping back, Uncle Wayne kept a firm hand on you, but eyed Eddie steadily, “Your phone call, I take it?” Chuckling nervously, Eddie rubbed a palm across the back of his neck, ruffling his hair in the process. He’s never been able to hide much from his uncle, this is no exception, and he can tell that he’s busted. “Yea, Wayne. She’s the one who called last night.” A look passed between them, approving and accepting, before Wayne clapped his hands, asking, “Are ya hungry, darling? It’s not much, but it’s our tradition, so to speak.” “If you don’t mind? I-” “Mind?” Wayne says it as if he’s offended by the idea, “You’ll be doing me a favor. Keep this one-” pointing at Eddie with an up turned thumb, “-on his best behavior. Come on!” Your jacket disappeared into a closet somewhere and Eddie helped you shuck the soaking boots you’ve been wearing for much too long. Excusing yourself, you duck into the bathroom, and when you come back, there’s a heartwarming scene unfolding in front of you. Wayne and Eddie, setting an extra place at the table, grumbling about the “good china” which you can tell is paper plates. Stopping, Wayne appraised his nephew for beat as Eddie centered a folded paper towel over your spot. A small smile pulled at the corners of his uncle’s mouth before Wayne dragged Eddie into an unwilling hug that ended with a firm clap on the younger man’s back. You swing back into the room at the sound, “This- this looks great, you guys!” A pot of macaroni and cheese, neon orange and buttery, sits in the center of the table. There’s a plate of ham and cheese sandwiches, cut into triangles and piled high on a Miller High Life tin tray, next to a bowl of salad greens. A big bottle of ranch dressing standing proudly at its side. “It’s not traditional, I guess-” Eddie started but Uncle Wayne cut him off, “It’s our tradition! All of Eddie’s favorite food is here. Except the salad, of course.” “Except the salad.” He echoed his uncle, offering you a sandwich from the tray while his teeth pinch the fat of his lip, desperate for your acceptance. He had no reason to worry. It’s just so lovely to be with other people, especially guys like the Munson boys. They pass around bottles of beer, telling stories, making you laugh so hard that your stomach muscles ache from it. From deeper in the trailer you heard the sound of an alarm clock buzzing and Uncle Eddie exhaled hard, “Well children, I have to get going.” Looking up from your seat at their table, you questioned, “No! You’re not leaving are you?” Taking one of your hands in his, Wayne pats it gently, “Double time at the plant is too good to pass up, even if the company is as excellent as yours, darling.” Pouting, you let your bottom lip stick out and Eddie is struck by an urge to kiss you stupid. Instead of whipping you into his arms in front of his uncle, Eddie stood up and started clearing the table, “Ok, old man. You can stop flirting with her now.” “Me? I would never!” And you could hear the same teasing tone in Uncle Wayne’s voice that Eddie has inherited. It’s flattering and flustering at the same time and you just knew that they could feel the flush of heat radiating off of you from the attention they both give you. “Yea, yea. Here-” Eddie handed a small box to Wayne, “-Food, for tonight’s shift.” “Thanks, son.” Turning in your chair you watched Wayne shrug on his coat, popping the collar up high to block some of the snow that’s still falling. At the doorway he nodded your direction, “Don’t be a stranger young lady. Merry Christmas to you both!”

And then the trailer goes quiet. Eddie pivoted fast, big eyes finding yours, and you both started laughing again. “Shit! I mean, I knew Uncle Wayne had moves, I’ve just never seen them in action like that before.” Feigning innocence, you placed a hand over your heart, “Do you mean to tell me that he was flirting? My, my, you Munson men must have a type!” Eddie’s chuckle petered out, his face growing serious, as he looked you over, “Yea. We do. Pretty ladies who uh, who walk through snow storms and love The Grinch.” You didn’t laugh because it wasn’t funny anymore. Reaching out his hand, Eddie lifted you to your feet, spinning you in place before bringing his hands to your hips. “Hey, hang on, k?” Nodding, you missed his presence when he stepped up to the record player hidden in the corner of the living room. The speakers spring to life, and with a triumphant grunt, Eddie placed a 45 on the turntable before returning to you. Nat King Cole started to croon about chestnuts and open fires, but you’re hardly listening. You’re caught up in the way Eddie’s eyes reflect the multi-colored lights of his cute Christmas tree, reds and greens and yellows and blues. The feeling of his hands swaying you back and forth, moving you where he needed you to be, is intoxicating, heady. Drawing your palms over his forearms, you slid them higher, higher, higher, until you could lace them behind Eddie’s neck. He stretched against your folded fingers, looking down at you, “I’m really glad that you came over tonight. I don’t think Wayne will ever get over it.” Snickering sweetly, you wet your lips, “He loves you.” “He’s the only one.” Shaking your head, your hooded gaze never leaving his, you countered, “Uh uh. That’s not true.” Eddie tilted his head, studying your expression, “You calling me a liar, sweetheart?” His tone was playful but the tenor was low, raspy, grating, and you matched it when you answered, “Yea, maybe I am.” “Are you saying that you love me?” Whispering, just in case he was dreaming, just in case he had to deny that these words had ever been spoken, Eddie paused all movement. You nod, yes, but it’s not enough. Not for Eddie. Not tonight. “Please, I need- I need you to say it.” A clock ticked away the seconds while you peered into the hot cocoa gaze of the only man you truly trusted, “I love you, Eddie. I- I think I always have, really.” If you could capture an image to look over forever, it would be the face Eddie made at your husky confession. The unadulterated joy that crowds his features made you think about New Year’s Eve fireworks, exploding and expanding as they brilliantly burst. Eddie broke your hold on him, his fingers threaded between your own as he brought a hand up to press a little kiss to your knuckles. “I know. It took you long enough to realize it, though, sweetheart.” Looking away from him, a stupid, giddy smile grew across your face. You rolled your eyes, “Maybe I was waiting for the right moment? ‘Tis the season, ya know?” Eddie didn’t reply, at least not with words. He picked his moment and using your waist as leverage, snugged you tight to his lean body. One arm braced along your spine as his other hand cupped your bountiful bottom, tipping you off center a bit so that he could wrap your leg over his hip. He’s so solid, so sturdy, that you melted into the embrace, letting Eddie support you entirely as you gripped at his firm biceps. That curtain of ebony hair brushed against your cheek as your mouth searched for and found more of Eddie to taste. Mewling against his lips, you could feel his growing excitement and your core pulsed with need at the idea of having all of Eddie, all for yourself. Pinching your bottom, Eddie straightened you both up, jerking his head towards the small room at the end of the hall, “Come on.” A little light headed, you followed where he led, landing in his personal domain. It’s a space dominated by his love of music and all things D&D related, and it smelled so good, so right, that you launched yourself in his direction, needy lips already moving in on him. Eddie met you there, in the middle, ready and wanting. Longing for him, you toyed with the hem of his t-shirt, desperate to feel Eddie under your hands. Gliding higher, Eddie chuckled, catching your hands in one of his, “Your hands are freezing!” “Sorry!” You rubbed them together, blowing on them, trying to warm them up as quickly as possible. “S’ok, I got you.” He stepped away and crossed his hands at the bottom of his shirt before ripping it off in one fluid motion. Eddie is stunning. His compact and constant strength is evident in the smooth lines of his chest, his tattoos a road map to pleasure. You didn’t know whether to touch him, or kiss him, or lick him- your thoughts derailed entirely when he tisked, “Um, see something you like?” Beneath your hands Eddie felt so substantial, so solid. Tracing his ribs, you leaned in to kiss the places where black ink outlined the images associated with his rock and roll persona, keeping a hold on his trim waist. When you reached the hollow of his chest, the place that hovered above his heart, you lingered long enough to purple the skin there as yours. Home. It’s the sort of attention that Eddie isn’t accustomed to- someone showering him in affection. The time its taken for your tongue to lick lines over his pecs, press kisses across his collar bone, nips at the cologne stained skin of his neck, feels like decades. Eons. Ages. But he let you take that time. Breathing became a struggle, especially when you purse your lips and sucked little red splotches over the length of his core, your still chilly fingers dug into the muscles of his back as a reminder for him to keep still. Tentatively, you played with his belt, not wanting to show just how eager you truly were in this moment. He doesn’t stop you, instead Eddie moves your hands to his handcuff shaped buckle, encouraging you, “Yea, go ahead, babe. I- I want you to.” Jumping at the contact, Eddie’s stomach muscles contracted and he hissed. Dropping to your knees, you pushed his jeans down, down, down, and tapped his calf. It was a silent way of telling him to move his feet so you could get his pesky pants off of him. From this position, Eddie stood tall and straight like a mythological hero above you. Other guys might have tried to hide their growing erections, crossing their hands over any visible sign of their desire, but that’s not Eddie’s style. If anything, he parted his legs, widening his stance to showcase his masculine power. And if the boxers he wore weren’t covered in Santa faces, then you were certain his manliness would have overpowered you. “Ah! These are very cute.” Flicking at the hem of his shorts, you had to tease him. You have to lighten the mood otherwise, you were going to combust right to ash at his feet. “‘Tis the season- isn’t that what you said?” Throwing your words back at you, Eddie let his fingers tangle in your hair, urging your head back as your dewey mouth parted. You were so close to him, to his aching stiffness, that all his willpower is being channeled into behaving. It would be all too easy to dig his thumbs into the pudgy flesh of your cheeks, keeping your mouth open wide as he fed his hard cock between your lips until you were full up with Eddie. A shadow of his thoughts crossed behind his eyes and you gulped audibly, pressing your thighs together at the idea of him using you for his own end. Only, that wasn’t who Eddie Munson was, at heart. There was no forcing, no taking, not without talking first. And that alone was so very different from whatever his name was that you were already feeling more excited, more aroused than you could ever remember being before. Nodding at his quip, you stretched your fingers toward the gathered elastic band of his jockey shorts, but he stopped you, “Not yet, ok, pretty girl? Wanna see you first, alright?” “Oh, yea, ok. Sure.” You stood up on shaking legs, never breaking the heated stare between you and Eddie. Slowly you started to peel off the layers of clothing that you had wrapped around yourself before heading out into the snow. Fumbling, you toed off one thick sock when Eddie’s low laugh interrupted your eager undressing, “Lemme help you. You helped me, it’s only fair.” Motioning to his thigh, you brought your socked foot up, inhaling sharply when Eddie rolled the soggy wool down your toes before chucking it towards the door. Those calloused fingers massaged up your calf, the muscles there tense from your excursion, and you groaned gratefully at the softening his touch brings. Too soon, in your opinion, Eddie lowered your leg back to the floor, but it’s only because he was raising the bottom band of your hoodie over your head. Stumbling a bit, he caught you, now in a t-shirt and leggings, “Did you put on everything you own?” “It’s cold out! And I was walking here to tell the guy I love “Merry Christmas”!” It’s your best defense and the base honesty of it makes Eddie weak. “Fair enough, sweetheart, but I need you naked. Like, now.” His eyebrows are raised expectantly making you chortle as his overeager attitude. You got a little bit fresh though, wanting to tease him, to draw out the night, so you sass, “What if I’m your gift, huh Munson? And you’re just rushing through the unwrapping part-” He doesn't let you finish. Instead, Eddie scooped you up with his hands on your soft bottom, pushing his nose into the crook of your neck, “Oh, I know how to take my time, babe. Especially when it matters.” “Fuck, Eddie.” It’s a broken exhale, wanton and laced with a desperation that he had never heard from you before. He’s an addict already. Buttons part easily under Eddie’s knowing fingertips. Your flannel shirt and faded tee are thrown across the room joining the growing pile of your clothes. After your ribbed tank top comes off, the last barrier to your bountiful breasts is the emerald green bra you put in, hopeful that Eddie would have a chance to see it before the night ends. Now here he is, an owlish look on his wonder filled face, “Wow.” Heat climbed through you at the raw realness on display in Eddie’s features. That’s when you decided that you can’t wait any longer and took his wrists in your hands, placing them on your waist as you stepped into his arms, “Eddie, baby, please? Please touch me.” He doesn’t respond with words. Gripping you tight enough to bruise, your head is tipped back to make room for Eddie’s roving mouth as he scorches a path down your neck. At the swell of your breasts he slowed down, savoring the flavor of your skin, teasing you with his tongue. Licking over the lace of your bra, Eddie sucked on your hardened nipple through the fabric, the foreign sensation making you jump under his ministrations. You tangled a fist in his hair, pulling against the loose curls, and he let you direct his mouth back to your own bee stung lips as you mewl, “Need you, Eddie. Need you now.” “Fuck, baby.” Walking you backwards, Eddie lowered you onto his bed, following you down to the mattress. His hands cupped your cheeks, brushing your hair back so he could really see you, those broad thighs pressing your own open. You could feel the delicious weight of him on top of you, his hard cock unavoidable, and you rolled your hips into Eddie’s just to hear him groan. In a rush now, Eddie ripped your pants off in a flash, taking your panties with them. Kneeling between your spread legs, he laid his hands over his heart, “I really love-” you angled up onto your elbows, anticipating how he’ll finish his sentence, “-my Christmas gift. Thank you so much for bringing it over, even if you had to walk a mile in the snow.” “You shit!” Giggling at his theatrics, you grabbed for him, only satisfied when he’s draped over your prone figure. There’s a kiss then, and another, and another until they blend together in your mind. Some are sweet and slow. Some tender and testing. Others are sloppy, teeth clicking, tongue sucking kisses. Hands are everywhere. They glide along hairy thighs and smooth arms. They paused to fondle, to flick, to squeeze. They never stopped moving. Fingers find ticklish spots to linger on, drawing out laughter, high and sweet. Fingers press hard into soft skin. They dig in, they hold on. When Eddie’s bold enough, he touches you at the dark, damp cavern of your core. The un-rushed attention is overwhelming and it doubles in intensity when his calloused middle finger finds a home surrounded by your satin walls. Clutching at his arms, you wailed thinly, “More, Eddie, more, please.” A second finger breached your wet cleft, the stretch delicious and somehow delicate because Eddie’s listening to you, to your body, and he’s not rushing. His gaze had not left yours, the show you’re putting on is just too good to miss and he has a front row seat. Kissing over your tummy, moving lower, you bucked into his grip just as his plush pout pressed against your straining clitoris. Fisting his pillow with one hand, the other curled possessively around the back of his neck, holding him steady. Holding him close. Holding out for the inevitable peak of your pleasure, brought on by the unceasing attention of your lover. Panting, your thighs quaked, the ecstatic energy gathering in your body ready to explode. It’s been so long since you had someone take care of you, worry about pleasing you, think about getting you off first, that when your orgasm hits it is leveling. The air huffs out of you in short bursts as your body goes rigid, all of your limbs seem to lock up, and every molecule of your form is concentrated on the overriding bliss created by Eddie and his feelings for you. Maybe you blacked out, you don’t really know what else to call the far away floating sensation that accompanied your little death. What you do know is that Eddie has you gathered in his arms, your head cradled over that spot- your spot on his chest, his heartbeat the first sound that breaks through the fog of your climax. Rocking you back and forth, soft kisses pressing into the crown of your head, as Eddie cooed, “I got you, pretty girl. It’s alright. You’re ok, honey.” Shivering as you come down from your intense high, stray tears cascaded down your cheeks, but these are not born of sadness. Experiencing euphoria like this was overwhelming and you gratefully sunk into Eddie’s warmth, hiccuping, “I’m- I’m ok, Eddie. I’m- thank you. Thank you so much.” “Thank me? Sweetheart, I didn’t do-” Swiveling in his arms, you peered up at him through wet eyes, “But you did! You do. You always take such great care of me and tonight, all this, it’s no exception.” And you kissed him with everything you had in your heart, saying ‘I love you’ with your body over and over again. When you pulled back this time, a small hand on Eddie’s stubbled cheek, you shook your head, not believing that you were here, now, with this loving man, “I think I must be dreaming.” “Then, please, for the love of Ozzy, do not wake up.” An undignified snort of laughter snuck out of you and Eddie takes advantage of the distraction to lay you back on the bed. Floppy and boneless, you’re spread out and giggling, ready for whatever Eddie wanted to do. You run your foot over his leg, landing on his hip before he wrapped a hand around your ankle, steadying his hold on you to ensure that you were open wide for him. You nibbled on your pinky finger, knowing what came next, but playing coy. That sweetness, the innocent way you batted your eyelashes at him, it made Eddie throb. Yearning to be inside of you, he smooched at the skin of your inner thigh, “God, you’re so fucking pretty. Can I touch you, beautiful? Can I make you feel good?” Why would you ever say no to that? Letting your calves lock around his, you lifted your hips up so that you could hump against Eddie, “Please, Eddie, for fuck’s sake!” And then he was fisting himself, lining the hardest part of his body up with the softest part of your own, “Hey, hey, look at me.” Locked in on Eddie’s blown out stare, you licked over your bottom lip, which only made him groan. Dropping his chin, he shook his head, “You- you can’t look at me like that, baby. I’m going to cum before I ever get to feel you if you keep that up.” “But, I didn’t-” Running a hand through his hair so that it fell over his shoulder, he husked, “You can’t help it. You’re just so damned adorable and-” the expansive head of his cock caught at the slick circle of your quim, “-And I fucking love you.” Inhaling sharply, your body arched off the bed and straight into Eddie’s chest at his first breaching thrust. Hands tensing, your nails clawed at his forearms as he stilled, giving you time to adjust to his shattering length and stretching width. Distracting you, Eddie’s mouth dotted kisses along the base of your throat and over your jaw, before huskily growling into your ear, “I’m gonna move now, ok?” Noiseless, you nodded as Eddie kept his word. Withdrawing slowly, Eddie was exercising all the control he possessed to ensure that you got the best of him. And even with his concentration focused on the long, smooth strokes of his thrusts, he still managed to touch you, kiss you, mumble out sounds like yes and fuck and your name. “Eddie, more, please?” You hadn’t meant to whine but he felt so good that you wanted all you could get. It was as if you had cut him free by asking that question. Eddie let his body reply, rolling his hips, no longer pulling free from your velvet vice. Instead he surged forward, deeper and deeper with every press of his pelvis against your own.

Your sweaty skin had gone over goosebumps, a shivering, shining sensation spiraling from your core. You found your voice but could only manage to whimper as Eddie let a free hand rake over your thigh before his fingers landed on your clit, rubbing in light circles. The contact made your muscles clench and through gritted teeth, Eddie cursed, “Fucking hell, sweetheart!” His reaction made you giggle breathlessly, “I’m so close Eddie. Are you? Are you gonna cum?” “Yea. Yea I am, honey. Can you hold on? Cum with me?” Hugging him, your back off the mattress, you peppered him with kisses, agreeing with a happy hum. Eddie kept his rhythm, the even movement of his fingers, and when he felt his own eminent ending, took a beat to encourage you, “Sweetheart, please? Let go for me, yea? Wanna- shit- wanna feel you cum around my cock.” Language like that would have made you embarrassed before but coming from Eddie’s sweet, sweet mouth it set you aflame, “Eddie! Yes! Yes, baby!” Your ruinous release arrived with a shout of his name. Going rigid under Eddie as he rocked into you, his palm pressed to the center of your chest, right over your heart, and then he shuddered above you, his forehead coming to rest against your own as you both fought to catch your breath.

But then Eddie pushed away, abruptly, the overflowing spend of his ecstasy wetting your thighs. It left a cold and empty gap between you when he turned his back to you, his shoulders hunched. Sitting up, you moved to Eddie’s side, “Eddie? Are you- are you ok?” There was no answer, so you crawled to his side, but he avoided looking at you, so you draped a hand on his meaty quad, squeezing slightly, as you asked, “Babe, what’s going on?” Kneeling on the bed in front of the man who just gave you two delicious orgasms, you were utterly shocked at the sight that met you; Eddie, skin shiny from sweat, sitting cross legged, was biting into his knuckle. It was the reason which broke you. He was crying. Tough, beautiful, Eddie Munson was crying. Sobbing really, and to stifle the sound, his teeth were gouging into the flesh of his finger. Once more he tried to avoid you, but you were quick to pull his arm down, “Eddie, what happened?” “I-” his voice was thick, embarrassed and full of emotion, “-I’ve never- What we just did, I-” When you realized that he couldn’t get the words out, you took his hands in yours, kissing over the pulse point of each wrist, “Imma need you to take a deep breath, babe. There ya go!” And you praised him when he inhaled brokenly. Puffing out his cheeks on the exhale, he allowed your clever fingers to wipe away his tears, apologizing, “I’m so sorry. So sorry, sweetheart.” “For what? Where’s this coming from?” “For being a big baby, now, after we just-” damp and wet cheeked, his pretty brown eyes found yours in the dim, “-after we made love.”

“Oh, Eddie.” Your hand cupped his cheek and he leaned into the warmth he found there, sighing. For the first time in your relationship, you were able to offer Eddie the sort of comfort and care that he had shown you so many times. Wasting no time, you straddled his lap, wrapping him in a hug. He hooked his chin over your shoulder, “I just- I’ve never had anyone love me. Not like this and-” You silenced him with your lips, your tongue prying into his mouth, drinking the sadness from the source. All of your want, all of your love, all of it went into the kiss you laid on Eddie. When you leaned back far enough to stare at your man, you were met with his earnest expression, still raw and real.

Your forehead nudged into his, a half-smile playing on your lips, “Hey.” “Hey.” Still sounding sad, Eddie let a chuckle burst out of him, but you found it endearing, encouraging. Eddie let his hands find a place on the thick meat of your tush, keeping you close as you nuzzled into his neck, “I love you, Eddie. All of you. And for so many reasons.” “Yea?” He sounded like he still couldn’t believe it. That this was all too good to be true. Pulling back on his hair, he hissed but didn’t try to stop you. “Yea, Eddie. Yea, I do. I fucking love you.” Then he was laughing. A joyful, open, happy sound that brightened the room and made you smile wide. Eddie lightly slapped your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as he licked open mouth kisses along the top of your chest, leaving red marks along the way. Laughing too, you basked in the bubble of love that the two of you were creating. Dragging you to his side, your head rested against his chest, over your special spot. His heart was thumping, steady and strong, already lulling you to sleep, when you tipped your head up, “Merry Christmas, Eddie.” “Uh, Merry Christmas.” And what happened next, well in Hawkins, they say, that Eddie Munson’s small heart grew three sizes that day. On Christmas morning, Eddie cooked you breakfast, and made sure there was plenty of fresh coffee for Uncle Wayne to come home to. After the dishes were washed, you pulled his gift out of your snow stained bag, “This is for you.” “Aw, baby! You didn’t have to do this.” Shifting your weight, you nervously danced, “I know! But, well… OPEN IT!” The paper tore away quickly, revealing a framed photo of the two of you sitting on lounge chairs at Steve’s house, happiness visible on both of your faces. When he looked at the picture it was painfully obvious; you were in love even then. It was clear from the way you leaned into each other, your head resting right over his heart, exactly where it belonged. All you needed to make that love a reality was a Christmas miracle, but those only come around once a year. A lump rose in Eddie’s throat. Maybe there was something to this holiday after all. Something about love and caring and showing people how much they meant to you. Maybe it wasn’t about the cost of gifts or the wrapping paper; the ornaments or the parties. Maybe Christmas wasn’t so bad. Not if it brought you two together, once and for all. Shit. Steve had been right. Eddie was going to have to thank his friend for the motivational speech. When he saw your expectant look, Eddie cleared his throat, declaring, “I love it. Thank you, so so much.” Extending his hand, you took it, letting him settle you in his lap, humming, “And I love you, so so much.” When Wayne came home, you were curled in Eddie’s lap, his arm holding you close. Both of you were sleeping peacefully, the tv playing a repeat of the holiday parade. He shook his head, happy in his heart. Merry Christmas, indeed. —------FIN—-----

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alexturne · 1 year

Text

My Milex fanfic masterpost

LONG CHAPTERED STORIES

under these lights you look beautiful

Rated E - 103k - 14 chapters

Miles got completely lost in his voice. There was a faraway quality to it, like he belonged somewhere else entirely, but somehow had decided to grace them with his presence and Miles felt blessed to be near him if even for a short while. The subtle elegance hidden in his slender figure, the mannerisms of his fingers wrapped around the corners of his notebook. His words were spoken softly, quietly, but without any hesitation or faltering.

Alex is an elusive poet, who has a way with words and Miles is a bartender, who is completely mesmerized.

the element of surprise

Rated E - 45k - 8 chapters

"Yeah! I'm not one to judge, just want ya to be prepared, you know, just in case.." "In case what?" Jamie rolled his eyes at him. "In case nothing. Nevermind. Forget it. Just help me find your skiing gear and we'll be off." "Skiing?" "Yeah, didn't you hear the lady? We're taking you on a surprise skiing trip to celebrate your birthday, mate!"

The Monkeys invite Alex skiing for his birthday and little does he know that there's a very special surprise waiting for him.

sit next to me before i go

Rated E - 28k - 7 chapters

He'd get up in just a second. He'd go downstairs and make Alex sit down on the tall stool by the counter, and have him tell Miles everything about his amazing tour as Miles puttered around the kitchen fixing them both tea and biscuits. It'd be perfect.

If only he could get up.

Or: Miles is sick and is being very stubborn about it, and Alex flies back to take care of him.

my heart melted in the heat

Rated E - 36k - 9 chapters

The cold winds of winter rush through the old college town. Miles drags himself through another shift at the dingy coffee shop, Rich's Beans, and he wishes for summer, for the day he is out of here. But when he gets a new coworker, a young guy named Alex, with pretty dark hair and even prettier dark eyes, life suddenly seems a little brighter.

Will Miles be able to keep his bubbling feelings under control or will his silly crush keep him warm during this season's freak thunderstorms?

Written for the Shadow Monkeys Big Bang 2022

you've got control of everyone's eyes (including mine)

Rated E - 106k - 19 chapters

The tour was coming up soon, everything set in place, and tonight they'd celebrate and let off some steam before it all began. And now he had to deal with this guy? Miles fucking Kane? Of all the nights? Couldn't a guy be allowed to celebrate in peace?

It's 2005 and the Arctic Monkeys are about to set out on their first proper tour. Alex is quite happy with that, until a certain someone gets in the way and spoils it all.

A story about facing hardships, insecurities and stage fright, about friendships, dreams, music and smoking too many fucking cigarettes in dark back alleys. About keeping your friends close, and perhaps your enemies even closer.

SHORT CHAPTERED STORIES

pinned down by the dark

Rated E - 10k - 4 chapters

He knows exactly what’s going on on the other side of that door. The thought sends a shiver up his spine. And he knows who it is as well. He'd recognise that voice anywhere. Someone's in there alright! It's Al, for fucks sake.

Miles hears a soft moan through the door. And he takes a step back from the door, wondering if perhaps he shouldn’t be listening in on his best mate pleasuring himself in the middle of the night.

3 times Miles hears Alex in the middle of the night and 1 time he does something about it.

you're so pretty and i'm so shy

Rated E - 14k - 2 chapters

“Fine, if you’re so shy then why don’t you write him a note? Like in the films, write your number on a slip of paper, give it to him or slip it into his pocket or summat.”

“That might work!”

“I was kidding Alex!”

pretending you were just some lover

Rated E - 13k - 2 chapters

That damned piece of paper marked a death sentence he'd requested himself on that fateful day three months ago.

Today would mark the end of the charade.

When he'd sign his name on that dotted line.

When his marriage to the single greatest, most gorgeous, most wonderful person alive would end.

Or: Alex is a dumbass who tries to get divorced from the love of his life.

ONESHOTS

i've been saving all my summers for you

Rated E - 22k

They were 11 when they first met at the beach, now at 21 they’re back. Back at this place that became theirs. The place they became best friends.

The place where Alex fell in love for the very first time.

nobody ought to be alone on christmas

Rated M - 12k

"And it's not my fault he's all the way away in LA! Stupid, far away LA. London's a nice place too, you know! It's worth sticking around for, especially at Christmas!"

"What's stopping you from seeing him? You're obviously miserable without him, with nowhere to go for Christmas. Get out of your joggers. Go to LA. Go see him. Tell him you love him."

stop making the eyes at me

Rated E - 25k

He turned to look at Alex, took off his sunglasses and tucked them into the quite unbuttoned neck of his shirt. His eyes roamed over Alex rather shamelessly, slowly looking him up and down as an appreciative smirk formed on his lips, and Alex suddenly felt hot all over.

Or: Alex gets stuck inside an elevator with a hot stranger and a bottle of whiskey and they need to find a way to pass the time.

you just ain't the one for me

Rated E - 7k

Suddenly she had an idea. "I wanna fuck him. Miles. I wanna fuck him." Alex made a weird choking sound. "Pardon?" "I wanna fuck Miles. And then I wanna watch him fuck you."

Taylor has an idea of how to spend their sunny afternoon and she's not about to take no for an answer. Sexiness ensues and she makes a few decisions about their relationship.

magic from your fingers tingles down my spine

Rated E - 8k

"Wanna make out?" Alex coughed out a cloud of thick smoke. He blinked and looked at Miles next to him. Miles was making quite the sight, sprawled out across Alex's sheets with a dirty smirk plastered on his face. He looked nice, spread out like that. All relaxed and comfortable, as if he'd always been destined to end up right there in Alex's bed.

Or: Whilst writing their first album together, Alex and Miles get high, and Miles has a great idea about how they could be spending their time.

you're a matter of urgency

Rated G - 8k

The cab ride had been the most anxious 36 minutes of his life. Jiggling a nervous leg and staring out the window, he'd clutched the phone hard in hand, devil device that it was, as it'd brought him the single worst message he’d received in his entire life;

"Miles was in an accident. Come quickly."

i'll be home for christmas

Rated E - 13k

Alex Turner had it all.

A massively successful global tour, adoring fans everywhere he went, amazing sales figures, another number one album, a gorgeous house, a jealousy-inducing collection of vintage cars and motorbikes and the best bandmates you could ask for.

But one fateful Christmas eve has Alex realizing that none of that truly matters. And that the one thing he could truly never live without is the one he let get away.

going back to 505

Rated T - 2k

"Wanna bring out a very good friend of ours. Put your hands together please, for Miles Kane!"

Miles joins them for 505 for the first time in 5 years.

#milex #fanfic masterpost #milex fanfiction #the last shadow puppets #heres just a handy little list for easier browsing my stories 💜❤️#my writing #sorry for the long post but its mostly for my own organizational purposes #long post

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the-trinket-witch · 1 year

Text

A TWSTed Christmas Carol

(I don't know whether to put this as an entry to @bunnwich's Holiday Fan Event , only cause it's generally Holiday themed, not specifically Green One themed U_U CAN ALSO BE READ ON AO3 )

Azul Ashengrotto has always been a hard working mer. But will his drive for success cause him to lose his holiday spirit? Potentially more?

The Holidays were fast approaching, and such times sounded like easy money to be had at Azul's Monstro Lounge. Octavinelle typically hosted New Years, as most dorm denizens had to stay on campus over break due to 'inclement weather'. Of course for Nightraven College's Merchant of the Deep, any chance afforded to rake in more business was always welcome. Fliers had been plastered across campus of the Lounge's special holiday hours, which in itself drummed up a bit more business than usual.

One such day, the final day before break officially let loose for Yule, found him holed up once again in his office. The piano that had been enchanted to play continued its tunes as backdrop noise for his accounting. A familiar voice rang out over the trill of the music; one of Azul's partners had momentarily pulled his focus from the pages.

It's in the singing of a street corner choir

It's going home and getting warm by the fire

It's true, wherever you find love

It feels like Yuletide

A cup of kindness that we share with another

A sweet reunion with a friend or a brother

In all the places you find love

It feels like Yuletide

It was nice to have someone more actively musical in his life than he was currently; it left more room on his shoulders for things to advance him financially. Said responsibilities didn't leave room, though, for him to seemingly enjoy the season as the rest of those poor unfortunate souls. He hadn't noticed the song having ended until the rap of knuckles on his door alerted him of company.

It is the season of the heart

A special time of caring

The ways of love made clear

It is the season of the spirit

The message, if we hear it

Is make it last all year

"Azul? Do you have a moment?" Albert asked. Always polite, he waited for confirmation before entering. "Still have your nose to the grindstone, Love?"

"Indeed. Last year was a resounding success in pulling in business over the holidays. This year's looking similar. Tomorrow's going to be our busiest day next to New Years, and I don't plan on letting a single mark slip by."

He passed a few sheets over: projections, estimates and the hours needed to make it happen. Albert sat silent as he perused, but as his brow knit the further he read, the more nervous the Octopus became.

"Dear, I may have missed it but there's no days off from now through New Years. Is that right?"

"It is-but remember, again: it's a busy part of the year. There's no time to have downtime."

Hearing that dropped Al's expression from confusion to frustration. "You should at least have a day off. Most businesses are closed tomorrow for Yule, anyway. You won't be out much at all if you had even just a day to relax."

"Are you saying my business is non-essential?" A twitch of a smirk crossed Azul's lips, trying to steer the subject away.

"You know that's not what I mean," Al replied, a bit more indignant than Azul would have liked. "I'm saying you are more essential than all the madol in the world. You look utterly exhausted. I had wanted to have you three over for dinner tomorrow but if you're not taking it off, then neither can I." He offered back the stack of sheets, now heavier with disappointment.

"Well that's not fair." He was pouting now, another tactic with his partner to try getting his way. "I'll be just fine; and once I'm done with my shift tomorrow, the Twins and I can stop by-"

Albert drew in a breath, trying to reel in his shaking from a scarcely-seen anger. Azul never liked being the source of his human's frustration, and like any other time, it made him feel about as minute as krill. Worse yet was he could pinpoint exactly what he'd said that put him in hot water, once it had passed his lips. If Albert's unique magic hadn't been time manipulation, it might have been being able to sniff out a lie. 'I'll be just fine' was one such lie that he'd grown keen on sussing out. It didn't take the bags under his eyes nor the smell of coffee replacing tea in his cup to see that.

"No; if I'm coming in tomorrow with you, there won't be time even with an extra hour from me to make dinner. I have to go, though. I need to see what I can make for Yuu and Grim tonight so it's ready by tomorrow."

He disappeared in a blink before resuming time around himself to close the door behind him. Azul deflated back into his chair, his final tasks seeming more daunting without his previous gusto at his sails.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kitchen prepped, drinkware polished, decor placed; the Monstro Lounge was ready to go for Yule. Somehow it felt…hollow as Azul turned in for the night. He periodically checked his phone, but why? Was he expecting Albert to text him? Debating on whether he should send a text? What would he even say? Why was he even worrying about this? It’s not like this dinner plan had to be tomorrow. But then…something roiled in his gut; he hoped it was just the coffee giving him indigestion and not something like guilt. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day, so he found it best to curl into bed to at least try sleeping. The sound of waves far above were a familiar, comforting sound, soon carrying him off to sleep.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Part of him hoped that whoever had the gall to demand his attention this late at night had heard his groans. He stumbled towards the door, grumbling a, “Just a moment,” as they knocked again. A thinly veiled look of contempt flashed on Azul’s face before one of confusion took over; Yuu leant into the doorframe, arms crossed and a sharp frown being the only visible part of their face not hidden by ringlets.

“Ah, Yuu. What can I possibly do for you this very late evening?” He didn’t really care why, but it was always best to at least pretend cordiality to prospective clients.

“I think you know why I’m here.”

“Might it be a contract for your little Grim to at least pass with a C this semester?” At this point, being coy was more of a way to kick back against being awoken.

“If a contract’ll get you to close shop tomorrow so you three can come over, then I guess-”

“Not possible. As much as I’d like to debate what you even might have as comparable collateral, Tomorrow is too big of an opportunity to miss out on. I know he’s concerned about me, and I’m sure Jade and Floyd’s added nagging is because of him, but he’ll see once everything’s been counted out that the added profits will let us do more extravagant things later. I just need him to be patient.”

“You do know he likes smaller kinda affairs, right? Like, his birthday, remember?”

While yes, he did remember, he also had wanted to keep in mind the preferences of the Twins, who leaned more towards larger types of parties. Yuu shook their head, tossing back their bangs waiting for an answer. They cocked a now visible eyebrow when an answer wouldn’t come, as well as let out a resigned huff.

“Whatever, Scrooge. Not my relationship, not my dinner plans; just means Grim gets maybe another half a day of leftovers. Don’t be surprised if some Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present or Future show up or something. ‘Night.”

Yuu didn’t give Azul much time to further protest, or ask what a Scrooge or Christmas was before they disappeared into the dark Octavinelle halls. Well, at least they weren’t bugging him anymore and he could go back to bed. The clock ticked, tocked, ticked as his eyelids lost the fight to keep open, finally bringing him to sleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Azul had always been a light sleeper, so it only took a faint giggle in his room to jostle him back awake. Accompanying this giggle had been light flaps and squeaks of something airborne and battish.

“Who’s-!”

He instinctively clamped his sheets to his chin at the sight of a familiar 3rd year floating at the foot of his bed: Lilia. Not in his typical Diasomniac wear, instead, the bat fae donned a similarly colored black and green Feileadh Mor, draping like wings over a festive red leine tunic.

“Ah, good. Lil Ashengrotto’s up~ Get any good sleep yet? Ya look a bit worn out.”

“Mr. Vanrouge, what’re you doing in my room?!”

“Hmm? Nah, I’m the Ghost of Yuletide Past. A little birdie told me you’re in need of a little bit of perspective~ Got a lil time to go on a fieldtrip? ‘Course ya do. C’mon.”

The spirit that only looked like Lilia floated a bit closer, a hand outstretched in invitation.

“I have to be dreaming. No one’s ever snuck up on me before. This has to be a dream; there’s no other explanation.” His pale blue eyes darted back and forth from the fae’s, erm, spirit’s hand to his face. “I think I’m going to go back to sleep, thank you very much. And I’d appreciate if you locked the door behind you when you go.”

“Well, before you do, since ‘this is a dream’, You wouldn’t have trouble going along with this-?” The Spirit purred, before snatching the Octopus’ wrist, lurching him from his cotton sanctuary. In an instant the entirety of Azul’s room melted away to reveal the dark trenches of the Coral Sea. Not just that, but his human form had reverted to his more cephalopodic one. Oh to not have himself exposed to his upperclassman in such a way. This was turning into an outright nightmare. Seeing his tentacles again drew out a howl of fright, seemingly to the Spirit’s enjoyment.

“Oh calm down, my fishy lil friend. C’mon, I got something-well someone-to show you~”

Like a marlin, the Lilia-shaped Spirit shot, still clamped to the cecaelia’s arm. Through the sea they swam, darting over cities and shanties alike under the sea. A familiar set of city lights eventually broke through the dark, ones that indicated he was coming home. And home was where they stopped.

"Wh-what're we doing here? HOW DO YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE?" He demanded.

The Spirit answered with a nudge through the door to a cozy mer home. No decorations had been laid out; most mer either didn’t celebrate Yule, or made not as much an extravagant display as their neighbors on land. Each room sat quiet, of course being the middle of the night, save for one small room, his room. The two floated up towards where soft, almost inaudible sniffling. They poked through the small doorway, finding it equally dark. Along the ceiling hung shells littered with scratches and scrawls, all hanging off of loose strands of net like some conspiracy mobile. Below the shells, curled in a little black ball of weeping was a much younger Azul. It was a common memory for him, to lay in bed letting out his frustration in tears of ink. Ink that also laid out spells scrawled on the shells above him; testaments to his dedication to becoming better.

"I don't know why you're showing me this. I know what my past was like, I see these moments everytime I got to sleep."

"Well, I'm not so much showing you just this, but to show what you'd been missing all around you."

The fae-spirit floated back down to where a larger, mauve cecaelia sat at a table, staring down in thought with a much more refined, troubled look.

"I wish I knew how to help him. Cooking just seems to push him away, now. I can't just demand those children stop. Asking him to ignore them just seems to make them try even harder…."

She held her head, now even heavier with worry. It made Azul's hearts contort into knots. He wasn't surprised his mother wanted to help, but he'd been better for being allowed to figure his problems out on his own.

"This…doesn't surprise me. If we're done I'd like to 'go back' so I can finally sleep."

"Fufu, if you insist~"

The spirit once again took Azul by the hand to float back to the surface. His gaze turned back one last time, to see two long figures-eels-staring into his window. For a brief moment, he wondered if the look they seemed to wear was also concern, pity, or something else. They’d been watching him? Why? By the time he tore his gaze back, they had been fast approaching his room. His skin prickled at their speed; fast, way too fast, he shut his eyes waiting for impact with the floor, only to bounce back onto his bed.

Dark, quiet, Azul was once again back in his room-albeit with much more disheveled sheets and a singular heart beating at a hundred miles an hour. Breathe. He just had to breathe to settle down, give himself a second to collect his thoughts. This had to have just been a dream, or some fae magic he wasn't privy to, yet. The thought that his coffee may have been laced with…whatever Jade had brought back on his last hiking trip, while still concerning seemed a placating possibility. He just had to sleep off the supposed mushrooms and mentally note to have Floyd make the first pot tomorrow, instead. Once his heart rate was back to a more manageable level, did he try attempting to sleep once more. The sooner he could sleep, the sooner he didn’t have to think about the salty moisture dripping from his hair to the pillow, or the notion that his visit was more than a dream.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The mer tossed and turned; his bed was becoming way too uncomfortable to lay in. His gaze bore into the ceiling, now awake and irritated. First the bed lost its comfort, and now some growing chatter, clanging and ringing ebbed in from behind his door. Whatever forces were out to deprive him of even a wink of rest, he hoped they’d give up if he somehow could hide under his sheets. It was darker and cozier, anyway.

"Azul, what're you still doing here?! Come on! We got places to be, new horizons to pursue!"

The shout made the mass under the sheets flail and kick and holler until it finally revealed the other housewarden, once again huffing for air. A quick smooth over his hair and retrieval of his glasses did little to polish up his image, or bury the floundering he’d done just moments ago.

"Kalim," Azul took a sharp, 'calming' breath. "What are you doing here? It's the middle of the night, can this wait til morning?"

Standing as open and jovial as ever, was the Prince of The Scalding Sands: Kalim al-Asim. Or, at least, someone that looked like him. Whomever it was, had been dressed in a warm-looking red kafka and band of holly where a turban otherwise would have been.

“Can’t wait-all we got’s the present! More like ‘Ghost of Yuletide Present’, am I right? C’mon! There’s so many cool things going on, still; gotta catch it before it’s gone!”

This particular ‘dream’ was already beginning to grate on the cecaelia’s nerves. He let loose that sharp breath of his, and defiantly tucked himself back under his sheets. If this was a dream, he’d just wake up from it in a moment and-

“Hey now, you’re gonna miss out on all the food-right guys?” Kalim asked.

Cheers rang out around him, and the waft of exotic spices and cooked meat flooded in with him under his covering. Azul’s gut betrayed any attempt he might have had at protest; it all smelled too good. He flipped off the sheet to be immediately accosted by a harsh breeze. Once his eyes adjusted to the gust he could finally catch sight of the enormous spread laid out along a tablecloth, resting on…the magic carpet? But as his eyes trailed further and further back, and the longer he saw the ornate rug stretch behind them with what seemed like all of Scarabia seated, the closer he came to realize just how high they were up in the air. A chill not caused by the wind ran down his back at the sight. On complete instinct he tangled his lankiness around the young prince for some kind of stability.

“Get me down, get me down, GETMEDOWN!”

His panicking only seemed to incite another hearty laugh out of the Kalim-shaped apparition. “Hang on, then! Have a bite while we land?”

This Spectre of Yuletide Present kept his jovial smile on as he rolled an apple down his arm in offering. While Azul did catch it, it was only a moment before resuming his clamp on the spirit for purchase. With a steady anchor, he caught glimpses of the world passing by below him. Any observers below could have seen the persian rug procession and mistaken it for a festive dragon floating through the Yuletide sky. But per request, their magic carpet ride had begun to descend. It wove through headstones and trees, gliding to a hovering halt at the front door of the no-longer Ramshackle Dorm. Oh how he wished it wasn’t here. He hadn’t prepared anything to say, to rebuttal, to offer in apology…

“Awe, that’s kinda disappointing. I thought he’d have done some more decorating. Wonder if he’s done anything inside…”

The Spirit mindlessly took a hold of Azul’s sleeve, leading through the door as if it hadn’t been there, or rather, as if they weren't even there. Inside immediately silenced the laughter and merry-making from the caravan of spectral partiers, but not for replacement with its own festive sounds.

For a place still rather holey, the fire raging in the main den did a wonderful job in keeping the cold at bay. Its warm light danced across the furniture and garlands of festive colors. Something had clattered away in another room, the kitchen. Whatever was being made smelled wonderful, and again his gut protested being teased with only the scent. He had to know what was being concocted. Azul instead took the lead towards the source of the smell and noise, giving the door a nudge open.

Inside, Albert had finished washing up before laying protection over a dressed turkey and resting it somehow in the fridge. The smell, though, had been attributed to a tray of cooling ramekins of creme brulee.

"There. At least it's done and ready to bake. I better put instructions out for Yuu. Maybe they'll invite Malleus' crew over instead of them going out. Are they even here? -sigh- If anything, once it's done tomorrow I can bring some prepped plates over after,” he murmured to no one, as he covered the ramekins and laid them also to rest over the turkey.

Albert sat, finally done prepping, to begin scribbling down instructions to cook. His brow scrunched once in a while as he thought about something, and as Azul approached, he saw the detail of his instructions. Even Grim had a possibility of being able to follow them. He didn't care at this point whether his partner could see him or not, he just desperately wanted to tell him sorry. He rested a hand to his human's shoulder, but something seemed to come over Al in that instant. The human under him blinked, and immediately fell asleep, but only for a moment before jerking back awake. Azul had seen it happen before: micro-sleep. It meant that this wasn't the first night he'd spent sleeplessly.

Al just rattled, frustrated again and rubbing at already red, raw eyes before thrusting out of the chair to find something-anything-to wake himself up. Squats, stretching his crackling back, checking his phone, he settled eventually to pace across the lounge. Azul merely followed with the Spirit behind, now, watching him make lap after lap. Certain spots were not tread on, which made Azul assume they must have been creaky boards. Eventually even that wore out its effect on his wakefulness, landing him on the sofa. From there his attempts to keep himself awake began to falter. A weak rub against his legs, running hands through his hair; eventually he just seemed too tired to even do that. He gave one last glance back to the doorway, the one Azul and the Yuletide Ghost took up, and for a moment the mer wondered if he had actually been seen. And with it, Albert eventually succumbed to slumber.

Azul curled his arms into himself, knowing that peaceful look on his partner’s face was only temporary.

“Take me back.” Azul demanded. He wasn’t going to just sit there and let this dream make him watch his partner wrestle awake from his own nightmare, especially if there was nothing he could do about it.

“Yeah, I gotcha,” The spirit said, but sounded much older, more mature, than the one Kalim he knew.

Azul turned to see why, only to find a much older, wizened Kalim curled in on himself with age. It gave him a start, but reminded himself it was all just a dream. The old spirit led back out to the carpet and banquet. Upon coming back to view, the patrons, food and merriment all but dissolved into sand, only to blow away with the winter wind. He didn’t know why he looked back to the now even older Kalim for some explanation, but his query must have been easy to read on his face.

“Sorry to cut things so short, but that’s the present for ya. Sooner or later the future just becomes ‘now’, and then even that’s gone. Ya might wanna hurry back if you don’t wanna catch your-” The spirit’s words faded away as his form did, too, disappearing into blowing sand.

Now alone, there was no option in this supposed dream other than to get back to Octavinelle and hope he’d wake up this time. It seemed as if the wind had it out for him, what with it blowing directly against him. He could hardly see anything, let alone the open grave so haphazardly laid just off the path. One moment his foot hit solid snowy ground, the next: open air.

Down, down, down he fell; roots flew by too fast to grab, and nothing else offered itself as some form of ledge. His eyes closed, he didn't want to see the bottom come up to greet him, or how long it would take for it to do so. This seemed to be the end, if not to this dream, then more regrettably, his whole life.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

But a worn sofa ended up being his landing pad, not frozen grave dirt. Azul painfully bounced on the cushions before finally coming to rest. He clamped onto the seat to give his heart a chance to come down out of his throat. Once he finally had a chance to process the danger having passed, could he get stock of his new environment. Not a grave, but a living room, equipped with Ignihyde-blue accenting from the TV, coffee table, and sofa itself.

"Greetings, Foolish Mortal, hehe" a voice hissed behind him.

Azul whipped around to find a pale face behind a simple dark hood, famed by shoulders trembling with giggles. He seemed more 'Dungeon Master' than 'Spectre of the dreaded future'.

"I-Idia?" Great, the dream wasn't over yet, it seemed.

The hooded figure eeped, "N-no! -ahem- I'm:

'死の恐怖: ユールタイドの未来の亡霊~!'"

A blue blush flooded the hooded spirit's face; he seemed to have practiced rather hard on the execution of both the pronunciation and pose he flexed stiffly into. All of it in vain against a very unamused octopus' scrutiny.

"-sigh- Th-The Ghost of Yuletide Future," he clarified. "OK ok, look: let's just get this over with. Here ya go," the spirit moaned with a lazy plop of a controller into Azul's hands. "Also, in case ya get any ideas~"

Azul let out a groan of protest, making the controller groan in turn with his octopod grip. The Idia-shaped ghost flipped the television on before the octomer got any ideas about up and leaving. On the screen flashed an ornate purple script, 'Azul: The Game'. Underneath were the only options to check the control scheme and Continue. With no other choice, he pressed to continue. A quick chime and he was off.

The graphics were very well rendered, it was almost eerie. His first-person perspective let him maneuver through a house he didn't recognize. He thought the decor was quite tasteful, something he could imagine a future home of his own being decorated like. A photo on the nightstand of himself between Albert and Jade caught his eye-they all looked still rather young. A series of frames lined a wall with his now-larger collection of coins; Jade let his terrariums fill space on shelves all over. His perusing led him down the hall, finding it also modestly decked with distinctly individual tastes that somehow came together nicely. The den had, of course, a piano he'd recognized as Albert’s family's own. A small dining table took up the space across from the den, on which neatly piled papers were beginning to skew and a starched, rendered Jade. The model had been filling out papers when the option to allow Azul to interact appeared.

"What a time to go, Dear. Hardly a wonder Albert disdains this part of the year. It's getting late; he's probably off shift by now."

Jade wrenched himself from his seat, leaving the unreadable paper alongside a newspaper clipping. Hovering over it allowed him to interact with that, too. The script of the image flashing on the screen only offered a picture and the beginning of an obituary.

"Azul Ashengrotto

Azul Ashengrotto, 30, of Altus, Shaftlands, died suddenly December 18th due to heart complications. The young restaurateur had established……"

"What?! No, that's not fair! I'm right here!" Azul about chucked the controller in defiance of what the screen had read. "So then, am I controlling my ghost? Someone else?"

"That's the neat thing about this game: it doesn't tell you," the spirit of Yuletide Future smirked. "What do you think you're seeing right now? Good ending? Bad ending? True ending? Only the devs know."

>Stay Here

This was such an 'Idia' answer. Azul went back to steering the camera towards the door, to follow Jade. The options when touching the door only offered:

>Follow Jade

So much for options. Taking the only logical path, he was greeted with a momentary loading screen. Out of the dark screen came a serene, but no less chilling sight. A cemetery blanketed in white, noiseless in its crystalline batting. Headstones stood straight and proud, cockeyed and crumbling, or simply hid much like the bodies they marked below them. Simulated snow crunched under his perspective’s non-existent feet as he trekked along the path. Where was Jade, though? Tire tracks weren’t of much help, plenty of vehicles seemed to have come by recently. A hushed voice could be heard, but it was difficult to follow.

“Sorry, I know you would have wanted to have the Lounge open today, but…I just can’t. It all just makes me think of you. I keep thinking I hear you, and I know it’s not. I should have led a better example-maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”

Once again, he could hear Albert’s voice. Closer and closer he came, the white ground making way for kicked up dirt and packed snow. Azul had finally come face to face with it: a plot of freshly dug dirt now packed back into place, and a modest headstone with room for two more names. Albert had been kneeling next to it talking to, assumedly, the contents of the grave. His face had been flushed red, raw with grief and the biting cold. This was only a game, but by the Seven, he just wanted to reach out and hold him, tell him he was right there. All Azul could do was position the camera down, to try prompting an interaction. Pressing the button to react, sent things into a cutscene. His hands reached out to hold his partner’s face, who seemed to react to his voice.

"Albert, I'm here. Please-I'm here, I'm not going anywhere."

It only made him withdraw further in to try containing more sobs. A car squeaked to a halt on the path further off, revealing Jade. The rendered figure strode over to rest his own arms around their simulated human. Game or not, he didn't want any of this to happen; he didn't want to die so young, he didn't want to be cried over…His frustration made the controller creak with the pressure he'd put on it. He felt so helpless as his character just sat there as the credits began to roll and his partners began to walk away.

"That's. NOT. Fair!" His fists beat on the coffee table, punctuating his words. "I did everything right! There has to be something…" He began pacing, wracking a quickly frazzling mind for some solution.

"You ought to slow down, you'll work yourself to death. Heh, 'work yourself to death', PFFF," the spirit mumbled, seeming to be enjoying Azul's squirming.

"What?! I'll show you!"

Azul whipped back at the ghost with a fist reeled back. But as he turned to sock him, what greeted him wasn't some Ghost of Future Yuletide. A skull, jagged in tooth and wreathed in blue flame, stared back. It made no indication of pain as the momentum carried Azul's fist into its jaw. The sight of it sent a frigid chill down his back. It began to advance closer, a hand now stretching out to grab him. Each step the blue-clad pile of bones made, Azul would take one back. It came a hair away from touching his cheek, if it weren't for the coffee table knocking into his legs and tripping him backwards into it.

His teetering sent him slamming onto the table, breaking it open, and once again sending him back down down down into darkness. His descent had been much quicker; cold hard wood bashed up against his back before more planks began to surround his front. Trapped. Dark, cold and alone, this would have been a comforting place similar to his octopot, if it weren't for the coffin shape surrounding him along with the smell of 6 feet of dirt on top. All that came out were screams, pleas and knocks from within the box. He beat against his confines for however long, his tears all but dried up. Before his exhaustion won out, he weakly pressed his face against the lid, some kind of last plea for release. But the lid hadn't felt like the rotted wood he'd been pummeling, but cool white tile.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cool white tile that only Octavinelle's dorms had. Azul’s eyes fluttered open once more to find himself facing the floor. His back arched uncomfortably, legs hung over the side of the bed, and every sheet had been utterly rumpled. While it was uncomfortable, he didn't consider moving until his eyes had fully registered where he was, on some off chance shifting might send him back to where he was. But, when all seemed calm, did he finally chance to peel himself off the floor.

Stretch, lean, shake off the nightmarish remnants of sleep. He flopped back onto the bed, he wanted to re-register the sensation of his sheets, the tile, his nightwear. As he recognized each texture, and giving his heart a chance to slow, a knock came at the door. The knock was only a courtesy as, quickly after, the door burst open with Floyd dashing in. The eel must have been quick about waking and entering, what with his disheveled hair and pj's.

"What's up? Where're they? Who needs a squeeze? Eh? Azul, you okay?" Floyd demanded.

"We heard quite the commotion coming from your room and wanted to see what all the fuss-omph!"

Before Jade could finish, their boss hand wrangled the both of them into a tight hug.

"That must have been quite the nightmare," Jade finished with a quiet hum of amusement. He smoothed over his partner's hair, relishing his affection being leaned into.

"Yes-yes it was. What time is it?" He soon withdrew to better compose himself.

"It's like…a lil after 6.00, why? What're ya missing?" Floyd asked. His face drooped a little as his partner retreated.

"Then he might not be here yet. I still have time. We need to hurry and get to Pentergeist, quick. There's a few things I still need to bring, I need dressed…"

His scattered organizing was interrupted by Floyd’s sigh, "On top of opening the Lounge? Ehhhhh~ isn't he comin' over anyways?"

"Exactly why we have to hurry. We have to catch him before he gets over. Well? Go on, get ready."

Floyd groaned, reluctantly turning back to go change. But, his face immediately began to light up at the note Azul wagged in the air as he plodded towards the Lounge.

Anyone attempting to enter the Monstro Lounge would, instead of being greeted by eels, be greeted with a notice in a handwritten notice tacked to the door:

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"The Monstro Lounge will be closed on Yuletide, due to unforeseen circumstances. Business will resume regular hours 12/26. We apologize for the inconvenience.

-A. Ashengrotto"

Albert had a rather long night, prepping what was supposed to be a Yuletide meal for his partners and more to send off with Yuu as salvage for whatever they were met with when attending Malleus and company’s dinner invitation. The same nightmare that had plagued him for close to two years now had made its presence once again. But instead of being startled back awake from its familiar events, a knock jostled him from sleep. He almost forgot about his journey to the couch, now a bit thankful that he was closer to the door. But he wasn't expecting company. More over, looking at the clock showed he needed to hurry so he could make it to help opening the restaurant.

"Just a moment!" He called.

Al creaked for the door, both from the floorboards as well as his own chilled joints. Whoever was at the door, he hoped it was quick so he could-

"Happy Yule, Dear," Azul declared. His presence only received a confused look in response.

"Oh, sorry. I must have overslept, if you're coming to get me. Give me a moment, I'll-"

Albert wasn't able to finish, immediately being swept into another of Floyd's squeezes. Both twins erupted into peals of laughter, most in part from their human's even more confused expression.

"You're not goin' anywhere, Kajiki~"

"And neither am I," Azul added.

"I-I don't understand. Don't we have the Lounge to open?" Al asked.

"It seems Azul has had a change of heart since last night. I'm a bit curious as well what's come over him. Not to say I'm complaining," Jade noted.

Once Floyd came to release his human, Azul took to swooping in, grasping at him desperately close as if he'd disappear. Nothing mattered in that moment but the real, waking tangibleness in his arms. With just the twins to watch, he felt no shame holding Albert to take in everything from the bristle of his hair, to the faint wood smoke smell on him, to the subtle beat of his heart in time with his own. Al was more than happy to reciprocate, just content to bask in the moment.

"So then…?"

"Yes. We're having today off. I'm so sorry for just dismissing you like that. I've…come to realize how much you just want to look out for my health. Just know I plan on doing the same for you. All of you," Azul sighed.

"Eh? Is Azul gettin' all sappy now?" Floyd teased, poking at his cheek.

"No! I'm just stating my new year's resolutions early!"

"In any case," Jade interrupted, "while we are cold-blooded, it is dreadfully chill out. Won't our Gracious Host offer us inside?"

"Of course," Al smiled.

Everyone gathered in the modest little kitchen to begin their dinner prep. Drinks were passed, snacks chewed through like the logs on the fire, and a very specific set of cooking instructions Azul would ignore, having seen them once before. He had to feign surprise at the small custard desserts, but found himself anticipating them all the same. Everything slowly came together in the freshly renovated dining hall, when a knock rang out.

"Happy Yule~ Little Yuu here invited Malleus over. They also seemed to extend the offer to the rest of us; might we come in? If I'd have known sooner, I could have made a better cake, but I think this'll work in a pinch," Lilia announced. Yuu took up the rear of the procession of human and fae. A quick glance towards Azul, they gave both a surprised but welcoming smirk.

Before long, the table had finally been set, drinks passed and everyone sat down. Good thing, it seemed, as Grim had been getting antsy and taking chances to sneak a bite before the rest. Yuu took Grim into their lap as everyone else but Azul seated.

"I'd like to thank everyone for being here today. I understand it's a busy part of the year for everyone, but we come together like this…to give ourselves a chance to slow down." It was a bit difficult for Azul to keep himself composed. "While yes we have to work the rest of the year, time is a more precious commodity than anything. So we have to spend and invest it wisely. Thank you."

To that, everyone raised their glass in agreement.

"A Merry Yuletide, everybody!" Grim hollered.

#bunnwich winter event 2022 #twst writing #twst fanfic #oc x azul #azul ashengrotto x oc #octavinelle #octavinelle x oc #yuu x malleus #albert eastwind #eugenio hernandez #floyd leech #jade leech #malleus draconia #idia shroud #lilia vanrouge #kalim al asim

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pagerunner-j · 5 months

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All right, all right. This is a bad idea! I've been trying not to cross these streams for a long time! But: fuck it. Who fics ahead!

Long story short: I used to write under another pen name. I stopped using it and deleted my old journal after some personal crap, which still makes me feel sad and stupid, and I'd wanted at the time to scrub the slate clean. Some of what's still kicking around under my old username, though, includes stories at whofic.com, which predates AO3 and still exists, doing its Whovian thing.

So after recent fandom flashbacks, I've been rereading my old stuff. Which has been...interesting!

Obligatory disclaimer: oh, god, do I want to edit everything. These date back as far as 2005, and so certain old habits linger, like the fact that I hadn't yet gotten over my torrid love affairs with the semicolon and the ellipsis. I want to fix the occasional dips into overwrought nonsense. I'm also looking at some of the more adult content and thinking, "Okay, that went from 0-60 a wee bit fast. Calm the hell down, self."

BUT: there's also stuff here I like! And about which I'm thinking "crap, I used to be good at this," because I can never leave myself alone!

Anyway, here's a few stories from the "this does not shame me" pile, plus notes:

Gen

Translations (Ten/Rose) Original description: There are some things the TARDIS doesn't translate, and some secrets of the Doctor's left unexplained. Rose is setting out to find out why.

Probably the best thing of mine on this archive, and one of the most developed narratives. The sneaky, sneaky merchant, whose storyline never quite gets resolved (on purpose), was one of my better ideas. The other was Rose interpreting the TARDIS console's layout as looking like a Gallifreyan word. And, for that matter, Rose's name looking like an actual flower. Thank you, DW designers, for a completely impractical but extremely cool-looking written language. Also, the fact that the marketplace has thirteen floors, and they were on the tenth? Yeah, yeah, that was on the nose. I note that since then, the showrunners have thrown the Doctor's thirteen-regenerations limit out the window, for perfectly understandable reasons, but it was still kicking around at the time.

Roundabout (Nine/Rose) Original description: Time and possibilities keep turning. an exploration of the Doctor and Rose's relationship throughout the series. Spoilers for all [first season] episodes.

The other one that I'd file under "hey, you wrote a story! And it's not bad! Good job, self!" file. I really loved Nine and Rose, and I went to town with it here. I also got completely self-indulgent in a few places. As one does. The scene at the club is my favorite on that account. This quip of Jack's to the Doctor was, among other things, a sidelong nod to a few of my feelings about American polarization, and believe me, It's worse now: "It's Saturday night. We're in one of the last great cities of post-Dissolution America. And the most handsome man in the club has just bought you an Electric Comet. Do yourself a favor. Get drunk." Also, the reason Rose thinks she knows the music that's playing is that it's 110% a quote from a Billie Piper song. I don't think anybody ever noticed, but it's there.

Outgeniused (or: How to Get Fired From the Apple Store in Three Easy Steps) (Ten, OC) Original description: Kate Stowe's seen a lot of strange problems come up at the Genius Bar, but this one qualifies as the strangest she's seen yet. Presenting a bit of shameless insanity, featuring the Doctor, a race of aliens with quite inconvenient taste, and several unorthodox ways to break your iPod's warranty. (In other words: crackfic ahead!)

I really wasn't kidding about that last line. This one is unabashed ridiculousness, inspired by your author doing a seasonal stint in Apple retail that left a goddamn mark. Sadly, the Doctor never swung by my store. A lot of real-life tidbits did make their way into this story, though. And despite all odds, it's got a plot! Fun facts (for nerds): the product line was accurate as of the time I wrote this. The iPod shuffle disclaimer I was talking about? That was absolutely a thing. And my favorite line is still the Doctor apologizing for not getting AppleCare, because I had to pitch that to so many people. I have never once bought it for myself. No regrets. Don't tell Tim. Also, apparently the UK really has gone all-in on Black Friday since I wrote this. I have to ask: why? Why must you import the worst of our capitalistic excesses? You really didn't have to! Le sigh.

The Naughty Bits

A Matter of Timing (Ten/Rose) Original description: In matters of love, sex and the technicalities thereof, somebody better be thinking ahead. Rose/Ten, post-Journey's End.

Short, sweet, and silly. This one's about Rose and the clone of Ten off in their parallel universe, and exists for the sake of the conversation they're having, which is in part about the mechanics of that whole cloning thing. Although it's mostly about the sex. Which they are absolutely and enthusiastically having the whole damn time. ("Haven't ever seen that on a clock" is still my favorite line.)

Slightly Psychic Confessions (Nine/Rose/Jack) Original description: Getting caught with slightly psychic paper in one's hands can be a dangerous thing indeed.

Like it says on the tin. 90% of the reason this was written was so I could play with the props, and the dialogue (both spoken and psychically transcribed) is the part I most enjoy, although I've been told the rest of it's pretty okay too. ...yes, the rest of it is a threesome. Stop looking at me like that.

Selfish Dreams (Ten/Rose) Original description: Wherein solutions to lingering nightmares lead to a different sort of sleeplessness. Slightly spoilery through "The Satan Pit."

Sometimes I get creepy, even with characters I love and will ship forever. This one was mostly me thinking through some of the...potentially fraught...implications of Ten's psychic abilities, and is one of my "I guess I'm preoccupied with nightmares and dreams, because I'm gonna come back to that in a few different ways" stories in this archive. Anyway, none of what they're up to here is what I'd consider a good idea. At least Rose enjoyed herself, though.

Forgetting the Nightmare (Nine/Jack) Original description: In which neither the Doctor nor Jack can get any sleep, but for very different reasons.

As I was saying. This is about a plot point from the show I'd forgotten about since writing this: Jack's two years of missing memory. (So, yes, apparently mine's missing too. It's been A LONG TIME, okay?) He's having some issues coming to terms with that. So how do I decide to have them address it? Boinking on the TARDIS floor, apparently. ...ahem. Anyway, as is the case with a lot of the shit I wrote, it's a little emotionally messy. It also hints at a few things that are still very much up for interpretation. Less in need of puzzling out is that yes, the two lost years are represented by the two burned-out lights on the console they're trying to fix, because I am occasionally as subtle as a brick.

Beyond Locked Doors (Ten/Reinette) Original description: A glimpse into Reinette's memories and dreams throughout the events of "The Girl in the Fireplace."

Yeah, this is one of those that dips into being overwrought, and yes, my inner editor is bitching at me about sacrificing clarity in the process. But writing from Reinette's POV was a fun exercise. It's a very different flavor from everything else here. Also, just to get this stated, you still can't tell me that the "dance with me" line in the show and those two disappearing off screen together wasn't also Moffat being subtle as a brick with his metaphors, so I still feel justified in writing this one. The (implied) sex was canon and I will die on that hill.

So Brief, In Bloom (Ten/Reinette) Original description: Wherein the Doctor thinks of other ways this could have gone.

And now...things go south. I'm pretty sure I'm the only weirdo who cared about this story. It is, let's be fair, also weird. This is about Ten being haunted by the idea of what might have happened if he did get Reinette to come along with him, and what the ramifications of that change might be. Not overtly stated, but it's there, is that in this alternate timeline, Rose didn't take well to this idea, and eventually left. The result is some Seriously Conflicted Feelings. And some ill-advised attempts at banishing them. I once got a comment on my old journal from somebody who didn't understand the last line. it's oblique on purpose, and you're invited to imagine your own version, but what was going on in my head was that back in the actual timeline, Ten absolutely had his way with Rose against that very same wall to try to scrub the idea of the other timeline out of his head. Considering that the wayward strand of hair he found could have belonged to either her or Reinette, though? It...didn't exactly help.

A Laugh Like Thunder (The Master/Lucy) Original description: The Master and Lucy on the eve of destruction, thinking of what's to come. (Spoilers through "The Sound of Drums.")

I'm including this here solely because I'd forgotten about it until I trawled back through my archive, and was thus smacked upside the head with the facts that A: it existed at all, B: this thing went places, and C: I started it off with, "On the eve of destruction, the Prime Minister tied his wife to the bedposts and began to think of another man." Go off, self.

#doctor who #fics

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chamerionwrites · 5 months

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Tag Nine People You'd Like To Get To Know Better

FAVOURITE COLOUR(s): Rusty red-orange, deep cool spruce green, bright cobalt blue, wine red, the various shades of slate green/grey/blue.

FAVOURITE FLAVOUR(s): Weirdly difficult question, in that what I think I most enjoy about food is the way that different flavors and textures complement each other to become more than the sum of their parts. But I am a huge fan of deep rich fruity-savory umami (sundried tomatoes, a great red chile sauce, things braised in red wine) as well as absolutely any kind of citrus or fresh herbs.

Also, while this isn't exactly one thing and it might be simpler just to say that I like strong flavors, I fall firmly into the These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things camp on a lot of polarizingly funky/briny things (smoked salmon, goat cheese, blue cheese, olives, anchovies, preserved lemons, etc).

Also the taste+aroma of both fresh bread and corn tortillas hot off the comal is imo the human equivalent of catnip, ie "provokes immoderate feral delight on some bizarrely primal level."

FAVOURITE MUSIC: The very sexy Bermuda Triangle where blues/rock/folk bleed into and/or influence one another. Anything else that takes my fancy, including but not limited to a lot of soul, post-punk, and highly danceable salsa or big band swing stuff. Sad jazz. Gratuitously melancholy strings. Great lyrics, great harmonies, deep rich vocals.

FAVOURITE MOVIE(s): I have never in my life been able to pick one favorite book, but Pan's Labyrinth is easily my favorite movie.

FAVOURITE BOOK(s): This is the impossible question to me but The Periodic Table, Signs Preceding The End of The World, The Things They Carried, The Little Drummer Girl, and everything Arundhati Roy has ever written are all on the list somewhere.

FAVOURITE SERIES(es): The Same Sky is exquisitely good and The Night Manager is my id-stroking comfort rewatch. I also loved Andor and the first season of Hannibal.

LAST SONG: I was just going through this tag earlier.

LAST SERIES: Thanks to holiday craft fair season I have had zero ability to do longform TV anytime within the last few months. (Also, frankly, multi-season TV series are the one of the most difficult media formats for my brain to engage with; it's a fantastic storytelling medium when done well, but I personally have a much harder time sitting down for two hours of TV than for two hours of reading and thus getting started often feels like a huge commitment. I am really a 3-6 eps and done miniseries person at heart.)

That said I am a big podcasts-while-working person and I've been listening to a lot of Friends At The Table and Bad Gays recently.

LAST MOVIE: The Wind That Shakes The Barley, which has been on the Somehow I've Never Seen This And I Really Should list for a while. It has promptly been moved to the OFC It's Possible To Make A War Movie That Doesn't Glorify War, Y'all Are Just Fools And Cowards list.

CURRENTLY READING: ...I have to admit that I'm re-reading Kissinger's Shadow (to Mark The Occasion).

CURRENTLY WATCHING: Nothing (see above), though I have ambitions of giving Black Sails a shot.

CURRENTLY WORKING ON: The sketching stage of some linocuts, some experimental worldbuild-y map-drawing (important as Cartography And Its Imperial Misuses are kinda thematically and plottily relevant to the story, at least in its nebulous conceptual form).

TAGGED BY @silkenred (thanks!), and TAGGING (only if you want ofc) @sassysnowperson, @tobermoriansass, @cosmonauthill, @essayofthoughts, and anybody else who feels like doing this. (No really, I'm shy about tagging but please do the thing if you're interested.)

#ask box #about me #my posts

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fansblogarchive · 1 year

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Shattering My Expectations (again, word limit)

That Lightbulb just can’t be stopped, can she? She never fails to… well, fail. I counted today as the sixth time Lightbulb has shattered, the sixth part in an incessant pattern that you just can’t help but marvel at! Because, well, what else can you do? Look down on her for being careless? Heh. Just sit back and enjoy the proceedings! Now I know what you’re thinking. Fan, this is great and all, but what of the other five times Lightbulb has broken into pieces? Surely these groundbreaking moments cannot be ignored! Oh, you are quite right about that! For here I shall list off every occasion so far in which our irreplaceably light-headed light bulb friend has cracked us up! And no… I’m not referring to her sense of humor. At least, I think she’s purposely making all of those jokes. She’s trying to be funny, clearl- eh, let’s just move on. 1. Penciled In – A Lightbulb shatter was never expected or planned on any schedule. Why? It is because it had never occurred before, that is, until this fateful day. Now, as a writer myself, I know the pains of writer’s block. But I’m sure it doesn’t hurt as much as a pencil straight to the face! That’s gonna leave a mark that you can’t erase… Yet how would this landmark event be followed up? In a way only Lightbulb could! 2. Not a One-Shot Wonder After All – That last one may have been the first time we saw Lightbulb break, but unlike many musical sensations that have graced our radio stations, she came back with a vengeance. Several vengeances, actually! As for this one, it’s a classic comedic fall over a rock, and it’s during a challenge. Lightbulb’s shattering became one pattern, and her… memorable performance during Season 1 team challenges became another. She always knew just how to mishandle a group effort- I mean- well, um. She’s just perfect, okay? She has her own standard that she’s measured by. She’s Lightbulb. 3. The Episode 5.5 Scene-Stealer – Oh, Lightbulb certainly had a small amount of screentime in this already bite-sized minisode, but she makes the most of it by sticking her landing squarely between a captive Paper and Baseball! Forget Baseball’s book about where life itself comes from! I want to know where irreplaceable diving champions like Lightbulb come from! That way… I can stay away. This is reckless behavior, honestly. Who would bring up their kid like that? 4. Into Thin Air – I just don’t know how she does it. Seriously, upon her rejoining, Lightbulb miraculously fades into existence, betraying any semblance of gravity until she promptly decides to hit the ground. I’ve watched this countless times, and I still wouldn’t be able to explain it. It honestly makes no sense. Then again, neither does Lightbulb. But hey, at least she’s not like certain other individuals that happen to be on my team. I’m willing to brush off that issue, though! Brush. Off. Brush… next time, okay? You’ll understand soon enough. 5. Dropped out of the Game – Now don’t let this heading fool you. Lightbulb would never drop out of II. She’s too stubbornly unaware to ever consider that! You just got to love her, for even when she’s eliminated from the show, she still goes out with a bang, or perhaps more like a “keilkeicccc”! It’s difficult to describe. 6. Holiday Trip – One of my Internet friends said it best – Christmas ain’t Christmas until someone gets severely injured. It’s a very special time of the year, and you can just count on there being some sort of complication. It’s one thing when you receive a present you don’t want, but it’s another when you stumble over a rock and hurt yourself as you land upon a blanket of fresh, white snow. It’s like becoming incapacitated on a puffy cloud, it stirs feelings in you that… I don’t understand and quite frankly make me feel a little too aware of myself and immensely uncomfortable because of it. Let’s get off this subject! 7. Support Me – Just as Lightbulb was about to give Paintbrush some help- Wait just a moment! This is number 7! I stated on INANIMATE INSANITY, a show I dearly observe and respect, that this was the SIXTH time Lightbulb had

#LIGHTBUBL #LIGHTUBL #LIGHTBULB #THIS!!!!!#I JUST WANNA TALK ABOUT THIS POST #inanimate insanity #fan ii #ii fan

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suuho · 1 year

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Omg Kaz if you are too busy it's absolutely not obligatory but I was wondering if you could make a list of videos for getting to know got7? Like the one you made for pentagon! I don't know anything about got7 but I would like to and you always seem to have so many cool recommendations! Again only if you have the time and want to!! Thank you :-)

hi!!! i am not too busy! i'm aghase for life so i am very happy to help you out here, got7 is seriously one of the best groups ever, and one of the top 2 groups to come out of jyp. it's crazy that they got it so right twice in a row. 2pm are, like, the godfathers of got7, and it is actually pretty endearing to see that some of them are very close! junho considers jinyoung of got7 his dongsaeng and they are very good friends (as seen on junho's most recent i live alone appearance). more under the cut!

anyways. so, got7 are, in age order: mark (rapper, visual, american member), jayb (leader, main vocal), jackson (main rapper, face of the group, chinese member), jinyoung (lead vocal, dancer, visual, center, face of the group), youngjae (main vocal), bambam (rapper, thai member), yugyeom (main dancer, vocal, maknae).

the entire rap line of got7 is the international line or called the atk (amerithaikong) line, which is insane if you think about it. entire rap line (rap!!!!) made of some dudes who aren't even performing in their first language. that takes guts and talents. every member in the group has either produced or written songs for got7, jaebeom is their primary producer, but so are jinyoung and youngjae. yugyeom, too. jinyoung has been known to choreograph for the group, and vigilantly monitors their performances. bambam is the most fashion forward member and it is all over his body of work, which is so exciting.

jackson is jackson, like, that is literally jackson wang and if you open youtube and type in his name you will find tons of videos because he is really the face of the group and a very well established solo artist, too. here is his latest big single blow which is truly a serve, the earworm inducing 100 ways, and my personal favorite LMLY. here is jackson answering the web's most searched questions and his little stint on the late late show with james corden.

anyways, moving on.

got7 song association, elle; this is a very easy and breezy intro to who got7 is and their very own, personal brand of clownery.

got7 takes a friendship test, glamour; this is one of my favorite videos of got7, and my comfort video too. it is funny and sweet and you learn a lot about the members and their chemistry.

7 things you don't know about got7, mtv news; another easy and fun one.

Interview with people tv; probably their most iconic interview for a lot of hysterical reasons. this is 24 minutes long but not a single minute is wasted.

got7 hard carry season 2 & 2.5; so, the entirety of this was on got7's vlive channel but vlive has been eaten by weverse (fuck hybe, man) so here is a youtube playlist of some bits and pieces. this was the show that made me fall irrevocably in love with got7. season 2.5 is on youtube in its entirety, and i'm pretty sure if you look for season 2 on the usual sites, they might have uploaded it there.

got7's TMI lab, M2; what it says on the tin. the first episode is not subbed, so just start with the second. lots of fun nonsense here. got7 truly are variety idol royalty.

performances:

nanana mv; their latest comeback and the first after leaving jyp.

crash & burn, be original; yugyeom and jackson choreographed this. one of the coolest performances they have ever done.

crash & burn, music bank; they performed live here and i always include this in my recs because of youngjae's stunning live adlibs (at 3:00). he is on par with minjun of 2pm as the best vocalist jyp has ever had. it's truly bonkers.

you are van live; this is my favorite got7 title track and this is one of the best and funniest and realest things they have ever done. live performers.

never ever cooking live; they sing and decorate a cake. what is not to adore.

1° tape; their live performance of spinning top's 1°. one of the best songs in their entire discography, written by yugyeom. everyone is so stunning here, especially youngjae.

if you do, mbc music festival; iconic performance of an absolutely perfect track. they slowed it down in the first half but the performance does not suffer whatsoever.

just right comeback stage; their big breakthrough hit. like 2pm, rookie got7 were known for their intense martial arts choreography.

lullaby pyjama version; live in living color, baby! this song has insanely fun choreography.

AAA awards medley; the greatest to ever do it. absolute beasts.

poison, be original; this is just a great song with such clever choreography (by jinyoung, yugyeom and jackson), once again. there is one performance where jinyoung forgot his handkerchief.

runaway, 6th fanmeeting; the only time they performed the greatest track in their entire discography live. written and produced by jinyoung.

breath (written and produced by youngjae), you are, fan favorite page, encore, not by the moon, thursday, you calling my name (including yugyeom’s very own gashina moment)

on top of it all, the members all have solo careers. jaebeom has released under his stage name jay b (including the breakdancing he was known for in got7) and his producer tag Def. yugyeom is at AOMG, which houses LeeHi and GRAY, and has released quite a bit solo stuff. his collab with gray, all your fault, is absolutely brilliant and required listening. bambam is at abyss now, the same label sunmi is at, and has shown the world that he is a true allrounder. he is now a fixed cast member of variety show master in the house.

youngjae is at sublime, the very same company handling all of jackson's korean releases, and i just want them to finally make jjap jjap project a real thing. here they both are on youngjae's radio show, best friend! youngjae starred in midnight sun (musical) last year, and he starred in so not worth it, netflix's first korean sitcom, and it is as delightful as it sounds. his solo music is very poppy and cool; here is sugar, his latest comeback. youngjae is such a special case because he only trained for a few months after he got into jyp, and then debuted straight off the bat as the main vocal. he won awards in high school for his singing and he made it a point to often perform fully live (occasionally blowing out his voice in the process, but hey, that's dedication.)

jinyoung is the most established actor in all of got7. he most recently starred in the second season of yumi's cells, and the tvn drama The Devil Judge (HUGE recommendation). he had a cameo in the first episode of reborn rich, and starred in he is psychometric and when my love blooms. he has just released his first solo album, but his first ever solo release dive is outstanding. perfect pop rock.

mark has released an entire solo album, including the singles last breath, my life, and lonely. those songs are so mind-bogglingly good, it is hard to comprehend that got7's most introverted member just came out of the gate swinging right away.

their best albums imo are: spinning top, call my name, 7 for 7, breath of love, and the entire flight log trilogy that has to be seen as a full body of work.

flight log is got7's own, lore heavy narrative (like bts' most beautiful moment), that starts with flight log: departure and corresponding title track fly, is continued by flight log: turbulence and iconic got7 banger hard carry, and ends with flight log: arrival and the incomparable never ever. jinyoung is the protagonist of the story, and it is all very, y'know. life and death. very tragic and beautiful.

ah, i think this is quite enough, sorry! i hope this can be of any help to you. thank you so much for that nice ask, i had a lot of fun compiling this. ♡

#ask #anon #got7 #kaz talks #i hope all the links are correct

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quaddmgd · 8 months

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Happy Birthday, Crystal

So today (August 25th) marks one year since I started playing Cyberpunk 2077 and created Crystal. A year is a really long time for me to still play the same singleplayer game with no subsequent playthroughs. Things like that don't happen often, and Crystal means a world to me, so why not ramble for a bit about my memories, feelings towards the game and other stuff. Keep in mind, it's nothing more than a journal entry. Unless you know me a bit better than a typical mutual, you won't find anything of value here.

[VERY LONG POST AHEAD]

Long time ago...

I was really hyped about the game before its release in December 2020, my s/o even more than me. There were some signs that it's going to turn out disappointing, but we were keeping our hopes up. Alas, came the release date, the game hit headlines due to it's poor technical state and some broken promises. We were very upset, especially since all we had to play it on was Xbox One and low-spec by today's standards PCs. First updates showed that CDPR has much more to fix than we expected, so our hype has slowly died down.

Since then, I played through Cruelty Squad, Red Dead Redemption 2, multiple Yakuza, Devil May Cry and Resident Evil games, and I couldn't care less about the game at the start of 2022.

Why I got the game?

I only purchased Cyberpunk 2077 in May-June 2022, along with Kao The Kangaroo (2022) which, to be honest, was the main attraction for me. Both games were physical Xbox releases and I only was hyped to play Cyberpunk thanks my to lil bro, who has finished the game twice, and showed me this trailer with a beautiful cover of Never Fade Away - a song very in-line with my music taste.

Speaking as a seasoned video editor, the trailer was masterfully realized, with multiple great cuts showing off the diverse cast and some of the action. Editing, music and the scenes they chose made the entire trailer feel more like a tribute video - obviously this was made with love.

Now, I played The Witcher 3, and I knew that this game will require time and dedication from me - something I couldn't afford at the time. And despite hearing about the next gen patch (update 1.5) bringing the game to a state it should've been released in, I remained skeptical about it being good. No offense, but people (especially on Twitter) tend to overreact and talk about stuff they know nothing about. Even with recent title releases, folks just assume the latest patch made them better and fixed important issues. But then you sit with the game and a proper frame rate analysis is enough to prove such reports to be false.

My life in corpo

Before we get to August 2022, I want to provide some more context regarding the state I was in. I was working a piss-poor corpo job, which was gradually eating away my soul for longer than I'd like to admit. It wasn't fulfilling and it was (and probably still is) full of ungrateful pricks, that were coming up with issues to justify their payrolls, only to send QA on us to not detect any issues mentioned. To keep it brief, it was a very hostile work environment, that was treating people like garbage. But hey, at least they were smiling, right?

Come summer 2022, I was feeling like a shell of a human being, and I'm happy that fate decided that it's time for me get out and take care of myself. I'm not sure where would I be right now if I didn't.

So, my time at the job was coming to an end and I couldn't give less of a fuck about looking for another one. I needed some well-deserved vacation. I was supposed to work until August 31st and during these last few days I was trying to take it really easy.

Still the work was going as usual, so despite of having only few days left, my mental and physical state was as shitty as before. After each remaining day I was a walking corpse, drinking coffee at 10pm to squeeze these additional two hours from a day and try to enjoy some of my hobbies before going to sleep and repeating the cycle.

Starting the playthrough

My job is the reason why my memory is hazy on how I decided that it's time to start Cyberpunk 2077, but it's possible that it was my s/o that encouraged me to do it. She surely wanted to see the character creator with her own eyes, and was always interested in me creating OCs - something I wasn't doing often back then.

So, on August 25th 2022, I started playing Cyberpunk 2077, knowing nothing about the lore, with a sole intention of creating my character and seeing what happens. It was already late and my entire evening was sponsored by coffee, but whatever.

Crystal/Valerie/V

I'm not really sure how long it took me to create Crystal, but I spent an ungodly amount of time on perfecting her looks. I wanted her to look badass and beautiful, maybe end up being a cooler version of me. While I don't think I based her off my looks, my partner noticed that we have similar jawlines and hairstyles (well, I'm a natural blonde, which later I consciously reflected on her while creating her flashback version).

Needless to say, I instantly fell in love with her. And I know I wouldn't create a female character I wouldn't wanna date :>, but I really mean it. She was, and still is, simply perfect.

Her name was Crystal since the moment I was adding finishing touches (like makeup and tattoos), but I wasn't planning on giving her a standalone story. She was supposed to be V, with her name later revealed to be Valerie - a name I really like the sound of, and it fits her nicely. Still, in my mind her name was Crystal - and I have no idea why... she just looks like Crystal.

So here I was with my nomad V, ready to play through the prologue and possibly the rest of the game.

Playing through the game

My first evening of playing ended on me visiting Wakako (I don't even remember the reason you are supposed to go there tbh but if you played, you know these are still introductory quests) and photographing the hell out of C. My lesbian ass couldn't even be bothered to change FOV (and back then I couldn't really see the issue with default FOV screenshots - it took me months to adjust my eyes tbh) but she looked so badass. The photo mode, for industry standards, isn't that bad too, so I was really hyped to play the game, meet more people and shoot pics. While I already loved her friendship with Jackie and the way CDPR handled introduction to some of the cast, I wasn't sold on the story yet.

some of pics made on the first night :>

Then on the next day I went through The Heist and Love Like Fire, and learned that my actions as Johnny led to 2023 Night City Holocaust. Everyone who played through these quests know how full of events and emotions they are. It was 3/4am on Friday (technically Saturday) night, mind you, and I still was living mostly off coffee. That's a lot to take in for a tired mind and in some way it might have helped me immerse in Crystal's position even more. After waking up as her, with Jackie dead, and a parasite in my head that actively wants me to join him, I was just as clueless as to what the fuck happened. All I knew was that she/we need to survive. I can't let her/us die.

Let me tell you, waking up in her apartment, to the original version of Never Fade Away on the radio, was one of the most powerful moments in the game. To me, it has become a theme song for the rest of the playthrough. Leaving the apartment after getting some irl sleep was just as powerful.

the first time C left her apartment after Jackie's death and Johnny's flashback

The playthrough was going alright and I was hooked. I don't think there are many things worth talking about here. One thing worth mentioning is that I was starting to feel a strong connection with Crystal - something I've never felt to such an extent in any game. Maybe it's my background in corpo, which was only coming to an end. Or maybe I subconsciously designed her to help me with some of identity issues I had back then. I will never know for sure, but either way, she has helped me. She was exactly who I wanted her to be, who she wanted herself to be and was constantly brave and punk about it. I was feeling a growing mix of immersion and adoration as I progressed through the game.

And progress through the game I did! I finished plenty of gigs/ncpd jobs and all available side quests before starting the last mission chain (or so I thought - in the end I totally missed the vending machine one and the entirety of Kerry's questline lmao). During this time I was put out of misery of working my job, each day feeling more alive than the last, playing more and more hours of Cyberpunk 2077, shooting many pictures, enjoying my time in Night City and being Crystal.

yeah it might be using default fov but it's still one of my favorite shots

Last Tapeworm, Chipping In and dying

To me, Cyberpunk 2077 was at its best when it was focusing on the relationship between V and Johnny. Last part of Tapeworm was a very powerful moment. There's no way I'll ever forget the conversation she had with Johnny in that apartment. Going from a foe that actively eating your life away, to possibly the only person that's ready to sacrifice their life to save yours, Johnny and his redemption arc are some of the biggest highlights of the game.

The conversation was of course followed by a side quest sequence started with Chipping In, with another memorable scene at Johnny's grave. Seeing how far we've come together, how many people we met, how often we were agreeing with each other - it was like talking to a friend who was right by your side for every important event in your life. And to think that only few days ago I was watching him trying to smash her head against the window...

side quests really were the best part of the story

It's hard to say which moment was more impactful, but for me it all clicked just after the Tapeworm cutscene. If I remember it right, I spent a few minutes more in this apartment block, staring away at the sunset, listening to waves breaking Pacifica's silence. Not even sure if I'll manage to save Crystal, I wasn't ready to finish it anytime soon. I still had a lot to do and it took me an additional day to finish everything and start Nocturne OP55N1, but I was looking at the game differently than before.

It might sound dramatic, but I mean it. For the remaining duration of the game, each time I didn't hear any music, it was just silence of a big city dying from heatstroke and sandstorms, echoing conversations with people I met during my journey, and uncertainty, if I'll even make it out alive in the end. Unfortunately, I can't convey it any better, but it has to do with the atmosphere of this city and CDPR's natural talent for creating gray characters, which Cyberpunk 2077 is full of, and last but not least, my connection to Crystal.

Nocturne OP55N1

So the time has come for me to start the last mission sequence and I knew that it might go bad. The moment I was warned that it's a point of no return, I backed out and went for a walk around the city. Don't know if it was scripted, but the weather was overcast and NC was covered in fog. In my experience it's such a rare occurrence, that either I was "lucky" or it was planned. I visited Judy (VCrystal's sweetheart) for the last time, disappointed by the lack of new dialogues to start, and went back to Megabuilding H10 to see a cute heart made out of consumables by her. I went to sleep in my own bed, probably for the last time.

During my last journey to Embers, Major Crimes by Health started playing on the radio, and I got emotional. Not often games make me cry, but I really didn't want Crystal to die, or my journey to end. It really felt like I was saying goodbye to everyone and not going back.

just look at the weather - shot outside of Embers, before starting Nocturne Op55N1

In the end I managed to go through the Embers section just fine, but very stressed. Then, after suffering through heartbreaking moments at Viktor's Clinic, I got to the rooftop.

Now, I'm not really sure how much time I spent there. Seems like an eternity, looking back on it. No choice felt right (and in the end, none was perfect), but I had to choose something. Unable to decide, I did something I really hate doing - I looked up endings to see which one will let me live happily with Judy... or survive at the very least.

While I didn't know it yet, I chose the happiest ending of the bunch. All I knew is that Crystal will be able to leave Night City with Judy - I didn't know that it'll be impossible to remove the chip in Mikoshi and that there's hope of achieving it in Arizona. Yes, I chose The Star ending.

I still was on the edge of my sit and really scared for C, but deep down, I knew that I probably won't get another chance to mess it up.

The ending was bittersweet and I got an instant hangover. I needed some time to come to terms with it, and make peace with me not getting the happy ending. In the end I managed to create a brief scenario where that guy Panam knows somehow manages to remove the chip, and Crystal and Judy got to live happily ever after.

I beat the game on September 4th.

Feelings Feelings Feelings

See, there's a reason I'm talking about the ending and my feelings about it in such detail. I really fell in love with Crystal. After all, it's the first time I got so immersed into a character and I can't put my finger on why exactly.

Maybe it's because it's the prettiest character I have ever created, maybe I just saw parallels in our stories or feelings, maybe I subconsciously made up all the connections in my head. Meh, it's probably a bit of everything, on top of a really good story, even if most of it is hidden in side content.

The thing is, I was in the right place, at the right time and, like I said, it all just clicked.

Back then, I was tired, angry, feeling exploited and robbed of soul. She was there to help me stop thinking about it, get revenge in a way, even if on a fictional corporation, however dumb it might sound. And the more I was thinking about her, dressing her up in cool clothing (bra + edgerunner combo ftw), the more I strived to be like her. I learned to love myself a bit more, I started dressing up for myself again, putting some makeup on just to stare at the mirror and enjoy the end result, maybe even shoot some selfies. It's almost like, on top of everything I already said, I was trying to express myself through her, which has in return influenced me. I hope that makes sense.

Crystal Hartley

Now, it took me some time to create her own story and separate her from V. And I wouldn't probably do it if it wasn't for my s/o. She was already working on her OCs story, and after many tries she finally talked me into writing my girl. The last modification date of the document with the initial version of the story is February 25th - exactly 6 months after starting the game. Since then, I made some changes and the end result can be seen here. It helped me further resonate with her and she didn't have a deadly chip inside anymore, at the cost of her not getting to know Johnny. She remained a warrior, a true badass who's not scared of anything.

Honestly she was and still is inspiring me. Being it her as V or real Crystal I wrote a few months back, she suffered hardships, she had her all-time low moment not that long ago, but she recovered and she always stands brave against all odds - knowing that in the end everything will turn out just fine.

For now, C has got some closure. She's living in Night City, she has a loving and beautiful girlfriend she's thinking about all the time, they're still doing gigs and getting in trouble together <3 While she still recovers from what happened in her nomad family, she has Elegy, Misty, Claire and Saul to help her deal with it. She's in a good place right now.

Other girls

Some time ago I made EV, a girl that was originally a Cyberpunk version of my Evie from Red Dead Online, albeit I made her personality a polar opposite to Evie's. I don't have a lot about her, really - she's beautiful, photogenic, conveys vibes the best out of all of my OCs. She's probably going to end up as my canon V. She and Johnny are a match made in heaven... or hell. Actually if I put them together in the same body Night City might end up in flames.

Then there's Thalia. A girl I initially only mentioned as a friendly gang member in Crystal's mega lore post. She wasn't hanging around with Crystal's group of friends, but they got really close after getting to know each other during a party. Officially, she sacrificed herself to save Crystal and the rest when they got overrun by enemies. She did survive, with help of [REDACTED] and is looking for Crystal in Night City to reunite with her and [REDACTED]. Hopefully they meet soon! It'll probably bring some unpleasant memories back, but in the end Crystal will reunite with Thalia and, with Elegy, they'll make a dream team.

Some stats!

Why not wrap it up with some interesting data!

Since I started Cyberpunk 2077:

I got all the achievements and I intend on doing the same for Phantom Liberty

according to Xbox I played the game for 268 hours* **

I made 3405 captures, taking up a whopping 36 GB of space*

421 of these captures were made during my initial playthrough

* - at the time of writing ** - including time I was afk

Conclusion

So... I just wanted to post some thoughts about Cyberpunk 2077 and, especially, Crystal. Going from a game I wasn't even that stoked to play, to an ongoing hyperfixation, that has helped me through tough times and still influences me to this very day! I even made some internet friends!

When I was working on a standalone story for Crystal, I decided that her birthday is the day I first played the game - 25th August... today.

Happy birthday, Crystal <3

#oc: crystal hartley #text.qd

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