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after-witch · 1 year

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yandere kaveh & alhaitham imagine

word count: 2700ish

Synopsis: One of the stickiest ideas for a yandere Kaveh and Alhaitham sharing a darling that I have is Kaveh's softer nature and tendency towards soothing the understandably distressed darling, especially in contrast to Alhaitham's no-nonsense take on things, backfiring on Kaveh at some point.

notes: kidnapped reader, mentions of control & other kidnapping related elements

Let's say you're having one of your regular crisis moments over the realization that you're more or less stuck inside the house indefinitely. Sometimes, Alhaitham lets you go outside, but you basically just get to stand in a corner of the yard that's protected from all view so you can get a bit of sunlight every day. He holds your hand the entire time.

It's a bit of torture--you want fresh air, you want the sun, but you sure as hell don't want Alhaitham's hand on yours the whole time, grip tight, eyes scrutinizing. But he refuses to let Kaveh take you outside because he thinks (rightfully) that Kaveh will be too permissive with your ability to roam outdoors, so you have to put up with it even it makes your lips curl downward and your stomach roil.

But of course, standing outside for a little bit while Alhaitham breathes over your shoulder is not the same as getting to leave the house. Getting to have a life. Getting to experience the world.

So you're crying about it. And Kaveh is there to pull you into his lap and rub your back and let you rest your head on his shoulder as you sniffle and sob your way through everything bothering you.

And you sputter out that a certain festival is coming up, and it's one of your favorite things, and you've never missed it and now you'll never get to see it again!

You burst into sobs, almost hysterical ones, that take Kaveh so aback that he simply holds you tighter in his embrace. Tears come to his eyes at seeing you so upset.

"It's not practical, is it? Alhaitham wouldn't let you out of the house in your... current wardrobe." He gestures to your outfit, which is not something you (or Alhaitham, or Kaveh) would want to go out in public wearing.

Because right now, your clothing mostly consists of loose tops that barely cover your ass. The dresses and skirts and trousers that Kaveh bought for you were relegated to the locked storage in the basement after you had a particularly nasty tantrum about Alhaitham's penchant for under-dressing you, and you'll have to earn them back over time.

Such a thing is not something Kaveh approves of--he thinks you should be able to wear whatever you want, and he can't fathom why Alhaitham doesn't appreciate the way your eyes sparkle and your face lights up when you wear something that you actually enjoy. Especially something flouncy and frilly and colorful. But it's not his choice, and all he can do is grimace and pat your shoulder in sympathy when you continually tug the top of the shirts down to give yourself more modesty.

You sniffle, a bit of snot bubbling in your nostrils, and if it was anyone else, Kaveh would shudder. But it's you, so all he does is lean over and grab a tissue to hold it to your nose and let you blow. He kisses your forehead once you've done it.

"At... at the festival, you're supposed to wear clothes with certain flowers on it." Your voice is still choked with emotion, but you're calming down, which is good.

So he lets you keep talking, rubbing your back, trying to keep you calm. "That sounds pretty. It's a shame you don't have anything like that to wear." And he softens his voice so much, that even though his words might sound like a barb if they were coming from anyone else, to you it's just another sign that Kaveh is on your side.

He always plies his voice with sympathy and clucks, all things he knows help bring you back from your emotional ledge.

"But... if I had something to wear, I could go?"

You look up at him with such wide eyes, all glassy from your tears, and you look so damn pretty. He smiles, that little smile he gets on his face when you're getting in trouble and he's not allowed to stop it. His sympathy smile. His we're-in-this-together smile, as if you two were anywhere near close to sharing the same experience in this house.

And the words come out soft and fluid and not thought through, at least not in the way he should have. "Well, of course."

They're meant to soothe you, but they're not true. Because he knows that Alhaitham isn't going to buy you festival attire. And since he knows Alhaitham would never agree to such an outing, Kaveh won't buy it for you either. He also knows that you--sweet thing that you are--won't ask him to buy it for you, because it might make Alhaitham mad at him.

That's one blessed, beautiful thing about you... you never push Kaveh to do more than what he himself is willing to do on his own. Sneak you treats. Buy you pretty things. Let you stay up late when Alhaitham isn't home. All of these, he's willing to do, because Alhaitham will grumble and tell Kaveh he needs to stop pampering you or you'll never accept your proper place with them... but he won't do more than that.

But you never ask him for things that go Beyond that Point. You never ask Kaveh for your freedom, you never ask him to stop Alhaitham from belting you for wayward transgressions. Because you know that Alhaitham would be absolutely furious with him for doing such things.

And so, he knows you won't outright ask him to buy you an outfit for the festival. And since that's your only avenue for getting such an outfit, there's no harm in letting you hope for it, like you sometimes hope for other things. Like freedom.

Your eyes flick to and fro after he says this, and then you smile, a rare toothy smile that makes you look relieved and innocent. You wrap your arms tighter around him, and he's more than happy to return the embrace.

He strokes your hair and lets you calm down further, soothed at the thought of maybe attending this festival. He assumes in time, you'll forget. He'll get you something sweet from a local restaurant tonight, or offer to paint your nails a pretty color, and do his best to keep you occupied from your sadder thoughts.

And the matter is forgotten. Or so he thinks.

There's an interesting change in you after that conversation. Small changes, slow but sure.

You begin to sit quietly in the evenings while Alhaitham reads and Kaveh creates, working on your own little projects. You draw. You write. You started taking up embroidery, and Alhaitham (to Kaveh's surprise) agreed to get you some materials since you'd asked him in a shockingly submissive, subdued manner. It meant you were learning, Alhaitham said, and that deserved a reward. Most evenings you settle down and embroider large swatches of fabric, drawing on designs first before meticulously stitching them.

You don't argue as much. When it looks like you might lose your cool, Kaveh can see you biting your lip, clenching your fists, fighting down the words you want to say in favor of working with whatever Alhaitham wants you to do.

You start to talk more at shared mealtimes, even engaging Alhaitham in conversation on something that isn't "give me my freedom, you unbelievable asshole." You politely ask what he's been reading. You ask him his opinion on fireworks or how good he is at games of chance. You ask Kaveh the same.

It's cute. Kaveh thinks you're starting to get more used to the pair of them, even Alhaitham, and while he has no qualms about taking advantage of your aversion for Alhaitham to gather you in his arms, it is rather nice to see you getting along with scribe instead of spitting at him like a half-wild cat.

Until one morning when you waltz into the dining room wearing an outfit that neither one of them has purchased for you. An outfit made from familiar fabric, all decorated with embroidered flowers. Your hair is styled, and you've decorated your face with some of the makeup Kaveh has bought for you over time, even decorating your cheek with a pretty little flower drawn with a brush and potted eyeliner.

Alhaitham's eyes immediately narrow and look to Kaveh, as if he knows (and he's right) that Kaveh is to blame for whatever is going on. Kaveh's throat is so tight that it hurts when he swallows.

You're oblivious to it all, wearing a smile that can only be described as "drunk with happiness." You look at Alhaitham and then at Kaveh and ask the simple question--

"Are you ready to go?"

Alhaitham sets down the mug of coffee he'd be cradling and merely stares at you. His question is slow and careful.

"Where do you think we're going?"

There's a little hitch in your breath. Kaveh sees how one of your legs takes a half-step back, faltering. But you recover quickly and smile, eager and bright.

"The festival." You gesture to your clothes, and pat your hair, looking a little self-conscious. "Sorry, I overdid it a little. Um, I can paint flowers on you too, if you want them..."

Alhaitham doesn't respond, and you must take it for irritation at your suggestion, because you duck your head and apologize.

"Or-or not. Sorry. I didn't know if you'd want to dress up." You smile a thin, almost prim smile, and Kaveh can see the nervousness that's crept into your face, your body language. You know something's amiss, but you don't know what just yet.

Alhaitham keeps his face remarkably neutral when he delivers the first blow.

"We aren't going to any festival."

It stings, it really does, that your first instinct is to look at Kaveh with your wide, confused eyes.

"But Kaveh said--"

Alhaitham's head immediately snaps back towards Kaveh and if looks could kill, Kaveh would be dead on the spot.

"It doesn't matter what Kaveh said. I didn't agree to go to any festival."

Kaveh can see the way the bottom of your jaw begins to quiver, the way your bottom lip trembles with it. You swallow and wrap your arms around yourself in a protective gesture.

"But he said... he said if I had something to wear..." Your fingers play with the hem of your sleeves, which you embroidered with a spray of wildflowers. "So... so I made something."

You look up at the scribe hopefully, but Alhaitham doesn't budge.

"I never permitted any festival trip. You know that you aren't allowed out of the house. Now go take that off and--"

Your voice is choked when you interrupt, and you raise your tone at Alhaitham for the first time in a long time. For the first time since Kaveh told you that you could go to the festival, if you had something to wear.

"No!" The word is unacceptable, and you know it, and Kaveh knows it, and Alhaitham knows it, but you say it anyway. "Kaveh said we could go to the festival if--"

You stop when Kaveh says your name. He rarely interrupts when you and Alhaitham are going at it, because it's not his place, but this time.. it's his mess, for once, and he is the one who needs to pick up the pieces.

You look to him, a tearful sort of hope in your eyes. You're probably thinking that Kaveh is going to step forward and tell Alhaitham that he did say that, and that you will go to the festival. Maybe you think he'll talk Alhaitham into it, promise that you'll stay by their side the whole time, or only stay for a few hours before leaving. You think, regardless of the details, that for once Kaveh is going to stick up for you.

You don't think it for long.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that you could go to the festival. I wasn't thinking." Kaveh offers a frown. "I didn't think you'd be able to get an outfit together."

His voice is soft and measured, but he can see the way his words hit you, all the same.

"But I did make one and--"

Kaveh holds up his hand.

"I know. And it's very pretty, and you did such a wonderful job. But we can't go to the festival. I'm sorry. It's my fault."

You look at him and then at Alhaitham and back to him in quick succession.

"But you said." The last word is pinched and tight and Kaveh can see your throat working, swallowing, barely able to get the words out due to your emotions.

Kaveh offers his sympathy smile, but you're like a frightened deer, too wild and upset to take anything from it.

"I know. I was wrong." He gestures to your outfit. "Take it off, and we'll get you dressed in something else and have a nice quiet day together, okay?" He thinks to promise you treats or something from the market, but a reminder that you can't leave the house might not be the best idea.

It doesn't matter.

You shake your head. Your eyes are glassy again, full of pain and something that makes Kaveh's stomach feel sick--the hurt of betrayal.

"Kaveh, you said... you said we could go."

He repeats your name, a bit firmly now, and holds out his hands for the outfit you've made. And you're so unused to Kaveh talking with you with anything resembling sternness that you let out the softest little gasp, a hiccupping little cry that feels like a knife in his heart. Poor him. Poor you.

Your hands shake terribly as you undo the outfit you've made, pulling at straps you've stitched in to tie it altogether. Some of your tears drip onto the fabric.

The outfit slips off your body, and Kaveh takes it and drapes it over his arms, leaving you standing in front of them in your undergarments, arms limp at your side. The simpleness of your underclothes contrasted against the pretty way you've done your hair and the makeup on your face is striking.

The radiant smile and jubilant energy that has been replaced with you crying, body shaking with sobs that come out all choked, is painful to see. So is the way that the flower on your cheek has become distorted from tears running through it. It's an almost ridiculous visual representative of what is swirling through your chest and heart and soul right now--another dream of yours, taken away, crumpled up, ruined.

Kaveh wants to comfort you. Wants to hug you and kiss away those lovely tears. But he knows it would only hurt you more.

For once it's Alhaitham who directs you. Not in the sweet, soft way that Kaveh might have. Alhaitham doesn't wipe away your tears and kiss away your sorrows. But he puts a hand on your shoulder and pushes gently, redirecting you to the bathroom, where he will no doubt have you remove your makeup and undo your hair and tell you to remember that he's doing all this for your benefit.

The "I told you so, I told you that you'd spoil them too much one day" look Alhaitham gives him hurts, because for once, his landlord-roommate-captor-in-arms is right. He shouldn't have told you whatever you wanted to hear, just to calm you down. He should have thought things through, been more careful with his wording.

Hearing your choked sobs from the bathroom, only dimly muffled by the running water of the sink, is more than enough evidence.

It wasn't fair to give you hope that things were going to change for you. Because, as wrong as Kaveh knows it is, you're going to be with them for a long, long time. But you won't be living an open life. You won't be going to festivals or attending the markets or strolling the public gardens, talking to neighbors, making friends. You'll be here, with them and only them, where you belong, always and forever.

Letting you pretend otherwise is just cruel.

#yandere Alhaitham #yandere kaveh #yandere genshin impact #yandere imagine #afterwitch writes #me: I'm gonna post these things!#also me: actually I'm gonna start what was meant to be a quick imagine and write #like 2000 words on it #also this imagine would not exist without j0succ's kaveh & alhaitham posts because those puts have their CLAWS in me

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oddeyevibes · 7 months

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MK1 flirty Intros w/ Pro-Wrestler!Reader

(Featuring: Johnny Cage, Kung Lao, Raiden, Sindel, Kenshi)

Notes: Was lowkey basing reader off of Tina Armstrong from DOA. Reader and Johnny know each other because Reader’s success as a wrestler had them cameo in one of Johnny’s movies. One of Liu Kang’s champions.

Johnny Cage 🕶️

Johnny: Whatcha gonna do when Cageamania runs WILD on you?! 😎

Y/N: And this is why I didn’t come back for Ninja Mime 2 🙄

Johnny: I would love for you to be the Ms/Mr L/N to my Johnny Savage 🥴

Y/N: Why can’t you ask me out like a normal person? 😒

Johnny: How much for your championship belt?

Y/N: Come back when you survive Tommy the Hun. 😤

Y/N: You would NEVER last in MY ring, pretty boy. 🥱

Johnny: So you DO think I’m pretty. 😏

Y/N: Cage you have got to stop the wrestling puns.😒

Johnny: Don’t act like they’re not making you chuckle, tiger 🥴

Johnny: You know, I AM a bachelor again. 😏

Y/N: Hmm…but are you a suitable one? 🤔

Kung Lao 🎓

Kung Lao: My fighting prowess vs your circus act. 😏

Y/N: Lao have you ever been on the receiving end of a Crossface? 😤

Y/N: Are all farm boys as cute as you. 🥰

Kung Lao: *chuckles* No, I’m one of a kind. 😘

Kung Lao: I had heard wrestling was fake but that exploding barbed wire match was too brutal! 😨

Y/N: *laughs* Aww, look at you all worried. 🥰

Y/N: Y’know…I think I’d look good in your hat…and nothing else. 😉

Kung Lao: Hm?🤨….Oh!😐 Ohhhhh…😳

Kung Lao: After this match, you HAVE to meet Madam Bo! 😃

Y/N: Already taking me to meet your mother figure, are you? 😏

Y/N: Farm boy, huh? You must be good with your hands. 😏

Kung Lao: I’d like to think so.🥴

Raiden ⚡️

Y/N: My eyes are up here, Raiden. 🤭

Raiden: Yes!😳 I apologize!

Y/N: Y’know, I’m a sucker for farm boys.

Raiden: *tries to hide his blushing*

Raiden: It’s amazing how quick you initiate those holds.

Y/N: Thanks. I can show you a few if you want…privately of course.

Raiden: What did Madame Bo pull you aside for?🤨

Y/N: Oh you know…the usual…thinly veiled threats about what would happen if I broke your heart….maybe not so thin.

Kenshi🗡️

Kenshi: What do you see in Cage as a friend? 🤨

Y/N: He grows on you, trust me. ☺️

Kenshi: I’m not someone you should get involved with. 😔

Y/N: I know how to handle wise guys, Kenshi.

Y/N: I should’ve done more to protect you. 🥺

Kenshi: You cannot blame yourself for this, Y/N.

Kenshi: I caught one of your matches when you were in Japan. You’re technicality is impressive.

Y/N: Oh! 😯 Thank you! 😊

Kenshi: How did you get roped up into that Ninja Mime cameo?

Y/N: *groan* It was a favor to Cris.

Y/N: Sento doesn’t watch…does it?

Kenshi: I…..hadn’t thought of that.

Sindel 🔊

Sindel: Wrestling is a revered art form in Outworld. What about Earthrealm?

Y/N: Depends on your definition of revered. 😅

Sindel: Can you keep up?

Y/N: I won’t lose my breath, Empress.

Sindel: So already a champion? Interesting.

Y/N: Yeah, it’s not the same as Earthrealm champion but..yeah~🥰

Y/N: So Li Mei is…..👀

Sindel: *chuckles* it’s feels nice to have someone be jealous over me again. 🥰

Y/N: So how much work is there being a consort?

Sindel: About as much as being the Empress.

Y/N: Will Mileena and Kitana think this weird? 🥺

Sindel: They will come to love you, dearest. 🥰

#mortal kombat x reader #mk intros #Sindel x reader #Kenshi Takashi x reader #Raiden x reader #Johnny Cage x Reader #Kung Lao x reader #odd eye kombat

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strangersteddierthings · 9 months

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Steve, Gareth and Chrissy are cousins AU (sad edition) [prologue] [part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Final Part]

The saving grace for Steve here is that all eyes are on Eddie, so no one witnesses how he freezes, just for a moment, when Eddie tells them who the 'she' is he's been referring to. How he just wanted to help her. Help Chrissy. Whatever Eddie has been saying has turned to buzzing, to white noise, to nonsense in the background of his mind.

He has to be wrong. Mistaking some other girl for Chrissy. Because it can't be Chrissy. It can't. Steve has worked so hard to keep his family away from the Upside Down shit. She couldn't be- there's no way she somehow got caught up in it. There's too many questions and not enough answers and when did the air get too thick to fit in his lungs?

Does Gareth know?

Gareth, who Steve knows is one of Eddie's friends and here Eddie sits before him, a witness to Upside Down shit. A witness to a murder they have no clue how to solve. Gareth, who isn't exactly friends with Mike, Dustin, and Lucas, but who is in the same club as them and on friendly terms. That's too many people connected to the Upside Down in Gareth's personal circle for Steve to be okay with.

He thought this was done. That they wouldn't ever have to deal with this shit again.

Eddie is still talking as the pounding in Steve's ears fades and he listens as Eddie swears, he just wanted to help, that she seemed so freaked out by something, and Steve's insides twist and churn. Why hadn't Chrissy come to him? Just last week he was at her house, hanging out and catching up. She never mentioned an issue. A problem. Something that would cause her to seek out heavier drugs than weed.

They used to tell each other everything. What changed?

His stomach drops as the answer comes to him.

He did.

He'd changed. He started keeping secrets first. Pushed Chrissy and Gareth away after that first incident and hadn't really started to let them back in until after Starcourt. He'd just wanted to keep them safe. Keep them as far away from this horror as possible. He'd ended the weekend sleepovers because of his nightmares, stopped inviting them over to hang out by the pool because he can't look at it without thinking about Barb, started avoiding them at school when he'd ended up beat to shit by Billy because he knew they'd dig for more answers than he could give.

No wonder Chrissy didn't tell him anything was wrong.

There's no way for Steve to know if he could have helped or not, even if Chrissy had talked to him. Eddie doesn't have answers; just a story.

Steve hates him a little bit. It's irrational. Eddie didn't do this Chrissy, (even if he had been arguing that point at Family Video) but it doesn't stop the anger inside him from boiling up. He doesn't act on it, of course he doesn't, he's not that person anymore.

Plus, acting on it would kind of negate everything Dustin just convinced Eddie of, such as he's not crazy and they do believe him, and Steve's not about to undo what Dustin's accomplished by taking Eddie by the vest and shoving him against the wall in a reverse of earlier. It wouldn't do any good, not now that they're all sure it's a new, unknown threat from the Upside Down that they'll have to figure out on their own.

No. Taking his anger out on Eddie won't solve anything.

He can be mad about this later.

It does sit heavy on him, though, that he doesn't think anyone in this boathouse knows Chrissy was his cousin. That the Upside Down has taken someone from Steve this time. He can't tell them. Robin wouldn't take it well, and Dustin might not either. They'll be sad for him, and he can't handle that right now.

He can mourn later.

Remember the fun lil fic of Gareth not wanting his cousins, Chrissy Cunningham and Steve Harrington, to ruin his street cred in high school? Well, the fun is done. Have some angst. More parts will follow but it's not really a fic? Just... disjointed scenes, rewritten from canon to fit the cousin AU.

#steve harrington #chrissy cunningham #gareth #gareth cunningham (in this au)#steve‚ gareth‚ and chrissy are cousins au #canon divergent au #kinda #my fic

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envysparkler · 3 months

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so this. this would be one of the nightwing longfics. the long, character-driven fic that I wish I had time to write but alas.

the crux of this fic is when Tim goes to ask Dick to return to save Batman from his grief, Dick agrees.

Nightwing coming back to Gotham. fighting, every day, to keep Bruce from self-destructing in a manor so full of grief that sometimes he sits in empty rooms and cries. Dick that can’t visit Jason’s grave, it’s too painful, but sometimes he sleeps on the couch in the library and pretends like his little brother is sitting on the other couch and reading. and Nightwing also needs to deal with this precocious twelve-year-old who might not be Robin but thinks that it is perfectly reasonable to stalk them around Gotham.

it’s hard. it’s so, so hard. Dick losing pieces of himself, bit by bit. he sees hallucinations of Jason and eventually, the hallucinations are the only things he talks to truthfully. he has to keep Bruce sane while Bruce keeps lashing out at him. Alfred’s not getting younger. Barbara’s furious and upset and grieving what happened to her. Tim has no parental supervision, what the fuck is going on with this kid, Dick needs to watch out for him too.

it’s slow, but the pressure just keeps piling on.

meanwhile, the people he’s helping start to get better. Bruce notices their baby stalker, figures out Tim’s situation, and puts in immediate paperwork to get temporary guardianship. (Dick still hasn’t been adopted. it’s fine. he doesn’t care. he doesn’t.) Barbara recovers and becomes Oracle, a saving grace to the wider caped community. (she’s so busy. Dick just wants a friend to talk to. please.) Tim is introduced to the Titans and makes fast friends with them. (the Titans were Dick’s first but they’re gone, all gone, why does everyone keep leaving him.)

and then there’s a mention of a new crime lord on the scene, Red Hood, who’s looking to shake things up.

things build and build and build, Hood taunting them and Bruce’s suspicions and Tim’s stalking, until it reaches a breaking point.

a warehouse. Batman and Red Hood and Tim and Dick. everyone is shouting at each other, yelling at each other, accusations flying, emotional barbs thrown. Dick trying to keep the peace and failing.

maybe someone snaps something that wounds. maybe Dick just collapses under his own exhaustion. either way, he gives up. he walks away. he can’t do this anymore.

no one notices him leave.

Dick leaves his suit in the Cave and writes a short note explaining that he’s quitting.

he’s done.

this world--Gotham and Batman and all the heroes and villains--has taken too much from him. he’s barely twenty-one and yet he’s lived lifetimes. he’s shouldered the weight of the entire world on his shoulders for so long he cannot remember what it feels like to fly without a net.

he returns to the first place he called home. there’s a Flying Grayson at Haley’s Circus again.

#fic ideas #dick grayson #the sequel would be dick asserting that he Doesn't Do That Anymore #while batman and the justice league and the titans and deathstroke and ra's al ghul #all try to convince him to come back #feat. the shenanigans of an accidentally-unintentionally-crime-fighting circus

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tweetracer · 9 months

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✨Dating Margot!Barbie x Human!Reader✨

💖 SHE WANTS TO HOLD YOUR HAND!!! After becoming human Barbie is way more confident in herself and her individuality but that does not mean you, her beloved partner, gets to walk around with your hand unheld!

💖 Loves makeovers. Watches hours on hours of hair and makeup tutorials just so she can dress you and herself up for anything and everything. The best though is those peaceful nights alone with a movie on while the two of you curl up on a couch together. (Her favorite is when she sits on the floor between your legs while you brush her hair).

💖 The girl is a fidgeter (that’s why she likes holding your hands so much! She likes to play your fingers!). Probably developed a bad habit of biting her nails (definitely appreciates getting her nails done now cause it not only looks good it also curbs the habit). Loves loves LOVES fidget toys but is very particular about the ones she uses.

💖 Barbara Handler is the biggest blanket hog known to man. It’s ridiculous and frustrating and so so adorable- like it doesn’t matter how many times you wake up in the middle of the night to pull the covers back towards you- you will inevitably wake up with no blankets and being smothered by a blanket-cocooned Barbie practically on top of you.

💖 One of Barbie’s favorite things about the RealWorld is the music. Back in Barbieland there’s music, sure, but almost all of it is Bubblegum, Dance Party, or Beachy. Coming to the RealWorld really opens up the entirety of the music spectrum to Barb. She absolutely starts collecting records and so many of y’all’s dates start or end at record shops where she walks away with at least two new albums each time. She LOVES to make you playlists. So. Many. Playlists. And every single one has so much devotion and thought into it that it’s enough to make you swoon.

#tweed peeps #barbie movie fic #barbie/reader #Margo!Barbie/reader #margo Robbie barbie #barbie imagines #barbie x reader #reader slash

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 5 months

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Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 51

Part 1 Part 50

Keeping secrets from his Mom doesn’t come naturally to Will Byers. He’d told her after the first fight he’d had with Mike. He’d told her when he’d cheated on a math test. He’d told her when Lonnie had hit him, that first and only time.

So, it’s not a surprise that it doesn’t take him long to slip up.

She’d asked if he knew what Steve and Eddie were up to; planning to invite them for dinner. WIll had told her that Steve was at Barb’s house, and Eddie was in his trailer. His Mom had looked quizically at him, and asked if he’d been on the phone with them that morning.

It all came tumbling out, the way the thread tying the three of them together has only seemed to grow stronger. How sometimes he swears he can feel it tug. How he’s learned to figure out their locations by the strenght and direction of it tugging against his sternum.

She hadn’t taken it well.

“I just don’t think we should sit around and wait for the next bad thing to happen!” Mom shouts from the kitchen.

He’d left her, pacing in front of the phone, running her fingers through her hair as she waiting for Jonathan to get home.

“How do you know they won’t make it worse?” Jonathan demands.

Will curls up on his bed, holding his palms against his ears. This time, there’s no one playing the clash to distract from the sounds of fighting. Jonathan and his Mom love him. He knows it’s not the same, but every raised voice hits him like a blow, until Will crawls out of his window.

He’s walking before he realizes what he’s done, following the tug tug tug toward the closest fixed point until he reaches the Munson trailer. His other tether billows behind him, reaching back into the suburbs toward Steve. He knocks.

Eddie answers, shirtless and in sweatpants. Will gets momentarily distracted by the tattoo on Eddie’s pec he’s never seen, the bats on his arm he’s only barely glimpsed. Eddie snaps his fingers in front of Will’s face, smirking down at him. Will feels his ears turn red, isn’t sure why.

Eddie doens’t looks surprised to see Will, but when he looks behind WIll, he does look surprised at the lack of idling car, waiting for him to be safely ensconsed in the trailer before driving off.

“Where’s your keepers?” Eddie asks, opening the door wide enough for Will to slip through.

Will huddles down into Wayne’s chair, grabbing onto the armrests like he’s afraid Eddie will yank him free. Eddie sits on the couch, grabbing the remote like he’s about to turn on the television for a casual hangout between friends.

“I told my Mom about the thing!” Will blurts.

Eddie freezes, remote held up, thumb hovering over the on button as he looks over to Will with wide eyes. “What thing?” he asks, but Will can tell. He already knows.

“The…connection?” he says, fumbling like always about the things he doesn’t have words for. “About you and Steve.”

Eddie drops the remote onto the coffee table. It clatters loudly enough that Will flinches back. Luckily, Eddie’s eyes are closed and he doesn’t notice. He sighs wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose as Will shrinks further and further into himself.

“Okay,” Eddie sighs. “What does she want to do?” Eddie opens his eyes and looks up at Will, seemingly noticing for the first time how he’s shrinking into himself.

“Sorry,” Will wobbles.

“Oh, hey, it’s fine!” Eddie says, springing from his chair and hovering in front of Wayne’s chair, clasping his hands on Will’s shoulders. “We’re in this together, Baby Byers. Okay?”

The force of gravity sends tears cascading down Will’s cheeks as he nods. Eddie schooches onto the arm of the chair. It creaks dangerously, but holds as Eddie puts his arm around Will’s shoudlers and pulls him into his side.

It takes long minutes for Will to calm his shaky breathing and dry his face on the sleeve of his flannel. Eddie just squeezes his shoulder, and waits patiently for him to calm down.

“Sorry,” Will says again, voice scracthy but dry.

“None of that!” Eddie says, booping him on the nose. “You’re allowed to tell your Mom things.”

There’s a wistfull twinge to his voice that makes Will shudder. Eddie and Steve seem so much older; he forgets sometimes that they’re still kids, who’ve only got one uncle between them.

“She can be your Mom, too,” Will says. Eddie laughs, like he thinks Will is joking. He’s not.

“Okay, okay,” Eddie replies, unwrapping his arm from around Will to hold up both hands placatingly. Will immediately misses the warmth. “What does your Mom want to do?”

Will looks down at the ratty sneakers he forgot to take off at the door. Hopefully Wayne won’t mind. “Her and Jonathan are fighting.” Eddie sways his shoulder into him, the hight difference making him knock lightly into Will’s head. “She wants to take me to the lab.”

“And Johnny Boy doesn’t?” Eddie asks.

Will shakes his head. “He’s afraid.” Will doesn’t tell Eddie that he is, too.

Eddie sighs, slumping back onto the back of the chair, sqwaucking as the weight almost sends them tumbling back. Eddie slams his heels into the ground, steadying them both with a startled laugh.

“Saved your life!” he jokes. But he really did. Him and Steve, and all they’re getting out of it is outed to the scientists no one seems to trust. Sensing the shift back to melancholy, Eddie wraps his arm around Will again.

They’re silent for a moment besides the sound of Eddie’s throat clicking with false starts. WIll snuggles in this time, tucking his head into Eddie’s chest, chin tucked into the other boy’s armpit.

“Whatever our Mom decides, we’ll face it together, okay?” Eddie says quietly, patting his back when WIll nods.

They stay silent until the phone rings. Will sits up, watching Eddie’s retreating back as he rushes to yank the phone off the hook. Will wipes his tacky eyes. His tears had long since dried out, but now his face feels puffy, sticky with saltwater.

“Hello?” Eddie asks before pausing, hunching his shoulders as he listens to the response. “Of course we’ll come, Mama Byers,” Eddie says.

WIll stiffens. He jumps up, stumbling into the kitchen to stand beside Eddie, trying to overhear what his Mom’s saying. He hears her tinny voice, but the words slur togeher unrecognizably.

“No, no, just tell me when,” Eddie says. He sounds like he’s smiling, but there are frown lines at the sides of his mouth and between his brow. They look unnatural on his sunny face.

“Okay. Uh, wait Mama Byers!” he shouts, presumably to get her to stay on the line a moment longer. He looks over at Will with a pinched mouth. Will knows what he’s going to say even before he opens his mouth. “Will’s uh, here?” It comes out like a question. Eddie winces as his Mom’s voice comes out louder and shriller from the other side. “No, he’s fine! You guys were just uh, fighting? So he came over.”

Eddie’s still grimacing as he listens to his Mom’s reply, not meeting Will’s betrayed gaze. “Of course. I’ll bring him home.”

He hangs up the phone with a click, shifting his eyes to Will and smiling awkwardly before holding up his hands and huffing at whatever look is on Will’s face. “Sorry, man!” Eddie turns, walking back to the living room, looking on the coffee table and beneath the couch before wandering into his bedroom. “She said she was going to tell you right then. Did you want her to freak out?”

Will swallows. “Tell me what?” he asks.

Will stands in the entryway, watching Eddie shuffle laundry piles in his disaster of a bedroom before picking up his keys with a triumphant sound. He shrugs on a diry t-shirt, and shoves his feet into some flip flops before pushing gently past Will and heading toward the front door. Will follows him.

“Looks like we’ve got a group appointment with the doctor,” Eddie says, griamcing as he swings the door open.

Will just hopes whoever they end up with isn’t evil.

Part 52

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x

#steddie upsidedown au #eddie munson #steddie #will byers #my fic

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thetarttfuldickhead · 11 months

Text

He hasn’t heard much from his dad in the past year, but two goals for England and the texts start coming again.

---

He blocks his dad’s number, once, twice, another fucking time, but his father keeps getting new numbers or borrowing his mates’ phones or something and the messages keep coming.

He gives up on blocking them. What’s the fucking point?

He tries not to read the texts. He doesn’t always succeed, and he knows what they say anyway.

---

As the second game against City gets nearer the texts get longer and more frequent and nastier. Insistent. Calls too now, at all hours.

For a while, he can ignore it. Things are good. Called up for England, did well, Richmond is playing better than ever, he’s playing better than ever, there’s Roy and Keeley and the team, and Jamie’s feeling good.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Life can’t get too good, because when it does his dad will always come sniffing around, mean old stray looking for juiciest pieces of meat to sink his teeth into, always snapping, snapping, growling, biting, and this ain’t the sort of dog you can jut put down, is it?

Only way to keep it at bay is to never have anything it wants.

But fuck that, because Jamie’s worked fucking hard for this, his life, he’s fought for everything he has and he’s not going to let some nasty old sod ruin it for him or take it away.

So he ignores it, texts and calls and everything, and for a while he can.

---

In the end, it’s not even something in particular that gets to him. No escalation, no sudden appearance of James Tartt in the flesh, no broken beer bottles conspiciously dropped outside his door. In the end, it’s just coming back from his early morning session with Roy to another four missed calls and three drunken voice messages, and just like that, he’s done.

He comes to practice wrapped in barbed wire, donning the old attitude like armour, and if asked he couldn’t even tell you why. Just seems easier, somehow.

---

They all see right through him, and he doesn’t know how to feel about that. Terrified. Stupid. Grateful. Known.

Cared for.

Roy still makes him run an extra ten laps after practice for being an arsehole to everyone instead of telling someone what was going on like you fucking should have, but then he squeezes his shoulder and brings him home to Keeley and makes them dinner while she helps him change his number and make sure everyone who needs to has the new one.

---

“We’ve spoken to City,” Ms. Welton – Rebecca – tells him. “They’ve agreed to ban Mr. Tartt from the premises for our upcoming game.”

The relief is a surprise; the intensity of it. He hadn’t realized until now how much the notion of his father being there had messed with him; his father, watching him, screaming, the sound of his name in that hateful mouth. Only now, when the threat is gone, does he recognize the severity of it.

---

When they news break they’re already on the way to Manchester. Colin is the first to notice and he curses softly and calls for Jamie and tells Isaac and then the whole coach knows.

The Sun: “Star Striker’s Dad Banned from City Game.”

And that’s his dad feigning a look of gentle devastation and it’s all about how Jamie’s money and fame has gone to his head, how he can’t even let his dad watch the game because he’s embarrassed of his humble beginnings, right shame, isn’t it, when people forget where they came from as soon as they make it big? Walked out on City after everything they put into him, didn’t he, and now he’s cutting ties with his family too just ‘cause they’re poor and not educated like, what sort of dickhead does that? “Kid’s turned his back on his roots, thinks he’s too good for us now.”

Manchester City declines to comment, other than to confirm that yes, at the request of AFC Richmond Mr. James Tartt will be prevented from attending the match. Nothing else they can say, really, not without revealing things that aren’t theirs to reveal.

The coach goes quiet, the way the dressing room had done at Wembley last year. Then they rally, anger and encouragements and just ignore it, man and it feels good and it makes him want to hide. He has no fucking idea what to say to them, except yeah, no, it’s some bullshit, yeah.

Ted and Beard huddle together, whispering furiously. Roy’s typing away at his phone, looking especially like he wants to murder someone.

Sam, next to him, doesn’t say anything at all at first, just gives him a small nod. A few minutes later he offers, “My dad says to tell you good luck with the game, you’ll do great.”

And he should feel pathetic for finding comfort in that, maybe, but he doesn’t, much.

The game starts in a few hours. Long enough for everyone to have seen it by then, not long enough to put together a coherent response.

---

The boos and angry noise of the crowd is a furious buzzing in his ears and he squares his shoulders and eyes on the ball and the match is what fucking matters, everything else is just poopy, stupid fucking shit, doesn’t matter—

He plays like he means to outplay the devil himself. Plays like it would have been easy, had old Nick cared to show up.

The booing never stops, not even when Pep makes a point of coming over to him for a quick cuddle and few encouraging words after the final whistle.

---

And they’re back in the dressing room after and the press is clamouring for a conference just a few doors down and Keeley’s driven all the way up from London and they’re all talking strategies and damage control and spinning the narrative and it’s doing his head in. All of them blabbering on and on and on and—

“Can we just tell them the fucking truth?”

That shuts them up. They all stare at him. Higgins is the first to speak. “Do you – do you want to do that?”

No, he doesn’t say. Of course I don’t wanna fucking do that.

But the thing is, everyone that matters already knows, don’t they? So what’s the difference, really, with telling the whole fucking world?

It’s a huge fucking difference, something in him whispers.

He closes his eyes for a moment. Opens them again. All right. “Just think it’s the best thing to do, yeah?”

And there’s murmurs of agreement and Keeley’s looking at him like maybe she wants to cry and he can’t look at her looking like that so he looks away.

Roy catches his eyes. “You want me there with you?”

And yeah, he does want that and he’s too exhausted to pretend otherwise. “Yeah,” he says. “Thanks.”

---

“Are you ashamed of your father, Jamie?”

A moment, then, when it’s still not too late. He can still change his mind. He can still lie. No one has to know: he can still be the untouchable Jamie Tartt, confident and arrogant and never ever a victim.

Fuck that.

“Yeah. I am.”

---

There’s no avoiding the snippets afterwards because they are fucking everywhere but he never watches the whole thing and so he’s not entirely clear on what he really says. Bits and pieces stay with him, though:

“If I’d told ‘em here at City, my coaches and stuff, they’d have helped. I know they would have. But I was too fucking ashamed, yeah, so I never told anyone and I went off to do this stupid reality show instead and I did a whole bunch of stupid shit just ‘cause I was scared about people finding out about me and my dad. Never wanted anyone to know any of that shit.”

And:

“And I know, right, that there are people who’ll say I shouldn’t be in football if I can’t take a hit, like what the fuck am I gonna do when I’m tackled on the pitch and stuff. But that’s different, yeah? I fucking signed up for that. Didn’t sign up for my dad being a huge fucking dickhead, did I?”

And:

“I’m done being ashamed.”

---

There’s Roy too, near the end, and something about making it seem like aggression and violence is a normal thing and how that is part of the problem and how he’s going to do better from now on, and Jamie wants to tell him that, no, Roy has never been the problem, Jamie ain’t ever been scared of him, that’s really not it at all, but Roy does have a point too, doesn’t he, so Jamie keeps quiet.

---

“Was it all right?” he asks, afterwards, when the door’s closed to the press room and it’s just him and Roy and Keeley in the corridor.

“It was great,” Keeley tells him, stepping close to wrap her arms around him. “It was perfect.” Leaning back a little, she runs a hand over his cheek, “I’m really proud of you, Jamie.”

“Yeah, me too,” Roy says and his hug is just half a thing, one arm wrapped around Jamie’s shoulders and pulling him close, but it’s enough to relax into, to rest in.

Keeley’s looking at both of them like they hung the fucking stars.

“How about dinner?” she asks. “Don’t wanna drive all the way back tonight, think I’ll just get a hotel.”

“Yeah, I’m fucking starving,” Roy says.

And okay. He can’t be disappointed about that. Of course they’d want some time together. “Yeah, okay, yeah. Should be heading for the coach anyway. You have fun, yeah?”

The look they exchange is dismayed.

“No,” Roy says, sounding like he’s trying very hard not to sound angry. “You’re coming to dinner with us. Keeley will drive us back in the morning.”

“Unless you’d rather go back now with the rest of the team,” Keeley quickly adds, shooting Roy a pointed glare.

And oh. Okay. “No, yeah, dinner sounds good.”

---

They make him go say goodbye to the lads first, let them know you’re all right, and it’s still with him when they head out into the Manchester night, Colin’s arms around him and Sam’s quiet smile and Dani’s hands on his shoulders and Isaac’s muttered you’re gonna be okay, bruv.

He carries all of it with him, and it makes him feel light.

---

Coda:

“So, Roy,” Ted asks, leaning back into his office chair. ”Got any big plans for the break?”

“Keeley and I are trying for Marbella again. Only two weeks, she can’t be away from the firm any longer. Jamie’s joining us after he’s done with that football camp thing for disadvantaged kids.”

#jamie tartt #roy/keeley/jamie #pre-relationship #james tartt #fic #post 3x10 #ted lasso #so what if i just poured all the self-indulgent fantasies my musings on the next ep has inspired into one fic hmmm #my stuff

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sailing-through-hawkins · 8 months

Text

✧ dedicated to that one anon that made me feel so happy about the siren kas au again!! also thank you mea for beta-reading this for me you are a lifesaver!! going to tag @xenon-demon and @chaoticlovingdreamer because i know you both were interested in this idea hope it's cool to tag you!! ✧

The first time it happens, it's not a big deal.

They were on their way to start a supply run, some small groceries, snacks and sweets, to try and keep the mood up.

He had already done his rounds, checked in on El (still exhausted) and Dustin (still sleeping with his head on his mom's lap; she's still wiping her tears away when Steve sees her) and the Byers (still huddled together, warm, loving). He felt a twinge in his chest at the absence of Lucas and Erica but he knows they're with their parents because they did a check-in literally ten minutes ago. They're safe.

Steve knows they're safe. He just wishes they felt safe.

A whole month of fear and caution but this time, instead of a couple of kids sharing glances across town, nodding and walking on, it's everyone in Hawkins, gawking up at the dark clouds without any idea of what's been happening under their noses for years.

He wishes they never had to find out.

"Hey," Robin says, grasping his hand as she steps out onto the doorstep next to him. "We got this, right?"

"Yeah," Steve grips her hand back, stroking his thumb over the ink doodles across her knuckles. Sometimes he thinks the only reason they'll make it is that he's got her by his side. "We got this."

She smiles a thin, watery smile, lifts up her mask and makes her way to the car. He inhales, covers his nose with the black bandana Dustin gave him and follows behind her, gripping at the cold, empty space in his palm.

The forest was always one of the worst parts of living in this house, but the darkness has turned it ashy and cold, like something out of a zombie movie. He wonders, as he stares through the trees, if Barb got to see the forest before she was pulled through.

That's when he hears the music.

An echo of a guitar strumming. It's faint, the sound warbling as the guitar gets tuned and re-tuned every few strums.

It's so quiet, he thinks, so why does it sound so close?

"Steve?" Robin calls out, her eyes as wide and beautiful and terrified as ever under her goggles. She stands next to his car, one hand tapping the hood nervously. "You ready?"

Steve blinks and shakes his head, the echo of the guitar fading away as he twirls his keys around his finger. "Ready."

Probably just someone playing around on the radio or something, he reasons as he starts the engine.

No big deal.

Two days later and everyone is in the living room.

Everyone meaning literally everyone, even fucking Mrs Wheeler, all to discuss shelter for the families who lost their houses in the earthquake.

Steve's house is already full of most of the Party (Dustin insisted they use the name for the entire Upside-Down-Expert-Team), otherwise he'd offer it as a place for people to stay in until they can get something more permanent.

That's all this place is good for anyways. Just a rest stop.

"I appreciate that, Mom." Nancy taps her finger on the dining table, eyes squinting and lips squeezed into a very fake smile. Steve winces and starts to make his way to the sun room, gripping the blankets in his arms tightly as she continues. "But some of these people need -"

It's pretty easy to tune the discussion out, focusing on laying out the blankets and making as much of the space as comfortable as possible. The big windows let so much sunlight in, it's perfect for anyone who wants to soak up in the warmth. The only problem is the view.

He pointedly doesn't look at the pool, hands on his hips as he surveys the room, and that's when he starts to hear the guitar again. The strumming starts up quietly and washes over him, re-tuning itself every time he starts to rearrange the blankets again. A few minutes of tuning and it starts to play a song this time.

Steve tilts his head, staring out at the pool. Someone must have switched on the lights when it started getting dark.

When did it get so dark? He should go back and check on everyone, make sure they're comfortable. Is there enough space? Maybe he should redo the blankets?

The song soaks the back of his neck.

The blankets are perfect. He and Robin just can share.

It's so familiar, he thinks, as the water ripples with the wind. Something he's heard, but not listened to.

There shouldn't be any water in the pool. Why is there -

The song is slow, coiling behind his ear and gently drifting down his shoulders, making him shiver. He thinks he should know the music, humming along to it as the guitar starts to get louder. It feels nice, a comforting chill down his back that eases the tension of his wounds.

His wounds. Robin. Robin, his bat bites still hurt, why does it hurt so much, what's -

Oh, he thinks as the music plays even louder in his ear, in his mind, that's not the radio.

"Steve!"

Robin is crying, hands crushing his jaw, her face blocking the view of the empty pool. The music is gone.

"Steve, please!"

"Rob?" he croaks, swallowing the dryness of his tongue. His head feels flooded with a fuzziness, blood rushing through his veins like it was moving too slowly before. He blinks when he realizes they're outside now, standing between the pool and the house. It's still daylight. "What -?"

She pulls him into a hug, and he struggles, but manages to wrap his own arms around her, if kinda slowly. "You just - you weren't saying anything and started walking to the pool and I couldn't stop you -"

"Steve," Nancy says somewhere to his left. He barely manages to lift his head to look at her, blue eyes sharp and a Walkman held tightly in her hand. "What did you see?"

The fuzziness is fading away but his brain is still moving through a fog to connect words together. "I heard music."

Robin's face is in front of his again, eyes wide and beautiful and terrified. Oh, Robbie. "Vecna uses music now?"

"Not Vecna." Steve wrinkles his nose. "It...wasn't Vecna."

"How do you know that?" Nancy squints at him and he rests his forehead against Robin's, his bones melting into stone, too heavy to hold up. He hears the creak of the Walkman, Nancy gripping it tighter. "Steve, how do you know it's not Vecna?"

"Music w's nice." His eyes are closing. "Felt nice."

After that, the plan was never leave Steve alone.

It made bathroom breaks awkward but Argyle was so chill about it that Steve didn't even mind after the first two trips.

El couldn't find anything Upside-Downy on him, and there was the entire town with Upside-Downy shit happening everywhere, so there wasn't really much more to the plan than him having a bodyguard.

They made a chart for their shifts. God, he loves these shitheads.

"Here, man," Argyle says quietly, handing over three slices of pizza with a wink. Steve thanks him with a real, if exhausted, smile. Sleep hasn't been easy for the past week. "Fresh outta the oven."

"You're a godsend, dude," Steve groans, blowing air on the pizza slice. Mike grumbles under his breath about "hair-bias", whatever the fuck that means. Erica just rolls her eyes and shoves at his head.

The Sinclairs are visiting today, the parents persuaded by Lucas and Erica's whining (and a little bit of Steve's charm) so they can spend more time at "home base" with the others.

They're sat in the living room, eating lunch as rays of sunlight shine on the food like some kind of holy blessing, with the rest of the Party.

The rest of the survivors would be more accurate.

He tries not thinking about it, tries to appreciate the warm cheese and loud laughter. There's too much to not think about. How Max isn't here, how she deserves more, how he wants to see her okay and alive and happy.

Eddie isn't here either, and he doesn't think about how much he deserved better too.

"Steve thought it was cool! Right, Steve?"

He wishes Eddie could have made it, that Dustin didn't have to lose him like that.

Hell, they could have been friends. Maybe buried the hatchet so they could make fun of Dustin together, catch each other's eye whenever the tone makes an appearance and just laugh whenever he wasn't looking.

"I said, right, Steve?"

Maybe they could have hung out. Steve would come over to his trailer - or maybe Eddie would come over for a swim - and he'd make fun of Eddie's taste in bands - or maybe he'd listen to him play his guitar, never looking away from those ringed fingers as they created wonderful, wonderful music.

"Dude?"

Oh shit, the music is back. That's probably not good, is it?

But it's so sweet. So calming and cool, like a balm against his torn skin, washing over the dark feelings that built up in his ribcage.

"Steve!"

The song ripples through his veins and he sighs at the feeling. The pool doesn't have water anymore, he thinks. He emptied it so long ago. The music is sad, and his heart clenches at the sound.

The lake has water, he thinks. And the song turns light, sweet, calling him, curling around him, pulling him towards -

"Sorry about this, dude."

"Fuck!" Steve gasps when he hits the ground, groaning as his back ache returns at full force. "What the fuck, man?"

To his credit, Argyle looks genuinely sorry and helps him back onto his feet, holding Steve up with a tight arm around his waist and a tighter grip on his wrist. His shoulder aches at being thrown over Argyle's neck but walking is a lot easier when someone else is carrying half the weight.

He feels so heavy now.

"What - happened?" Steve croaks as they hobble back to the house. When did he leave it?

"You just got up and you weren't -" Dustin swallows, his voice croaky like he'd been yelling. "It's like you weren't even there."

"God, you can't keep doing this, Steve," Robin smacks his shoulder with a tight smile, tears still unshed in her eyes. His chest aches at them. "How many times are you gonna walk out on me?"

"Sorry Robbie," he says and accepts her very tight ow, ow, ow hug with a sad laugh. "I don't know what's going on."

"Was it the music again?" Will asks quietly.

Steve looks at him, leaning his head against Robin's. When did he get so tall? When did they all grow up already? "Yeah," Steve replies, just as quiet. He swallows when Robin lets out a sob into his shoulder. "It was the same song."

By the time his brain is fully functional ("Debatable," Mike sneers, crying out when El smacks him up the head), everyone's already discussing the new plan.

"We'll need to make notes, figure out the pattern, see if there're any triggers for Steve." Nancy said and he tries not to let it get to him, the fact that he needs babysitting now, that he can't do anything without being watched. "If the music makes people feel...good, it could still be a whole new tactic. Maybe Vecna wants our guard down, maybe he's countering our favourite songs, maybe it's a distraction. We have to be ready."

Steve still wants to grumble that it could never be Vecna, that's insulting, but he's too tired to argue about anything anymore.

They've even rearranged who sleeps where so that the Sinclairs can sleep over. They take one of the guest rooms while Mrs Henderson and Dustin join Steve in his own room. He almost loses his mind cackling when the both of them eye his wallpaper with the same mix of disgust and fascination. When Mrs Henderson sees the curtains, she almost gags and it's the loudest he's laughed in a long time.

"You're gonna be okay," Dustin tells him right before they fall asleep. Steve looks up at him from the floor where he lays, couch pillows doing more for his back than training against monsters ever did. "You'll be fine."

"'Course I will, dude," Steve smiles at him as Mrs Henderson leaves the room to talk to Hopper one last time. Tews is curled up on the bed, purrs loud, almost melodic, and lulling Steve's thoughts into a calm. "If the giant flesh monster couldn't get us, no way some wrinkly old naked guy will."

Dustin laughs outrageously at that and Steve wants to coo, wants to cry, wants to grip Dustin tightly in his arms and hide him away from the world, hide them all away in this empty house and make it full, make it safe for them, for Max, for Robin.

He doesn't.

He eventually falls asleep to the sound of Dustin muttering under his breath. And when Steve sleeps, he dreams.

It's so cold around him, so dark and empty. The sky thunders red and the cries of so many monsters echo around him. But there, through the cold and the shadows and the monsters, there's the song, calling to him.

I'm here, he thinks as he trudges his way through the inky mass of thick liquid, not water, not blood, but enough of both to make his steps heavy. I'm coming.

The song curls up on his skin, on his bat bites, soft and sweet and cold, like that time Robin spilled ice cream all over the -

"Steve!"

Robin. Where's - where's Robin?

Shh, it's okay. She's fine. Everyone's fine. Keep going.

Oh, he thinks. Of course. Everyone's okay, he knows they are, right?

Steve pauses his next step.

Right?

The song is even lonelier now and he shakes off the questions clouding his mind. It croons to him, so happy as he makes it through the ink to the shore. It sounds so sweet, that's it, keep going, come on.

He's crawling at this point, body heavy with the weight, until the song lifts him up onto his knees and he looks up to see -

"Snap out of it!"

Steve gasps at the sting on his cheek, blinking when light hits his eyes fiercely, shapes and sounds moving around him from a distance. There's a buzzing coiling behind his ears.

"Steve?"

Dustin's terrified face finally comes into focus behind his mother, who is standing right in front of Steve with her arm stretched across the space between them. Steve blinks, "Hold on, did you just slap me?"

"I'm so sorry, Steve," Mrs Henderson says and just like Argyle, she seems to really mean it. Does she? Her outstretched hand rests on his forehead as the other grips his upper arm. His back aches. His torso burns. Where did the song go? "We were so scared, you weren't saying anything -"

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Would never, of course not, just needed to keep going.

They both deny it vehemently. "Of course not! You were just - staring. Out the window. At -"

"At the pool," Steve hisses, biting his lip.

"Yeah," Dustin breathes out, his eyes watering as he reaches out to grab Steve's wrist. "But you're - you're back now. We just - just need to slap you out of it. What's another concussion, right?"

Steve laughs because Dustin's voice is so choked up that if he doesn't laugh, he'll cry. He ruffles the curls of his hair with a smile. A sinking feeling claws at him from the inside of his stomach. Can't he listen to the song one more time?

"Steve?"

"Yeah, I'm here, I'm -" Steve swallows as the blood in his veins prickles. Won't you hear me one more time? "I - I don't want to listen. I won't."

"Can you still hear it?!"

Please? It would make us so happy, Steve.

"I - no, no, I -"

"Steve?! Guys! Code red, code red, please!"

Please, Steve. Please?

"Okay," he says, eyes drooping as the melody curls up around his waist, brushing against the inside of his skin, pooling around his chest, thrumming in time with his heart beat. It feels so sweet, so good, thank you, come here, come here. "Okay."

"El, do something, please!"

The song turns harsh, gnawing on his bones, piercing through his skull, pushing him to the ground as someone is interrupting, no interruptions, leave us alone, alone, alone. The pain builds up crawling and clawing up to his chest to his shoulders to his head, his head, it hurts, it hurts so much, please stop, just stop. "Fuck, fuck -"

"Steve?" Dustin whimpers and he aches, he aches, he aches.

He screams.

When he wakes up, it's to dawn creeping through the windows and rope around his body.

Red sunlight, just like in Mike's Superman comic books, covered by dark clouds.

A red sun to the blue moon. Right side up to the upside down. You to me.

"Whe -" Steve croaks, his eyes creaking open. Fuck, they're so crusty, that's gross. "Where?"

"Steve!"

Robin's face in front of his, beautiful and terrified. He squints up at her, glancing over to find Dustin and Lucas staring at him with wide eyes, Hopper behind them. They watch him and they nod. Others are coming in, Mrs Byers and Jonathan and Nancy -

Steve hisses as something claws through him for the fourth time that night, pain, pain, go away, go away -

"Shit, shit, shit, everyone get in position, -"

"Will, get over here, he's gonna -"

Come here, come on, please? Won't you come back?

"Where are you?" Steve murmurs as the pain turns into the music, gliding over him, like a wave coming to shore, pulling him back to the water, back to us.

"He's talking to the siren! Somebody get -"

Come here, come back, come to me.

"Can't find you," he says, slurring his words as the song combs through his hair, like fingers scratching against his scalp. "Where're you?"

"That's it, Steve, keep talking, we got you -"

Want you here, with us, want us together, don't you?

"Yeah, yes, together," he sighs, the melody trilling in his chest, happy, sweet, soft, perfect, it'll be perfect, together, all together, just before someone reaches for his hand

He hisses and the song pulls away roughly, leaving him floating in the void, he cries out for it to come back, but he betrayed them, shouldn't have done that, Stevie, you tried to trick us -

"Shit!" Steve drops back to the bed with lead in his bones. El is still holding his hand. He was so close, the connection just barely at his fingertips.

Dustin swears as the others start to argue. The frustration is building up in the room, everyone too tense to think about answers, you sly dog, that was clever, but we don't like traitors -

"Wait, no," Steve gasps as something claws in his wounds, amused, you tried to trick me? Fine, no more playing around. "Fuck, wait -"

And the song crashes into the shore, pulls him down under where everything is sweet and cold, right back where you belong.

It's so warm out here, between the trees.

The skin on his back was blistering, biting at his flesh, before the song had gently cooled it down. He shivers at the chill, smiling when the song pulls him forward, looping around him with a sweet hum. It feels so nice, to hear the song without any distractions.

Without any interruptions.

Keep going.

Steve sighs when the song runs through his hair, laughing when it musses it all up. His hand twitches, he wants to fix it up until it's perfect again.

Keep going.

There are noises behind him, the sound of running and metal-on-flesh. It's all so slow, even slower than him. He doesn't know what's behind him, just the dark and gentle song pulling at his veins.

Keep going.

He makes it to the water, to the lake. There is no moonlight, but the song guides his steps, keeps him light. How sweet, he thinks, how sweet of you.

He makes it until his waist is plunged in the frigid water and then the song stops. He looks around but can't see anything in the shadows. There are sounds of humans yelling, of monstrous shrieks behind him, but where is the song?

"Hey."

He looks up and sees crimson eyes, half-lidded, and a smile staring down at him. Massive black wings blow gusts of wind at him. He shivers, and gives a smile in return.

His song.

The wings slow down until big, red eyes are level with his own, curls of black falling with gravity to brush against his cheek. The song hums in his chest, satisfied, delighted and sweet.

"Miss me, big boy?"

#steve harrington #steddie #writing #au content: kas!eddie #ficlet #sailing✧siren!kas #sailor✧writes #i fucking did it guys are you proud of me #i ended up adding a whole 1k because i wanted to smooth it out before posting so thank you kindly to the anon who asked me about this #i appreciate you so much and i hope you see this #can you believe half the reason this took me so long was because i wanted to make a new divider specifically for this

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ghouljams · 4 months

Note

I’m tired and thinking of more Historal Fae au. Liebling expanding her farm further outwards to plant newer crops, holding her machete close as she clears away vines and branches, feeling the eyes of a predator on her the whole time. And Love staying up late at night, bone tired but needing to get the finishing touches done for this dye order. The money’s enough to feed her and Liebling for weeks. So strung up on it that she can’t even feel Ghost’s fingers running up and down the spine of her spine, breathing heavily in her ear like a demon.

Hmmmm, and Carpenter!Crybaby. She gets so many commissions for her beautifully crafted chairs and tables. Even nobles wish to purchase her sets. But sometimes she loses steam, tears in her eyes as she vents her sorrows to the newcomer in town. She doesn’t know why she does it. His eyes a little too sharp, his smile too wide, just watching her as she cries and giving her words of sympathy. She goes home and suddenly she’s right back to work the next day like nothing happened, just making her pretty furniture again. She thinks the newcomer ordered a set, what did he want again? She couldn’t remember…

- ☀️

OOOOH Yes babe, yes yea yes.

Love spins her yarn and checks her dye baths, measuring and re-measuring dyes. Every order has to be perfect, her work never compromised no matter how tired she is. She pulls a lump of yarn from a pot and checks the depth of color before returning it to the liquid. Her skin is warm, her mind fuzzy around the edges, phantom fingers trail over her arms and down her back. The shadows lick at her fingers when they rest against the edge of the candle's flickering glow. Ghost watches her, a specter behind her back, just at the edge of her sleepy perception. He presses his lips against her ear and she shivers, tips her head to get away from the cold, baring her neck for him. Ghost's teeth itch, his mouth waters, he's never had such a meal laid out for him, and yet something stops him from biting. Maybe it's the soft scent of herbs that clings to her skin, maybe it's the way that same skin feels under his fingers. So full of life and warmth. He wants to keep her like this as long as he can.

Liebling keeps pushing her farm further into the forest. She's never been scared of the fae folk that dwell there, besides this part of the woods is uninhabited by the fae. It's old, deserted, she assumes. Her eyes scan the trees, the dense foliage that covers the ground, if there was intelligent life she'd see it. It's the only gift she's ever been given, and one she keeps closely guarded. If the village knew she was a seer she'd be driven out of it. König watches his clever little farmer clear stone and sow her seeds from the dark crevices of the forest. He can smell the magic sewn into her blood, can feel the pressure of her gaze, she looks soft but he's heard the barbs on her tongue. Just one taste and he'd be satisfied that she was ordinary, just one quick grab of his claws and she'd be his. She holds her knife tightly, never lowers her guard. She may not see him, but she can feel him, and he's getting closer.

Crybaby finds her inspiration comes in waves, never fleeting, but a steady ebb and flow. She makes her craft, and by the time it's ready to sell she's ready for a break. She enjoys spending the coin it earns her, almost as much as she enjoys avoiding the attention she gains from her talents. It's not wise to be talented, not in fae country. She's always been a little more superstitious than most, and yet somehow that caution doesn't extend to the handsome stranger that sits down next to her at the bar. His hands are warm where they touch her, his eyes sparking like flames, he smiles with too many teeth and though that startles recognition in her mind it doesn't stick. She feels hollow after putting in so much work to make her wares, and perhaps she has too much to drink to end up crying on a stranger's shoulder. It doesn't matter when she wakes up the next day and feels like her well has been filled again. It's easy to ignore the silver that strikes across her throat, the threads that wrap like a collar around her neck, invisible expect when the water glitters just right. A patron of the arts, he'd called himself at the bar. Soap, he'd told you in hushed whispers when he'd taken you home.

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deliciousdefendorinternet · 1 month

Text

Trolls overall has a Big problem with the idea of Holding people accountable for their actions.

here's a numbered list of examples of what I'm talking about.

Cloud Guy in the Tv shows not only because he Harasses Branch most of the time with no consequences but also because Poppy goes out of her way to defend him even when his actions cause trouble for many other people.

like when he flooded the village just out of spite because Branch wouldn't do what he wanted anymore and not to mention how even when she found out that he also Harassed other people from each of the Troll Tribes she still took his side and got mad at them when they stood up for themselves and "" upset Cloud Guy "".

which even if it hadn't been revealed that it was all an act by him just to mess with them it would still make Poppy look bad since she Refused to do anything about his Blatant Bullying yet got mad at his victims when they stood up for themselves.

and not to mention made excuses for why his behaviour wasn't so bad making out like he only Harassed them because he was trying to help them which is just all kinds of wrong.

2. a lesser example but still a bad example imo is in the Trollstopia episode where Dante uses Branch as his muse and he stalks him breaks into his home and disrupts his daily Jobs which he does.

and when he goes to Poppy for help she makes out like Dante's behaviour is reasonable and tells Branch to suck it up.

and after Branch does something to get Dante to back off Poppy then gets mad at him when Dante isn't able to come up with any music ideas like that's somehow Branch's problem?

Dante needed help but Rather than ask for it he just went ahead and took it by invading someone's privacy.

and breaching their trust and then Poppy made out like Branch was wrong for setting down Boundaries with him which is just iffy to be honest feels like this episode was written by Joe Goldberg or something lol.

3. and there's Creek as I've said in the past I love him lol but I do agree that his Return in TBGO could have been done better where he could have had a little arc of slowly earning back people's trust maybe over the span of a few episodes.

4. some people like to go on about the Bergens being forgiven too easily and I agree to an extent but given how Gristle Jr couldn't exactly punish the majority of the population I don't think they really had much choice in this matter.

I feel the only problem is them acting all chummy with the rest of the Bergens like letting them off for killing their species is one thing but acting like friends with them is a whole other like staying friends with Bridget and Gristle is fine given their history and the fact that they were too young to have eaten any Trolls prior to the escape.

but acting friendly with the rest of them feels a tad insensitive like in the opening of TBT we see Branch and Poppy acting all chummy with Random Bergens and Branch even High fives a couple of them and I was just thinking to myself

"" dude they probably ate someone's loved ones in the past how would you feel if you saw other Trolls giving Chef a friendly High five? ""

5. anyway moving on there's Barb who enslaved countless people destroyed their homes and tried to wipe out all other kinds of music and she was let off in the end.

its not even like she had a last minute change of heart she literally just got beaten and that's the only reason why her plan didn't succeed and afterwards she was just instantly forgiven.

6. Bro zone I've already talked about them in Depth in the past but yeah unreliable selfish insensitive and at worst cruel not to mention they never truly change their ways.

they keep on doing the same crappy behaviour and they don't show that much remorse for their past actions yet they still get forgiven in the end Despite everything.

because yaaaay family is amazing even if they Treat you like shit over and over again.

the films message feels like it was written by a toxic parent to please other toxic parents to be honest which judging by how this film won over general audiences I'd say it worked like a Treat lol.

so yeah Despite my love for it Trolls overall as a franchise has a serous problem with actually Holding people accountable for their crappy actions and Behaviours I feel the only exception is Veneer as even tho his turn at the end felt Rushed and out of nowhere imo.

I was pleasantly surprised that the movie didn't just let him off the Hook and he still got arrested and accepted the punishment for his crimes in the end.

I feel the same thing should have happened with Barb given everything she did.

anyway if you've made it to the end of my post thank you you have the patience of a saint lol anyway what do you think about this aspect of the franchise?

#trolls branch #trolls #dreamworks trolls #trolls brozone #trolls band together #branch trolls #trolls dreamworks #branch #brozone #trolls 3 #Trolls #Trolls Branch #Trolls Bro zone #Trolls Brozone #Trolls bro zone

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grandlinedreams · 6 months

Note

I don’t know if you’ve done something like this before..but could maybe write about a time where reader took care of zoro and then one where he took care of you??

Thank you!!!

Absolutely I can do that for you!! Idk abt anyone else but the softness of taking care of someone when they're sick/hurt,,oof

[Heads up!: fluff, tiny bit of angst, Zoro being Zoro, mention of injuries, mention of being sick]

"Hold still."

Zoro tries to do as you ask, though the tickle of thread pulled through his skin makes him twitch, and he grunts when you swat at his upper arm. "What was that for?"

"I said hold still!"

"I'm trying, damn it!" Zoro huffs, brow furrowed as he does his best not to move any further. "Don't understand why you're the one doin' this anyways."

"Because Chopper is busy taking care of Luffy and Sanji," you explain, holding the black thread taut and snipping it. "And you were already injured, but you popped your stitches." You pause. "Would you rather I let you bleed to death?"

"Guess not."

You pause, raising an eyebrow. "You guess? That's not much of an answer, Zoro." Your expression softens. "Try not to get torn up too many times, okay? I worry about you."

"Don't have to," Zoro grumbles, then studies your handiwork of neat stitches rather the bleeding, ragged mess it'd been when he popped them. "Thanks, I guess."

"No problem." He listens to the click of the first aid kit, the shadow that falls over him as you stand. "Guess I owe you one."

"Not at all." You know he'll probably want to take a nap, and you prepare to take your leave before you glance at him. "We're crewmates, Zoro. We look out for each other."

"Yeah, fair point."

You watch as he leans back, mindful of the fold of his arms behind him as he closes his eyes. You wish you could do as he does, though you understand why he has the knack for sleeping anywhere.

Still, you smile. "Sleep well, Zoro."

ㅡ

You're burning up.

It'd been bad luck to get caught in a bout of nasty weather, the sudden switch from bright and sunny to cold and rainy coming with very little warning, even with Nami's skills.

You'd been busy making sure that the Sunny wasn't battered too badly by the swell of waves and fixing things that'd been shifted with the violent rocking to change clothes ㅡ and now you're paying for it.

Though Chopper had diagnosed it as nothing to be too worried about, Zoro still doesn't like the flush to your cheeks and heat that radiates from your forehead, your breathing strained and uneven.

So he takes it upon himself to keep an eye on you. If anyone asks, it's because his normal spots to nap have lost their appeal at the moment ㅡ but if the look Robin gives him is any indication, she at least knows there's more to it.

Zoro is far from a perfect caretaker, but he tries. He soaks a rag in cold water, squeezes it, then settles it on your forehead, hoping to bring your fever down. When it dries out, he repeats the process.

You drift in and out of fevered sleep, and he listens to the little mumbles ㅡ often of your crewmates, including him. He wonders what you're dreaming about that includes him ㅡ and if it's good.

He highly doubts that it's much in part to him, but he's still pleased when you finally wake enough to want food ㅡ and he goes to get it for you before you can protest.

"Don't need you gettin' everyone else sick," he tells you when he returns with a bowl of soup. (He hadn't even threatened to chuck it at Sanji, who'd been surprised at the lack of verbal barb from the swordsman.)

"What about you?"

He scoffs. "I don't get sick."

The look you give him says you're far from believing that, but you turn your attention to the soup instead. Managing to get at least half of it down, you let Zoro finish the rest of it. (Much as he hates that stupid cook, he does make good food.)

"Thank-you for looking after me." Zoro watches as you sink back down into the heavy mess of blankets, likes to think that there's a little more healthy color to your face.

"Yeah, yeah." He looks away. "It's like you said. We're crewmates, we gotta look out for each other." You stare at him, and he huffs. "Right?"

Your expression softens. "Right."

(You get better after another day or two. And when Zoro does actually catch what you had, you're the one who offers to take care of him.)

#ㅡmine.#one piece scenario #one piece x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #ㅡanswered.#anonymous #–ml: zoro.

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aurumacadicus · 4 months

Text

You know what else would be funny.

Tony knows Steve is kinky. Okay? They've been together a couple years and if he'd known what a horny beast he was unleashing when he asked Steve to give him a little spank once, he would have thrown himself on Steve's bed sooner. Steve likes to try everything once just to figure out if he likes it (although usually he insists on twice just to be sure) and Tony is very happy to be accommodating.

That being said, he knows Steve is holding something back. When Tony had casually mentioned a fantasy he'd always had of getting rescued-and-railed by a fireman, Steve had opened his mouth, then sort of drew in on himself, and closed it again. Tony has never seen shame on him, not when it comes to the bedroom, and it jars him. He wonders if it was something he did. Did he say something that would put Steve off? Had he done something that implied he wasn't trustworthy? Or maybe it's just none of his business. Tony tries to keep from pushing, from prodding, but he's bad at self-control when he wants something.

"You're not subtle," Steve says a few days later. He sounds amused, but he also doesn't continue, so. Maybe he's just pretending to be amused.

Tony doesn't know what to say. He's not subtle and he wants to know what Steve won't tell him and it's driving him crazy. Steve doesn't have to tell him everything, obviously, but he can't help but think something's wrong with him if Steve doesn't trust him. It doesn't make sense and he's too embarrassed to put words to it. It feels manipulative. Steve is allowed privacy. Tony just doesn't know how not to pick at something he wants to understand and that's his problem.

"Tony?" Steve asks, and Tony realizes he's been wringing his hands the entire time to distract himself from talking. Steve looks concerned now. "Sweetheart?"

"I think I'm gonna go work on the suit," Tony blurts out, but he doesn't really want to. Steve was going to make dinner. He was going to pretend to help and Steve was going to let him believe he actually had. He'd just come from working on the suit. Steve frowns, confused, and it makes Tony want to explode with anxiety and shame because he wants this to work so much and he's messing it up by reading into something he has no business reading. "Or, um, I have paperwork down there too."

He turns to leave, so he doesn't blurt out something really embarrassing, like 'did I do something wrong,' or 'why don't you trust me.' It's not even something important. It's Steve's smutty fantasy. Just because Tony hadn't been embarrassed to ask Steve to put on a firefighter uniform doesn't mean Steve has to reply in kind. That's not how relationships are supposed to work. It's fine. It's fine.

Steve lets him go, and Tony's not sure why that hurts so much. It's what he wanted. And it's better this way. He can't blurt out what's been eating at him. He can keep Steve a little longer before he messes everything up. He can soak up a little more happiness to hold close to his chest when things finally blow up. He just needs to take a moment, he decides, pacing up and down the floor of his workshop. Ask all the questions he wants to ask Steve but knows he shouldn't. Get them all out of his system. He can say the words down here, alone, and it'll keep him from saying them in front of Steve. If he just gets them out, he can go back up, sit down at the kitchen island like he wasn't just acting super weird, and ignore this ever happened.

Why won't Steve tell him? Does he not trust him? What did Tony do for Steve not to trust him? He thought they'd gotten past their rocky first meeting. Had they, though? Tony had honestly brushed off Steve's insults after the initial sting. People had said worse to him, and quite frankly, he hadn't been surprised to be found lacking by someone Howard idolized. But maybe his barb to Steve had cut deeper than he'd thought? He'd apologized for it. Hadn't he? Had he apologized enough? Or maybe--maybe this is one of those things that just never goes away. Does Steve look at him and think Tony still believes everything special about him came out of a bottle? Because he doesn't. Everything special about Steve is because he is Steve. The only thing the serum did was make him bigger.

He notices Steve leaning in the doorway to the workshop on his next turn, and the noise it tears out of him is terrible even to his own ears. "How much did you hear?" he asks, wondering how much he can backpedal. How much he can say was just nonsense he didn't really believe. How much he can convince Steve that he really is a good boyfriend please don't break up with him he'll figure this out and forget all about it please--

"It's dumb," is what Steve answers, and Tony just blinks at him, confused. "My fantasy. That's what this is all about, right? That's when you started acting weird. I didn't tell you because it's embarrassing how dumb it is, not because I don't trust you."

"Oh," Tony says, and he's relieved, but the nasty part of him that started all of this wonders what he did to make Steve think he'd laugh at him about it.

Steve just looks at him for a moment, not moving from his lean against the doorway. Finally, though, he shrugs. "I don't really care, but it's clearly bothering you, so. My fantasy is I wanna be your pool boy."

Tony blinks. That's it? All of his anxiety and... Steve wants to be his pool boy? Steve doesn't even like pools. The chlorine gives him a headache, but Tony can't go to a salted pool because it reminds him of his torture in Afghanistan, so they compromised by just not going to pools because neither of them even really like to swim.

"Just seeing you in your lounger," Steve continues with another shrug. "Wearing your bathing suit. Getting a tan. Relaxed. Maybe napping. Completely at ease. Sometimes I think about your rich husband neglecting you. So I take over for him and rail you in your lounger with the tanning oil for lube."

Tony blinks again, slowly, brain still feeling like TV snow. Stupidly, all he can think to answer is, "But I sunbathe naked," because he doesn't like tan lines.

"OH NO WHAT A CATASTROPHE," Steve answers loudly, finally stepping into the workshop. "You naked by the pool. You do seem like the type to tease your pool boy."

"Huh?" Tony splutters, then squawks when Steve lunges for him, and he can only blame himself for the fact that they don't eat until an hour later when his stomach rumbles loudly in the middle of round two.

#ideas #stony #i'm so mean to steve lmao

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anonymityisfunwriter · 1 month

Note

It's me, hi, I'm surprised you haven't written a fic inspired by "Tolerate It" yet, it's me.

it's me, hi! will you guys ever get tired of my scheming bc i'm honestly so surprised, too! seeing tolerate it live was life changing and i'm not even being dramatic about it. but i think everyone agrees, it needed to be done (okay, i promise i'm done with the anti hero references). it must be exhausting always rooting for this author (okay, now i'm done) thank you for the ask and i hope you enjoy! 💛

tolerate it.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader summary: you tolerate his faithless love as much as he tolerates you.

Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist | Anon's 1K Celebration

you sit and watch him. he reads with his head low, you're almost positive he doesn't even realize you're here.

you're a ghost to him.

he sees right through you.

you lift your hand to the flickering chandelier hanging above the table. you half expect to see right through your skin. all you see is his mother's ring, the ring that promised forever and always. it never once occurred to you that forever would look like this.

you look to the mirror behind bucky. you touch your cheek. you feel the warmth of your cheeks. you see the flush of your flesh in the dim light. you're still there. you're not a ghost. so why does it feel like you're haunting him?

you weren't sure when it happened. how it happened. from one day to the next. or a slow trickle as his cup ran over. perhaps a bursting dam.

your forever didn't always look like this. you were sure of it. this wasn't the man you made your mural, your temple, your sky. this wasn't the man you built your life around.

he's perfect for you. he was perfect for you. in a world of boys, he was the gentleman you yearned for.

he took you away from it all. he laid blankets over your barbed wire. he pulled you closer to him even at your worst. he was your fairytale ending. you were so sure of it.

he loved you. he loves you, you correct yourself.

you tried to be as perfect as he was. as he is, you correct yourself again, as perfect as he is.

you polish plates until they shine like his eyes once did. you lay the table with your fanciest plates each and every night. you wait by the door for him every night, you don't mind if he's an hour or three late, you greet him with a battle hero's welcome either way.

you look at his dinner plate, nearly finished with his meal. you look down at yours, you've barely touched any of your meal. he doesn't notice. your untouched meal. the fancy plates. the plate settings. the candles you light for him each and every night. the dinner you spent hours on.

he used to love it. he used to tell you how much he loved the home you built from an empty, withered house.

he used to love you, too.

"what would you do?" you ask in a breathless whisper.

he finally looks up at you, "huh?"

"if i wasn’t here," you calmly muse, swiping your wine off the table. "if i didn’t wait on you hand and foot. if i didn’t lay the table with the fancy shit each and every night. if i set myself free."

"i could do it, you know? i could do it!" you angrily cry, the frustration of a lifetime of being tolerate bursts forth. you stand up, your chair smacking the wall behind you, smashing your wedding china on the ground as your chest heaves with desperation. you trail around the table, lowering yourself to his eye level, "i could leave you and find someone who does more than tolerate me! i bear the weight of you, the weight of us, i could lose it! i can!"

he sits there, gaping at you.

"tell me... tell me it's in my head," your voice softens, your anger melting into desperate pleas to him, "tell me that we can fix this. tell me you love me."

but you don't say any of that.

after all, it's all in your head.

you've got it all wrong. he loves you. he'll love you night after night. and you'll sit and watch him night after night. this is your forever. he is your forever. he is your mural, your temple, your sky.

you'll use your best colors for his portrait for the rest of your life. you'll never allow yourself to see him as anything other than your savior. he'll be nothing less than the man you worship. you'll never be left empty as long as you hold on to your blind faith. your own personal false god.

you clear your throat, smiling in a chagrined, loving manner, "i said, how did you like dinner?"

"it was fine."

and you do. you'll sit before him, wondering how he can't see you breaking before him.

you tolerate it as much as he tolerates you.

that's all you do. it's all you can do.

you sit and watch him.

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist Bucky Barnes Masterlist

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez @ludicbouquetfromearth @matchat3a @famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff @valoraxx @blue786sworld @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @geminigengar @ansaturn @ecolle @lexhalstead3 @ybflkmj @mediocre-daydreams @shanye1112 @thegirlnextdoorssister @toomanyfanficsbruh @moonlightreader649 @breathtaking-cynthia @mirikusashes@beans-and-toast @niyahcoca @katiechikin @elxvrr @antiheroxsblog @infamouslyclumsy @krissydclayton93 @buckysbarne @deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy @matchat3a

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