#a blind man seeing your character through people's interaction with you

[cursedcola]

Prompt: "Will You Marry Me?"- Proposal Headcannons Characters: Everyone :) Part(s): Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia (Pt.1 !) (Pt.2 Here!) Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Warning(s): None. I mean, unless you don't want to marry any of them. Just don't read if that's the case. ALSO SLIGHT SPOILER FOR CHAPTER 7 IN SILVER Note: These are all if he is the one proposing btw. Also, I went overboard. I had to break Diasomnia into 2 parts because I exceeded tumblr's character limit. I have favorites I guess :/

This man is a child masquerading as an adult. As in to say that he resists any illogical emotions until they bottle up and explode. The traditional pathway for finding a life partner typically follows: stranger -> acquaintance -> friend -> crush -> lover ->partner. You know, as it normally goes when bonds form.

Sebek....is not a textbook case in this regard. His path is a bit more customizable

stranger -> person he is forced to interact with -> acquaintance of Lord Malleus -> Acquaintance of Lord Malleus that Sebek approves of -> Friend that Lord Malleus approves of -> Repressed Crush -> Acquaintance that Sebek avoids at all costs -> Acknowledged crush -> Acknowledged crush that Lord Malleus approves of -> Respected individual with mitigated interactions -> Courting -> awkward situationship -> lover -> awkward situationship (with better communication) -> spouse

Enough said.

This process isn’t as complicated as it may seem on paper. While there are many steps, Sebek is fortunate enough to have people in his life willing to force commitments onto him. It also helps that he has blind trust in a select few. This makes him a bit naive and easily influenced. A boon in the right hands, and a bane in others.

In short, Sebek is emotionally constipated and only acts when there’s a driving force. Otherwise he just gets frustrated. This is extremely apparent at two stages: ‘repressed crush’ and ‘awkward situationship’. Scratch that. Three stages.

Beginning at ‘repressed crush’ - Sebek realizes that he likes you when you ask about how his training is going. He happened by your dorm during his morning jog, and was more than happy to go off on a tangent of the strict regimen developed to forge a perfect knight.

Except that’s not what you wanted to hear. You were more interested in his health and how he was enjoying himself rather than how his work was benefitting Malleus.

His heart fluttered, as if a shock of electricity thrummed through his body. Having never felt this before, Sebek mistakes it for a lapse in his strength and runs off at a much faster speed than before. Forget a light jog, he had enough energy to run 500 laps around the school track.

Don’t you get it human?! You were distracting him! His body was at rest too long. Now shoo, you’re hindering him from doing his duty.

He represses these budding romantic feelings and ‘misinterprets’ them as deviant behavior. He even goes so far as to blame it on ‘useless hormones’ and convinces himself that it’ll pass. He spares it no thought until his pining becomes apparent to everyone except for himself

Que the driving force. Despite Sebek believing otherwise, he does have friends and his entire love-life can be credited to their affectionate stupidity.

Simply put, Ace takes every chance to seamlessly flirt with you whenever Sebek is around. Not in a subtle way either - he's making some risky comments and trying to eat up every moment of your time. The others in your year are well aware of what he's doing too. Deuce thinks he's being unnecessary, but also agrees that Sebek needs a push so he lets it happen. Epel has his gripes with Sebek, but admires him for his manly tenacity. So he's 100% in support of giving an extra push and even tries to copy Ace. Except... yeah, he's pretty bad at flirting so he gives up after one try. Jack is against it at first, not wanting to hurt your feelings in the process but gets talked into it after seeing you get salty over Sebek being distant. Ortho, bless his innocent soul, thinks of it as a fun experiment. Lil guy just wants everyone to be happy.

You have no idea though, which is great because all of Ace's attempts fail hardcore. Sebek and his chivalrous ways (jealousy) won't stand by if you're being constantly bombarded with 'unwanted' romantic affections.

Nevermind that you don't seem to be taking Ace seriously at all. It is still not proper behavior! It would be a stain to his Lord's image if Sebek knowingly let Malleus' beloved friend endure such a hardship.

Every time Ace makes an attempt, Sebek shuts him down faster than you ever could. You have no idea how he does it, but Sebek is always around when it happens. The timing is honestly creepy....until you catch on to what's happening because the Ramshackle prefect isn't a dumdum.

"So....prefect, how about we go get dinner together tomorrow? Just you and me, what do ya say?" Ace slides into the seat to your right during breakfast. He leans in on his fist, eyeing you with a mischievous grin that crinkles the heart on his cheek. Just as he does, Sebek occupies the seat at your left and pushes Ace back with his palm.

"Do you ever rest?! They will do no such thing, now eat your meal before it runs cold. The chefs worked too hard for their efforts to be wasted by a delinquent!" Sebek answers on your behalf like clockwork. This event was not an uncommon sight to anyone, neither was Sebek failing to control his volume, so no other student paid the show any mind.

Normally you'd let them spit a few words at each other before returning to their own devices. Yet letting this continue just felt cruel, especially knowing that Ace was doing it to get a rise from your friend. Although Sebek wasn't innocent in the matter either

"Alright - Ace, would you knock it off? You don't even like me that way so quit messing with my head. I thought you were better than this," you say in between bites, side-eyeing your friend with a disapproving glare "And you!" you turn to Sebek, "I can answer for myself. Why do you even care? It's not like you're in charge of my love life. Just because someone wants to date me doesn't make them a delinquent...sheesh"

Why...why does he care? Sebek short circuits at your scolding, opening and closing his mouth to rebuttal yet coming up with nothing. Angered by his own turmoil, he grabs his meal and goes to sit with others from his dorm.

Stupid human. How dare you be so haughty and ungrateful? He was just protecting you from....from, what exactly? It's not like you going out with Ace would impact him in any way. It's not like you were in danger or upset with his advances. If anything. he was doing a good job at keeping your relationship professional for the sake of his liege!

Go ahead and date that childish hooligan for all he cares! Sebek won't be there to protect you when you're lost, or lend you a scarf on cold winter days. Ace can be the one to call you before bed every night, and keep your yearbook photo on his desk. Possibly keep his favorite candid photo as a bookmark for his diary, not that Sebek would know anyone that keeps a journal. He can have your birthday written in his calendar with a heart drawn around it, and have your picture in his wristwatch. He can set alarms to know when your classes end and walk you home. He can worry when you're sick and listen to your obnoxious prying....he can receive all your affections, and have your loyalty. Listen to your silly ramblings and receive those random 'i just thought of you' presents that Sebek always has a dilemma over what their purpose serves

You can be Ace's headache, and Sebek's heart will be lighter for it. These attachments he's formed were a lapse in judgement and will never be allowed again.

...

Sebek asks his lord for permission to court you. The next morning Malleus wakes to find the devotee bowed outside his bedroom, forehead attached to the floor and hands laid flat on the ground in reverence. Sebek proceeds to begin a long rant about how he's succumbed to his inner demons, and that he has sinned for letting another in his heart - Malleus cuts him off, happy to see love blossoming and interested to watch it all play out. He tells Sebek to take good care of you, before leaving. Meanwhile Sebek is sobbing at his lord's blessing

Once he's gathered himself, Sebek runs to your dorm and pounds on the door with fervor despite the early hour

Grim shakes you out of sleep, grumbling something about an 'annoying bastard' at the door before flopping back in bed. He shoves two pillows over his ears and tells you to fix the problem. That's when you hear the thumping, it's relentless and somehow sours your mood beyond what you thought possible. Mornings were not meant to exist on the weekend. So with an irritated groan, you slip on a robe over your pajamas and answer the door. A fist pauses in the air, moments from striking you. Sebek freezes momentarily, his body going ridged before coughing into his fist. A light blush dusts his cheeks.

“G-good morning, human. I apologize if I've disturbed your sleep, but I have an important announcement that cannot wait any longer" Sebeck studders, focusing on the door pane instead of your disheveled morning appearance.

“Alright" you sigh, resigning yourself to his whims, "what is it?"

Sebeck bows at the waist. "I am in love with you. Please accept my affections."

And so the motions continued on. A most unconventional pairing - possibly the hottest topic of the school year, in the words of Cater Diamond - was formed. Sebek was cautious of Ace at first, their previous spats leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. When he found out the truth, he was both appalled and grateful. So much that he scorned all his friends for weeks on end for pulling a stunt like that - but also thanking them. He apologizes for calling Ace a delinquent, and his heart changes a bit in response to their 'unique' display of care. Their intentions were good, and in the end it worked out. So he can pardon the indiscretion.

Life goes on until your relationship forms an 'awkward situationship'. The first time is brief. As it is with most cases of young love, the binding force that ties you to them crumbles. On earth it is highschool. In Twisted Wonderland it is NRC. Sebek knows where he's going - to serve the Draconias . The grey area is what you plan to do...because as much as his affections have grown, Sebek isn't willing to give up his dreams for you.

He's astonished when you decide to follow him to Briar Valley. He doesn't even have to breech the topic - arrangements were already being made without his input. You wouldn't be staying at the palace against his Lord's wishes. Instead a small cottage was built at a safe distance from the main city. Close enough for you to visit the castle, and far enough for you to feel comfortable and not out of place.

Seeing you taking his wants into consideration alters Sebek's perception of your relationship. You truly were lovers, and not a passing 'hormonal induced fling'. You loved him, and it's here when he truly begins to consider a forever. It was like the time when he first called your name, no longer calling you by 'prefect' or 'human'. He had done it many times in private, yet doing so to your face altered his brain chemistry. He loved the way your name rolled off his tongue, and the way your attention became his at the call.

Which leads us to the third and final major block-aid. Years have passed, and Sebek's well grown as an established knight for the Draconia family. He works alongside Silver, and many other comrades in arms. Everything is exactly as he dreamed. Malleus has become a beloved, strong king. Sebek is respected, and you are thriving as well. He didn't have much faith in your ability to last alone - it's not that he doubts your abilities, but he did doubt his people. When you first moved to Briar Valley Sebek was well aware that there were many like his past self - fae with a hatred for humans. He worried you would struggle to fit in.

Yet you surprised him. The tensions did exist against your kind, but you managed to card a space for yourself in Briar Valley with ease. You didn't even work in the palace, instead choosing to work towards becoming a children's teacher and work towards helping future generations of fae feel comfortable around humans.

His family adored you - with his mother in particular fawning over how Sebek fell down the same pipeline she did. His father offers you both advice on being an interspecies couple - and Sebek actually found himself listening.

Huh. Character growth. Is this what it's like to mature?

All is perfect, yet not. Sebek is forced to confront this when news travels that a human was attacked on their way to the palace. The dread that coursed through his veins was unlike anything Sebek's felt in his entire life. Under Malleus' rule, humans were slowly becoming more prevalent in Briar Valley. They hadn't mentioned your name specifically, but he jumped the gun.

Against his better judgement, Sebek abandons his post and rushed to the city's clinic. The injured human wasn't you, thank the seven, but the dread lingered. So he ran to the school you taught at and practically barged into your classroom. Luckily it was empty as the day was near end. Sebek hadn't known that yet still behaved recklessly.

He rushed to your side, talking faster than your brain could keep up with while checking over your body. He flipped topics like a teen trying to pick a college major - scolding you for worrying him, blubbering gibberish about how you'd no longer be allowed to walk alone, and myriad of other things.

Sebek was so shook, that he completely forgot about his knightly station. Malleus didn't punish him for abandoning his post. Not like it mattered, considering Sebek was already doing ample damage on his own. The realization hit him like a stone punch to the gut - there was a threat to his liege, and instead of focusing on apprehending the criminal he chose to find you.

Malleus' power or his dismissal of the matter meant little in the overall picture. Sebek failed. He's ashamed beyond belief.

and yet, he can't help but wonder what ight have been. What if you were the one attacked and he chose to stay? He would have failed you in that scenario.

He's surprised to find that the prospect his failure hurts just as much - if not more. His lord is powerful, and there are many to serve him. Your last moments could have been spent in a cold medical bed, surrounded by strangers. Fading away and taking Sebek's dreams with you.

............

Ah. Since when had that word become plural? His dream was always to serve Lord Malleus. Now there are more - he wants a family, and he wants to go to that play you were organizing with the valley's children next weekend. He wants to become a greater knight to protect the city that houses all the people he cares about. Again, plural. Lilia, Silver, his siblings and parents, all the human and fae who are loyal subjects to his most revered. You, and your decedents to come.

It's frightening. How valuable one's life can become. His always belonged to the Draconia bloodline to do with at they pleased - now Sebek's in pieces. Is he truly worthy of being a knight if he cannot give his whole heart?

He doesn't blame you for this. In his youth Sebek might have tossed your relationship aside in a heartbeat - that, or he might've demanded Malleus dismiss him and send him to repent in exile or whatever. Sebek has a problem with embellishing with dramatics.

BUT... he's more mature now. Mature enough to realize that maybe he can have his cake and eat it too.

So, he asks Lilia for advice. At this time the general merely lazes around the castle like a bat on the wall - acting as an advisor and observer. Surely he'd know what to do.

"There is nothing wrong with sharing a heart amongst many. If anything, the toughest decisions make us stronger. The more you have to lose, the stronger you will become to protect"

Preach it grandpappy. Lilia wants to see his grandkids so stop the slow burn already.

It's deja vu because Sebek wants to propose as quick as possible. Just like when he confessed, the man nearly runs to your home on impulse. You can thank Lilia for your proposal not taking place at 3am with your door being broke in two (Sebek is much stronger than he was in his teens, and sometimes miscalculates his strength).

Instead, Sebek finds himself anxiously clutching a ring in his pocket the following week. It was the night of a school play you were hosting - one he was looking forward to since you were so proud in your work. Ergo, Sebek felt pride as well by default.

How unfortunate that he can't focus on the show. With his mind reeling so much, it's taking all he has to sit quietly in the audience. His eyes follow your movements as you direct the kids, and for a brief moment you smile at him from the stage.

Zap. Alright. Don't clutch metal when you're a living thunderbolt. Duly noted. If anything the jolt of pain brings him back to reality.

When the play ends, and all the children have gone home with their families, he finds you back stage sweeping confetti. His plan was to congratulate you, and take you to a nice restaurant where he could do this properly.

Except he can't wait. When you turn around from putting the broom away, he's already taken a knee and holding the ring out. Those diligent gold iris' not pulling away for one moment, as he holds the ring out between two fingers and his other hand placed over his heart as if taking an oath.

"Before you say anything - You have sacrificed time and time again for my happiness - my efforts are insignificant in comparison. I have taken your patience for granted like a spoiled juvenile. There was a time when I found this kindness of yours unnecessary. I thought it a distraction - a test of my strength to fulfill my destiny. I see now that I was foolish”

Sebek pauses, grinding his teeth together in regret and anguish.

“I had not known fear until you. I have more to lose now than ever before. Last week I abandoned my post - my purpose- In that moment, all I could think about was if you’d been attacked, then my life would be over. You make me lose all sense of logic and reason…so I demand that you take responsibility and marry me!”

{A gold band with an obsidian base. Gold and silver flakes are sealed atop the obsidian plate using resin. Very practical, yet charming nonetheless. Humans typically wear matching bands, yes? Sebek sees no purpose in getting separate designs since the point is to show proof of partnership. He needs a practical shape that will not interfere with combat, yet also wants it to be an aesthetic choice. Sebek could care less about looks, but if he’s going to give you a ring then it will be the best possible option to match to your worth}

Silver is beautiful like still ocean waters. He's breathtaking - literally and figuratively. With the beauty of a fairytale prince, personality of a wise knight, and deadliness of the deep sea. It's easy to be sucked in when Silver seemingly has no flaws. So easy that at one point there were rumors of him being a living doll, created by the fae to be a perfect solider.

These perceptions all rely on his outward appearance: the knight in shining armor. Albeit so, being so perfect almost makes him unnoticeable. Compared to his rowdy peers with quirks and notable personalities - Silver truly is a doll. Like the complacent child praised for being more mature than their siblings. He is as easily forgotten as he is admired.

Some would say that this is a flaw in itself - because no one is naturally perfect. No one is so complacent and calm at birth. It's simply a desirable flaw. One that hurts him, yet has ben praised by others.

Silver is strong. Silver is diligent. Silver is beautiful. Silver is breathtaking and yet not the showstopper - like gold. Gold brings warmth while silver is cold. Imperfections in gold give it character, and can be seen as art. Imperfections in silver are seen as unsightly scratches.

Silver knows this, yet doesn't want to be gold. He doesn't deserve to be gold.

Silver doesn't deserve anything. He has already taken so much simply by living. He has a world to be grateful for, and not enough time to repay his debts.

He is content being Silver - if he could then he'd be copper. Lesser. Yet he is Silver, a reminder of the blood he carries.

He will remain unremarkable yet dedicated. He will dedicate everything to his family and friends - do whatever he can to break free of his sleeping curse and help others. He will give until he cannot give anymore. Then he will give more, to repay all he has received.

....For as much as he is content with this life, Silver still envies gold.

You are beautiful like a new dawn. Ushering in each day with a vibrant display that commands attention. People instinctively admire you despite the risk of hurting their eyes. You heal the world naturally, and help others simply by existing. People take you for granted, because inevitably the moon will rise, and the cold will inevitably return.

You were bathed in golden light. This Silver noticed the moment he laid eyes on you. He couldn't tear his eyes away.

Silver envies gold.

........

You envy Silver. His calm, his family, his dedication despite being limited by his crippling drowsiness. Out of the students from Diasomnia, he was the one you lingered towards more often than not. The freshmen revered him for his skills, and he was a true gentle soul. You at first couldn't believe that he was Lilia's son - how did such a kind boy come from a rambunctious tease? Revelations of his past brought much to light, and now you couldn't think of him being anyone else.

Silver was loved like the first snowfall. He had a family that loved him dearly, no matter how short his time with them would be. He was raised to bring happiness to others, and protect their hearts using his demure temperament.

Silver was modest, and silver glistened when you'd expect him to the least. As the wind caressed his hair during an afternoon siesta, or sparks lit in his eyes while swinging his sword. How the horses nuzzle his side after equestrian practice, showing full trust and affection. Even in the sweat dripping from his brow, shining as he easily finishes a set of push ups.

Yet nothing struck your heart more than the melancholy he'd emit when no one was looking. How quickly he'd fade into the background, only popping in when necessary or if someone gave him note. In these moments Silver gleamed brilliantly, yet a shadow put out his shine.

You thought the melancholy inviting. It felt so natural, so real. Except you believed it balanced dangerously between despair and serene. The larger question being which side would he evidently fall towards.

.........

Silver admires gold.

He couldn't stop the pull. He just couldn't. Not with how you seemingly watch him when no one else does. Who wouldn't feel special? With the way you take note of things he normally wouldn't think of, and recklessly delve into helping others with no regard for yourself. Whether you desire the trouble is beyond him - the matter is that you see every issue through. There isn't a soul who doesn't know of the ramshackle prefect.

Perhaps this is his torment to endure. To get a taste for what he could have been, and willingly be tied to it.

Silver stares into a vanity mirror, his expression neutral despite the growing emotions inside. A slightly tattered sheet is tied around his neck like a bib, covering his front and part of his back. A shiver runs down his spine as you comb through his hair, deftly trimming the edges with a pair of kitchen scissors with the precision of a professional. A shiver runs down his spine every time your fingers linger against his scalp, either from tucking stray strands or combing through layers with your fingertips.

Your expression is stern, eyes intensely focused as you cut around his ear, afraid to nick him in the process. He finds the expression adorable yet bites his tongue. Silver couldn't think those thoughts. Not when you offered to do this out of the kindness of your heart.

Nonetheless, his heart thrums. If it were possible he'd think the organ about to pop out at any moment.

"Finished!" you smile in satisfaction and tussle Silver's soft locks for good measure. In one fell swoop, you undo the knot around his neck and pull the makeshift apron off of him. Silver nods, a slight smile teasing the edge of his lips. He stands from the chair and steps over any hair on the floor, reaching for the broom to clean before you could think to. "Thank you. I no longer need to schedule with a barber. This will save much time," In truth he had no intentions for a haircut. You were the one to notice how his bangs hindered his vision, and offered to help. Silver couldn't bring himself to deny your kindness. "You really like it? Hehe. Y'know, maybe I should start a shop on campus? I only started doing this since there aren't any affordable salons....maybe with it I can finally afford to fix the guest room!" you cheer and prattle on about all the different possibilities. Occasionally you'll ask for Silver's input, or even give an off hand compliment about how he was the perfect 'test subject'. Your company is intoxicating, he realizes. Talking with you is as easy as drinking water. Before Silver realizes, night has fallen and you've fallen asleep on the couch. Despite his better judgement, he finds himself wandering the Ramshackle door. He compulsively cleans up the mess you'd both left behind during his visit, doing the dishes from dinner and rearranging things here and there. As he does so, Silver notes all the little improvements around the dorm. It feels more like a home than a school building. Then again you do live alone. He wonders how often you host visitors, and if you unknowingly ensnared them just as you've done to him. He covers your shoulders with a blanket and steps outside under the moonlight.

It’s cold.

...............

You wake up the following day to find all the windows shut, your living room clean, and a warm blanket covering your shoulders. Your eyes peer around for silver, yet turn up empty.

Of course. Silver has a dorm to return to and people that would miss him if he returned late.

Shuffling around the silent dorm, the rickey old floorboards creek underneath your weight. In manufactured motions, you brew a cup of tea and pour it into the only well-used cup from the cabinet.

As your cup brews, you sit at the table with the blanket still clutched tight over your shoulders.

The tea goes cold, yet you are warm.

................

Silver loves gold.

but silver and gold don't mix. The question always is: silver or gold? When deciding a piece of jewelry to match your skin tone, people will ask 'silver or gold'? The metals are not meant to mix because they clash. It's an outfit catastrophe.

Yet, Silver cannot help but wonder. As he lays with his head in your lap and the sun and silence coaxing him to slumber - what if an outfit existed to compliment both silver and gold?

"Silver..are you sleeping again?" you tap his cheek with one hand, and his eyes open instinctively. Despite his drowsiness he will always look for you. Yet right now he's never regretted the magnetic pull more. With the sun casting a golden overcast, you peer down at him from above with tender eyes typically reserved for one's child. Your glow is breathtaking, and he cannot help the sinking feeling in his stomach that he is unworthy. With such gentle hands combing across his scalp and eyes that look upon him so tenderly - he is afraid to steal your warmth. And yet… "You are beautiful," Silver lets it slip, his hand reaching to brush against your jaw as if under a spell. He feels unnervingly calm. Not in his usual way, where he is constantly observing and playing a game of mental chess. This is a true calm, and he knows now that this is a point of no return.

Silver is beautiful like a still ocean. You are beautiful like the rising sun. When combined, a perfect image is formed just waiting for an artist to stumble upon it.

Against his wishes, the world has granted the child of dawn another gift. The gift of true love. 'True love's kiss will break the curse' and while it is childish to believe so in this case, Silver does so wholeheartedly.

When with you, the days pass like minutes. He wants nothing more than to forgo need for sleep, if only to work harder towards becoming a man worthy.

Silver envies gold for it's effortless demand for love, yet he no longer wants to be gold. He no longer wishes he were born copper.

Gold loves silver, so Silver he will be.

And with time, both Silver and Gold will be ground to dust regardless.

He thinks of this on a winter evening while holding a ring up into the moonlight. It's cold outside, yet he doesn't mind. The chill atop his nose does nothing but tinge it a lovely rosy color.

He looks through the windowpane into a home masquerading as a school building. His reflection is familiar yet changing rapidly in comparison to his family. The years have aged him, yet not by much. Silver is stronger, his soft jaw a bit sharper. His bangs have grown long again, it would soon be time for a cut. Perhaps he'd enlist a 'barber' after relocating back to the castle in briar valley.

Inside you sit at the couch, sipping from a well-used mug with Grim on your lap and watching cartoons. Silver's bag rests on the armchair, unzipped with nightly necessities spilling out the side. A slightly newer baby blue mug sits on the coffee table, with steam evaporating into the air as it waits to be used.

Silver smiles, walking towards the door and walking inside. Heat warms his cheeks and he is calm.

"I know I am unworthy of you, the thought plagues me to this very moment. Yet I cannot help but love you - like wishing on a star yet knowing deep in the depths of your heart that miracles are made not granted. I've received many, so I would know. My father gifted me life through love - and with you I understand how it is possible. I cannot imagine life without you. I promise this, I will cherish you and protect you for as long as you allow it. Would you marry me?"

Months later a ceremony is held in a secluded forest, in the yard of a cottage where a child first learned love. As an adult, he joins his most precious in matrimony, offering his sword to be sworn faithful.

You are beautiful like the first breech of daylight - and for once, Silver is happy to be a man of dawn.

Silver and gold.

Silver and gold.

Everyone wishes for silver and gold.

How do you measure it's worth?

Just by the pleasure it gives here on earth.

{A ring forged from a silver band, gold leaf embellishments, and a moss agate core. Enough said.}

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #diasomnia #sebek zigvolt #sebek zigvolt x reader #silver x reader #twst silver x reader #silver vanrouge #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios #twst imagines #I FREAKIN FINALLYT FINISHED THIS SERIES

[f1version]

NEW YEAR'S DAY ‧͙*̩̩͙❅ LH44

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x girlfriend!Reader ( she/her )

summary: New years is always special when you spend it next to those you love the most. That’s why you spend it with Lewis, and Lewis spends it with you.

warnings/info: fluff, midnight kisses, mentions of alcohol, they get a bit drunk. the extra bit has angst!

word count: 951 + an extra scene of 591 (1.5k)

note: so, the end of 2023. that’s so crazy. i’m so thankful for everything really, there’s a paragraph incoming but, yeah, thank you for reading and following along this year. you made a difference <3

btw i recomend listening to the instrumental of new year’s day by taylor swift !!

snowglobe, a holiday special

One minute before midnight. One minute in which people fall anxious, the sound of heels hitting the floor and whispers reciting resolutions over and over is their favorite tune for one minute. In your minute, you see people gather around the terrace of Lewis’ penthouse, stumbling and laughing, the blinding lights of New York lighting up part of their snow-dusted faces. You knew a couple of faces, some interacting with Lewis and you before your minute hit the half-mark. 

When you’re upon seconds, you look up at the waiting sky, stars expecting to be overshadowed by something bigger, louder. You can feel the anticipation in the air, spotlights from Times Square moving faster, the echo of people’s excitement drowning the streets.

Fifteen seconds away and you look at the man holding you close. His eyes dart between your eyes and your lips, a smile that could light up the world—and already does—on his lips. I don’t do New Year’s kisses, you remember him saying last year, back when your memories together consisted of clandestine meetings in hotel rooms and longing stares, too afraid to confess.

Perhaps this year is a completely different story, but the same character has his arms wrapped around you. There are changes, so many you can barely count, you wonder if this one will be one too.

“So,” Lewis says, “what a year.”

You smile, leaving a kiss on his cheek before resting your forehead on his. “You finally got the hint,” you whisper and he laughs, bringing you closer just as the insatiable sounds of anxiety start morphing into something discernible.

Ten. Nine. 

He lets out a deep breath, “I know what I said last year. About the kisses.”

Eight, they sing as your heart picks up. Seven, and Lewis laughing nervously. 

“And I mean it,” he says, “Meant it.”

Six. Five. Four.

You smile as your side of the world lift their glasses of champagne, recording phones, or just bring their loved ones close. It’s a bubble bath of each life trapped in its own delicate bubble.

Lewis smiles back, breathing heavily, “But I want you to be my first New Year's kiss.”

Three, and you laugh, rolling your eyes. Two, “Then kiss me,”

One, and he closes the distance, the so obnoxious world goes silent, and it’s the best kiss he’s ever received. It’s immersive; Your hands play with his braids and his draw shapes on your hips, his heavy breaths fall over your soft ones, and the taste of two different bottles of champagne tempt to be bitter.

The world around you starts echoing in your head, different colors tinting the perfect kiss. People are patting Lewis’ back as he looks at you, ignoring them for a little longer, only wanting to focus on the girl who enchanted him, the one he could hear talk and talk about for hours on end, the one who changed his mind over love and relationships, the one who held his hand through his darkest times. This was all he needed, all he wanted to focus on. On the girl he loves. 

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” you tease, daydream still in his eyes.

He smiles, “Oh, absolutely not”

Then you’re walking around, hand-in-hand wishing a happy New Year to the known and the unknown. He calls his family and you call yours, spending ten minutes together sweet-talking to a very sleepy Roscoe on Lewis’ screen. It’s absurd how fast minutes pass but how slow time moves. You see the crowd fading away, leaving the dance floor empty enough to drag Lewis’ over, dancing away the hectic city under you. It’s a new year, and you can’t warp your head around your luckiness.

By 5:44, everyone is gone. You and Lewis lay down on the couch after drowning 6 shots of Tequila, a strong scent of alcohol and sweat hanging in the air, with glitter all across the floor. You’re holding hands, eyes fixated on the ceiling, drunk and in love. What a wonderful way to start the year, you think. 

Lewis moves next to you, standing up a bit disoriented but with determination on his face. “A’right get up,” he says too enthusiastically for almost 6 am, “we have to pick all of this mess.”

You snort, ”Are you crazy?” 

“As ever,” he giggles, “Now, get up!”

This man is incredibly drunk, but so are you, so you stand up, your head spinning around each planet you can barely remember. Lewis puts his hands around your hips, holding you in place, “Lew, I feel like I'm going to fall and die. Oh my god!”

“Not true,” the Brit says, “you promised you’d die with me, and I’m not doing that today.”

You roll your eyes at that, laughing. 

Cleaning up—if you can call two drunk idiots laughing like crazy while trying to remove a stain of wine from the ceiling that—isn’t as awful. Spotify’s ‘Top Hits of 2023’ is playing in the background as you pick up the plastic cups on the floor, Lewis searching for dirty bottles around the house to then be wrapped around each other while cleaning them. The glittery floor is a lost cause, both try to recollect as much as you can with the broom but give up knowing you’ll be surrounded by it for the rest of the year. 

The house looks clean enough in your exhausted eyes by 8 am. Lewis follows you to the bedroom, briefly showering together before dropping under the cloud-like covers, dark curtains forbidding the early sun from disturbing your shortly-approaching sleep. 

You are curled up on Lewis’ chest when you hear him say: “Happy New Year, love.” 

“Happy New Year, Lew.”

EXTRA BIT!! ( 591 words )

“You know,” Lewis calls, arms wrapped around your body as you lay on his bare chest, “I’ve been thinking, well, overthinking, and I want to, like, get it out.”

He pauses, his anxiety clear in the way he speeds up the tender touches on your back. You look up at him, making a small motion of encouragement. He smiles.

“Half of the people today were strangers, friends of friends, and it reminded me that, once, you were a friend of friends. I don’t really know where I’m going with this, but I don’t want us to be like that ever again,” he says, stumbling on words. “I don’t want to call you a stranger; I’ve done that with enough people I’ve loved—not in the way I love you, but loved nonetheless. I’m just so sorry I was so late to this,” he whispers, and you want to interrupt, reminding him that you also played into it, but he talks first: “I know you were also scared to tell me; you don’t have to say it, but you just didn’t deserve all that waiting.”

You search for his hand, needing to hold it. He understands and wraps one of his around yours, taking a deep breath. He says your name before continuing. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, ever. I was scared because of those stupid things I used to tell myself, and you know the rumors around my last relationship. I was terrified of doing the same thing—being too greedy and distancing myself when things got bad—but I didn’t want to lose you. I do not want to lose you.” Lewis says, and you squish his hand three times, reassuring. You feel another breath being taken. “And I know we are okay; we are so wonderful, sweetheart. You’ve taught me so much, but I can’t stop thinking about the what-ifs. What if we have some inconceivable fight? What if the distance during next season messes with us? What if I screw up and you don’t want to see me ever again?”

“I really don’t want to lose you. I love you too much,” he concludes.

You feel tears crowding your eyes, wondering when did he started thinking about all of this. You sit up, looking down at his beautiful face in the faint darkness. His eyes are so full of emotion, so caring and afraid. You cup his face in your hands, leaning down to peck his lips.

“I love you too, so incredibly much. Thank you for opening up,” you said, knowing it was hard for him to talk about these topics. “But, Lew, trust me when I tell you that, as long as both of us are willing to fight for it, we won’t go back to being strangers. When these types of thoughts are overwhelming you again, talk to me, let me know, and we will discuss them together." He has tears in his eyes, and you are sure yours are already streaming down. “Don’t try to read the last page; whatever is written there can change, and if it doesn’t, who cares? Maybe we are set up to die together, just like I promised you, yeah? I’ll hold your hand through it.”

He brings you down to his arms, giving you the warmest hug in the freezing winter. He cries, and you do too, talking here and there, leaving kisses everywhere, drowning in each other's touches. Lewis believes this is the best start to a year he’s ever had.

taglist — @smartstupyd @ziarah @nouvellevqgue @iloveyou3000morgan @carsgovroomm @goldenalbon @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @panicsinvirgo . . . add yourself here

#‧͙*̩̩͙❅ snowglobe #‎ “ ࣭⸰ ★ my writings ! #lh44 #lewis hamilton #sir lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton 44 #lewis hamilton drabble #lewis hamilton blurb #lewis hamilton fluff #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton fic #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #f1 #formula 1 #formula one #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 mercedes #f1 fluff #f1 2023 #(the last one)

[feelmyskinonyourskin]

Drive [Car Sex Trope]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x AFAB Reader

Trope de Sept Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Car Sex situation 1. Characters bone in a vehicle. That's it. "You take Matt in a beat up rental car to a parking lot in Jersey so he can experience learning to drive. Things get steamy."

Warnings: SMUT/18+ (don’t interact if your age is not in your bio). No use of Y/N. AFAB Reader. Unprotected P in V, Oral (F receiving), Creampie.

WC: 1,701

AN: Thank you all so much for all the love during my September Trope event! It was fun, but I'm exhausted, so you probably won't be getting a lot of new stuff from me for a while after this. Writing 17 fics in one month was a lot. Thank you all again, it was a blast! I'm already churning up ideas for next year...

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on this site to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platform I currently post anything on is Tumblr. Thanks!*

“Brake is the left Matt, the left!!” you shouted, gripping at the dashboard as the car whizzed around the parking lot

“I know! I know!” he argued back, effortlessly spinning the steering wheel

“Do you?!”

“I’m blind, but I still know my left from my right!”

Being in a car in an empty parking lot with a blind man behind the wheel was maybe not your best idea, even if that blind man had enhanced abilities.

It all began a few days before, after several rounds of beers at Josie’s, of course.

“What do you mean you didn’t go to prom?” you asked Foggy, flabbergasted at his confession

“I asked the most popular girl in school and of course, she just couldn’t handle all my charm and swagger, so she turned me down and I just didn’t end up going.”

Thus sparked the discussion on normal teenage things you’d all missed.

“Well, I never knew the joys of having one of my parents teach me how to drive.” Matt commented

“Ugh that’s so sad.” you replied “That was one of the greatest joys of my teenage years. The day I got my license; stepping out of the DMV and getting in the car. All the freedom of taking your parent’s car for the first time, getting to go anywhere you wanted.

“I was doing that when I was barely 8. It’s called the subway.” 

“No, no. A car is so different! It’s just… I can’t even describe it!” you exclaimed, a little tipsy from too many pitchers of Heineken

So here you were, in an empty parking lot of a closed down Best Buy in a suburb in New Jersey, in the most junky rental car you could get. Determined to give Matt the experience he missed out on. 

The windows were rolled down so Matt could get a better 360 “view” with his senses. Only a few light posts were scattered through the parking lot. So fortunately, there wasn’t much to avoid. With no other cars or people around, Matt had total freedom to experience the thrill of learning to drive.

Your heart was thumping out of your chest with every turn and bump in the cracked pavement.

Honestly, it wasn’t because he couldn’t “see” out the windshield, it was because he was being his usual reckless self and driving how you imagined a teenager behind the wheel for the first time would. God, you suddenly felt sympathy for all the times your father took you out when you were 16 to teach you.

He hit the brakes hard with a screech, sending you flying towards the dashboard.

“What, what!?” you exclaimed

“Sorry, I’m still getting used to how touchy the brakes are. There’s a bunny.” he nodded toward the windshield

Sure enough, a rabbit came prancing along at least 20 feet in front of the car, totally oblivious to his not so narrowly avoided doom.

“I think that might be enough for today.” you groaned

“No! I’m having fun! Aren’t you?”

You narrowed your stare at him and crossed your arms, knowing he could sense all the tells of your body that fun was not the word to describe your feelings towards this experience.

“C’mon sweetheart, relax yeah? I really appreciate you doing this for me.” 

He leaned across the center console to give you a kiss. The car lurched forward as he pressed his lips to yours.

“Keep your foot on the brake, Matt!” you chided

“Alright!”

He sat back upright, maneuvering the gear shift into park and ratcheting up the parking brake.

“Better?” he asked with a raise of his brows “Can I kiss you now that the vehicle is safely not in motion?”

“Yes.”

A grin spread across his face as he leaned toward you once more, this time adding a firey passion to his kisses.

“Come here.” he said, lips hovering over yours, pulling you to straddle him

Pliable to his touch with only a few kisses, you slotted yourself across his lap easily, finding the hem of your sweatshirt and tossing it into the backseat.

His lips moved down your already heated skin, sucking and biting at your neck and collar bone. 

Just as you were about to release a lusty moan, your rear accidently bumped the steering wheel causing it to let out a loud wail.

You and Matt jolted apart, crumbling into a fit of giggles at the sudden interruption.

“You know, that’s another teenage experience I never got as a city boy” he murmured low, hand reaching up to stroke your face

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“Sneaking out with my girlfriend and having sex in the backseat of my crappy car.”

“Matthew…”

“Parking lot is empty, no one around. We could roll the windows up and make it steamy in here…” 

You had to giggle at the thought, though he was right, as New Yorkers there weren’t many places to have a little fun outside the apartment where you wouldn’t get caught.

“Alright,” you agreed “roll the windows up and meet me in the back seat.”

That was always the joy of being in a relationship with Matthew, he never let things get stale or boring and always found a way to make any situation flirty and fun and sometimes, like right now, downright sultry.

He tossed his glasses onto the dashboard while you climbed through the gap between the front seats. He joined you, sitting side by side on the bench seat and resumed your makeout session.

“Matt…” you mewled as he traced his tongue along your neck and jaw

“I know sweetheart, I’ll take care of you.”

He slipped a hand behind your back to remove your bra, taking time to lick and suck each of your nipples as the fabric fell away.

Your skin tingled with every movement of his lips across your body. Anticipation of what was to come alighting a fire in your belly as you arched your back into his touch. 

He pawed at the fastenings of your jeans, desperate to get you bare for him. Obliging, you helped him remove your pants and kick off your shoes, leaning back to lay on the seat beneath you.

The upholstery of the worn backseat was not the most comfortable of sensations against your body, but as soon as his rough hands were kneading at your thighs and spreading them open, the nuisance of it left your mind.

Satisfied with the state of arousal you were in, he finally reached his hands to where you wanted him most, moving your panties to the side and dipping his head down towards your pussy.

“Oh– god.” your moan was strangled as he teased your clit with just a brush of his tongue

But he didn’t tease for long, grasping your hips and pulling you in one motion towards his mouth. Heat spread across your already warm skin when he finally licked a long stripe through your folds. Pulling you firm to his heated mouth to lap and suck, he let out a lowly moan against your core. It reverberated through you and sent a shiver up your spine. As he sucked and kissed at your clit, you could feel your orgasm blossoming beneath the surface. Growing steadily until he added two fingers into your heat, causing your climax to explode out of you.

With a cry of his name, you came apart. Matt continued to work you through it until you were a panting and sweaty heap beneath him.

He sat back on his heels as you watched, still too blissed out to do much, and removed his shirt as well. Your slick covered the satisfied smirk that spread across his plush lips. 

“You want some more, baby?” he cockily asked

A docile whimper was all you were able to squeak out, nodding your head as he freed himself from his pants.

He sat back on the seat and you clambered to climb on top of him, sinking his length into your ready cunt in one motion.

Your simultaneous moans reverberated around the cramped space. His length felt so perfectly filling, you were tempted to just rest there a while and enjoy the sensation. But the desperate whine that escaped his lips had you rolling your hips, drawing more moans from the both of you. He leaned back, head falling against the seat and eyes pressed shut as he got more and more  lost in the bliss of your body while you rode the both of you to ecstasy.

Both of your skin was damp and sticky and the labored breaths you let out between lust-filled kisses had the windows sufficiently fogged up, just as Matt requested. If anyone were to have driven by, they would’ve known exactly what was going on in that car.

Your fingers tangled in his dark hair and he shuddered at the feeling, causing his lips to part as he let out a shaky plea.

“Keep– please, that feels so good. God, please keep going.”

As he thrusted up harder to meet the already consistent rock of your hips, the steady rubbing against your clit was driving you towards the edge quickly. You trailed trembling fingers up his muscled chest, finding grounding by grasping his shoulders leaving white indents with your fingers as you clung to him. His pace became more erratic, a sure sign that he was just as close to the cliff’s edge as you.

One more breathy beg of your name from him was all it took to get you there. This orgasm hit you as intensely as the last. Your walls contracted around him until he couldn’t take it anymore either, spilling inside you with a low groan.

You both stayed there a while, panting and catching your breath as you came down. Disheveled dark locks stuck to his damp forehead as he pressed it against yours. His beautiful hazel eyes darted around as he breathed you and this moment in and held you close.

“Well I’d say it is sufficiently steamy in here.” you said in barely a whisper, causing a chuckle from him

“We should get back to the city.” he replied

“Okay” you agreed “but I’m driving.”

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #daredevil x reader #charlie cox #nmcu #nmcu daredevil #trope de sept #trope #marvel imagine

[jiangwanyinscatmom]

Can you tell me why you like Lan Xichen, if that doesn't bother you?

I know why the fandom at large like him, but I disagree very hard with the "N°1 Wangxian shipper, best wingman, the only person in this cast that has eyes" thing they've got going on because all of this is directly contradicted by canon, and I'm just not a fan of blissfully ignorant characters that are fine with staying blind to the faults of others depending on how convenient it is for them.

I may be exaggerating a bit, but his "You were his only mistake" speech while advocating and protecting and giving the benefit of the doubt to Jin Guangyao made me a little bit salty, and the implications as to how he participated/supported the siege and Lan Wangji's punishment didn't really help.

I usually enjoy your takes and often agree with you, so I figured I'd ask, maybe you'd provide some insight in his character that I missed?

Hello anon,

I think part of this does simply come down to personally what type of person I myself am able to tolerate and want to see the potential of capability and being better. I do agree on with Wei Wuxian as he observes Lan Xichen's faith in Jin Guangyao, is that he unlike him was able to interact with memories of Nie Mingjue and the only reason he himself was able to believe that Jin Guangyao wasn't what he presented as. Lan Xichen isn't presented as a character to despise even in his ignorance which yes, is a factor of his one comfortable position, yet he is a kind simple man.

Simple kind men, are not meant to be politicians and should not be as they are easily manipulated. Yet the people that Wei Wuxian commends and listens to are simple, kind people. He understands very well where Lan Xichen himself comes from as a party close to Jin Guangyao and as an outside party to Wei Wuxian. They don't know each other, Wei Wuxian also is not a grudge holding person for slights against himself because they are wrong. Why would he himself care for what is not true? He knows who and what he is, whether it's liked by outsiders or not. He knows how to work with either reaction and is not sensitive to what is said about him, he also doesn't need others to take up that mantel in his stead, what he appreciates is those that trust in him as he is to support that.

Wei Wuxian also understands the casual misunderstandings perpetuated, some of which he did continue once he came back and hid for a time as Mo Xuanyu. He didn't think his unconscious love from when he was you g would reawaken, he WAS fucking around to disgust Lan Wangji to abandon him. He did not expect Lan Wangji to be caring and as loving as he was because the man hadn't so openly been anything like that in their youth.

Lan Xichen had the privilege of knowing this about Lan Wangji, hence his protectiveness and assumptions. While Wei Wuxian did not. It's a case of great misunderstanding on part of what Lan Xichen knew against what Wei Wuxian knows. As the audience we DO have a greater privilege than either of them because we get insights into both's actions and thoughts the other has no idea of. They are outside observers of the other.

Do I think Lan Xichen held a grudge towards Wei Wuxian either? No, but he was weary of Wei Wuxian's intentions to his brother given the outside view he had of them. Subconsciously yes we see that Wei Wuxian greatly loves Lan Wangji, but that is not apparent for Lan Xichen given the history he had seen. He had at one point thought a friendship with Wei Wuxian would be good for Lan Wangji who didn't ever seek companions, yet the only thing he was seeing and told was the hurt and struggle Lan Wangji struggled with. He had no investment or friendship with Wei Wuxian to think of other context.

Wei Wuxian also gets this, it is why he is terrified of the potential hurt Lan Wangji had been put through unintentionally because of himself and the assumptions of outsiders as well that influenced both of their hesitance to be open of their growing feelings, trust and love.

We all want to think of the best in those close to us. Wei Wuxian understands how that becomes so natural to the point of blinding yourself to the worst. It is what he did when it came to Jiang Cheng who continued to escalate his hate and actions towards Wei Wuxian who gave Jiang Cheng the benefit of doubt until he no longer could. And it is what Lan Xichen is faced with when it comes to the whole of Jin Guangyao's crimes exposed. Wei Wuxian was the perpetual stain and hurt for Jiang Cheng and did take the blame Jiang Cheng put upon him while reasoning with himself that Jiang Cheng had such a right and what good would it do for him to complain.

Lan Xichen trapped himself in the blindness of wanting Jin Guangyao to be reasonable in his choices in a very unfair world that condemned his class. He did know that Lan Wangji loved Wei Wuxian, he was weary of that love due to not knowing the whole. And why at the end he is disgusted, horrified, hurt in his own self snd yes embarrassed with his stubborn assumptions and blindness. He is not proud of that and what he is torn up over at the end. It's not the great tragic friendship he supposedly lost, it is his own stubbornness and ignorance he let overcome him and what he allowed to go on for too long. He is forced to see his one sided idea of Wei Wuxian was wrong, he has no hate over that, he to a point had seen Wei Wuxian as an influence for Lan Wangji to open up, yet lost his own faith in that due to his assumed biases.

He to a fault is coddling to the point of it being offensively infantilizing to Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian understands the why of this and also is completely logical in understanding as to why Lan Xixchen thinks as such. He thinks Lan Xichen is a good man, because he is, whether we the audience like it or not in the logic of their world Wei Wuxian understands the mechanism of Lan Wangji's punishment as well and the cruelty it was for the society they are stuck in that is slow to change. Simple kind men are not made to be in a world of intricacy and conspiracy because it is more complicated than they know. Good intentions and offer of protection is dangerous when you have not been exposed to cruelty that can personally hurt you and take advantage of you when you are ignorant to the extent of the backlash.

I think this is also why Wei Wuxian in the end does respect Lan Xichen he had been there as well. He can't condemn something that he had been a part of at one point and had been taken advantage himself by multiple others.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #lan xichen #wei wuxian #also wei Wuxian doesn't want sanctimonious speeches in defense of himself #he would like support nothing more than knowing someone else understands him #he doesn't crave the world to want him #only those that are able to and want to understand him effortlessly

[jo-harrington]

As Above, So Below - Chapter 5: Via Domus

Previous Chapter: Chapter 4 - Malum Malus

Summary: You wake to find yourself in the Upside Down and discover a world-altering revelation.

Word Count: 13.8k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Original Character (Written in 2nd Person POV - You/Your - No Use of Names of Physical Descriptors)

Warnings/Themes: Van Helsing Inspired, Kas!Eddie, Religious Themes, Criticism of Religion/Catholicism, Fate vs. Free Will, Death and Injury, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Mentions of Major Character Deaths, Grief, Mourning, Yearning, Discussion of the Upside Down, Supernatural Encounters, Angst, Smut, Fluff, Unprotected PinV Sex (he's undead it doesn't matter), Oral Sex (F Receiving), Bloodletting, Biblical and Other Literary/Media References

Note: Sorry this is a little late but this snow storm had my internet down right as I went to post. There isn't much to say but...this moment has been one 10 months in the making and I might not have edited it...but I don't care, I'm literally the proudest I can be. I'm sure there's people to tag and thank for their support. I'm so ready to sit back and reread this. I didn't write it; it just came through me like a prophecy. And that isn't condescending, it's the truth.

This series will not be for the faint of heart, nor is it something that was written with a general audience in mind. Please check the above warnings and ask yourself if you are in the correct headspace to proceed. I am happy to answer any questions via PM or Ask.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

“The devil doesn't come dressed in a red cape and pointy horns. He comes as everything you've ever wished for.” - Tucker Max, Assholes Finish First

November 6, 1983 October 15, 1987

Everything was wrong.

From a dreamless sleep, consciousness hit you like a freight train and drug you to the land of the living under its wheels, one painful mile at a time.

You were aware of every nerve, every bump and bruise, every cut.

Every bite.

Because surely there were more than just the ones on your throat now.

And when you finally opened your eyes, you burned.

Not just your body; the very essence of you sizzled and popped like hot oil in a pan.

It was overwhelming, overstimulating.

There was both an absence of feeling--of being--and an abundance of it.

Images flashed through your mind. Memories. And not just yours.

Leaving Hawkins the first time.

Kas, the brides, and their seduction and subsequent attack of you.

Billy--a different one than the one you knew now--screaming and clawing his way up a rickety wooden staircase while a creature lurked just out of sight below.

A man in tattered and bloodied white clothes, his skin burned and mottled. Blind in one eye. And a creature that met him and allowed him to--

The smell was next as you finally remembered to breathe. You swallowed great gulps of air then choked as they burned your lungs and tasted like a mix of wet, cloying mold and dry, putrid battery acid.

Finally, a high pitched ringing as your spirit finally settled back into yourself. You clenched and unclenched your hands--stretched your fingers and toes--to regain some kind of recognizable feeling back into them.

As you tried to recognize who you were now, in this body.

In this world.

Everything was wrong.

No...when you woke up, everything was different.

The first coherent thought through your head was that you were dead and this was surely hell. Proven not only by the pain and the affliction of your body and mind, but because the skies overhead flashed and burned bright red with infernal lightning.

The brides had drained you dry and this was your eternal punishment. It was the only explanation.

If you steeled yourself and turned your head, would you see your father's face--frozen in an eternal scream--staring at you?

You wrenched your eyes closed for a moment, steeled yourself to test the theory, and you winced as the bites on your neck pulled and stretched.

When you opened them again, you screamed. It was a weak, strangled sound, and echoed as you shuffled away as much as your sore body would allow.

It was not your father's face that you found beside you, but it was a face nonetheless.

Petrified.

Screaming.

Flesh half-rotting off a skull, petrified golden hair layered with soot and muck. There was a neck and torso too--arms--and the further you dragged your eyes down the body, the more decayed and damaged the bones became. The skin and flesh sloughed off.

Until they all tapered off--melted off--into bone, then into nothingness, where the ribs ended abruptly in a half-jagged, half-charred state.

It was where the ground ended too, the body teetering on the precipice.

"Mother...fuck..." you hissed and swallowed thickly.

You weakly melted into the ground again; your eyes slid shut so you could take stock of yourself once more.

Sluggishly, you returned to your senses. Head, torso, limbs all accounted for, even if they were a little worse for wear. You'd survive. You'd heal eventually...hopefully.

Before long, your abilities jumpstarted from cold at the proximity of a dead body. Great. Though you supposed you'd almost considered yourself grateful that they were returning, if not for the phantom fingers that scratched at the back of your mind; the lingering spirit that belonged to this body wanted to communicate but didn't quite know how.

You didn't have the patience to ferry the remnant of someone's soul closer towards consciousness right now.

But it was a reminder.

There were no bodies in Hell. No death in Hell.

For all intents and purposes, the damned would be considered alive.

So no, this wasn't Hell.

This was--

You forced your eyes back open and stared at the gaping, mangled maw of jagged walls that stretched and reached into the roiling, starless sky.

--an attic.

There were visible slats and support beams, boxes and furniture covered in sheets, and burnt, decayed vines clinging to the walls and along the floor. Most notable was the fact that the structure--this house--was simply broken. Shattered. Not only was the roof broken, as though a giant had torn into it--peeled the slats and shingles open and left them rent and tattered beneath their hands--to curiously peer inside, but the whole structure was as well.

The side of the floor you and the body were on tilted at an awkward angle; not unnavigable but still odd as you found the strength to hoist yourself to your feet and stumbled at the unevenness. Once you were upright, you could see the other side; across a strange valley that revealed broken beams and wide structural mouths that promised rooms below, there was a set of stairs that led downwards.

Uneasy with the minimal strength you currently possessed, you used your power to send some sort of signal down through the jagged, rotten foundation to ask the earth for help. And not just help, you asked for a sign of where you were and what happened to you. However, you were immediately turned away. A hiss at the back of your mind, that settled adjacent to that incessant scratching, warning you from trying again.

This earth was not like the earth you connected with regularly. It was incompatible with you, but only just so.

There was a blink of a thought in your head that you could make it bend to your will if you really wanted. If you were tempted enough.

But temptation was what got you here, wasn't it? Your jeans were still unbuttoned and you felt some kind of internal, medieval shame as you fixed them and fastened them back up. Shame, not only because the brides had fucked you if you could call it that, but because they'd gotten the better of you. They'd used your weaknesses against you--used Eddie against you--and now they'd stolen you away to the Upside Down.

That's what this place was right?

And it wasn't a stretch to guess the why's here either.

Kas had used them to bring you here so he could finally be rid of you.

Well, you weren't going to sit here and wait for your death like a lamb to the slaughter. If Kas wanted to kill you, you were gonna put up a fight.

The fires of wrath were stoked inside you and you let them restore your strength and fuel your journey onwards. You readied yourself to make the jump across the broken floor.

Suddenly, the scratching at the back of your mind got horribly loud. A voice, a young man's voice, strained and croaked inside of you.

"Help me. God, please help me."

The broken remnants of the being you'd woken beside finally found its voice.

You scowled as resentment decided to mingle with your wrath.

"No one's going to help you," you grunted and shuffled your foot into the side of its rib cage. You kicked the body into the gulch below and as you took your leap, you delighted in the sounds of the bones shattering as it impacted the ground below. "God is dead."

The descent was precarious.

Despite the strength you had gathered, your body ached and your movements were clumsy. It was like you left a part of yourself behind and struggled to continue without it. Additionally, as you progressed along the path, you found that the house itself was broken in ways that defied logic.

Hallways switched back upon themselves or dropped down into a deep burning abyss, floors tilted upwards and then stopped abruptly, doors opened to brick walls, and then, your favorite, a ticking grandfather clock seemingly floated in the air on its own.

Did physics exist in the Upside Down? Gravity? Or was it like Superman, where differences developed without the interference of a certain color sun?

Eventually you made it to what you believed to be the ground floor, and although there was a looming sense of dread that only got worse the further along you walked, your footsteps felt sure and stable. It felt better, safer.

There was a crack in one of the walls you passed where you spotted the shadow of tree limbs, and just up ahead you could see the sky over a half-demolished wall.

Once you rounded this corner and that to reach your supposed freedom, you found yourself faced with what could only be described as an altar. Some site of a wicked ceremony. The walls of the house split open and revealed the expansive red and grey waste of the outdoors, but instead of finding dead grass and trees like you thought, there were structures made of stone and vines and twisted tentacles, just like you remembered from the tunnels.

Towers.

Stalagmites.

Pillars.

Something rustled behind you and you turned on your heel to find the source of the noise, only to find the dank hall you'd just exited empty. It rustled behind you again and you spun back to face the pillars, but you were still alone.

You were being taunted now, teased. Surely that was it, wasn't it? This was a game; you survived the pitfalls and traps of this nightmarish house and now the hunt was truly on?

"I know you like to play with your food motherfucker," you hissed aloud. "Let's play."

You progressed confidently, unwilling to let yourself falter as the ground underfoot transitioned from wooden floorboards to decorative checker tile to uneven earth and the air became heavy with ominous anticipation.

Despite that, you took a moment to inspect the pillars as you passed them, only to be met with an even stranger sight.

Chrissy. Fred. Patrick.

They were eerily still, petrified even; faces serene, as though they were sleeping. The pillars seemed to encapsulate them; a wing melted into the stone here, claws elongated into branches there.

There were four pillars...but three Brides.

You vaguely recalled a flash of Max's memories, of her running through a red landscape almost exactly like this; you took the chance and reached out to touch the empty pillar, only for your suspicions to be confirmed. It was meant for her. The pillars were the final resting places for all four of the victim's of Vecna's curse.

A place for their bodies to be displayed like trophies, signifying his triumph.

It was a sickening thought, but brought about further revelation that this place didn't belong to Kas, but the Lich himself.

The Creel House.

"I was right," you huffed a small laugh of victory. Your hunt for Kas had led here; if only fate hadn't tempted you off the path to the cemetery, you would have been that much closer to defeating Kas now.

Fresh off a small win and with your body primed for psychometry, you moved and touched each pillar curiously. You witnessed each Bride's transition from the husk of a body to the monstrous beings they were now. They hadn't meant to be the puppets of an atrocious master when they were resurrected; it had all been done in an act of defiance. Their forms had been carefully crafted by his clawed hands, and life breathed back into them by a hopeful heart.

That heart was broken here too; those same clawed hands were formed on the very floor behind you...

"No," you tried to shake the thought off you. You didn't want that; didn't need that. Didn't need to empathize with Kas...right?

Still...the intrusion continued.

You wanted to connect to this earth didn't you? So you must gain all manner of information, whether you want it or not.

More images flashed against your will; you didn't need to touch the silt and soil beneath your feet for it to reach out and touch you. The blood that soaked this ground leeched up from the depths to provide you hair-raising clarity of the brutality committed a mere few feet from where you stood. No care had been taken when a body on the brink of death was implanted with bones and teeth and claws. You watched the flashes in unblinking horror until screams suddenly echoed in your ears, terrible and ear-splitting; you were witnessing a transformation--a metamorphosis--from something to nothing then back to something again.

"No!" you shouted and your voice echoed, into the eerie night. Wings flapped and a creature roared in the distance. The images fled along with them, and you heaved several labored breaths as you settled back into yourself.

There was a rustle behind you again, and you froze; you were so lost by the intrusion of the birth of a monster in your mind that you didn't notice said monster approach you.

This was it.

You'd faced monsters before, countless times. Of course, you'd always been armed with weapons, your powers. Now you'd been stripped bare; the brides had rid you of your weapons, and this dastardly dimension had denied you access to many of your abilities as you recovered from your weakened state.

Unless they were useful to the Upside Down itself, so it seemed.

Still, your eyes honed in on a glint of silver beside you. Brilliant amongst the squalor of the Upside Down and folded neatly in Chrissy's claws that rested across her chest:

Your crucifix.

Your hand shot towards the cross of its own volition, but as your fingers caressed the carved hyacinths, you suddenly doubted yourself.

Was Chrissy's grasp on it truly that strong or was it just a trick of the mind? If you couldn't even resist her and Patrick...how could you possibly fight Kas?

Except, you'd already fought Kas hadn't you? Already got the one-up on him. That's why he'd relied on so many cheap shots to get to you. You would make it through this, with your teeth gnashing, your bare hands, and your raw faith. Or you would die trying.

"Lord, I am not worthy to receive you," you whispered as you pried the relic out of the harpy's hands. "But only say the word and my soul shall be healed."

Footsteps slunk closer to you, audibly clearer now, and you readied yourself, focused on all the holy light within the sludge of your corruptible human body. When they finally stopped just inches behind you, you could feel cold breath cascade over you, and you knew it was time.

You pivoted on your heel, sneakers crunching the ground beneath them into dust, and you raised your hand to brandish your cross at your assailant. His hand clashed against its other side and stopped it dead between both of your faces; your eyes went wide as he gripped it tight and it burst into flames in front of your eyes.

You wrenched your hand away and backed into Chrissy's body as Kas let out a mighty, wretched wail.

You were so singularly focused--horrified--as you watched the symbol of your family's legacy burn and melt in his hands, so expectant of his form being consumed by holy flames as he crumpled and bent at the waist and screamed in agony, that you didn't really look at him until it was too late.

The fire extinguished suddenly and Kas flung the remnants of your crucifix to the side, and as he stood, you could feel all the blood rush to your head. There was a buzzing in your ears and you swore the dark circles that crowded your vision were only to spare you from the sight.

Whatever vision you had in your head of Kas was gone...and in its place was suddenly something both old and new at the same time.

There was a smirk carved into his face, so smug and triumphant, and made only more pronounced by the deep scars that went from the corners of his mouth and back along his jaw towards his ears. Still, his enticing lips twitched, failing to bely a smile. His deep eyes were locked with yours, abyss-like, but warm and welcoming in this otherwise unforgiving world as he stared at you with a fondness that you couldn't fathom.

He was tall--taller than you remembered--and even taller still as your legs failed you and you collapsed to your knees before him; he took two rapid steps forward, hands stretched out as though he would try to catch you before you hit the ground. All you could focus on were the sharpened, blood-stained points of his fingers though, and when you flinched as they got too close for comfort, he stopped in his tracks.

Your breathing got heavy and your shoulders and chest heaved the longer you witnessed him. Because it truly was the witnessing of something beautiful and terrible, wasn't it? Something you'd wished for over and over again until you simply couldn't take it anymore.

"No, no, no," you couldn't stop your mouth from its fumbling repetition. "Nononono. No. N-no, no, no!" Over again the word erupted from you until you were shouting. Until you were sobbing.

You covered your eyes with one hand to stop yourself from seeing, and your mouth with the other to keep what remained of your soul from spilling out.

You shook with grief--three years worth of grief that only became more surmountable with each day that passed--then anger.

How dare he, how dare Kas use this final thing against you, how dare you let him?

But that was just an excuse wasn't it? Some kind of excuse so you wouldn't have to face the reality that was just on the other side of your hands. One that you would cling onto to help your poor heart survive.

You would deny it, until you couldn't any longer.

"Sweetheart." You shook your head at the decadent rasp of his voice; your ears strained to catch more but you couldn't handle it. Tears began to leak from your eyes and collect in the creases of your fingers as you pressed them harder into your face. "Angel, please."

The urge to roll your eyes at the ironic nickname battled against the need to bask in it.

You could feel him get closer, feel his massive form invade your space. Your aura buzzed excitedly as it brushed against his with the proximity and your heart beat in your ears; your body knew what your mind refused to accept. It made you feel lightheaded.

Don't fucking pass out.

The claws worked their way beneath your fingers and you resisted as much as you could until you simply couldn't hold on any longer.

And once they were away, there was nothing that you could have done to stop yourself from responding to him.

The you that you had been just seconds earlier no longer existed. That being, forged by resentment and pain and grief and the will to succeed beyond all hope, was torn apart by those claws--gently peeled apart bit by bit--and as your eyes opened, you were suddenly the you that you were before. Or maybe, more accurately, the you that you were beside everything.

Despite everything.

The being that only existed with him.

You.

You were here with him.

Eddie.

And he was here with you.

Alone together and together alone.

No one else existed but the two of you as you opened your eyes and your gaze washed over him once again.

Lightning flashed overhead as you absorbed the sight before you.

Hands. Eddie's hands. Calloused from hours of guitar playing and scarred from that one time he got too eager pulling a stouffer's lasagna out of the oven and forgot the gloves. Only now they were scarred further, with lines along his phalanges and razor-sharp talons at the tips of them.

Hair. Eddie's hair. Soft and curled just so and sometimes shiny, but oftentimes just a frizzy mess from head banging so hard. It would get in his mouth, leaving him spitting and sputtering as he got some idea mid-headbang. Only now it was held up and out of his face by a fluffy green scrunchie, and only his bangs and a few loose pieces framed his features.

Face. Eddie's face. One that looked at you with so much relief and gentle love. Your memories couldn't hold a candle to having him here. Your eyes went blurry with tears again at the fact that he was actually here just inches from you. His eyes and lashes and his round nose and his kissable lips. Lips you needed to kiss like you needed air. Only those lips started to move to form words again and as they did, you spotted the sharp tips of fangs.

He looked the same, exactly the same...but simultaneously different in every way that counted.

Time stopped.

You thought about being in the trailer with Chrissy and Patrick, all the words that you had excused in the moment, as you allowed yourself to be tempted by Kas.

In actuality...had it really been Eddie? Words that had been borderline insidious suddenly took on a much more intimate connotation.

"You're not real." You breathed shakily, one last attempt at pulling back the veil at some trick of the mind. "I can't...I can't..."

On the other hand, you remembered the graveyard, the way Eddie had been there in a way...beyond your sight, refusing to be seen by you. Refusing to be known by you. And again countless other times. Including the day he'd...

"I can't look at you," you said weakly. "I'm not supposed to look at you."

What had he said to you then? That he'd never really left? That he would wait...as long as it took...and here he was now. That hadn't been Eddie; how could this suddenly be him? He was...

"And why not?" he chuckled gently. "I think we both deserved to see one another; I've crossed the oceans of time just to see you again."

"That's..." you stared at him in disbelief. Tremors wracked your body and his gaze went from fond to worried again.

Your mind went a mile a minute trying to come up with something, some way to deny all of this. Rapid fire, you thought. About Vecna and the Upside Down and the earthquakes. You thought about Wayne and Dustin and Max. Over and over, ideas flashed as all the pieces finally clicked together. Vampires that weren't vampires, and the Brides; the trailer and the visions and the grave and...and...and...

He was alive.

"That's..." You began to laugh, the small shakes of a giggle turning into big, bright guffaws that shook you. You grabbed his face with your hands and squished his cheeks together, gleefully watching as it smooshed and shifted in the way only his play-doh-like features could. "That's not the quote, you big dumb idiot."

Home had been an abstract concept for you for some time.

For most of your life, when you thought of home, you thought of your Nonna's house. Her flat, just downstairs from yours; you spent most nights there anyway, your father's childhood bedroom repurposed for you. You had a home in the dinners you'd cooked together and late nights where you'd watch Johnny Carson until it was time to hold hands and pray together before bed. Home meant turning the key in the lock of her door and her giving you big cheek kisses.

Tesoro di Nonna.

Her treasure. She was your treasure too, your best friend, but she, herself, was not your home. At least not anymore.

You found that when you came to Hawkins. When you met Eddie. From the moment you met him, he had been that warm place of comfort and love. When you left, and even when you believed him to be dead, going home meant returning to Hawkins.

Returning to him.

So when you both overcame the euphoria which accompanied the realization that you had found each other once again, and he said "let's go home," you knew that there wasn't far to go.

You were already there.

There was something about returning home after a long time away, though. Things changed and it didn't take very long for you to notice the changes in Eddie.

He held your hand as you walked through the barren waste of the Upside Down, and it was actually quite a long walk. Practically across the entirety of Hawkins, and you were truly in awe that it actually was Hawkins. You walked down familiar streets, through the town center that was fully intact unlike its decimated state in the real world, and Eddie even pointed out the windows of your old apartment over the deli, as if you forgot.

Very few words were shared between you at first, aside from short and fond little tidbits to reminisce old times spend together--something that you'd constantly been doing since your return; your heart ached to think that your ghost had followed him around, both in Hawkins and here, reminding him that you'd left him to this fate.

There was not much more conversation than that though, and while you basked in the sweet memories, especially being reunited, you couldn't help but wonder why he was so...uncharacteristically quiet. The Eddie you knew was never at a loss for words; why was he holding back asking you questions? Telling you how much he missed you?

You held back your own thoughts, questions, and admissions too if you were being honest. Something about being so open in this dimension, something about the strange din of silence due to the lack of life made you feel...strange.

You wondered if he felt the same way?

If you could feel the creatures that shuffled just out of your line of sight, given what you knew about the hive mind that existed between them, you knew Eddie could as well.

But if that was the case, he didn't show it. You supposed Kas he was the master of this realm; he didn't need to be afraid of it.

In fact, the more you observed him, the more you noticed how at ease he was here. He'd always been confident walking around Hawkins, shoulders straight and head held high despite the suspicious stares and whispers that seemed to follow him just because his last name was Munson. But now Hawkins--the Upside Down--seemed to bend to him the further you walked, proving his mastery over it.

Down one street, the tentacle vines slithered and shifted as Eddie led you ahead, and when you dared to look back they returned to their original places. Shadows at the corners of your eyes shifted as he pointed something out to you with a fond smile and a laugh. Finally, when you reached the woods, gnarled and dark as they were, his presence seemed to cause a group of bats that had been resting there to stir.

Instinctually, you flinched, divine sense tingling in response to their unnatural energy as they began to fly overhead; Eddie even squeezed your hand to calm you down, but your defenses were up now. You readied yourself for an attack as they circled and swooped down a little too close for comfort.

You watched, dumbstruck, as Eddie tsked and then reached up with his free hand; one of the bats got lower and its many flailing tails brushed against his fingertips before it screeched and then soared away. You felt that there was something more to it, though; there was something else there as his fingers twitched against them.

A yearning, maybe; a desire to...what? Join them?

"It's alright," he reassured you softly, an undertone of happiness in his voice. "See, they're harmless."

"Harmless?" you scoffed in disbelief, having witnessed their devastation first hand. He looked back towards you and lowered his arm, brow furrowed in confusion at your tone; you felt a strange rumble, an undercurrent, just beneath the surface of his skin as he flexed his hand around yours again. "I..."

"Sweetheart. Just trust me. What are you--"

Like that, the illusion was broken.

It hadn't taken that long. A couple of hours, mostly spent in silence and the overwhelming awe of being in one another's presence again, but suddenly you realized he was different.

Of course, you were different too.

You never really fathomed a moment like this; you'd always thought--hoped--you'd be reunited in Heaven. That everything would work itself out there. All wounds healed, all sins forgiven.

But this was not Heaven, and you'd never imagined your reunion like this.

You looked at him again, really looked at him this time. Tried to look past your Eddie, to see what had become of him here in the Upside Down. You started with his hands, the long scars you noticed just a short while ago, and you traced a finger along them. It was almost cathartic as you felt a phantom ache in your own hand, as you began to truly digest and understand what had happened to him.

Dustin had refused to tell you...and with good reason.

The ache burned through you the further you went. His arm was covered with the sleeve of his leather jacket, but still your fingers traveled, touch penetrating the worn leather; he looked and felt...bulkier somehow. Even his skin looked too tight on him. Gone was your noodley, human boyfriend and in his place...something else. Broader shoulders, a thicker torso, and a slightly elongated neck that proudly bore scars as well.

Just like your own bites, you thought, as Eddie's aches were momentarily replaced by your own. You both displayed the healed remnants of shredded, devoured flesh.

The memory of the pain they once brought him practically sang through his skin the further you went and you couldn't help but listen and absorb it. Unlike your scars, even the most recent ones from the Brides, that had been the product of your will to survive, Eddie's were the evidence of something dastardly that sought to destroy and consume. In fact, they had succeeded; you felt the burn of a thousand mouths filled with sharp little teeth ripping through flesh. Ripping through his flesh.

The longer you held on, the more you felt and understood. Mouths led to claws, consumption turned to torture, and eventually he was ripped further--pulled apart--until he was left broken, raw, and screaming.

Just like you'd seen back at the Creel House.

Vecna cut him open and emptied everything that made him him, and filled him with darkness and malice and--

You wrenched your hands away from his and rubbed them together as they tingled, suddenly numb. All of the echoes of his pain vanished and instead you just felt...conflict.

"What's wrong?" Eddie stepped closer, worry etched deeper creases into his face now. "What did you do?"

"I--" you flinched away from him and he paused.

This wasn't just Eddie anymore, your Eddie who survived a few scrapes and bruises and came out of any conflict--large or small--with a few choice words for his assailant and a story to tell.

This was Kas, forged through the burning flames of Hell to fight. To destroy.

And if not by name, then by acts.

Acts done with Vecna's influence, at first, and now atrocities in their own right.

Eddie always knew when your mind buzzed with a thousand thoughts; he'd say that you were thinking too loud. Time hadn't changed that, it seemed. He still knew exactly how to read you.

"Listen," he started carefully, treating you like a spooked animal because that's exactly what you were. "I know you have questions. We just need to get home first."

Unfortunately, you were also a stubborn piece of shit.

"Where is home?" you questioned. "What...Eddie...how?"

"I'll tell you everything," he promised. "But you're hurt...and I'm sure you're hungry. Thirsty? I could only bring you so far before--"

"Before?" you urged.

"The hungrier I get," he began. "The harder it is to control everything. Control myself. I couldn't be around you like that. But now you're awake...and I have to get you home. We need...to get home..."

You wanted him to explain it all to you; you'd seen the fangs, witnessed the Brides and other vampires feeding, it wasn't a secret that he must hunger for blood too. You just needed more. But he needed something too. There was a singular, desperate focus that edged his words--the need to get you home, get you safe--and you knew you weren't going to get answers unless you obliged his request.

If he could be patient...so could you.

You gestured ahead and the two of you continued your journey.

However, you made sure to keep your hands to yourself this time, unwilling to inadvertantly see more of his becoming, and Eddie clearly noticed.

"My hand is pretty cold," he said after a short stretch of silence. His eyes slid over to you and he wiggled his fingers. "Sure is a shame that there's nothing to warm it up."

You scoffed and your heart ached; this was how he got you to hold his hand in your coat pocket during the winter as you'd venture out and about. It was his thing, refusing to wear his gloves so he wouldn't fumble with them when he wanted to smoke, while also taking the opportunity to feel your hand against his.

It was one of your favorite bits of attention that he gave you; he was still your Eddie. You knew that, and deep down inside you only wanted to know that.

But things were different.

"Ed--"

"What? You don't love me anymore or something?" he teased; however, when he glanced over at you, there was a real worry in his eyes. "Don't want to hold my hand? Hmm? That it?"

"Come on," you scoffed. "Don't. You just said we'd talk once we got home, wherever home is. We've been walking forever."

"Well we're not there yet," he bristled and laughed; it was a bitter, condescending chuckle. One you'd never heard come out of him before; not to you, at least.

"Can't you just tell me where we're going? To...Rick's or..."

"It isn't in Hawkins."

"You can't expect us to walk to Muncie," you attempted a joke.

There was a tense pause and he turned his head downward and quickened his pace.

"Don't worry," he said, tone stiff. "We're almost there."

The confidence you'd noticed earlier was suddenly gone, and as he walked, he seemed to make himself smaller.

You really fucked this up.

You tried to reach out for him, abandoning your resolve of keeping him at arms length, but he failed to notice.

He just kept walking.

Before long, the town seemed to melt away.

Everything did.

Gone were the buildings, the trees, even the roads. Until there was a vast grey nothingness, accentuated by floating particles and a swirling, cursed sky. If you thought the Upside Down was a wasteland before, this only solidified that thought.

After some time, even looking back didn't seem to help things; there were no milestones that you could ascertain. Just flat terrain, the sky, and the horizon.

And Eddie.

You tried to stave away the hateful thoughts that this was a trap, that there really was a Kas out there and he was manipulating you again. Or, even worse, that Eddie was the one manipulating you.

What good did those thoughts do? Except negate the elation that still bubbled hopefully within you, elation you were also trying to hold back.

You were here now; he could kill you any time if he wanted. You weren't dead. Yet.

Lost in thought, you failed to notice that he stopped, and you walked right into his back. You shook yourself off and stepped around him, only to find a decrepit-looking ranch-style house. The attached carport's roof was partially collapsed, the siding a little cockeyed, and the mailbox was broken; it looked unremarkable, and still...

"We're here," he pressed his lips together and gestured towards the house. "Home sweet home."

"I don't recognize this place," you remarked as he led you forward.

"You wouldn't," he shook his head. "I never brought you here; it doesn't exist anymore, actually. They tore it down to build some fancy condos in...what...80? 81? Only place you're gonna find it now is up here."

He tapped against the side of his head and then waved his hand around.

"This is what it looked like the last time I saw it. Broken, a little sad. Right before it came down.”

"Why is it here then?" you asked.

He sighed and looked around.

"Let's just get inside."

The interior of the house was worlds different.

Well...comparatively.

It was bigger on the inside, the walls somehow taller than they had been just moments before you stepped through the threshold. You entered into an open concept living room that was attached to the kitchen, not unlike the trailer. Both rooms were wood paneled and there was a carpet that was split-pea green, making the already drab atmosphere darker.

Eddie brushed past you to get to the kitchen and you moved ahead to the sofa, weariness of the day finally catching up to you. You collapsed onto the brown faux-suede loveseat and laid your head against the granny-square blanket that was draped over the back; beneath the musty, mildewy smell of the Upside Down, you could faintly detect something lighter and sweeter.

Your mom wore orange blossom perfume just like this. Aqua Manda. Your father brought a bottle home for her on her birthday one year.

You cleared your throat and chalked it up to a trick of the mind; you were tired and hurt, of course little things like that would escape your psyche.

Eddie shuffled around in the kitchen for a few minutes and when returned, his hands were filled with packaged snack cakes, a six-pack of grape crush, a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, and a roll of cloth bandages. He fell onto the loveseat beside you and dropped his plunder between you.

"Wayne," he stated simply and gestured to everything, as though that explained it. Maybe it did, to him; on your walk you figured that everyone knew that Eddie was here and alive, Wayne included. It didn't make you as angry as you expected yourself to be. Not as angry as you'd been when you read about Kas in the Dungeon Master's Guide.

What use was it to get angry, when you just wanted answers?

You stared at Eddie expectantly, hoping that he would start talking, but instead, he moved to pick a package of Raspberry Zingers from between you. You watched, in slight awe, as he flicked his thumb against the plastic and the sharpness of his claw sliced through it quicker than any knife. He did the same with one of the pop cans, puncturing the aluminum instead of using the tab.

You, knowing these were some of his favorites and having seen him inhale more of the sweet treats than you dared count, expected him to tuck in. Instead he placed the open package and can in your hands with a longing look, careful not to touch your skin, before he went on to unwrap the bandages.

You said his name gently and he ignored you.

"Eddie," you dropped the zingers and grabbed his hand to stop him. He was the one to flinch now, but regardless, he looked you in the eye. "I need you...to tell me where we are, and tell me what's going on. Everything. We're here now...you promised."

His eyes darted between yours rapidly; if he felt that your thoughts were loud before, his were blaring right now. Broadcasting panic and worry; confusion as to what to say and where to begin.

He opened his mouth and inhaled, but his sharp fangs glinted in the low light of the room and your gaze, naturally, was drawn to them. He planted a hand over his mouth and after a second, rubbed over the scars that stretched over his cheeks.

Finally his hand dropped to his lap and he shifted in his seat; he leant back against the cushions and got comfortable.

"Before I lived with Wayne," he started, "before mom died, we lived here. It wasn't big; big enough for the two of us, a little less when my dad was still out. Everything looks a little bigger, but I guess everything does when you're younger. This...this is just how I remember it.

"That's what this place runs on. Memories. Feelings. It...generates them but also cannibalizes them. Nancy Wheeler said something...before...about it actually being 1983 here. Really, it can be any place and time you want. Henry...Vecna...showed me that. So when I started needing space...away from him, I came as far as I could past the outer limits of Hawkins and I made this place. Where he would have a harder time finding me. Where I could be alone.

"With you."

"Me?" you questioned.

"I can't explain it," he shook his head. "I can't explain any of it. It's...fuzzy. Who I am now...and who I was before...I'm not the same person.

"I was hurt so badly when you left...I thought I hated you for a while. But then...you were there, in everything I did. I had hope because you gave me hope Sweetheart. Every day I thought about getting in that van and...finding a way to find you. Some way. But I had patience and I could wait for you to come back. On the toughest days, though, you were there. You were there when the blankets on the bed felt especially warm. Or the frozen lasagna I put in the oven tasted especially cheesy. Or when I'd have a bad dream and go to get cookies out of the cupboard. You were there, and it was ok. I could hold on until you made it back to me.

"You were even out there at Skull Rock with me," he smiled. "The night...after Patrick died. I was wet and cold and so god damn traumatized and when I closed my eyes, I swore I could feel you there. I heard you tell me it would all be alright. You're the reason I didn't give up."

You knew that feeling well; more than you could really put to words.

He went on and gave you his account, his perspective and feelings, about what happened last year. Told you about witnessing Chrissy and Patrick's deaths, about running and hiding, about being hunted. He stopped to make a joke about how brave “the kids” were, braver than he was. And then his tone turned fearful and distant when he explained how he decided to be brave for them in return, brave for Dustin.

You of course knew some, but hearing all of it, especially the role he played in it all, was devastating. The what-if's returned; what if you hadn't left, what if you could have been here to save him--save all of them--what if he hadn't died. Of course the last one was void now. Still, as he closed his eyes in pain and you felt it choke you up as his emotions projected outwards again—voluntarily this time, instead of you plucking pieces off of him—you thought:

What if you could have spared him this suffering?

"He took everything," Eddie whispered. "I thought the bats were bad enough. The pain. They were just hungry but the pain. The others were supposed to kill him, to chop his head off or something, and the bats fell and the pain stopped. It was supposed to be over.

"But then he found me."

"Vecna."

"I thought I was a goner," he bared his teeth painfully, somewhere between a grimace and a smile really. "Death took forever, sweetheart. I do not recommend it. Not a bit. I don't even think I died. One minute Henderson was crying over me and the next, Vecna was tearing through my head. I always thought...well, you know when Obi-Wan tells the storm trooper these are not the droids you're looking for? I thought that I could resist that. Turns out, I was just as weak-minded as the rest of them."

He recounted his torture, the mental and the physical, and you felt it again. More acutely this time. His memories projected onto you felt fuzzy and strange, though, as if he hadn't even been there for it all himself. You recognized, through the echoes of agony, that was only so much the human mind could take, and Eddie toed the line of survival through sheer luck. He had gone through Hell, and came out alive in the end; how had he done it?

"It's because I had you," he explained. He leant in closer, voice hushed like he had a secret; he made the edges of your being feel tingly with his proximity. "Just like I told you. You were there; I know it. I held on because of you."

"Please, Eddie," you whispered. Please...what? You didn't know.

Please don't try to lessen the guilt.

Please don't try to make you feel better that you left him to this fate.

"It's true," he continued. "Vecna could take everything away. Made me hate everything, everyone. Made me kill for him. He made me his monster, his beast, his weapon..."

You swallowed painfully. How karmically poetic; a weapon of good and a weapon of evil...in love.

Fate was cruel.

"...But he could never take you away from me."

You saw it then, a flash. Some recollection of his, some coping mechanism that he'd used to survive. You saw through Eddie's eyes, felt his body; there was something quite...off about him. Shoulders broader, arms longer, fingers wet with blood.

Wings? You could feel them jutting from his shoulder blades. But he didn't have wings...

And in front of him, instead of some poor innocent soul...there you were. Strange, once again, seeing a version of you that you didn't recognize. She looked...younger...more lively than the one you saw in Billy's mind. She was smiling, eyes bright.

Speaking of eyes, you could see his reflection in your own eyes; you strained to decipher it, because it simply did not look like Eddie.

Not the Eddie of your memory. Not the Eddie who sat before you now.

You gasped and it was gone, and you were back in the living room with Eddie again. You stared at him, really took stock of him, trying to reconcile the different images of him that floated in your mind to truly accept who he was in front of you.

Broken but seemingly still whole. Alive.

Human...but not.

And that's what made you hesitate.

"Eddie," you licked your lips nervously. "Dustin said...that you couldn't leave." His brow twitched.

"I can't," he answered through gritted teeth, entire demeanor changing in the blink of an eye. He clenched and unclenched his hands, grasping at something that was beyond the fabric of reality. "I'm stuck here."

"Do you know why?"

"No. It's driving me crazy; I just want...to leave. Vecna couldn't leave either. He needed Max."

He noticed the way you stiffened at his words and his eyes went wide with fear. All of the tension that had built up within him was released again and he held his hands out to prove he was harmless.

"I don't...I'm not...I don't think that's what it is for me. The Upside Down doesn't want me to leave; I'm just not strong enough somehow. Not ready. I feel like...if I can figure out what I need, it'll let me go. I just don't know what that is.

"I did enough to save lil Red, though, twice," he ran a finger over his heart in a cross, in promise. "Not gonna just throw that all away and kill her."

"She's afraid that you are."

"Well, you'll just tell her I'm not."

"You've killed other people though," you rebuffed, almost too quickly.

It was at the forefront of your mind. Your dumb boyfriend who fed stray cats and raccoons around the trailer park...ordering an army of dark creatures to kill; it didn't make sense.

"You've killed too," he scoffed, a challenge in his eyes. "Don't act like I haven't watched you out there, angel. I've seen everything; this whole time."

"I thought you were a vicious monster," you argued.

"Who says I'm not?" That threw you for a loop. "I've told you my story, it's your turn now."

"No, we're not done with you," you reached across and jabbed a finger into his chest. "You send the bats...the Brides--nice name by the way--" You sneered sarcastically.

"Thanks," he grinned widely. "Got it all from Sven."

"--into Hawkins every day to feed. To kill."

That made him falter.

"No," he denied. "Not every day."

"Every day."

"Every three days, every week. Not every day."

"Tell me how that's possible," you narrowed your eyes. "When your friends back in Hawkins have gone out every day since I've been back for their clean up brigade, and they've been attacked every time. I've heard about it and I've seen it."

Eddie got quiet; he blinked once and his eyes became unfocused. He stared through you for what felt like ages and at some point you contemplated waving a hand in front of his face to get him to come back to you. You were about to raise your hand to do just that when a thin, opaque membrane slid sideways across his eyes, and then retracted back into the corners of them.

You thought it was a trick of the low light for a moment, then it happened again. A blink, just like a bird did with their third eyelid.

"What the fu--"

"They haven't," he interrupted you, consciousness casually sliding back into his body like he hadn't just vacated it. "They've only been leaving through the gates when I tell them to. It's been three days."

He shifted and shook the sleeve of his jacket further up his arm to reveal his wrist, then carefully unfastened the watch that sat there.

"They need to feed," he explained as he fiddled with the buttons. "I need...I need to feed again too. Otherwise I don't have control. And I need to be able to control them. They take their fill, and whatever they can spare, they bring to me. Since I can't leave. What uh...what day is it?"

"The fifteenth," you answered stiffly.

"Of?"

"...October."

"Hmmm..."

"What?"

"Guess I hadn't...nevermind." He cleared his throat. His hand shot out and grasped your wrist, then he carefully fastened the watch on your arm. "There. They're supposed to go out tonight and then you can see for yourself. Three days. Wayne will be by then too; I'll ask him to bring you your things. I know you left them behind."

"Because you...because your Brides cornered me...they...Fred...Chrissy...ugh..." You wrenched your hand from his grasp and scrubbed them over your face. "I...Eddie...I need to know why...why you---"

"I think I've told you enough," he interjected with an air of finality. "I've been trying to get to you, trying to find you, ever since I saw you back in Hawkins through their eyes. And now you're here with me where you belong, and it's time I got some answers too, sweetheart. It's been long enough. I deserve to know the truth."

So you told him.

Eddie was right, he deserved to know the truth, and you'd been itching to tell him since the moment he kissed you after your very first date.

Now was the chance to get it all off your chest.

You told him everything, and not just the condensed version that you told Mary Victoria. You bared your cursed soul to, probably, the only person on earth that had ever seen you. Really and truly seen you.

Despite all that time apart, he still saw you as though no time had passed at all.

He had no qualms interjecting when you told him about your family history and about the curse. He questioned everything and you had no doubt that if it wasn't for the conditions you were in now--if life had not been as cruel to the two of you as it had been--he would have had his Hellfire notebook open and been furiously writing ideas for his next campaign.

Better yet, he would be the one figuring out the way to break it. He would have every fantasy book from the Hawkins Library checked out and spread across the floor, just to save you.

When you got to the more contemporary parts of your story, when you filled in all the gaps in your life that you left when he first got to know you, he was pensive and empathetically quiet. He still made his little jokes here and there, tried to make you laugh at the parts where all you wanted to do was cry, and he didn't hesitate to bridge the gap and hold your hand when you needed to find the strength to keep going.

And keep going was all you did.

For hours.

You told him about every monster you faced, every demise you escaped, every person who used you as a tool and held your salvation over your head to get you to act on their behalf.

Your story couldn't hold a candle to his when it came to personal agony, but he made you feel like everything you'd endured was just as soul-splitting.

Maybe it was.

But this...getting everything out in the open...it was so freeing.

Gone were the shadowy secrets that lurked in the corners of your mind, gone was all the doubt you felt in yourself.

You cracked your chest open, pried out every rusting nail you had driven into you to keep it shut, and let Eddie see all of you--see your heart--and still he stared at you with awe and resplendent devotion in his eyes.

Just like he always had.

"Not gonna lie sweetheart," he started once you'd reached a lull in the story. "That was all, uh...pretty fucking metal."

"Fuck you," you slapped the back of your hand against his chest.

"All this time you let me go on about demons and the devil and Hellfire," his tone was teasing and a smile threatened the corners of his mouth; he couldn't fight it for long and neither could you. "And really you were out here studying the Lesser Key of Solomon and the Necronomicon for fun?"

"Not for fun. For survival" He grabbed your hand and held it against his chest, used his leverage to tug you closer. He stared at you in awe.

"My girlfriend! A real life paladin!"

"God damn it Eddie!" You giggled.

"Protecting the masses, no wonder you wanted to play as a rogue, you would have been bored as a paladin. Can you smite people?"

"I swear to--yes, I guess so."

"So many secrets! And then you told me all of your little stories and lessons--"

"Eddie I swear.”

"--let me believe you fucked the Mothman?"

"Excuse me," you erupted into a cackle. "You came to that conclusion all on your own."

He stared at you with hooded eyes and a fond gaze, humming his doubt.

You shifted the hand that he held, moved your palm across his chest from over his jacket to the thin, threadbare t-shirt he wore underneath. At first, you felt for his heartbeat, to reassure you one last time that it was really him...that he was really alive.

It was a flutter, but it was there. A soft thum pum, thum pum that transferred from his chilled skin, through the shirt, and into yours. His hand enclosed your wrist and squeezed tightly, and you wondered if he was doing the same. Feeling your pulse, making sure you were really there too.

He huffed a breath as you shifted closer; your fingers brushed against something hard that was just under the collar of the shirt as you had made your little search, and upon closer inspection, you discovered a cross on a silver chain.

Your necklace.

"You kept it?" you asked.

"Mmhmm." You shook his hand off your wrist and you ran your thumb over the tiny metal flowers; your crucifix might have been gone but this was still here. "The day you left...I was so upset I threw it. Threw it in some random corner of the trailer. When I realized that it was one of the last things I had left of you I went to try and find it, only to realize it was gone. I kicked myself, cried to Wayne...I was so fucking stupid.

"Then after everything, after Vecna was gone and I healed Max back up...I found it. Here in the Upside Down of all places. Must have fallen through when the gate opened up...but it made its way back to me. Just like you."

"You're a sap," you whispered.

"Guess what? So are you."

"I am," you laughed. You felt yourself choke up then, happiness turning to sorrow in an instant. Well, maybe it was still happiness…just the sad kind. "Hmmm."

"What is it?"

"Nothing, nothing," you cleared your throat to try and let it go, but it got the better of you and tears began to prickle at the corners of your eyes.

You couldn’t help yourself, you touched him again. You’d denied yourself for too long; you needed to be as close to him as you could for as long as you could. You touched his face. Beneath his bangs, over the crest of his eyes, ran a finger over his lips, even shoved your fingers over his fangs to inspect them, to see how dangerous they were, much to his displeasure.

“Don’t,” he hissed. “I have to feed, I could hurt you.”

”I don’t care.” The words burst from you. “I don’t.”

“Sweetheart,” he said in a warning tone but you ignored him.

“I spent all this time thinking you were dead and now here you are, right in front of me. Something I never thought I would have ever again. So excuse me if I don’t care that you might bite me. Hurt me. Nothing could compare with the hurt I felt when I lost you.”

“I get it.”

“I burnt down a building.”

“That’s—”

“Pretty metal, I know.”

“I was gonna say it sounds a little crazy,” you snorted. “Cmon? You burned down a building for little old me? With a lighter and gasoline?”

“With that smiting power you were so interested in earlier,” you explained.

“Ok well…shit. That’s pretty hot.”

“Fuck. Off.” You laughed wetly.

“You keep telling me to fuck off, I’ll leave you here.”

You could tell he was trying to make another joke but you didn’t have the patience for it.

“I’m trying to kiss you right now, Ed,” you told him matter-of-factly.

He was shocked, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, like the thought of actually kissing you, actually being with you, hadn't crossed his mind either. As though he hadn’t just used the brides to bring you to completion through the mental bond they shared. To be close to you, to share in pleasure and proximity, together again.

You were about to back down, about to say it was ok, especially if his hunger--fuck, you were gonna have to keep that in mind now, weren’t you--made him nervous. Instead, he surged forward, lips mashing into yours.

It was clumsy and a little painful at first. Both of you were out of practice, it was obvious, and there were, of course, extra teeth to be mindful of. Still, once you crossed the divide and settled yourself in his lap for easy access, you found your rhythm again.

It was as though you hadn’t been apart for a single minute, let alone three years.

Kissing him was nice, it always had been; tender sweetness, even in the throes of pleasure. You always used to joke that if Eddie could find a way to meld the two of you together with his mouth alone, he would; now was no different, as the plush pillows of his lips caressed and pecked at yours.

It didn't take long for the spark that was ignited between you to grow into an inferno and you couldn't really tell who was the needier of the two of you as breathing got heavier and tongue and teeth began to explore. All you knew was him. A sensory experience, being surrounded by each other again, and it was one that you had to learn all over again because it was different. Gone was the smell and taste of cigarette smoke and cheap laundry detergent and soda or bazooka bubblegum he enjoyed, and in its place something more visceral.

The bite of arctic air and nature and musk and dirt and blood.

Aside from the few times you'd bitten your tongue or split your lip, you'd never experienced the taste of blood before, and certainly not blood other than your own. Tangy, but not unpleasant. You could get used to it blooming along your tastebuds if it meant you never had to leave Eddie again.

He departed your lips then, as though he could sense the thought and didn't want you to endure it any longer than you had to. He left one, two, three pecks to the corner of your mouth before he descended down your cheek and along your jaw. He tsked as he reached your neck.

"What did they do to you huh?" he muttered and pecked and laved over the tender, ravaged flesh. He vacated one side of your throat for the other, inspecting the damage there; it was the side that Barb had bitten too, and you knew that it was surely worse. His tongue slithered out and he growled as it slowly ran along the ridges of each wound; the sound transferred from his body to yours, a rattling chittering vibration that sent chills up your spine.

"I didn't tell them to do this. When I realized..." he began an apology, but you stopped him.

"It's ok," you huffed a weak smile. "I'll heal. I always do."

"Hmmm."

He nudged his nose against yours, a soft rub of its bulbous tip, before diving back into your mouth.

From soft touches against faces and shoulders, hands suddenly moved to grip hips and thread into hair. The scrunchie was quick to go and his curls cascaded over his shoulders; you immediately buried your fingers in their depths, steering you where you wanted him to go, on the off chance he didn't already know.

His hands moved then to settle on your thighs, and gravity shifted as he hoisted you into his arms and stood. You broke away and stared at him in question. Where had this unexpected strength come from; was it more the result of this transformation in the Upside Down? You'd found unbelievable strength as your abilities developed over the years too.

Moreover, where had he found the idea or desire to carry you anyway?

You could spend as much time here on the loveseat as you wanted; it's not like you hadn't fucked on a sofa before.

"Where are we going?" you asked as he took his first steps.

"Bedroom."

"My legs work."

"They won't before long," he grinned and you rolled your eyes. Vampire or undead or whatever amalgam of an upside down creature as he was, Eddie was still your boyfriend who would quote bad porn just to annoy you.

He brought you down the short hallway to a bedroom; it was unremarkable and had a look and feel about it that was similar to his room in the trailer in some ways...but still not at all.

There was a poster on the wall, and Sweetheart sitting on an amp in the corner--had he been the one to play Sympathy for the Devil that you'd heard on the radio; you hadn't been going crazy--a stack of t-shirts and clothes sat on a broken dresser, and a dented old thermos rested on the windowsill.

He laid you down on a mattress that had been placed on the floor and was laden with pillows and blankets. He started to rid you of your shoes and your jeans, taking as extra care as he had been not to rip into them with his claws; as needy as you were, you were also curious, and you took that moment to inspect this bed of his further.

One of the pillows was stained with blood, some of the blankets shredded to ribbons, and, buried amongst a soft comforter...two long bones that were sharpened to points.

Eddie faltered in his movements as you lifted them closer to your face to inspect and he immediately pulled his hands away from you; his arms crossed over his torso and he shrugged.

"Guess I'm a little messy," he explained sheepishly. "There, uh...might be some more in here...somewhere. Be careful."

There were a million thoughts racing through your mind; where did these bones come from, what did they belong to, had he...eaten some creature? Once again, you needed to internalize all of it quickly. This was just going to come with the territory of having Eddie back, wasn't it?

"It's...ok," you swallowed thickly and turned your eyes back to him. "I can just use it to stab you in the heart if worse comes to worse."

He snorted and licked his lips to stop himself from smiling; in the end, you both failed. You were giggling and you let out a honk of laughter that you hated but Eddie adored; he'd told you so many times. You covered your face with your hands to hide from him, but he was quick to kneel down in the cradle of your thighs to pull them away.

"I want to see you," he whispered. "I need to see you."

He kissed your hands, one, then the other, and then pulled you to sit upright; you helped him remove your jacket--he recalled it had been Mickey's...and then noted that Mickey had died by his hand as he thumbed the rips in the shoulders from Chrissy's attempted-abduction of you in the square--then your t-shirt. He was extra cocky as he used those talons to slice through your bra.

"You're an asshole," you muttered as he ducked to capture your lips again.

"Remember," he pressed a kiss and then backed off to grin, "when I kept fumbling with the hooks."

There wasn't much talking after that, as you began your true reunion, your worship of one another.

He knew where to lick, where to kiss, to get the sweetest and most desperate noises out of you. Of course, he also had his favorite little places to put his hands and his mouth.

He was careful of your throat, but that didn't mean he couldn't suck a hickey to your jaw, or your collarbone, or the side of one of your breasts. He sniffed your skin and sighed dreamily every now and again, pressed his face into the softness of your chest and your belly and just rested there for a moment, before continuing his descent.

He didn't leave an inch of you untouched when it came to these new discoveries and devotions.

He paid special attention to each prominent scar he found. Whispered words of apology, of understanding, as he bore witness to all the ways you sacrificed yourself for a God who'd essentially abandoned you. Abandoned both of you.

Every nerve in your body was alight; not because he kept pulling pleasure to the surface, but simply because of the proximity. You luxuriated in having him there, in carding your fingers through his hair, in hearing the timber of his voice and feeling it as it hummed along your skin. Even when he got too carried away and his claws scratched you or punctured your skin, as blood began to pool to the surface, you found some sense of joy. The little zings of pain only added to the pleasure.

For Eddie, though, they simply seemed to test the strength of his willpower to tame the beast within.

He finally reached the crux of you, and instead of touching or kissing as you expected him to, bringing you pleasure that way--something he'd always enjoyed before--he got to his knees and began working the belt off his jeans.

"What are you doing?" you demanded breathlessly, desperately. "You were..."

"I just...I'll..." he fumbled over his words, head still ducked as his hands worked. His voice sounded muffled and he refused to look at you. "We...we'll just finish up here and then I need to go."

"Go!?"

"I want to make you feel good, baby, I just...I can't stay. I'm already hanging on by a thread as it is."

You thought that he just meant that he needed to find his own release, which was understandable, but to need to leave? He flung his belt off to the side, and as he did, you saw. Really saw.

His eyes seemed more sunken in, surrounded by shadowy-bruises, scleras bright red. His fangs, which had just been two lone points in his mouth, seemed to have multiplied; four sharp teeth, now elongated, on his upper jaw, and two on the lower.

You called his name once, then again more forcibly, to get him to stop as he shed his jacket. He froze, and then stared at you, practically ashamed.

"They'll be back soon and I'm hungry," he explained. He let the jacket drop to the ground and then stared hungrily at his hands, at the fresh blood at the points of his nails. "I'm so...hungry."

He had mentioned that, that he'd been hungry, before. Which was why he couldn't be there when you were brought to the Upside Down.

But he said that he'd fed days ago; how long had you been here?

Was it just the drawing of your blood that had him hungry again? Needing to be sustained.

You spoke instinctually.

"Feed on me."

His eyes widened in shock.

"Sweetheart--" he tried to warn you, but you stopped him.

"Chrissy and Patrick already did," you rationalized. "Barb did. You're not going to do anything that they didn’t; just...try to be gentle and don't kill me."

"I'm trying not to kill you."

"I know," you encouraged. "I trust you. Drink my blood. Feed on me."

You held your hand out and nodded to your wrist; your neck was already bitten and healing. You both would probably have a better...uh...experience if he fed from there instead.

Eddie released a long breath and rolled his head backwards, hands coming up to his eyes as though it was the most difficult decision in the world. The only decision that mattered.

But, faster than your eyes could see, he was on you, lips and tongue caressing your wrist, lavishing over your pulse. You closed your eyes for a second...until it felt like his tongue elongated and wrapped around your wrist entirely...and they shot open again.

He was too quick though. Another blur of movement, and your underwear had simply vanished and Eddie was nuzzling the softness of your thigh with his nose, smelling the path your arteries, smelling the musk of your sex. You strained your neck to watch him--settled on his stomach, half off the mattress, with one of your legs thrown over his shoulder--but you couldn't hold it for long as he caressed your slit. As he stroked his fingers through your wetness and found your clit, slowly and torturously, as his nose followed the path upwards.

A delicate caress was all it took for the pleasure to invade your senses, ready as you were from all of the foreplay. Your body was primed for more after being starved for so long and only given a taste of salvation from him and his puppets previously. He rolled his fingers over and over, bringing you higher; he was mindful of his claws with each touch and caress, still you felt the cold huff of his breath chuckling when you bore down on nothingness as he rasped the sharp edges over the softness of you just so.

It had always been a game with you, pushing each other further to see who could hold out longer and who would break first--a delicious give and take--but it seemed he was focused on one thing now: a delicious prize for the both of you.

And needed to get there as quickly as possible.

You whined as your body tingled; your pleasure climbed and he hummed, his ministrations getting quicker. Sensing you were close to the edge, he pushed a finger into your heat, then a second, and your hips bucked. If the rasp of his claws outside had created a mix of pleasure and pain, inside it made you question everything. And as he pistoned his fingers once...twice...and pressed on your clit, you found euphoria.

You found Heaven.

And so did he.

You barely registered him biting into you at first, such pleasure raced through your body, but the sting of the first mouthful of blood being pulled from you brought you back to reality.

You rapidly came down from your high, so pleasantly numb, to the sounds of his lewd slurping and gulping of one mouthful then the next. If you had the capability of higher thought, you might wonder if you'd built some sort of tolerance to being feasted on like this, but your focus was on the remnants of your pleasure...and on him.

Eddie let out a delicious groan with a particularly painful pull, and you winced. He mouth released from your thigh with a satisfying pop, and, like a predator, he turned his gaze to meet yours.

Half hidden by the slopes of your body, you could still see the way his nose and lips were stained red. He bared his teeth at you--in a smile or a warning, you couldn't tell for sure--then set his sights back on your center.

Blood made an interesting addition to your own slickness, as he lowered his mouth onto your pussy; you twitched as he licked your essence away, one hunger sated and replaced by another. Gone were his fingers, as he moved your leg off his shoulder and spread you open to feast once more. You bucked against him as he stoked the fires within you again, tried to fight him so you could grind against his mouth, but he didn't let up.

"E-Eddie," you whined and he moaned, tongue thrumming against your clit and then sliding to your entrance to collect the ambrosia that you blessed him with.

You didn't want to beg, especially when you would gladly take every ounce of attention he bestowed upon you, but you wanted him. Wanted all of him. Wanted to see him.

Wanted to be with him, as one.

And the fucker hadn't even taken his clothes off yet.

"E-eddie, please," you cried, unable to convey exactly what you wanted. "I need you."

He clearly took that to mean more and more is exactly what he gave you, enough that should have made you surrender, made you melt for him.

He rolled his tongue against your sensitive nub, let his fangs rasp over you, before he began to suckle your clit and you had to grab his head and tug to try and get him to stop.

This was everything you wanted. But maybe not everything you wanted right now. The denial would be delicious.

Your nails scraped his scalp and pulled at the long strands of his hair until he finally finally released his focus from your quivering cunt.

Both of you heaved and gasped heavily.

He cuffed a hand against his chin to try and wipe off the mix of your blood and slick and you groaned; he didn't have to look so enticing doing something like that.

"So bossy," he grinned naughtily.

He didn't have to look so enticing saying something like that either.

"I am," you told him. "Because I need you--"

"And I was about to let you come right there, sweetheart."

"I need you...I need to feel you," you told him.

"Hmmm, tempting," he inched his way up your body, pressing bloody kisses to your mound, then your stomach. He stopped and rested his chin there.

There was some spike of unidentified emotion inside of you. Wrath, maybe. Annoyance, definitely.

"Don't tell me," you hissed at him. "That you're not looking for your own release."

"I am," he nodded and kissed up. Further and further. Your ribs, your breasts, laying his head there now. You couldn't help but caress his forehead, push his bangs out of his eyes as he stared up at you like you hung the stars.

You could feel him shift, feel the hardness of him straining against his jeans as he squirmed against you.

"Don't tell me that you don't want to fuck me," you whispered. "Don't tell me that you aren't just itching to come inside of me Eddie."

He kissed once against your clavicle, once on the hickey he left on your jaw and then hovered over your lips...

"Please," he whispered. "Let me fuck you."

You grabbed him and pulled him to you, lips crashing and hungry as you took what you craved from him.

Frantic movement on shaky limbs as you both knelt on the mattress and stripped him of his clothes between the clashing of your mouths in desperation.

It wasn't until you needed to part so you could pull his shirt over his head that you paused.

Tension.

It was sudden and suffocating as you finally saw all of him. Your hungry eyes found his cock first, lengthy and hard and fisted in his hand as he rolled his head back on his shoulders with relief for the first time all night. Which was funny because he was not shy about humping a bed once upon a time; had he learned some kind of virtuous patience in the years you'd been away? It was almost impossible to fathom.

But then, your eyes were drawn to the rest of his body.

Your hand went to your mouth in horror as you finally witnessed all of him. Witnessed what came out of the other side after he'd been chewed up and spit out by Vecna and his minions. By the Upside Down.

It was the bite scars that caught your eyes first. Maybe because you had felt the ephemeral echo of the assault for yourself, maybe because they were wide swaths of mangled flesh. Layers and layers and wrinkles and valleys. A piece of his torso practically gouged out on one side, his pectoral muscle shredded on the other, nipple missing.

When he had been attacked, he had been Eddie; when the attack was over he was just...meat. And this was the evidence of that. Some parts had healed to silver or pink, both others were left angry and red. If you didn't know better, you might think he was still hurt; that they were still bleeding.

He had kissed your scars and apologized; he was truly the one who deserved the apology.

The seams were next. Down his limbs, at each of his joints; like he'd been ripped apart and put back together again. Strange lines that carved into him like a dissection. Vivisection, if the screams that you'd heard through his memories were true. There were two prominent ones along his ribs that looked...particularly vulnerable. Then again, it could have been because he bulged strangely there.

He didn't look like your Eddie anymore. Maybe it was because he wasn't.

Well, he was...all of him was. All of him...belonged to your heart. Or, more accurately, your heart belonged to all of him. Been through Hell, and survived.

You'd always thought--and you'd told him once and he'd laughed in your face--that he looked like one of the statues that you loved at your favorite cemetery back home. Carefully carved through time and patience, flaws intentional, but made to be witnessed and celebrated and have people kneel before them.

Yes he made a cocksucking joke.

Now though...he was like stained glass in the chapel. Overall whole, one beautiful piece of art that was made to let the resplendent light shine through. But so obviously complex, evidenced by the thousands of little pieces that made it up. Each one so important to the greater whole.

Different, but still beautiful.

Eddie finally noticed the state of you and he paused; you could feel the waves of doubt come off him as he looked down at himself in shame.

"I'm sorry, I should have wa--"

"No," you closed the distance between you. "Stop. It's...I just...I..."

"It's horrible," he told you. "And there's so much more that you...that you don't know."

"It isn't horrible," you replied. "We have plenty of time; all the time in the world. I'll find out the rest eventually, Eddie. But no matter what...I love you."

His eyes shifted between yours, that unsettling red tinge still there but made less intense by his feast; you knew he was looking to see if you were lying to him.

You hoped he knew that you could never lie to him. Especially about something like that.

If there was something that didn't change about Eddie, it was his smile. Sure his teeth might have been comprised of fangs, and his cheeks stretched in a slightly tense way...but the way his eyes crinkled, the way--even in the darkness--he seemed to light up from the inside. That would always stay the same.

You pulled him to you and kissed him again, soft and full of intense devotion. His hands found you and he guided you back down to the mattress, sweeping away the extra blankets and pillows and remnants of previous carnage, and he settled onto you.

Into you.

He guided himself to your center and with one last glance to make sure you wanted this--you always would, always--he slid into you, and found himself where he truly belonged.

Home. With you.

One hand held him above you and the other roamed, caressing over the slopes and curves of your body, running over your cheek and over your heart for a moment, until it settled at the crux where your bodies met. Your hands searched him as well, determined to commit all of his scars to memory--if not tonight, then one day--when they finally landed on a set of scars along his shoulder blades. Thick and deep, he closed his eyes and you could feel his body twitch with pleasure as you lavished them with attention, your delicate touch dancing over the raised skin.

His pace quickened and he grit his teeth; his fingers danced over your clit to carry you to the peaks of pleasure, caressing your cunt worshipfully as you caressed him within.

As you accepted him--all of him--over and over.

It was a marathon that tested your stamina and willpower but neither of you would let up or stop; you needed this. You both needed this, together; finally with each other.

You could feel it rising within you, your limbs tingled and you began to see stars. You refused to close your eyes, even as Eddie got desperate and ducked his head into your shoulder, hips stuttering as they chased his release, fingers relentless as they chased yours.

You couldn't blame him when he bit your throat, when his fangs slid through the already-abused flesh as you inevitably came. You couldn't be too sure that you didn't pull him into you yourself. The bite, the sting, and the pull of your blood took your rapture to an intensity you'd never experienced before.

You saw the strings of fate, floating around him in that moment, connecting him to you; sparkling lines that shifted and tangled over his skin and onto yours. It was blinding and brilliant, and it made you finally close your eyes to bask in it all.

There was some old story, that humans used to have 4 arms, 4 legs and two heads. And some God thought them too powerful, so They demanded them split for the rest of eternity; those humans spent the rest of their days searching...searching for their other half until they could be one again.

And as Eddie's hips stuttered into yours, as he lost his stamina and finally spilled his release inside of you, as he finally made you his--fully and completely for the first time in what felt like an eternity--that search was finally complete.

“I love you. Even if the Fates unraveled our destiny, I would find a way back to you.”  - Scarlett St. Clair, A Touch of Ruin

Next Chapter: Revelation

#aasb #as above so below #eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson x oc #Eddie munson smut #kas!eddie munson #Eddie munson fic #Eddie munson stranger things #tw: blood #tw: smut #tw: violence #tw: mentions of death

[harrisongslimited]

George Chapter of the Day. March 13, 2024

Greetings my dear tumblr and Beatles' families! Happy to announce I'm popping a foot into the fanfiction pool and seeing 👀 what happens. Your comments are more than welcome!!

All the important stuff:

Title: I Saw Her Standing There

Story Description: John, Paul, George and Ringo meet Joie Armagh, a strong willed American girl, who influences their lives more than they wanted.

Trigger Warnings: swearing, drinking, smoking, drug references, adult situations and behavior, M/F smut, fluff, falling in love, tense arguments, angst.

**18 only please***

**This is a work of fiction. As such, it should not be read as a factual account of events or as biography. While many characters of the story bear the names of actual people, they and their actions have been imagined by the author and should be considered products of the imagination. This story is fictional and the events did not happen. It is written and re-produced here online for the purposes of entertainment only.**

Author's Note: I've noticed many fanfics have a Starrison or a McLennon flair, but this story will be M/F interactions including smut. It's just how I see them! Now if you're under 18, just move yourself right along. As I'm not there to patrol over you, just be strong and pass this up. I had to wait to read adult material and so do you!

Thank you to gif artists and photo owners.

Phew! That's over....

She was across the room from him; he could barely see her without his thick, black rimmed glasses. He felt her. Felt her as if she were standing within inches of him. His skin was hot. The light brown hair on his arms came alive – his stomach grumbled with a feral intensity.

Chapter 1

There was something about her. Something, he figured, she didn't know about yet, something she didn't know how to use – yet – but it made John Winston Lennon rearrange his slumped body to a nearly half-attentive position.

John watched her as best he could without his glasses. He was nearly blind without them, but acknowledged only to himself that he was far too vain to wear them in public. Besides, if he had to see something that important, Paul, George or Ringo would alert him. But at this moment, they were too interested in their own orbits to notice much.

She was talking to someone. Someone he didn't know – which he didn't care much about. From her body language, he could tell it was tense. She ran a hand through her short, auburn hair, and he continued to watch as she pointedly aggravated the man she was talking to.

This, to John, was great entertainment.

She turned in John's direction, although he couldn't tell if she saw him or not. It was nice she wasn't straining to scope out a look at the four of them , like they were the side-show freaks they felt like – or make a mad dash for the table to try to touch him like he was some bloody good luck charm. He liked that. Maybe she didn't give a shit who they were. THAT, he nodded to himself, would be refreshing for a fucking change.

She was, however, very pissed off at the little runt who was running the audition and had he been asked, John would have agreed with her. The whole scene was outrageously idiotic, as were their whole lives now, but he had danced with the devil and this was payback time.

The little moron in charge, whom John was introduced to but couldn't have cared less about, was a highly paid ass-kisser with a slimy handshake and badly manipulated crew cut. John might have the appearance of someone who didn't give a shit, but he took in everything. Every person, every nuance, every sight and smell and sound. Nothing got past him, unless he wanted it to. And the little California-tanned wild bird was giving it to the little pisser and John couldn't take his eyes away from her. It made him jealous and angry and aroused that she could do what he wasn't allowed to.

Brian was about to intervene, as the pisser/wild bird barney was holding up the whole show. He wanted to tell Brian to leave her alone, that she was practically giving him a hand job from across the room, but he also had an immediate urge to get the hell out of this place. He didn't like the United States. Too much fucking sunshine and not a decent cup of tea within 10,000 miles. But, as was his current circumstance, money, the promise of women and fame had too much a hold on all four of them for anyone to say "piss off" and head back home to England. Because as sure as the sun rose in the east, if one went home, they'd ALL go home.

John watched as Brian interrupted the moron and the woman of his dreams. He threw an elbow into Paul's side to wordlessly alert him to the situation. Paul lifted up his brown eyes and tried to force a smile.

"Another one?"

"No man. Totally different. She's cutting that audition manager a new asshole."

"Good. Maybe we can get the fuck out of here. I'm beginning to think I made a wrong move when I chose a band over plumber's apprentice."

John looked at Paul. "You? A plumber? I'd pay to see your ass rooting out some loo in the low rent district."

"Piss off....," he answered. "So what's going on?"

John filled him in. Ringo and George were both still half asleep, cigarettes hanging off their lower lips. No one made any attempt to pay attention when their manager approached them.

"Get those bloody fags out of your mouths," Brian said to them. "You are all clean cut, working class boys from across the pond – and well paid to act your parts. So sit up and pay attention."

John made an obscene gesture. Ringo turned his back to him continuing to smoke and George leaned forward and gazed at Brian with his middle finger slowly working its way up to his temple.

Paul, ever the diplomat, made a valiant attempt to appear slightly more involved. "Look Brian, we aren't trying to make your life hell, but this is getting out of hand. We've spent 2 hours evaluating 200 girls who want to have a role in this movie. Really, it doesn't matter. We don't even know what the movie is about. Just have that little audition manager pick out the best of the bunch and send everyone on their way."

Brian sighed and pulled up a chair. John knew they were about to be lectured from the Brian Epstein Guide to Managing a Famous British Band. John wished he could order about a dozen Scotch and Cokes and call it a day.

"Boys," he started.

Ringo, George and John turned the switches off and began cruising down the avenues of their brains. Paul pretended to listen and caught the gist of the whole thing.

They were famous. Yes, he remembered that. There were politics involved in being famous. Yes, he remembered that. It was sometimes necessary to go through these things for the publicity. Yes, he remembered that.

"Just like a politician. You have to, figuratively speaking, kiss the babies and hug the old ladies. Half these girls are daughters of Hollywood big-wigs. We can't piss them off. We must pretend we are gentlemen."

"Thank God we've had lessons...." John piped in. "Now shut the hell up and tell me who that bird is."

"Who?"

"The one who is still going off on the audition manager."

Brian turned and jumped up. "Oh shit."

John sat totally upright for the first time all day as he saw her coming towards them at a determined gait. The audition manager followed her, mumbling.

Brian was about to intercept her when John looked at him sternly. "Back off, big man. Let her have her say."

If there was one thing Brian knew, it was when to absolutely listen to John. He could manipulate the other three on an individual basis, but John alone or the 4 of them enmasse, well, that was the ballgame. He let out a heavy breath.

John stood to watch her walk towards them. He had seen plenty of pretty girls since becoming famous. He had HAD plenty of pretty girls since becoming famous, but this pissed off bird was in a class by herself. She was nothing like the girls he normally went after – nothing like the birds of his own turf. He was, at this stage of his life, attracted to "bee-bees", Beautiful, Brainless and Sexy chicks who knew better than to open their mouths for anything except a blow-job. After a brief affair consisting of plenty of sex and perhaps a late night supper or two, maybe an autograph or an album, it was less of a problem to diplomatically dump a BB than it was a hometown girl or some mate's sister.

John had his exit line and delivered it with the precision of Olivier playing Hamlet. He could conjure up this little boy lost persona, with a pained "this is going to hurt me more than it is you" look and begin his speech. "I'm SOOO sorry, but I've realized that I really DO love my wife and I don't know how to thank you for helping me see the honest truth. I have to go back to her. Your unselfishness and honesty showed me what I must do. I know you'll understand. I can't tell you what you have done for me. I will never forget you (insert name or not). "

And it worked. 99% of the time. The other 1%, Brian took care of.

All at once, she was in front of them. Directly in between Paul and George. John shifted in his chair to look at her.

"Look, I know this is all fun and games, but it's 95 degrees out there in the hallway and girls are dropping like flies. There's no water, no air. C'mon---hasn't everyone had enough?"

Brian walked over to her and extended a courtly British hand. "I'm sorry Ms. but you will have to get back into line or leave the audition. You are causing a disruption."

The young woman looked at Brian then beseechingly at the four English lads that were sitting before her. John, for once in his life, was speechless.

Paul stood and faced her. "We didn't know..." was all he could muster. She was not amused. Not amused at all with any of them. George turned his eyes toward her and remained quiet.

"Well, now you do," she said without emotion, then sighed. "Look, I know you are the biggest things to come out of England since Earl Grey, but it's really hot out there. Can you put an end to this?"

George finally spoke. "What are you doing here?"

Her brown eyes flashed at him. "Does it matter? I'm just trying to get those other girls out of the heat."

"Why do you care?" John blurted out, his cigarette smoke exiting his mouth.

She sighed and was going to speak when Brian returned with a police officer and the audition manager.

"Hold off...." John eyed him.

The police officer stared at the woman for a minute before saying, "Joie?"

She looked at him and smiled. "Yes. It's me. I'm just trying to get those girls out of the heat, Mr. Watson. Or get them some water or something. I know they are all probably daughters of movie studios, but they are melting just the same."

Officer Watson turned to Brian. "I know this girl. She doesn't mean any harm. And after all, she has a point...."

John and Brian exchanged looks. Brian knew it well.

"We will get the girls out of the heat and move this along...." He answered properly.

"Thank you." Was all she said. And she turned to leave.

She didn't give a shit that they were the Beatles. She didn't give a shit if she got a bit part in their first movie. She just didn't give a shit about them. What she cared about was 90 remaining strangers, struggling in the heat.

John was enamored.

The audition manager was sweating profusely. He was too old for this shit. He had been around the greats---Barrymore, Hepburn, Gable. These punks from somewhere in England might make every girl wet her pants, but all they were was trouble to him.

Brian pulled him aside and a plan was made to move the line of girls along so they could get a look at the Lads from Liverpool and Brian would pick the 15 or so they needed in bit parts. The others would be given a ticket to the final concert in the film. All Brian knew for sure is that there was going to be a concert at the end. And 100 seats were to be occupied by the offspring of Hollywood elites. The other seats were to be auctioned off to fans through the fan club.

This is what he knew....as the screenwriter typed away, tucked safely back in London.

"Mal...." John groused at their assistant. "get her number....."

#the beatles #george harrison #john lennon #paul mccartney #ringo starr #beatlemania #Beatles fanfic #george harrison fanfic #i saw her standing there

[jwhitewolfbarnes]

The Unexpected Visitor

I know this blog hasn’t been active in a long time, but my recent resurgence of obsession with Daredevil has sparked a need to write. Hope this is a good one. Please give feedback! I am not sure when or if I'll write again but if this does well, I just might!

Characters: Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Reader, mentions of Karen Page and Foggy Nelson

Relationship: Matthew Murdock/F!Reader

Description: While alone at the office, a surprise visitor for Matt drops in. He may have a thing for you. 

Warnings: None really. Potentially OOC Frank and Matt, definitely non-canon law office, a slight blind joke, Matt’s devil senses, sexual hints, not beta read, use of Y/N, no physical description given so reader is up to interpretation

Word Count: 1,140

______________________________________________________________

Working at Nelson, Murdock & Page always seemed to involve something interesting happening at least once a week. Being paid in produce or livestock or baked goods. Seeing people get so flustered when interacting with Matt. Listening to Karen and/or Foggy complain about their most recent dating adventures. But these were all things you could get used to. 

Something you hadn’t gotten used to yet was dating Matt Murdock. Foggy and Karen had placed a bet a little over a year ago when you were hired about when Matt would make his move. Turns out he would make it just before your one year anniversary at the firm. The both of you had confessed feelings while Matt walked you home after a few too many at Josie’s. And here you were, three months later- still working as the office assistant/manager/lawyer and vigilante wrangler/girlfriend. 

It was just you and Matt in the office for a few days while Foggy and Karen were a few hours away meeting with a prominent client. Matt had just stepped out for a short local meeting and said he would pick up lunch on his way back.

As you fought with the printer, the door opened. The man that walked in seemed somewhat familiar to you, but you didn’t have a chance to fully inspect his face before he spoke.

“I’m here to, uh, see Murdock.” His gruff voice cut through the concerning noises coming from the printer. He glanced around the office before his eyes finally settled on you. He watched as you moved to stand behind your desk.  A slight smile appeared on his face as his eyes roamed your figure.

“Well, well… what does Murdock have a pretty little thing like you hidden away in this shithole for?” He let out a low chuckle and moved a bit closer to your desk. You couldn’t stop the small smile from forming on your face. You couldn’t deny it- he was attractive, very attractive. He was large and intimidating wearing dark jeans, a gray shirt, a black jacket, and a baseball cap that covered just enough. He smiled a little bigger, noticing you giving him a once over. You cleared your throat before attempting to speak.

“I, um, I’ve been the office assistant for about a year now. But anyway, what’s your name? And did you have a specific appointment or is this just a drop-in situation?” You tried to avoid making direct eye contact with him so he didn’t think you had any larger interest in him. You nervously fiddled with a string on your pants as you sat down to go over the meetings calendar. 

“Castiglione, ma’am. I didn’t have any appointment or whatever. Where is that asshole anyway, I know he’ll want to hear what I got to say. What’s your name, darlin’?” He makes a move to sit down in the chair across from you. You watch as he settles in and leans forward to place his elbows on the edge of your desk.

“My name is Y/N. And Mr. Murdock should be here in just a moment. He had a short meeting before this. Can I get you anything to drink while you wait Mr. Castiglione?” You gesture behind you to the very minuscule drink area you had forced Matt and Foggy to help you set up. He glances around you and nods. You have a slight moment of panic over admitting you were alone, but something about this guy doesn’t make you feel afraid. 

“A water would be real nice… I am a bit thirsty over here.” You stand up and turn slightly to grab a cup and dispense some water. As you turn to hand him the water, you notice he was most definitely staring at your ass. He clears his throat and leans back, spreading his legs as he relaxes. He takes a sip of the water and makes a little show of licking his lips. 

“So, Y/N, would you like a drink? What do ya say? Tomorrow at 7, me and you darlin’?” He tilts his head back and suddenly the obstruction of his baseball cap has disappeared. You finally recognize him.

“Frank. What are you doing here?” Matt’s abrupt question startles you. You hadn’t even noticed him come in. He sets a takeout bag and his cane down on the desk and moves to stand beside you. You know that he can probably hear your heart hammering in your chest. 

“Finally, Murdock. Bout damn time you show up, but I have to say, the view in here is absolutely something. Such a shame you can’t admire it.” Frank’s eyes never leave you as he speaks. There’s a small cocky smile on his face as he opens his mouth again. “So, what about that drink, Y/N? Just cause this asshole shows up, doesn’t mean we can’t finish what we started.” 

You shoot him a confused look but as you go to respond, Matt cuts in. “Frank, if you would like to keep the privilege of dropping in here and leaving unharmed, you might want to stop hitting on my girlfriend.” There’s a hint of smugness in Matt’s voice as he tilts his head towards Frank. That cocky smile almost instantly disappears from Frank’s face. He suddenly sits up straight and looks between the both of you. 

“Goddamn it, you always get ‘em first, huh? You’re a little shit, you know that?” He turns back to you, “I am sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to make ya uncomfortable.” His apology seemed sincere and kind of adorable. This big, scary man apologizing for hitting on you. Matt’s hand has made itself known on your waist, pulling you into his side. You look up at him and then back to Frank. 

“It’s okay. You didn’t make me uncomfortable, it was flattering. It was really nice to meet you. I have heard quite a bit about you.” Matt shoots you a look that you know means trouble for you later while Frank’s grin makes its return. 

“Well, thank you ma’am. Keep me in mind if this one ever fucks up.” He chuckles and throws a finger in Matt’s direction. “Now, about that meeting Red. I ain’t got all damn day here altar boy.” Frank stands up and makes his way to Matt’s office without any guidance. Once he steps inside and the door is shut, Matt turns his eyes towards you. 

“You were flattered, huh sweetheart? Well, I’ll see what I can do about that later tonight.” He leans down and kisses you probably a little too inappropriately for the middle of a law office. As he pulls away, there’s a slight grimace on his face. “I can smell him on you. As soon as he’s gone, we’re fixing that.”

#matthew murdock x reader #matt murdock x reader #frank castle #the punisher #x reader #plus size reader #flirting #kissing #inappropriate behavior for a law office #daredevil #daredevil x reader

[justatalkingface]

I have to say, I've always been a fan of the idea of Kirishima being Izuku's best friend, rather than Bakugo's. I just think the two work off each other as the "extrovert trying to get his introverted friend to come out of his shell more" better than his and Bakugo's "I can fix him" one.

Plus, both have experience dealing with bullies and trying to defend the helpless from said bullies. Hell, Kirishima would commend Izuku for sticking it out all the way through, whereas he needed Mina's help with his. I really think Kirishima would be a great motivator for Izuku to get stronger and to voice his opinions more. If Izuku was having an especially bad day, I see Kirishima being the type to say,

"Hey man, don't put yourself down like that. You're one of the strongest, manliest guys I know. Even up there with All Might and Crimson Riot. Come on, lets head to the gym to get your mind off things. I'll spot ya."

Kirishima would provide so much positivity and motivation to improve, that I feel Izuku would only come out better with him as his main homie. Not to mention it would give Kirishima even more screentime, which I would love.

Though admittedly, my love of Kirishima is also why I hate that Hori paired him with Bakugo. My man deserves a better homie than that asshat.

...You know, when you look at Kirishima as, like, a character that someone put in a story, rather than as a person, there's something weird about him. You know what it is? Kirishima is basiclly Izuku. He's Izuku if he had a 'mediocre' Quirk; a bit of a coward at the start of his story, with self doubt, but he still genuinely wants to help people, and forces himself to grow and push farther when he decides to apply to UA. And when you strip to the bare bone themes like that, it's Izuku's story, without Bakugou and the Quirklessness there making his life miserable.

And, with that in mind, and that one comment Hori (apparently) made, that Izuku was supposed to be sad that Bakugou took Kirishima's hand... it feels like Kirishima was made, or at least given development, for Bakugou. Like, Kirishima and Bakugou is the friend dynamic of Bakugou with Izuku that so many people want them to have, what fanfic stories are written for, what people in story apparently (god knows why) seem to think they have, and when you look it that way it's... interesting. It's a very interesting choice to me.

Like, Hori apparently (I can't cite any of this Hori shit) regrets how far Bakugou went in the first chapter; it makes me wonder if, like, Kirishima is his wish fulfillment in that sense? Like, he's imagining a version of the manga where Bakugou came in with a lot less baggage, and that dynamic is him doing that sort of friendship without actually changing the story?

On the other hand, though, I'd have to be blind to that dynamic seems to exist to soften up Bakugou's image, to show that he's not all that bad, without really making him improve actively.

Regardless, no matter how you look at it, in a meta, 'why does this character exist' kind of way, Kirishima literally seems to be in the manga only for Bakugou's sake. I mean, his friendship (or 'friendship' maybe) with Bakugou, isn't helping him beyond giving him more screen time. And your right, it's a shame, because he and Izuku would get along really well.

Part of it, of course, is that they exist in a similar kind of positive wavelength, both being really wholesome people. Kirishima is really outgoing, and it seems natural that he would try to reach out to Izuku, who canonly is almost pathetically grateful for even the tiniest smidge of even vaguely positive interactions, especially at the start, much less someone just flat out being nice to him. Meanwhile, Izuku is naturally supportive, and would be great for Kirishima in turn, supporting him on his low confidence moments and encouraging him to be more confident about his Quirk and his own abilities.

Overall, it's a firm foundation for a good, wholesome friendship, one that would easily continue to continue on even when both of them eventually grow past their own doubts, and something that'd be nice to see, but by the time Kirishima got any characterization, he was already set up for Bakugou, and of course we could dilute that dynamic with him doing something else.

#mha critical #bnha critical #ask #bakugou critical #izuku deserves better #kirishima deserves better #the fact kirishima seems to exist only for bakugou's benefit is a waste

[alagaesia-headcanons]

I don't know of you've done this or not, but I would love to hear you opinions on Roran. Most people in the Fandom see him as a Chad, a better hero than Eragon, more badass etc etc. Me? I can't stand him, it scares me how he seems to take no no for an answer

In my return to my IC hyperfixation, I've found I don't like Roran quite as much as I did a few years back. My feelings on his character are a lot more complicated and I definitely see where you're coming from in your dislike. To summarize my thoughts right off the bat, as a character, I think Roran is a good person with his heart in the right place and he gets involved with a war that brings out the absolute worst in him.

The situations Roran gets pushed into cause a lot of friction with his worst qualities like his stubbornness, his aggression, his recklessness, and his arrogance. But these qualities don't garner much critique within canon because, similarly to Nasuada's flaws, the circumstances of war actually reward these questionable behaviors.

For one, despite how he's presented, Roran is not a good leader. In fact, he's pretty fucking awful at it. He's very good at a few specific skills that a leader needs, particularly inspiring loyalty, but he's entirely incapable in other aspects. Namely, dealing with other authorities. The argument with Orrin over the envoy that I talked about before is a perfect example, really highlighting his inability discuss and collaborate with anyone else or to think through any viewpoint that contradicts his own. Also, I didn't point it out before, but Roran ends that argument by promising to kill any envoy Orrin sends. Which is insanely stupid and barbaric. He thinks he has the right to openly murder an innocent man of their army solely because he decided that would be best, even when that'd give Orrin full right to have him executed. The risk of sending an envoy is only hypothetical and unclear while the damage of Roran murdering a Surdan is absolutely certain, but he can't see past his own sense of superiority far enough to realize that.

The chapter in Brisingr where the Urgals challenge his right to lead also really shows what a terrible leader he is. He doesn't even try to talk, to establish that an army doesn't follow their cultural hierarchy, and if they don't want to obey, they can simply defect and try fighting without the Varden's allies or resources. No, he instantly accepts hand to hand combat to the death. His conviction that he can do anything is so bloated it blinds him to any possible consequences. If you strip away our outside awareness of plot armor, his choices go from admirable and badass to outrageously careless. He can't handle conflict or disagreements with other leaders with anything but brute force. His interactions with Brigman in Aroughs also comes to mind.

What Roran actually is is a very good problem solver. He is very observant and creative and that gets him through very tricky situations. And he genuinely wants the best for the people he loves, he always takes their needs into consideration and does all that he can for them. But that doesn't necessarily suit him to leadership and being put in such roles during the war buries those good qualities under the soaring peak of his arrogance. The real shame is that his flaws never had real consequences that made him grow as a person, wouldn't that have been nice?

sigh.

I just want Roran to go back to being a farmer and stop taking himself so insufferably seriously, then maybe he'll realize not every single thing in life is a matter of life or death and he'll become more yielding and humble. Honestly for his sake, I want him to learn to coexist with the world around him instead of perpetually struggling against it.

#fuckin marty mcfly energy. all you have to do is call him chicken and he'll do the dumbest shit ever #eragon #inheritance cycle #roran #roran was never meant to be anything but a farmer lmao #the authority is bad for him just let the boy go back to tending the land hes nicer that way #he be a shitty earl too #i headcanon that for all intents and purposes katrina becomes earl of palancar valley while roran is just a figurehead #he farms while she leads #peace n love in alagaesia

[otome-mondays]

Virche Evermore -ErroR:Salvation- First Impressions 🥀

This will be my first time doing a first impressions post, since I started Radiant Tale before starting my blog, so quick rundown of how this works: I play through the prologue of a game (maybe part of the common route if a prologue is too short) and give my initial thoughts of the game and any love interests that appear. These posts are going to be relatively spoiler free for most the plot, but I won’t limit myself from spoilers of what I’ve seen for those who want to play a game completely blind. I am writing as I encounter things so if it seems all over the place then haha yeah it is!

Trigger/Content Warnings: violence, murder, suicide, body horror. Please be mindful of your triggers and don’t interact with this post if you’re not in the capacity to handle such topics! I’ve put a read more for those who would like to avoid these triggers. I am not aware of all the triggering content in this game yet, so please look up a full list if you feel the need!

For Virche Evermore, I played the prologue and Chapter 1 for this post. I am trying to do these posts before the first necessary dialogue choice, but because of how short the prologue was and how you only see 3 of the 6 LIs at that point I decided to wait until a bit later. I started playing January 15, 2024.

Also, I’ll note my most anticipated and least anticipated with the respective emojis: ✨ and 💥

General Thoughts

Oh my god this starts out so wild??? The prologue portion was INCREDIBLY short and I immediately saved after and it said Act 2 so was that Act 1? No clue. Anyways, this poor girl has gone through it. I feel so bad for Ceres. I don’t like that everybody but Salome ignores her essentially. Ok so I didn’t realize we’d be taking a Piofiore route of introducing religion but that’s fun. I struggle with games addressing religion sometimes because of some personal issues so I’m anticipating this game will take me a bit to get through like Piofiore: Fated Memories.

Mathis

He seems very nice! He’s definitely one of the pretty boy characters and I have a stellar track record of picking those ones as my favorite. I did think he was wearing a dress at first and then was sad for 0.3 seconds when I discovered he wasn’t.

Lucas ✨

Oh boy another pretty guy. We’re off to an amazing start people. I was not expecting his voice but it fits, they almost always do. OH HE’S A TEACHER COOL! I am begging for at least one of these guys to have a full on dress at some point please they’d all pull it off flawlessly. Especially Lucas or Mathis. Oh he’s coughing that’s not good…I wanna fix this fictional country’s problems just to save this dude from dying he’s too pretty.

Scien

I have seen this man for 10 seconds and he is already getting on my nerves omg. Now to be fair, he is another pretty boy character…they probably all are now that I think about it. I was not expecting that voice from him though.

Yves

Ok this is the cover art guy…immediate first thought is he’s a little strange. I’m 99% sure he’s that kid who saved her in the fire. Yeah he basically instantly confirmed that, cool. Oh sweet the game confirmed it quickly on too, makes my life a lot easier. Somebody with braincells yay!

Adolphe 💥

Ok so I started my thoughts here at the first official time he makes an appearance. Interesting, I like him more than I thought I would when I was just seeing his sprite. He’s got some braincells unlike most these people so that’s a win. What’s not a win is the older brother-little sister dynamic we have here! Cute for anybody that’s not a love interest! Something from seeing his sprite enough now, does the dude wear a shirt because it doesn’t look like it?

Ankou

Oh my god he’s wild and not in a good way to start off! Ok he’s scaring me genuinely wow. But he is pretty…ok what is he even talking about. Oh and that’s it there’s the op. Well let’s see how this game goes!

#otome mondays #first impressions #virche evermore #virche spoilers #spoilers

[narrativelysignificantturtleduck]

not the same anon but i also hc sokka as autistic (specifically audhd), bc there was always certain ways he behaved that i found i related to a lot. a lot of them are just reasons you mentioned: he can be very blunt, and one thing about sokka is that he is a tendency to put his foot in his mouth sometimes, just saying things as they are without realising it might be insensitive or that it might not be the best thing to say. and i know that him overlooking certain important details, such as toph being blind at times, can be attributed to adhd but i think that forgetfulness in regards to other people is something that can be attributed to autism, in that he doesn't really think about the fact she's blind despite obviously knowing. on the contrast though, whilst at times he seems unaware, i think sokka can be very hyperaware of very small things that hes insecure of that other people don't really notice, or that other people have pointed out that he might not have thought much about before which is also smt ik some ppl with autism struggle with. and even though he is a social person, like i mentioned before that at times he seems slightly unaware of certain things, but a lot of his social behaviours can be read as masking, like his insistence he is the "meat, sarcasm and planning" guy, trying to pin his personality on these key things, and whilst his attempts to be like hakoda are Daddy Issues it can also be read as the fact he knows his dad is a well respected, well liked man, and that by mimicking his behaviour he will be perceived as more socially acceptable.

the most obvious thing is the scheduling, we know he loves his plans and he's the self proclaimed "plan guy" but he gets quite grumpy when people don't abide by them and happy when people do. sokka is a very routine person, when we first see the swt he gets frustrated when the kids don't want to train, another thing that could be read as them throwing off his schedule. there's also the thing with the fortune teller- sokka is very insistent on his science, something he's very passionate about, and gets really easily frustrated when people won't listen to him when he's trying to explain something, and can't understand why people would believe that instead of what he believes, which also kind of leans into the whole social unawareness thing. nowadays i write him more as having audhd just because i think it fits more- a lot of autism traits and adhd do overlap, and it's very common for ppl with autism to have a lot of adhd traits, vice versa. that's all i can personally think of tho, but yeah all nd hcs are neat. need more in the world

you're so right actually. i've been fully convinced. i think because i'm audhd it's hard to separate out whether it's the adhd or autism that makes me relate to a character. it could be both! also i think that the way sokka is widely perceived as dumb and silly when he's actually very intelligent is very similar to adhd stereotypes and less similar to autism stereotypes, so it was easy for me to just kinda pick that one.

his insistence he is the "meat, sarcasm and planning" guy, trying to pin his personality on these key things

i have a whole post in my drafts about how his various different "[x] guy" titles throughout the show are evidence of adhd because you feel like you can't focus on one thing and you feel like a fuck-up (bc you may forget things/be disorganized) and you're desperately trying to find the one thing that will make up for you being an unfocused fuck-up. but it actually makes so much sense as autism too, as a social script that makes it easier to define himself to other people. also defining yourself by your interests and only wanting to interact with people through them is very autistic. i think it's a question on the raads-r. also it's why i'm on tumblr.

anyways, the fun thing is that both can be true simultaneously. it's a product of insecurities about adhd and also an autistic social script.

and whilst his attempts to be like hakoda are Daddy Issues it can also be read as the fact he knows his dad is a well respected, well liked man, and that by mimicking his behaviour he will be perceived as more socially acceptable.

i think this might've also been why i initially read him as only adhd. i fell for his mask! what we know of hakoda reads as only adhd, so i made the mistake of assuming that was it. and i'm a huge proponent of "hakoda and sokka are actually different people"! shame on me.

like, generally the way he's trying to play this warrior role that doesn't fit him because he thinks that's what he's supposed to be can be read as autistic masking. he imitates how he thinks strong men are and it comes off as comical and fake bc attempting to mask sometimes means the fact that it's a mask is really obvious.

yeah i'm into this. audhd sokka!!!!!

#ask #sockfus #nina's personal log #sokka #nd atla tag

[behoright]

asap! (love countdown series) | a. svechnikov

summary: part 3! our russian boy finally asks you to come on the roadie

wordcount: 901 

warnings: i think cursing, maybe some thirst from our characters - nothing sexual. once again. i’m bad  at writing.

⟢ㅤㅤ⁺　ㅤ　🦨ㅤㅤ⬭ㅤ

You were never one for the party life. You had gone to a couple of parties in college, and you didn’t mind a bar, but somehow you seemed to always find friends that dragged you out and forced you to have some weird interaction in places you, honestly, didn’t love. All of your friends, including Andrei. You loved him, but man, he needed to get a hold of himself and try to maybe, just maybe, buy a tv and stay in to watch a movie like you loved to do. So when he asked you to meet at your favorite ice cream place on Saturday, you were delighted to say yes. You knew that he would have rathered to meet at a low lit fancy restaurant after a game, or a rooftop bar on his day off, so this proposition didn’t seem bad. But of course not, and that’s because he knew you. He knew you very well - after all the nights spent awake talking about your childhood and your dreams, all the phone calls he would sit through after getting cheated on by your ex, and the summers spent together at his pool house. Andrei would always give the shirt right off his back for the people that he loved, and you were no exception. That Saturday was a lovely, sunny day in Raleigh, so you decided to try out your new sundress, excited to spend some quality time with your friend that you hadn’t seen in a while. However, as soon as you walked in, you knew something was up. Andrei just… didn’t look like himself. It took you a while to define exactly what was going on: I mean, he looked good as always. Yes, you were only friends, but you were not blind. You definitely knew that he was tall, and big, and he always wore that watch and those chains that you wanted so badly to feel by your face while he- ugh, focus! He looked the same, but the vibe was off. He wasn’t slouching, per se, but something in his demeanor seemed… strange. Almost antsy or fidgety. He kept scratching the nape of his neck, peering his gaze out to the street, almost as if he was anxious about something. You saw him take a deep breath while looking down at his feet, hands in his pockets - until he saw you. And he gave you that sweet, sweet, smile that made you melt every single time. And that usual big, bear hug; God, he made you feel so tiny, and so protected in his arms. Nonetheless, this time, you made a mental note of how his body felt - as soon as your head landed on his chest, instead of feeling his arms wrap around you, you could only focus on the rapid beating in his chest. Hmm, maybe he was having some problems in the rink; you reminded yourself to ask him about it once you sat down. “I, uh, I missed you. What flavor are we going for today?” he asked. 

After ordering, you sat down on the little hill you usually hung out at. It was nice to see him again, it had felt like forever. It felt hard, however, to laugh and share jokes when something seemed so strange about him. Andrei had always been incredibly confident, even when he was nervous - what in the hell could have been going on?

ˎˊ˗

“There’s, uh, something I need to ask you.” Andrei tried his best to focus on the grass in front of him, not wanting to meet your gaze. He was so nervous that he thought that his grip was going to shatter the melting ice cream cone he was holding. You tried your best to find his gaze, peering your big doe eyes forward, and he could tell. Seeing it in his peripheral vision made his heart skip a beat. What in the world was happening to him? It was just you. Just Y/N. His best friend. The girl he hung out with the most, the one that he could take to dinner and not worry about what he said, the clothes he wore or even the check at times. He needed to get it together - to be confident, to just be himself as always. Instead, it just seemed to all come out as word vomit, and the sentence was over before he even realized he said it. “We’re planning a week-long roadie with friends and family and I really wanted to invite you. I just really want you to come.” Jesus, why did he say it like that? He should have said differently, told her about the other girls that were coming too and why did he say “really” like that god he sounded so weird when- 

“I would love to.”. Y/N’s words interrupted his rambling thoughts. “When is it?”. Andrei finally looked up at her, in all of her glorious beauty. “In a month.” “Perfect - I'll be done with my midterms by then.” she said, giving him a smile. And she seemed so… cool about it. Yeah, she seemed normal about it. This was going to be just another trip, with his friend, all of his teammates' friends, and nothing was going to be different. Right? Andrei knew that deep down, the thumping of his heart, and the warm feeling in his chest were telling him otherwise.

#andrei svechnikov #andrei svechnikov imagine #andrei svechnikov fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl #andrei svechnikov x reader

[prowerprojects]

Bullying's a complex issue and hit people more deeply than one realizes. In many different ways

(And that's a choice only you can decide. No one owes a bully anything. Even if you've moved on, you're allowed to keep your contempt for what they caused you.)

Heh, if we go by what Sega had a huge hand in or closely looked over, I think it's fair to say Tails has endured more than one type of bullying, wasn't always based on his looks, and experienced pretty bad loneliness and low self-esteem because of it. (And it doesn't have to get any deeper than that; it just explains his personality and how he interacts. I don't see them really come back to it unless it's to show how far he comes or unlocked some hidden layer we don't [fully] know about.)

I think Sonic has a fair idea of why Tails was very timid and withdrawn initially, but is blind to the extent of it. (Although besides the tail yanking, one has to wonder if Sonic bared witness to anything else on Westside if wasn't just that one area.) And some ways, Tails was probably blind to it too early on. Until he started being more aware of his emotions. (Like, he knew he felt something other than depression, but couldn't quite place it.) And oh yeah, as appreciative as he is of his friends' concern, Tails would NOT want to be pitied. Would react negatively and isolate until he cools.

Yeah, more or less similar thoughts. Again, I think it depends on how deep-rooted these emotions go for him and what he went through. But is more willing to make amends than most. (And that doesn't necessarily mean being friends.) [[This actually reminds me of a similar situation in ATLA: A main character wanting revenge for their mom, but couldn't go through with it. A verbal lashing from years of anger and grief was given, but no forgiveness. With your interpretation with Tails' family, I think it'd be cathartic if something in a similar vein happened, complete with Sonic and the others being the family who accepted him.]]

Yep, it's complicated. And thank you, anon. I think for me, personal experience with this makes it a little harder when making headcanons like that since I'm always worried about overimposing my experiences onto Tails, instead of thinking about the situation more clearly.

Yeah, I don't really want them to go deeper on that. It's like with his family, I enjoy making my own headcanons and overanalyzing crumbs, but I really wouldn't get anything substantial from getting canon information on that. (Though I do want to note that I really enjoy how Tails's backstory impacts his personality even to this day! It's just cool to see. Too bad it often gets overlooked because not a lot of people in the general fandom know about it (I mean, if people don't know his full name, I doubt they would know about his past), and it's not something you can really find out by just playing the games)

I think Sonic might think Tails has already gotten over the majority of it, I mean, he goes by Tails and uses them as his logo, clearly it's fine now? Ahaha (Oof, Tails knowing that he had it bad but not just how bad and how it keeps affecting him is so believable)

Yeee! (I've never seen ATLA but I know which storyline you're talking about) Man, now I kinda want to write that story.

#tails #blue blur #sonic #project.txt #sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #tails the fox #sonic & tails #project.ask

[bluejayblueskies]

pov you're an arkham taxi driver

Rating: Teen and Up Category: Gen

Characters: Original Characters, John, Arthur Additional Tags: Outsider POV, Alternative Perspective, Second Person POV, Some Humor, (a bit tongue-in-cheek)

CW: ableist language, cults, and mentions of violence/murder

Read on AO3

.

The man who climbs into the back of your cab looks just like any other man living in Arkham. That isn’t saying much, of course, given that they all look like any other person until the shit hits the fan, but there truly is no way to tell. That said, when the man begins muttering to himself, you’re not surprised in the least. You’ve been doing this job for far too long, and you’ve seen far worse.

(Some things do not wash out of upholstery, which is a fact that you’ve come to know quite intimately. You have a strict no-fluids policy now, which you think is perfectly fair and reasonable of you. The horrors can go ooze all over the back of somebody else’s taxi, thank you very much.)

“What is this Dark World?” the man says. His voice is hushed but not hushed enough, like he thinks that just because you’re up here and he’s back there, you can’t hear him. Why do they always think that? “Wh-what does it look like? I…”

He stops, clearly listening to something that only he can hear. You watch him in the rearview mirror as you drive through the streets of Arkham. You know these roads like the back of your hand, and you know the people who walk them just as well. You recognize the quietly horrified expression that flashes across his face, there and gone like it had never been.

You’ve reached his stop. Normally, you might take the long way ‘round, stretch out the ride for some extra cash, because things are hard out there right now and you’ve got a family to feed. But there’s no point. This guy is so far inside his own head (literally? You don’t know how these things work) that he barely blinks when you tack on the extra dollar fee.

Look, it’s just good business practice. Somebody brings a whole host of weird spooky shit into your cab, they gotta pay for it. Like a convenience fee. It’s not like every other taxi driver in this godforsaken city doesn’t do it.

The man leaves the cab, still muttering to himself, dropping the coins absently in your outstretched hand as he goes. He even says, “Thank you,” which is more than you get half of the time. You twist in your seat to check, and—nope. No mysterious packages, no odd stains, no lingering smells. Not even a shiver down the back of your neck.

All in all, a perfectly pleasant interaction. You almost feel bad about the surcharge.

(Almost.)

.

.

.

Your taxi still smells faintly of smoked meat when you pick up the man who talks to himself. You’ve been doing this long enough now that you can identify one of these types of people pretty much on sight—the ones involved with things they ought not to be involved with. Still, given that your last passenger—decidedly mundane—thought it appropriate to eat in the back of your taxi and subsequently saturate it with foodsmell for the next few hours at least, you’re more inclined than usual to turn a blind eye to whatever’s currently happening in your backseat.

… That doesn’t mean you can’t eavesdrop, though.

That’s the thing, see—they never assume that you’re listening. It’s possible they do and they just don’t care, but after the third time somebody openly discussed murder in front of you on the way to their destination, you’ve come to the conclusion that your presence is negligible to them.

Well, that’s just fine. Preferable, even. The last thing you want is for any of these people to think that you pose a threat to them. You’d much prefer that your limbs stay attached to your body and at all the right angles.

Anyway. The man is a detective, you think. There are also plenty of those in Arkham, which makes sense; more supernatural criminals necessitate more people to stop them who aren’t afraid of a bit of spook. He mentions a symbol in an old house—his destination, you assume, not far at all from the bookstore—but the way he phrases it, it’s … like he’s talking to somebody else.

… Probably best not to ask. If a man hears voices in his head and deigns to talk to them in public, well—that’s his own business.

“I always valued my sight, obviously,” the man says after a moment, “as much as one can. But it’s quite a different thing to lose it altogether one day.”

He continues, but you’re not listening anymore. Instead, you’re looking back and forth between the road in front of you and the man’s reflection in your rearview mirror, eyebrows raised.

He’s blind? Funny, he doesn’t look it. His eyes dart around, taking in the interior of the cab, the scenery outside the window, focusing on specific things. If you squint, though, you think you can see the faintest yellow shine around his irises, like that of the stray cats that scurry across the road in front of your taxi when you have the night shift.  

You don’t have time to think about it any longer, though, because you’ve reached the house. It looks just like any other house, but they all do on the surface. The evil lies deeper, uncovered only if you’re not smart enough to keep your nose where it belongs.

You’re smart enough. This man evidently is not.

Pity. He seems nice enough—gives you nearly twice the required fare, thanks you, doesn’t leave any smells behind as he departs. (Christ, the bar is low, isn’t it.)

The man walks inside the house, almost certainly to his own detriment, and you drive away. You don’t expect you’ll be seeing him again any time soon.

.

.

.

“Alright, well—I’m all ears. Tell me.”

You almost respond before you glance in the mirror and see that the man in the back of your taxi isn’t looking at you. He cocks his head slightly, as if … listening to something?

Then, he says, “So you think this religious sect had opened a gateway?” and you have to fight back a sigh.

It fucking figures that you’d be transporting another goddamned cultist. Or at least somebody involved with them. It’s been a week or so since you picked one up, and apparently, the universe has decided to mock you for your belief that maybe you wouldn’t have to do so again.

You hate driving cultists. Sometimes you can tell just by looking at them if they’re involved in all that bullshit, but most of the time, you have no idea until they’re ruining your entire day. You know what all the other taxi drivers say—charge more, mind your business, and you’ll be fine—and you listen, of course. The extra money is nice—means you can actually put food on the table for your kids—and not being dead is also a significant perk.

But you see, that’s the issue. You drive a taxi; this should not be a life-or-death situation kind of job.

You sneak another glance at the man in your backseat.

He looks a bit frazzled. “Yes, um, well…” He trails off, then recenters himself. “Uh, this beckons the question once again—who are you to have a religious cult open a gateway to another world just to bring you through?”

What the fuck?

“I continually brush off the very real and serious concern that you may be something more sinister, and you seem quite okay with that. I don’t know exactly what you are—”

What the fuck? Who the fuck is this guy?

You take your eyes off the road, just for a moment, to do a full sweep of your car. There’s nobody else here—just you and this unassuming man in a suit and tie who you’re now certain is either very mad or very, very cursed. You really hope it’s the former, but given all the other things that have crawled into the back of your cab (in some cases literally), you’re not optimistic.

Fucking hell.

… At least he’s not covered in blood.

You drop the man on the doorstep of Miskatonic University and drive off as quickly as you can. There. He and his cryptic mutterings are somebody else’s problem now.

Christ. You wish the economy weren’t in shambles. You could really use a new career.

.

.

.

You’ve been doing this job for a long time, so you don’t bat an eye when the guy in the back of your taxi starts talking to himself about kidnappings. So long as he keeps all his business back there and leaves you out of it, you’ll stay up here and mind your business. It’s the polite thing to do, really.

You do bat an eye, however, when you pull up to his address and there are police outside the building.

The arrangement you and the other taxi drivers have with the cultists in this town is as unshakable as it is unspoken. They pay extra for their fare, and you don’t drop them on the steps of the police station when they start discussing illegal shit or carry suspicious-looking packages into the back of the taxi with them. You leave them be, and they leave you be, and everything is all hunky-dory.

That agreement, of course, rests on ambiguity and plausible deniability. If anybody ever tried to bring an actual body into your taxi, or if you picked them up from an obvious murder scene or ritual sacrifice, then yeah—all bets are off. But generally, the cultists don’t want to end up behind bars any more than you want to end up buried six feet under, so it all tends to shake out all right.

This guy apparently didn’t get the memo. He’s staring at the cops wide-eyed, using every swear in the book, and it couldn’t be more obvious that he’s the reason they’re here if he stepped out of the cab and started shouting his confession to the wind.

“How can we calm down?” he mutters to fucking nobody. Yep, he’s off to the looney bin for sure. At least he can make an insanity plea once he gets arrested. “They—they’ve just found my partner, they’ve found his body … oh fuck—”

You resist the urge to turn and give this guy a what-the-fuck look. He knows you’ll have to make a report about this, right? Even if he gets out of the taxi right now and makes it past the police without being seen, he’s basically just confessed to fucking murder in front of you. You can’t not write this up. It wouldn’t be ethical.

As the man continues to ramble to himself, you rifle through the glovebox until you locate a pen and paper. You jot down the address and a quick description of the man. You’ve never actually had to make a report like this before—who would have thought, seeing something new in this town even after all these years—so you’re not sure what you’ll need. Best to be thorough.

As you’re studying the man’s face, he suddenly looks at you, wide-eyed. Before you can say anything, he pulls a random assortment of coins from his pocket and thrusts them towards you—Christ, five dollars, is that supposed to be hush money or something?—before practically fleeing the cab.

You stare at the coins for a moment, then at the paper in your hand, before shrugging, setting them both on the passenger side seat, and driving away.

You don’t know the man’s name, of course. But the police accept his address and description all the same.

.

.

.

There is a frazzled, frantic man in the back of your taxi, talking to himself, and you wish you could say that this is the weirdest thing that’s happened to you all day. But you’re pretty sure the guy who wore a white mask and said fuck all the whole ride holds that honor.

On the other hand, though, this man may have just confessed to murder? Some guy named Eddie? Or maybe whoever he’s talking to killed him—it’s a bit unclear. He’s clearly having a conversation with somebody, but there isn’t anybody else in the cab other than the two of you. Either you’re transporting a murderer (not ideal) or an insane person (also not ideal) or both (really not ideal).

But also, he’s almost certainly one of Arkham’s weird-as-all-hell cultists, so who knows. Maybe there is somebody back there, but they’re invisible. Or something.

You double the fare just in case.

You’re pretty sure the man is hyperventilating now. He keeps flexing the fingers of his left hand, staring down at it as he curls it into a fist and then uncurls it. The look in his eyes, a hungry sort of curiosity, is at stark odds with the horrified panic consuming the rest of him. It’s fucking unsettling.

At least the guy in the mask was quiet. And he tipped well.

It’s a low bar to be sure, but hey—money is money. You’ve gotta pay the bills somehow.

The man continues to study his left hand like it belongs in the fucking Met, and to be honest, it’s kinda starting to get to you. It’s funny; you’re hardly fazed by the murder confession, but everything else about this guy kinda makes your skin crawl. There’s something really freaky going on with him, and you want no part of it, you decide.

It’s a relief when you drop him off on the curb outside an abandoned old house and drive away. You wish you could tell yourself that you just won’t pick up people like him anymore, but you can’t. Aside from being utterly impractical, it’s not like you knew what he was going to be like until he climbed into your cab.

And besides, his money works just as well as anybody else’s. And god knows that’s all you can afford to care about.

.

.

.

The man from this morning is sitting in your taxi again. He looks different now—shaken, trembling, haunted. Like he’s seen a ghost, perhaps, or whatever spooky nonsense his kind of people get themselves involved in.

You’ll never understand it—why people join these cults. But you don’t have to. You just have to pick them up and drop them off and keep your mouth shut, and you excel at all three of those things.

You add the surcharge and start to drive. You recognize the provided address as the one you picked him up at a few hours ago—his house, maybe? You try not to be curious, but sometimes, you can’t help but wonder. Particularly when the man begins to talk to himself again, hushed but still very much audible, because it’s not like these cabs are soundproof, are you kidding?

“That is easy for you to say,” he says, sounding equal parts distressed and resigned. “I am losing pieces of myself. My ha—my hand is gone.”

You look in the rearview mirror. Nope; he still has two hands.

“My eyes are gone.”

And two eyes as well. Though they do dart around oddly, in a manner that doesn’t quite match what the rest of his body is doing.

“I don’t know what’s next to leave. For all I know, if you … if you take my mind entirely, I will no longer be able to think.”

Hm. You’re honestly not quite sure what to make of that.

You turn a corner. His building is just ahead.

Most of the other taxi drivers don’t believe in any of the horrible things that are rumored to lie just beneath the surface of Arkham. And they’re probably all the wiser for it, honestly. A good degree of skepticism is healthy in this job, he’s found. It helps you keep your distance, keeps you alive and kicking to see another day.

Still, it’s hard to watch these strange people get in and out of his cab and not believe, just a little bit, that there is something more to it all.

So, fuck it. Maybe there is some supernatural entity living in this guy’s brain or influencing him in some way. Maybe it controls him physically, or maybe it just makes him think that he’s being controlled. Some things are tricky like that, you’ve found—can make you see things that aren’t actually there.

Whatever the case, you … actually feel bad for the poor man sitting in your back seat. He’s clearly had one hell of a day. Exhaustion drags him down, and he gives you the distinct impression of somebody who was dragged kicking and screaming into the realm of the unnatural without being asked for permission. He smells a bit like blood and gunpowder. Normally you’d be put off by that, but it’s overwhelmingly surpassed by the pity you feel for this man.

However. As badly as you feel, as much as you pity him, there’s nothing in this world or any other that could convince you to get involved in his situation by choice.

So you drop the man off at 13 Mosby Avenue, alone in the rain, and drive away two dollars richer.

The last glimpse you catch of him is in the bright white of a lightning strike, high above in the clouds. He looks … taller, somehow. Like his shadow has peeled away from the ground and now looms ominously above, an unholy specter of darkness that winds around him like it’s trying to consume him utterly.

Then, you turn a corner and he disappears from view.

You blink a few times to dispel the image before pulling over to pick up another person who’s hailing you down. The two people who get in your cab seem normal, at least—a mother and her daughter, if you had to guess. They give you their address and then begin chatting quietly amongst themselves. All perfectly mundane.

Christ.

You really ought to retire, you think as you begin toward the next destination. It’s hard out there, and you’re lucky to have this job, but perhaps you’ve been doing this for too long if your eyes are starting to play tricks on you like that.

You ignore the voice in your head telling you that your eyes know exactly what they saw, just as you’ve ignored every other voice in your head over the past decade or so telling you that something is off, just as every other taxi driver has done and will continue to do. You drop off your passenger and pick up another, and if the one after that smells of sulfur and carries a black-stained backpack on their lap, well.

It’s really none of your business.

#malevolent #malevolent podcast #john doe #arthur lester #my writing #my fic #been rolling this idea around in my head for a while and the dreamlands server inspired me to finally write it <3

[littlealeta]

In Defense of Vincent Brooks

I’m obsessed with Vincent and I can’t stop defending him. Right now, I’m feeling pretty mad because I recently got into a fight with Twitter over Vincent and the discussion ended up being not productive at all and just ended in insults and lost arguments. I think the things that make him divisive are actually what make him well-written as a character.

TW: SA, Domestic Abuse, R word, Cheating

Okay, let’s start with the number 1 argument:

“Vincent cheated!”

You are looking at the game from a superficial perspective. I’m sorry if some of y’all were in a bad relationship and were triggered by Vincent’s story. You have my sympathies. But please don’t look at the game as some simple typical story about someone cheating on their significant other. Vincent never asked for some random girl to come up and molest him. We never really see Vincent actually make a move on Catherine, it was always Catherine first. We are seeing through Vincent’s perspective who doesn’t remember the details and thinks he’s cheating! If you look at the big picture, because of these things, you can see that the cheating angle was never clear cut in the first place.

“Vincent should’ve said he had a girlfriend”

Who doesn’t even treat him nicely in the first place? I won’t argue with you that Vincent shouldn’t have been so codependent on two Karens and I’m not going to trash you if you ship Vincent and Katherine but the entire point of the game is Vincent trying to figure out what he wants in life. You don’t just get out of high school/college and suddenly know what you want out of life. Adulthood is just the beginning. You may not have cliques and peer pressure anymore, but you have careers, families, relationships etc. which can be just as hard and confusing. Vincent is stuck between a girl who he has loved for so long and a girl who loves freedom just as much as he does and on top of that, both treat him like shit! Of course that would be confusing. It doesn’t mean he’s a cheater because he doesn’t make a move on Catherine in the first place, he’s just confused.

Vincent should've told Katherine that he cheated

Excuse me??? Vincent should've told Katherine that HE FUCKED UP? Don't you realize that we're talking about a fictional character here? Most cheaters or people who have done something wrong would NOT FLAT OUT TELL the person they KNOW is going to punish them. I mean, yes, he was under the influence, but often people don't forgive others for using the alcohol excuse.

“Rin doesn’t deserve him because he hit her!”

Which he tried to make up for? I won’t argue with you that that was rude. What I will argue with is saying that he doesn’t deserve Rin for this. Vincent just lightly slapped Rin, which was probably accidental because sometimes we get so stressed that we literally can’t control ourselves. Plus, friends fight and break up and make up. That doesn’t make them bad people or that they don’t deserve each other. Vincent can get back with Rin and start a healthy relationship.

“Vincent is a completely horrible person with no redeeming qualities. He is the worst.”

Oh God, so much to unpack here…

First of all, are we talking about Catherine or something? Have you guys not played Full Body or even interacted with any of the sheep or bar patrons? Have you fallen for the harmful misandry messages? Are you trying to be hyperbolic on purpose (because that's real funny man, real funny.👏👏)? HAVE YOU EVEN BEEN PAYING ATTENTION TO CATHERINE IN THE FIRST PLACE OR ARE YOU JUST TOO BLINDED BY YOUR TUNNEL VISION WITH VINCENT'S FLAWS? Look, I am guilty of feeling strongly about some very awfully behaved fictional characters, but as someone who used to dislike Vincent, even I wouldn’t be foolish enough to say this. I dislike Caillou, but I would not call him a bad person. He’s a toddler with barely developed morals and parents who don’t discipline him. If you think about it, nobody in Catherine are really much better than Vincent. They all have different issues, but that doesn’t mean they’re angels either. In fact, Erica, Orlando, and Katherine have all manipulated and lied to their partners just like Vincent yet somehow Vincent is the worst? WE HAVE A SUCCUBUS R WORDING, ABUSING, and MOLESTING MEN, A BARTENDER TRYING TO KILL MEN VIA NIGHTMARES, A MAN WHO GIVES NO FUCKS ABOUT LIFE OR PEOPLE IN GENERAL, TELLS HIS FRIEND TO GO CHEAT ON HIS GIRLFRIEND, BULLIES A FRIEND FOR BEING THE YOUNGEST, IS CONSTANTLY INSENSITIVE TOWARDS SOMEONE GOING THROUGH THE WORST TRAUMA IN THEIR LIVES AND STARTED A SHADY FISHING BUSINESS AND SOMEHOW VINCENT IS.THE.WORST?!?!?! Vincent is not a terrible person just because he’s meek and cowardly, those traits aren’t inherently bad traits to have. Vincent CAN be a bad person, but that’s only if you’re going for Catherine. In the other endings, he becomes a better person. That’s what character development is all about. If Vincent hadn’t made those mistakes, there would be no conflict or character development. There are characters people love dearly who act much much worse than Vincent, yet people despise and demonize Vincent because he’s a “coward”.

“Vincent deserves everything he gets”

Okay, I’m going to repeat some of the things I said in the Jerry Smith defense post that I made (which I will admit, I don’t even like Jerry anyway, I just feel like people saying he deserves all the abuse he gets and that he is the worst while we have Rick and Beth sitting over there is pretty disturbing and confusing to read). Jerry is, you guessed it, another meek and cowardly underdog character who everyone loves to hate on. Again, you need to look at the big picture instead of what a fictional story full of asshole characters are saying. Yes, Vincent should get consequences for his actions but the consequences he gets are often too severe because again, THIS IS A FUCKING VIDEO GAME. The game is not trying to send any positive messages about dealing with men who are sheep and have commitment issues. We only have that conflict because it makes a story interesting and unique. We love to see characters struggle and try to overcome it. But saying that Vincent truly deserves all the horrible trauma, near deaths, and abuse he went through is the disturbing part about it. Again, I and many others are guilty of saying fictional characters need to be cancelled or killed, but that doesn’t mean it’s a logical thing to say.

“Vincent is a pussy”

Uh… yeah? Again, that is the whole point of character development? Not everyone needs to have a flaw where they're only rude or amoral or arrogant. And did you not pay attention to the fact that this dude got r worded, molested, abused, pressured, accidentally cheated, and had to survive through 9 days worth of sleepless nightmares climbing blocks and running from monsters? What were you expecting? Vincent to suck it up and be a typical overly assertive, opinionated protagonist who shows no emotion to the things he was going through? Would you think differently if he was a woman? We need more emotionally vulnerable men in fiction!

Do you just hate passive characters in general? If so, okay, but that doesn’t make them bad characters. Passive characters can be written well, but the problem is most people write them this way just to be the underdog or because they’re too lazy to have that protagonist further the plot or have any other traits besides being passive and nice. At least Vincent is a multi-dimensional character, he does further the plot (by lying and hurting K/Catherine), and does have some good reasons for being scared. The major problem with him is that your choices don’t actually matter until the end.

But put yourself in Vincent’s shoes. How would you feel if you had to survive through all the stuff he was going through? Even if you may not understand the codependency issues or his tendency to hide and lie his way out of everything, I doubt you wouldn’t lose it as well. Some of y’all might even act way worse than Vincent ever had. You probably only hate him because he’s a vulnerable, scared man who expresses his emotions over the things that he was going through.

Edit: Oh, here's another common complaint I found.

"Vincent didn't tell Toby about Erica's gender"

Y'all are just looking for any reason to shit on Vincent huh? Not that many of y'all's takes weren't bad and shallow enough, but I digress. Why should Vincent bear the responsibility of telling Toby about Erica's past? That is THEIR relationship and THEIR business. In reality, Erica was more in the wrong for not being honest with Toby. I don't even think this is the case of being socially awkward or impolite. It's reasonable enough for Vincent to assume that since they were in a relationship, Toby possibly could've already known about Erica being transgender unless they were actually seeing Erica lie to Toby.

ERICA was the cause of the strain of her and Toby's relationship, NOT Vincent and his buds. But again, you just like to ignore everyone else's actions and think of them as perfect or good human beings, while Vincent is the one who gets all the shit because he is the opposite of them. Unconfident, unassertive, fearful, insecure, and socially awkward and again, none of these traits make someone a bad or evil person.

I’m not trying to say that you should like Vincent and I’m sorry if I may have overreacted a bit (trying to be nice, I swear). I just feel disturbed by some of the things people have said about him and to me during some of our arguments. I understand he may not resonate with many people, especially westerners. But I feel like people can often be a bit too hard on him. I understand feeling strongly about fictional characters, I often get like that too, but I’m just hoping my essays would get people to see Vincent in a new light instead of this shallow black and white protagonist and inherent hatred for any meek character. 

The point of his character isn’t to be universally relatable nor is he the typical stoic badass protagonist. Not every character needs to have either one of those traits. I’d much rather watch a quirky character in a quirky story rather than a character who acts exactly like what I see in everyday life. I admit, I don’t entirely relate to Vincent either. I would never cheat, lie, smoke, drink, or stay in toxic relationships. And anyone who knows my account knows that I am FAR from meek. But Vincent isn’t supposed to be a role model so… 

But let’s be honest, as someone with severe anxiety, I would break too if I was in Vincent’s situation and I’m sure anyone would. I’d likely actually go crazy. Dude got sexually assaulted, believes he may or may not have cheated, and had to solve complex puzzles and get chased by monsters in an ENTIRE week. And on top of that, no one gives a fuck about him or treat him kindly but Rin (the only one he acts normally toward), which he loses midway in the game. How would you expect him to be sane and well-adjusted from that?

I’m not trying to say Vincent is perfect because he isn’t! But he is not an irredeemable devil. No one in the game is besides Catherine and the Boss. Vincent isn’t supposed to be perfect because again, there would be no character development if he was. Vincent tried his best, many people don’t even care to fix their issues or take responsibility for their mistakes unless maybe they get some huge wake up call while Vincent tried to fix his mistakes before getting those wake up calls. Some people go completely off the rails. We got to give Vincent credit where credit is due for trying to clean up his mess and try to be a better person even if he stumbled alot because growth isn’t linear or easy.

#catherine game #catherine full body #vincent brooks #defense #this is a vincent stan account and i will never stop defending him #also vincent is hc autistic so y'all demonizing him is kinda ableism since most autistic people do not have good social skills

[catiuapavel]

what are your thoughts on leonar?

Everytime he lifts a finger I go on a tirade about how slimy a man he is but I do it with a lot of affection because I really do love this about him :')

There are many intriguing depictions of knighthood in Tactics Ogre, mostly negative and/or ambiguous ones and Leonar really fits perfectly among them. He turns the idea that a knight's duty is to his people around and shows so much disdain toward them instead.

When they wrote Ravness in for the PSP remake and presented her as Leonar's foil, they did something right by both of them, they truly allow each other's character to shine through contrast, with Ravness dedicating herself to the Walister out of love despite not being fully one herself and Leonar using their suffering, forgetting he ought serve them and butchering them.

Past his questionable deeds and his extremely sour vision of his own people, something I find really off-putting about Leonar is how he preys on the credulity of young people around him, namely Denam (and his naivety and patriotism), Vyce (and his blind rage, his loneliness and his trauma) and Arycelle (and her love and admiration for him as well as her grief).

He gets a bit of sympathy from me when it comes to Denam though because from their interactions, I get this feeling Denam must remind him of a younger self and while he manipulates him, there are times he appears genuine when he mentors him. Still there is always something grim about it because he hopes to shape him after himself and when Denam breaks out of this mold on Chaos route, he strikes me as resentful. He didn't have any other choice than lose his ideals and better nature because of the war and it must spite him to see others would persevere nonetheless.

It's a bit hard to place because who Leonar was before is only ever alluded to and we don't get to actually see it, but Ravness, Donnalto and Arycelle allow you to imagine it a little at least. And occasionally there is a warmth and kindness with which he adresses Denam that leads me to imagine he mirrors his younger self.

Recently, while playing Reborn and going Lawful - Chaos - Neutral, I've also come to the conclusion I think he's at his worst on Neutral route... like as a person. Vyce's last scene on Neutral and Leonar's falsely honeyed words, his last attempt at using him when he's at his most vulnerable his lack of care when he's cut down by his knights, coupled with the implication he lies about the nature of this death to Denam to fuel his hatred of the Dark Knights really seals the deal for me. It feels a bit more personal than his general misanthropy. (Speaking of Neutral route, I didn't remember that Denam's last thoughts were for him and showed his doubts about how much truth there was to his words... I think these last words really reflect the complex feelings between them)

I think he's a fantastic antagonist and a terrible mentor figure and I like him a lot for that! I know it sounds like I want to shake him like a coconut tree (I do) but it's a good thing in my book.

#tactics ogre