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cupid-styles · 7 days

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yours (ymls check-in)

in which y/n just wants to be harry's — officially.

word count: 3.8k

content warnings: parenting/family stuff (y/n and harry are parents), smut (breeding kink, slight size kink, literal one "mommy" mention, dirty talk)

ymls masterlist | main masterlist

talk to me

. . .

Parenthood is difficult.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out, so it takes Harry and Y/N approximately two minutes of bringing Clementine into the world to come to the same realization. Her loud wails break their hearts every time, sleep becomes a luxury, and breastfeeding takes an incredible toll on Y/N’s physical and mental health.

But in the same way that parenting is hard and filled with tears and confusion, it’s just as — if not more — rewarding.

Clementine is the best thing that’s ever happened to each of them. Harry can’t remember a version of his life where he wasn’t head-over-heels in love with his sweet baby girl, and Y/N has softened up a considerable amount now that she spends most of her day cooing to her daughter.

It’s not perfect by any means — Clem is a tried-and-true daddy’s girl and sometimes it hurts Y/N’s feelings. Clementine also inherited her mom’s grumpy exterior and, in the middle of a visit from Harry’s parents or Y/N’s sister, will starfish her body, going completely rigid until one of her parents takes her. (Harry always thinks it’s funny while Y/N is embarrassed by it. It’s something they’re working on as a family.)

Beyond their little trio, though, lies a larger situation that’s been conveniently tucked away since Clementine was born: Harry and Y/N’s relationship.

They never decided what they were after confessing feelings for one another. One day, they lived separately and were going the route of platonic co-parenting. The next, Harry moved all his things into Y/N’s, ended the lease on his own apartment, and painted the guest room a pretty pastel pink.

At first, it didn’t seem like that big of a deal. Y/N has never cared for labels on relationships, and their devotion to each other was blatant — they were parenting a child together, after all. He kissed her good morning, they held hands on family walks, and at the end of the day, they were crawling into bed together. She didn’t need a ring or a title to reiterate where she stood in Harry’s life.

Until… well, until the supermarket incident.

It was a rainy day, but Y/N wanted to pop into the store before they rounded the corner to head back home. Now that Clementine’s pediatrician gave them the okay to start trying out solid foods — or, as solid as baby food can be — Harry had gotten really into making it from scratch. Currently, their kitchen was a mess of sweet potato, apple, and green bean purees, but Y/N was trying to be supportive, even if the noise of the blender sometimes woke Clem up from her afternoon nap. She remembered him mentioning a new recipe he found for carrots, mangos, and bananas, so she figured they could grab the ingredients on their way home.

Clementine looked adorable in her cute little rain jacket and matching hat. Harry couldn’t stop taking pictures of her, and as they dipped into the produce aisle, stroller in tow, she remembered they needed another gallon of milk since they were trying to wean Clem off of Y/N’s breast milk.

“You guys can stay right here, it’s just in the next aisle,” Y/N said, arms stuffed with produce bags. Harry nodded, though his attention primarily laid on Clementine’s gummy smile. Y/N snorted to herself as she quickly shuffled off to the dairy section — the duo were two peas in a pod, but she didn't think she would want it any other way.

Glancing down at her watch, she put a pep in her step as she walked back to the produce aisle. They had about 15 minutes before Clem started getting antsy and whiney about her pre-dinner nap, and she didn’t want her to get upset on their walk home.

Only, when she turned the aisle, Harry and Clementine weren’t alone anymore — no, there were two women standing with them, cooing over their daughter.

“She’s so precious! How old is she?” one of them asked.

“Ah, almost eight months,” Harry replied bashfully, petting down the tuft of brown curls at the top of Clementine’s head. Y/N clenched her jaw. Why had he taken her hat off? It was supposed to protect her from the rain!

“So sweet,” the other woman grinned, reaching out to thumb over Clementine’s puffy cheek. The vision sent a pang of jealousy through Y/N’s chest — her baby wasn’t some kind of doll that anyone could just touch! Clutching the produce and container of milk in her hands, Y/N all but marched over to the stroller and threw them in the bottom compartment.

“Ready to go, honey?”

Harry blinked at Y/N, a world of confusion swirling in the green eyes he shared with his daughter. She stayed silent and still, knuckles white from gripping the stroller handle so tightly.

“Yeah,” he finally replied, leaning down to gently place Clementine back in her seat, “This is Y/N, Clementine’s mum.”

“Oh, your baby is so sweet! Harry was just raving about you!” one of the women nearly squealed. Y/N smiled tightly as she watched him buckle Clementine in.

“Okay, say bye bye, Clem,” Harry murmured. They’d been trying to teach her how to wave hello and goodbye, but Y/N would rather scoop her own eyeballs out than watch her do it for the first time with these women.

In fact, she was already pushing the stroller down the end of the aisle before they could even get the word “bye” out.

Since that day about two weeks ago, it’s been constantly replaying in the back of Y/N’s brain. Even though Harry didn’t think much of it (she knows this because he immediately started talking about nonsense on the walk home), for the first time, it plucked at a chord of insecurity that she didn’t even know she had. She’d always felt fairly secure in her relationship with Harry — he’d all but begged her for this life together, and he’d been incredibly involved from the moment she got pregnant — so how is that two random strangers at the supermarket tore this out of her?

It bothered her so deeply to the point where she did something she’d never done before: Ask Lea for relationship advice.

“In the years I’ve known you, you have never asked me for help with a man,” Lea had said, her eyebrows raised so high they nearly met her hairline. Y/N grumbled as she wrapped her hand around her matcha, avoiding eye contact with her friend. She’d been able to sneak out for an afternoon coffee date with her while Harry took Clementine to the park. “You’re always so… sure of yourself. And you have a literal child with Harry. What gives?”

Y/N shrugged as she rubbed her lips together nervously. “You should’ve seen the way those girls were all over him. It was… gross.”

“It’s normal to feel jealous, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

“I am not jealous,” she muttered, “I just… he introduced me as Clementine’s mom. Don’t you think I’m a bit… more than that to him?”

“Of course you are. But you’ve never had that conversation, have you?”

“Like you said, we have a baby together. What else could you need?”

Lea smirked, “That’s all that you need. But he probably needs a bit more confirmation than that.”

Y/N bristled as she stuck her straw between her lips, taking a long sip.

“He knows we’re in a relationship, doesn’t he?”

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly, “Dom and I used to hear all the gossip about you two before Clem was born, but since then, I think he’s just been focused on making sure you and her are both taken care of.”

“So what do I do?” Y/N asked through a sigh, leaning back against the worn leather of the booth.

“Talk to him,” Lea said easily, “But… maybe don’t do it in your rough-and-tough-Y/N way. Maybe… make it a little special. He likes that, y’know? Little romantic gestures?”

Y/N scrunched her face. Lea was right — Harry was all about the little things, like surprising her with flowers or waking her up with breakfast in bed on the weekends. And while Y/N was positive she didn’t have a romantic bone in her body, she’d certainly attempt to find one if it meant making Harry happy.

. . .

A few days later, Harry walks into his shared apartment with Y/N to the scent of something delicious.

“Y/N?” he calls as he toes his shoes off in the entryway. They weren’t due for company, were they? He doesn’t think so, but with eight months straight of four to five hours of sleep each night, he had trouble remembering anything that wasn’t Clementine-related.

He follows the fragrance into the kitchen, where Y/N is standing over the stove, stirring a bubbling pot of some sort of sauce. She jumps, hand over her heart, when he goes to greet her.

“Jesus fuck, you scared me!” she exclaims, the wooden spoon nearly clattering to the floor. He smirks and lets out an amused laugh as he walks towards her, observing the array of pans on the stovetop.

“What’s all this for?” he asks. Y/N presses a hand to his muscular chest and attempts to block him from seeing anything.

“I’m making you dinner,” she mumbles, nibbling on her bottom lip, “Clem’s with my sister for the night.”

“Oh?”

She nods.

“Did I forget a special occasion?”

She shakes her head.

“Then how come I’m getting spoiled tonight?”

Her cheeks warm at that, but they both pretend her blush is invisible. “I just wanted to do something… romantic for you.”

“Romantic?” he repeats the word like it’s a bizarre concept and it makes a pit form in Y/N’s stomach, “That’s… sweet of you. Thank you.”

She nods, albeit a bit robotically. “Um. Yeah. It’ll be ready in like 5 minutes.”

“Sounds good,” he replies, “Do you want me to set the table?”

She shakes her head bashfully and Harry raises an eyebrow. “I already did that.”

Her demure nature makes a smile form at the edges of his lips and he reaches out to press a hand to her hip, squeezing gently.

“Y’okay?” he asks softly, tilting his head to look at her. “You seem nervous.”

Y/N shrugs and it supplies him with a tepid answer. “I just wanna make this nice for you.”

His heart breaks a bit at that and he ducks lower to catch her lips in a short, sweet kiss. PDA isn’t irregular for them — not with touch being Harry’s primary love language — so it’s unsurprising to be on the receiving end of one of his dizzying kisses, even if it ends quicker than she’d like.

“This is already so special to me. I do miss Clem, though.”

She snorts at that as he brushes his nose against hers. “Of course you do. She’s your mini me.”

“Except when she’s making that grumpy little face. That’s all you.”

Y/N lightly bats at his chest before mumbling out to go sit down in the dining room.

Harry’s eyes widen when he sees the candlelit table — he can’t remember the last time they ate on actual plates, always opting for take-out containers or paper plates for the sake of convenience. He swallows as he sits down and listens to Y/N shuffle around the kitchen. He hears her curse, followed by what sounds like her emptying pasta into a colander — she always burns herself whenever she does that, and he can envision the slight grimace that appears on her face.

Just as he’s getting antsy and preparing himself to ask if she needs any help, Y/N appears from the kitchen with a big bowl of pasta. She nibbles on her bottom lip as she places it on the table, then stands up straight. She looks like a soldier waiting to be told to return to their duties.

“Um… I made us that roasted red pepper pasta you like.” she says, wringing her hands out in front of her. “I hope that’s fine.”

“That’s great,” Harry nods, gesturing to the seat across from him, “Sit down. You look like you’re gonna have an aneurysm. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes,” Y/N grumbles as she sits down, and the sound of her grouchy voice makes him chuckle as he grabs her bowl to serve her, “I know I’m not, like… the most romantic person, or even the easiest person to be around, so it’s important to me that I make this really good for you.”

“I hate when you say that,” he murmurs before placing her full bowl in front of her. He moves to serve himself, “You’re the easiest person I’ve ever been around. You’re a great mum and I love being a parent with you.”

Y/N swallows as she listens to him, leaving her food untouched. He watches her and takes a bite of his pasta, chewing slowly.

“Is that… all I am to you?” she asks softly with low eyes. Harry furrows his eyebrows.

“What do you mean?”

“Like… am I still just a co-parent to you?”

He sets his fork down and uses his napkin to wipe his mouth. “Well, we never really talked about it, I guess. But you know you’re more than that to me.”

“You’re more than just Clem’s dad to me,” she continues. “And it kinda hurt my feelings when you introduced me to those girls as ‘Clementine’s mom’ a few weeks back.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, “Oh. I didn’t think anything of it.”

“I know.”

His heart strains at the thought of hurting her feelings, but he also knows that what happened in the supermarket was weeks ago. Had she been sitting on it and thinking about it all this time?

“I never want to make you uncomfortable, Y/N. To be honest, I don’t know how to refer to you but… I’d say you’re my partner, yeah? You’re my teammate in raising our beautiful girl and I love getting to live life with you.”

Her heart thumps rapidly in her chest. “But what if… what if you called me your girlfriend, too?”

Harry’s silent for a moment. He reaches out to place his hand on her knee, squeezing softly.

“Would you want that?” he asks. “I’ll only do it if that’s what you want.”

She looks up at him and nods. Her eyes are glassy and it makes Harry’s chest tighten. Suddenly, he needs to be closer to her, so he stands up and scoops her into his arms. At first she rejects his touch, mumbling out sentiments about still having postpartum weight, but Harry shushes her and pulls her into his lap.

“Tell me what you’re feeling, Y/N.” he murmurs. He leans up and presses a chaste kiss to the side of her neck. She shivers and he keeps his hands as solid anchors on her hips.

“I want you to call me your girlfriend,” she says, lifting her gaze to look at him. “I don’t want you to entertain any other person or let them flirt with you or touch our baby. I just want it to be the three of us, always.”

If Harry’s being honest, he would have been content with living in this gray, in-between area with Y/N for the rest of their lives. He was happy — so incredibly happy to be in her life, to sleep next to her every night, to raise a gorgeous baby girl with her. He felt fortunate to be there for every moment, good and bad — but he would be a liar if he said he hadn’t been waiting for the day where she told him what was really going on in that pretty head of hers.

He presses a chaste kiss to her temple. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings,” he says quietly, soft fingertips smoothing over the expanse of her hip, “You’re my girlfriend, okay? Not just Clemmie’s mum. You’re so much more than that.”

She nods her head and Harry smiles gently at how flustered she continues to be — it’s a side of her that he rarely sees, and the sight makes a low chuckle sound from deep in his chest.

“You’re silly,” he mumbles against the shell of her ear. “Isn’t that what you are? A silly baby desperate to be mine?”

Y/N bristles and swallows harshly, keeping her gaze low in his lap. His smirk only grows as he begins to press slow kisses along her jaw and down to her neck. Her eyes flutter closed.

“Everyone thinks you’re this pretty, grumpy girl, but I know better than that,” he continues, sliding his hands beneath her tee-shirt to feel her warm skin, “You’re loving and kind. The best mum I’ve ever seen. The best partner and the best girlfriend, too. Isn’t that right, mama?”

She gasps wetly and he feels her thighs threaten to clench, but his hips prevent her from getting any relief. He hums, satisfied with her response and, in a quick movement, pulls her shirt from her body and tosses it to the floor. Her swollen breasts sit prettily on her chest and he tries his best not to groan at the sight.

“Don’t tease,” she mewls. He chuckles as she grasps at the fabric of his own tee-shirt, the soft material in the tight clutch of her knuckles.

“Need me to fill you up?” he asks, though he knows the answer is an obvious and resounding yes. They haven’t had actual sex in at least a month, not with Clementine occupying 99% of their time. Even if he’s attempting to play it cool, his cock is hard and throbbing beneath layers of his clothing. He swears he can even feel the warmth of her pussy through her own clothes and it’s taking everything in him not to thrust up and grind against her.

“Yes,” Y/N pants, shaky fingers digging beneath the waistband of his trousers to pull his length out, “S-stop playing around. You know it’s been too long.”

Harry laughs lowly and lifts his hips up to grant her enough space so she can retrieve his cock. She doesn’t even bother pushing his pants or briefs down, swallowing tightly at the sight of the ruddy tip already leaking with pre-cum.

“Relax, baby,” he mumbles, grabbing one of her trembling hands and intertwining their fingers together, “Breathe, yeah? I’ll take care of my girl.”

Her pussy clenches at that — my girl — and she nibbles on her bottom lip eagerly when he pushes her soft shorts to the side to reveal her pussy. He wishes he had more willpower to look at what he’s been missing out on and his throat bobs when his eyes flicker down to the puffy clit tucked between her lips. He thinks they’ll both explode if he doesn’t get inside of her in the next two seconds, so he gives his cock a pump before he positions himself beneath her and slowly pushes in.

Immediately, she whimpers out and he stalls, his free hand pressing rigidly into the skin of her thigh.

“Y’alright?”

“Yeah,” she whispers, “Tight fit.”

“I know.” he mutters, glancing up at her to read her expression. “Do you need me to pull out?”

She instantly shakes her head, “No, no. Keep going.”

Harry leans up to seal their lips in a messy, wet kiss as he continues pushing in as slowly as he can. He supposes he should’ve spent more time stretching her out, but if there’s one thing he’s learned about Y/N over the past year, it’s that she’s always eager and ever determined to take him, even if it’s been weeks since their last time together.

When he’s finally all the way in, his balls snug against her bum, their kiss slows, though it doesn’t seem like Y/N has any plans to separate their mouths. He doesn’t move a muscle, even if he knows his cock is throbbing from the tightness of her pussy. And then, after what seems like an eternity, she nods.

Slowly, he begins to fuck up inside of her and breathy moans depart from her swollen lips. Harry’s mouth catches each one, punctuating every whimper with a gentle peck.

“There you go, mama, take my cock. You’re doing so good, aren’t you?”

She only responds with a lilting whimper and he moans, feeling the way her pussy clenches around his length. It’s not the dirtiest sex they’ve had — not by a long shot — but god, if it doesn’t feel incredible knowing that they’re completely devoted to one another.

“You make me feel so good,” she mewls, making his eyes nearly roll back, “I love your cock— ‘s so good, Harry, want— want you to give me another baby.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, squeezing her hips hard, “Can’t just fucking say that stuff, baby. I’ll bust before you even cum.”

“D-don’t care,” she shudders, but he can tell she’s reaching her peak by the way her thighs begin to tremble, each of her muscles tightening. “Cum inside me, m-make me a mommy again.”

His chest vibrates with a deep groan and he reaches between them to pinch at her pearly clit, rubbing it in quick, tight circles. He’s seconds away from bursting himself, but he refuses to finish before she has a chance to.

It barely takes a few loops around the bundle of nerves before she’s shaking in his lap, her pussy tensing around his length as she moans out his name over and over again. It’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard and he presses his forehead against her sweaty shoulder, shuddering as her orgasm triggers his own. As requested, he pumps his cock deep inside of her as he comes, pushing his seed as far as it’ll go. She whimpers from the sensation as pants fall from her lips, shivering every time he thrusts another rope of cum into her.

They’re both shaking by the time both of their orgasms taper off. Harry wraps his arms around her sweaty form, pulling her chest against his.

“You’re mine, yeah?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “You and Clem. We’re a family.”

Y/N nods, echoing his words. “Yours.”

They settle into a comfortable silence; Harry’s softening cock still inside. He’s unsure of how how long they stay there, but he does know that they’ll have to move eventually so he can clean her up. It’s only then that she sits up to look at him, her eyes soft and tired.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you get me Plan B tomorrow?” she asks, biting her lip. “I think Clem is… more than enough for me right now.”

He laughs and nods his head.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’ll pick some up for you tomorrow.”

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cameronspecial · 3 months

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My Particular Girl

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.7K

Summary: Y/N needs things to be done a certain way and Rafe understands that.

Masterlist

Y/N likes things done in a particular. It’s the way her brain works. People often look at her and call her childish for the things she does to cater to these needs. Because of those people, she started to believe that she had no chance of finding love. Who would want to date someone who was so picky with the things are? Then Rafe came along to show her she doesn’t need to change; instead, it is the partner who should try to be open-minded and help her out. And Rafe really does try to do everything he can to help Y/N out.

———

Y/N sits with her little cousins in the living room, listening to them recount the story behind the drawings they are currently working on. She doesn’t know where Rafe went off too, but if she knows anything about him, he is probably off trying to win brownie points with her relatives. “And this is going to be us when you and Rafe take us to the beach,” Sophie recounts, holding up the picture. Y/N’s mouth drops open, “Wow, that looks amazing.” “We look like we are having so much fun,” Rafe adds, kissing Y/N’s temple from behind the couch. She stretches her head back to see Rafe. He is holding two plates in his hands and he rounds the couch to sit beside his girlfriend. He holds out a plate for her. She notices that her plate is different from his. It is one of the special sectioned plates from their home. He catches her examining eyes and worries he got something wrong. “Did I do something wrong? Each component is in its place. I separated the mashed potatoes, the steak and the vegetables,” he starts to tangent. “Should I have separated the mixed veggies too? I knew I should’ve separated them. I know you like to be able to identify the different textures easily.”

Her hands stop him from rising to fix what he thinks is a mistake. “No, it’s okay. You got everything right. I was just surprised you brought one of my plates. Thank you,” she reassures him, giving him a kiss. He wraps his arm around her shoulder and starts eating, “You’re welcome. I’m glad I got it right.”

———

They knock on the door but don’t wait for it to be opened by someone inside before entering the unlocked house. “Yo, Top. We’re here,” Rafe announces with a booming voice. It’s just a little get-together so the couple takes their shoes off. Right as they are about to step deeper into the house, Y/N sees the carpeted floor of the house. She can already feel the uncomfortableness of the rug tickling the bottom of her feet and she flinches at the thought. Rafe gently holds her back by her shoulder, “Wait here, I have to get something from the car.” She waits for him at the entrance, preparing herself to walk barefoot on the rug. He jogs back inside and places something on the ground. Her eyes dart down to see slippers. “Where did you get these?” she questions while putting them on. He kisses her on the cheek, “I bought new slippers to keep in the back of my trunk for this exact reason.” Warmth fills Y/N and she wraps her arms around his neck. “Thank you.”

———

Y/N rests on the couch and watches as Rafe folds the laundry. Each article of clothing is folded exactly how she likes it with crisp edges. While she appreciates how attentive he is, worry starts to creep inside of her. What if he starts to realize that all the things he does to keep things to her taste are a waste of time? What if he starts to think she is too high-maintenance? He can see the gears turning in her head. “What’s wrong, Sweetheart?” he asks, leaning over to kiss her. She bows her head, “What if you break up with me because you get tired of having to do things a certain way for me like I am a child?” Rafe places what he is folding down and moves to the same couch as her. He brings her into a hug, attacking her face with kisses. “That would never happen because I love taking care of you. You are my particular girl and I would not trade you for anything in the world,” he promises.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @victory-in-the-llama @starkowswife @drewsmusee @maybankslover

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speakergame · 2 months

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Progress Update - 3/4/24

Hello and happy March!

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? 😅 Well, I finally have some good news for you this time: I have some actual news!

I'm happy to be able to announce at last that an update is on its way! I’ve still got some assets to make and code cleanup and testing to finish, but I should finally have something to show you soon.

I’ll put a cut at the end of this and go into more detail about the what and why of what I’ve been working on during this long and unintended hiatus, but the tl;dr is that I hope to have an update out by the end of the month, and that said update will break any saves made in Chapter 4. Unfortunate, but unavoidable, since Chapter 4 had to be recoded from the beginning 😞

I just want to thank all of you once again for sticking with me through my extended silence! Especially to my patrons who’ve put up with me putting everything on pause month after month while I dealt with my real life shit, and to everyone who’s sent me kind and supportive messages to let me know Speaker hasn’t been forgotten. It really means a lot to me.

Okay, enough of that sappy shit! I’m gonna get back to work finishing this up 😁 I’ll put out another update later this month once I have a more definite release date.

Thank you all for reading! I hope you’re having a fantastic 2024 so far, and that the rest of the week treats you kindly. See y’all soon! 💙💙💙

(For those who want a more detailed breakdown on what’s been happening and what to expect, hit the readmore)

I won’t go into the personal life stuff I’ve been dealing with this past year that has slowed down my work, but as far as the actual game goes:

To put it simply, I just wasn’t happy with it. Some of it could be because of how many times I had to reread the same section while I was coding the scenes that would’ve taken place after the last update, but no matter how much I edited or rearranged it, I didn’t like how that scene turned out. There was something… formulaic that had been happening with the way I always laid out scenes, and a bit of stagnation in the story, character, and relationship development that bothered me.

So I rewrote it. And when I still didn’t like it, I rewrote it again. And I still didn’t like it. I thought about scrapping the whole thing on more than one occasion as I struggled to get out of the corner I’d written myself into.

Inspiration finally struck at the beginning of this year, thanks in part to another interactive novel I follow, and I really like the direction I’ve taken it now.

Instead of the RO split scenes happening where the last one left off, Speaker, Seer, and Gavin are gonna have a chat about Things™ to move the next story arc forward. Then Speaker will get some downtime, by themself at first and then in an extended scene split with the RO of their choosing.

All the Big Plot Things that were going to happen in Chapter 4 will be moved to Chapter 5 instead, and 4 will be a bit more of a filler episode. A deep breath before the plunge, as it were.

This split won’t just be a quick conversation/reaction from the RO, but a full on different direction for the rest of the chapter based on who you choose. Most of them will involve leaving the house; all of them will involve actual one-on-one time (or one-on-two time, as the case may be) away from the others. And though romance isn’t required, all of them will have the potential to really move the romance forward if you so choose. One or two might even have a lock-in choice (maybe. I’m not 100 percent on that, so don’t hold me to it)

These scenes won’t be in the next update, because they’re all very complex, but the update will definitely have the Seer chat and at least some of the by-yourself stuff. The update after will have the rest of the alone time stuff (including the clothes/body CC you’ve all been waiting for), and then the one after will start the RO scenes. I think.

I may actually split the RO scenes into separate updates, and let my darlings over at Patreon vote for the order they’re released. That way I can focus on one at a time instead of trying to split my attention six ways at once.

Okay, that’s enough rambling for me today. Time to get back to work! Still got a lot to get done before this is ready, but it’s so close now.

#speaker game #progress update #so happy to finally have some progress to update about XD #maybe I can finally start answering some asks again too and fully resurrect this poor blog

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mrpenguinpants · 1 year

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Overdue Bills

— He knows your fake relationship with him was made purely for beneficial reasons. After everything was said and done, you both went your separate ways. So why does he keep coming back to you?

— Alhaitham, Ayato, and Kazuha

-> Part 1: Please go out with me for tax benefits! -> Not connected but can also be read: I refuse to fall in love out of spite [ TBA ] [Masterlist]

Does this feel rushed because it is. I assumed everyone wanted a continuation but I plan on writing another fic using the original prompt but for different characters. The titles have nothing to do with the fics but I really wanted to title this, we've been trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty.

Alhaitham

There's only so much Kaveh can handle before he hits a breaking point and this might be it. A few months ago he overheard the librarian ask a stranger how their boyfriend Alhaitham was doing, to which he nearly broke his neck in how fast he turned. From the long pause and the plain answer of, "he's fine", which Alhaitham most definitely isn't given how much work the sages are dumping onto their scribe, Kaveh came to the conclusion that you're another creepy admirer or an attention-seeking leech. While Kaveh wouldn't call Alhaitham something as close as a friend, the man at least deserved to know there was another deranged person spreading lies. He assumed Alhaitham would confront you, knock some sense into you, and that would be the end of it. But because Alhaitham operates on a level that's incomprehensible to Kaveh, instead you've both entered into a fake dating relationship that he honestly believes is a horrible idea. But Alhaitham is his roommate, not his friend, and he doesn't have the time or care to facilitate a non-existent love life. But lo and behold the next time he sees you, there's a silver-haired man is hovering nearby looking at you with the closest thing to love his stoic face can make. Things are only weirder when Kaveh brings the sight up to you, saying that you're both taking this fake dating in stride and he's honestly impressed at how Alhaitham really put his all into this performance. Only for you to look at him as if he's grown two heads. You and Alhaitham stopped dating weeks ago.

Alhaitham isn't stupid. There's only so much rationalization he can turn to and so many excuses he can make but at the end of the day, he has to admit that he never works better than he does sitting beside you. At first, he reasoned that it was because people didn't bother him as much and you knew how to be quiet. Perhaps that's why you've skyrocketed in his requirements of friendship despite the fact that you both weren't really friends. But then he couldn't sit alone without getting restless. There’s an empty space beside him that constantly makes itself aware in his subconscious. One that screams at him that he wants you to be there, not just because you can scare people away.

It's a slow realization from there starting with him comparing you and Kaveh. For as much as he and his senior argue back and forth almost every time they meet, Alhaitham considers Kaveh an excellent mirror to him that can push his thoughts to go further. But you're different. That realization turns into contemplation when you actually listen and take his advice. Every scholar is egotistical to some degree, there's a lot of pride to take into your research, and having your weeks of hard work be written off by a blunt statement gets people angry. Alhaitham would be the first to know, he's been on the receiving end of that anger multiple times. Yet when he points out a section in your thesis to be incorrect, you simply tilt your head thinking before agreeing he was right. Crumbling your paper, ready to start all over again without any fuss. Still water versus the wave that Kaveh is. While some would call that boring, he finds it charming.

The nail in the coffin is when he catches himself labeling the chair next to him as yours. He can't justify that one and he's suddenly confronted that he severely underestimated how much he's grown to like you. He originally agreed to the idea to keep his comfortable routine without any interruptions and your introduction would fix his issue of suitors but you've played your part so perfectly that he fell for it. He was tempted to stop talking to you altogether, cutting the deal off entirely and never speaking to you again. But you're not a saint and just as he realized his feelings, your thesis was done and you left abruptly before he had any time to prepare. A glaring empty spot mocking him. Only to come back with your stacks of books and a nervous smile that Alhaitham refuses to acknowledge makes his heart beat just the slightest bit quicker.

He knows you can hear the whispers that you and Alhaitham have gotten back together. Yet you haven't said anything and he politely chooses to not say anything either. The rumors certainly haven't stopped you from acting differently and he doesn't know if that's a good thing. He knows your language is touch but now he wants to be the one near you this time. That way the first person you’ll speak to is him. By now he’s fully aware of his feelings and how far they’ve developed for him to actually start feeling possessive. So the next time you lean against him to show him a particular paragraph of a book, he wraps a hand around your waist, disguising it as him shifting you to the side so he can get a better angle to read. Under his hand, he can feel how tense you become at the casual touch, how your eyes jump from him to the floor, before relaxing and continuing on.

In hindsight, he knows by all rational reasoning he should just confess to you and get it over and done with. But there's something exciting in the way you look at him with calculating eyes that he stares back at unflinching. He thinks of it as payback for you strolling into his carefully planned life and making a mess. He’s simply allowing himself to indulge in it. Now every time you greet him with a wave, he offers a smile. When you want to drag him somewhere by the cape, he slips his hand into yours stating you'll stretch the fabric too much. And when you need to whisper something in his ear? He'll practically be in your lap with how close he leans in even if there's no one else in the room. He knows eventually you'll catch on to what he's trying to do, what he's trying to say. You've been practicing for months sitting beside him. It's finally when he invites you to the pavilion that he can see the realization on your face that Alhaitham clearly doesn't consider you just a friend. The look of bewilderment goes back and forth with suspicion before finally settling into an amused huff with the smallest of smiles.

It's late enough into the day that he knows the only people lingering in the Akademiya are either passed-out students or scholars too wrapped up in their work. All consideration he's taken to make sure you're both uninterrupted for this moment. And what a moment it is. The pavilion itself is beautiful with its blue and green stained glass windows that reflect the evening sun. The yellow flowers swaying gently in the breeze add just enough color to not be irritating. Kaveh might need to retract his statement that Alhaitham doesn't know a thing about romance because it's painfully obvious what's about to happen.

"Any more and people might get the wrong idea you know," you say as you lean against the white wall. The look of confusion is gone from your eyes, replaced with mirth. It does not make him shudder.

"About what? The library is cramped with people and the pavilion is quiet," he says like it's an off-handed comment before turning around, leaning his weight against his elbows on the railing as he turns to the side to look at the view this specific pavilion provides. "Although I can understand where you might have drawn that conclusion. I can assure you nothing like that will happen. You're not my type."

He can physically feel you bristle even though he isn't looking at you before your footsteps come closer and closer until your form is right in front of him. He still refuses to look at you but he can tell the moment you see his poorly hidden smile. He hears you let out an amused huff before you bring your hands up and settle them against the railing as well. Only you've decided to cage him in between your arms and it makes him turn to you, raising a brow. He's already lost the moment he turned but the cheeky grin you have is worth it. You look really cute when you're smug.

"If I had any interest, it would have died a long time ago. You're the worst fake boyfriend I've ever had so I can't imagine how insufferable you'll be as a real one," you shake your head exasperated but there's a small entertained look that tugs at his heart. That you know what he knows and he knows what you know. A similar feeling of understanding that he's gotten so used to. One that lets him act in such an irrational way.

"You've had others?" he asks as his arm comes off the railing to settle around your waist. You don't push him away, easily following along.

"For such a pretty face you have such an awful personality," you sigh disappointed yet the arms that cage him move to settle around his neck, twirling the silver hair at the base of his neck as you lean closer until there isn't space between the two of you.

"Oh? So you think I'm pretty?" He tilts his chin slightly down, his lips brushing against yours.

"You must have selective hearing." With your faces so close, he can see the excitement in your eyes. He's sure that he is the same. So he ignores the pleased look on your face and leans in.

Ayato

Ultimately, he's just a passerby. He decided on a whim to go along with some absurd act because he thought the sheer dread and embarrassment on your face was amusing and he wanted to see more. By all accounts, your temporary date wasn't too bad. It felt a bit refreshing being with someone that looked like they rather throw themselves in the nearby sea than stand next to the refined Yashiro Commissioner. But otherwise, that's the end of your relationship. With a few words here and there, he managed to spin the absurd story into his favor and reign in the disaster your little stunt might have caused. He's grateful that you so easily play along with him. Not a single complaint about how he lies through his teeth that someone was bothering you so he extended his help so this individual would leave you alone. It makes both of you, mostly him, look good. How people rush to make sure you're okay while your expression flickers between guilt and embarrassment is far more entertaining than anything he originally planned during this outing. But at the end of the day, you have nothing to do with each other and he owes you nothing. Your presence is ultimately inconsequential in the stream that is his life. That is until one day your relationship changes to stupidity and heartfelt sincerity.

It starts off as a joke. Ayato tends to latch onto small things that give him a momentary break from his busy and stressed lifestyle and duties. Plus there's something lighthearted about this situation that he doesn't want to let go of just yet. Unfortunately for you, Ayato's newfound joy is sneaking up on you and sending you into an early grave. The first time it was an accident, you just happened to be easily jumpy, but the second time though? The resounding screech of terror never fails to make a smile appear on his face and you're convinced that he's a sadist. He doesn't even have to try that hard, his steps are silent even against the crooked stone path that he can waltz up right behind you. But his absolute favourite part is bending down and whispering what exactly his fiancee is so interested in. It always leads to embarrassing talks of you politely asking him to not refer to you with that title anymore that he swiftly blocks by mentioning that, wasn't it you who called him your fiancee first? You should take responsibility.

He thinks your reactions are cute even if you're a bit vulgar in language, although to him that just adds to the warped sense of charm he finds in you. Thoma nearly chokes on his own spit when Ayato perks up at something behind him, suddenly dropping the calm facade of the Yashiro Commissioner and something more genuine before calling out to a "fiancee". Thoma whips around to see a stranger speaking with Yoimiya before their eyes lift and lock with Ayato's and their expression immediately sour. He doesn't think he's ever seen anyone show such a disgusted expression and he can't help but wonder what his lord has done this time. Before Thoma can say anything the stranger picks up a firework ball and hurls it at his Lord who easily sidesteps the attack, the resounding death threats only making the blue-haired man laugh.

It's fun. You're fun to be around. The entire situation is silly and ridiculous and it feels nice. Ayato had to grow up too fast, become an adult too fast, and shoulder the burden meant for later years. Something as small as a nickname, an inside joke, something he can bring up to spite someone just for the fun of it is nice. Perhaps that's why he refuses to let go and finds himself returning to you.

It's all a joke. There's no way Ayato can actually take your hand in marriage. Not with your differences in status. You think that's the only reason people entertain the idea, why he even entertains the idea. To get a reaction out of you that he can relentlessly tease and it's all so stupid. That is until he receives a different reaction that leaves him lost and confused.

You stumble upon him in the aftermath of another one of his assassination attempts. He was perfectly fine, not even a speck of dust on his white coat yet you were nearly in hysteria. Panicked hiccups as you sob uncontrollably into his chest, your tears doing far more damage to dirtying his clothes than an attempt on his life. He tries his best to console you but you can't seem to stop the tears and as much as he values staying dignified, he's almost at his limit. Hand already poised to yank you off until he falters in both mind and body when you suddenly turn your head up and he sees the expression that you hid away in the lapels of his coat. The feeling of the annoyance of having to wash his coat flew out of his mind at the sight of your teary eyes and downturned lips. A small, very small, part of his heart beats just a bit faster. An even smaller part that was buried under the title of Yashiro Commissioner perks its head over someone who was crying for him. Even though you've both talked multiple times, you and he aren't close enough to be considered friends, at least in his eyes. Yet you're currently looking at him as if you're the one that's been attacked because of the simple fact that he could have been hurt. It's...strange.

He doesn't say anything as you usher him into your home to fix up whatever injuries you happened to have conjured in your mind. He's never stepped foot into your residence and he's honestly glad he hasn't because your home is...disheartening, to say the least. He thinks the estate has more life than what was supposedly something you called home. It's not that your place is poor, you're not sleeping on a slab of rock, but it's empty. Like you don't have anything at all. The only thing you seem to carry is your small pile of books. Worn but well taken care of. So he doesn't say anything as you fuss over him, doesn't say anything about the horrendous first aid kit you bring, and bids you farewell at the door of your home. You smile at him widely and tell him to take care of himself. But when he turns to leave, he risks one last peek at you, just in time to see you close your door. You aren't smiling anymore. He stops walking.

It starts to escalate from there. The following months of sudden change are so abrupt that he has no choice but to follow along. He wants to see every expression you have. If that isn't enough, he'll find new ones for you to make.

Ayato's first impression of you is charming but in a pitiful sort of way. You have to be an airhead, you must be considering your shared first meeting. How you didn't realize your mistake and went along with everything is beyond Ayato. You and Itto are almost on the same level of denseness but while Itto does everything with blind confidence that the situation has changed because of him, you are the opposite. Wandering into your own mess as you ignore all the warning signs until it's too late. But you're also honest and upfront, two traits that Ayato has come to value immensely. He finds you endearing, so much that it's starting to overfill his teacup. So with a silent smile, he asks a question.

"Why don't you become my fiancee?"

The noodle slips between your chopsticks, a loud unflattering splat against the table echoing through the silence as you stare at him slack-jawed. He begins to worry that he's accidentally sent you into a stroke because one of your eyes starts twitching.

"Huh? Are you being for real?" you ask deadpanned. He can't help but chuckle under his fingers before resting his chin on the palm of his hand. It feels nice to be able to rest his elbows against the table without someone reprimanding him for his lack of manners. He finds your dry reaction far cuter than the blushes and swoons from the ladies that the elders forced him to take out.

"Be my fiancee." he pauses before continuing as an afterthought. "For real this time."

You pick up your fallen noodle, chew, swallow, and then point your chopsticks at him. Not convinced in the slightest. "Even if you haven't picked out a fiancee you shouldn't joke about that."

"Really?" he fakes surprise, "Then how come you're on a date with me right now?"

You choke. He pushes his teacup towards you, who takes it and gulps down half of its contents in one go. The glass clinks loudly on the table when you put it down yet it doesn't distract him from the sheer disbelief on your face as your ears grow red. He thinks out of all of the expressions you've given him, he likes this one the most.

"This isn't-It's not," you attempt to say, spluttering the entire time that remnants of the tea you just drank wet your lips.

"Yes, it is. Why? Is it bad? Do you know enjoy being taken out to dinner? I can easily arrange for something else instead," He reached over with a napkin to wipe your face. It only serves to make you more embarrassed that he's treating you like a child as you push his hand away lest you combust on the spot. There's no immediate answer. He can't tell whether you're actually considering his offer, or if you're refraining from throwing your chopsticks at him.

"No thanks. If I've learned anything it's that you'll only torment me until I die. I'm starting to think I like you even less," you grumble, shoving more noodles into your mouth.

Ayato is a strange man so he doesn't wait for the water to spill, just tips the cup over and starts again. This time he waits for you to swallow before saying anything, he doesn't want you to choke again.

"That's unfortunate. I adore you, you know."

Kazuha

While his feelings and words were true, he resigns himself to the fact that your relationship was a one-and-done situation. Impulsiveness isn't one of his qualities but as he reflects on his time with you, he gets a bit flustered at how hard he fell. He had just met you and yet within the span of a couple weeks, you managed to fill out the empty parts of his heart. He tries to rationalize that it was just the timing. He had been on the run for so long, his thoughts always chained around Inazuma, and upholding his promise to his friend. But then you happened to crash into his life, quite literally, and everything slowed to a stop at that moment. Originally it was just to protect you from a clingy admirer but then you started asking about him. What his hobbies were, what kind of dreams he had, and whether or not he would like to learn how to fly. Every day and night sitting beside you on the crow's nest, the gentle sway of the waters rocking the boat, and the backdrop of noise down on the deck was the most serene Kazuha has ever felt since he left Inazuma. But all things must come to an end eventually and even though Kazuha knows that this might be the end, you look so hopefully at him that he can't help but try to push the end to tomorrow. He just needs to garner the strength to move.

Beidou asks if he's sure about his decision to leave the Crux and wander on his own. It's not nice to make you wait even though she knows you and when you say you'll wait, you're going to damn wait no matter how long it takes. But he reassures her that he's still not ready. As much as he wants to run over the water back to Liyue, he doesn't want to bring along conflicted and aimless feelings. But he will hurry, he's been running for so long, he can run a little further for something and someone for himself. It's a bit selfish but Beidou gives him an exasperated soft smile that lets him know it's not a bad thing. Although with each passing day Beidou's ship ports, it gets harder and harder for her to break the news that Kazuha is still not back. Beidou does her best to reassure you that Kazuha isn't stringing you along, she would have drowned him in the ocean if he was that low of a guy, but she can tell that with each visit your expression grows more and more distant. Watching how you're the first one to rush down the wooden bridges with a hopeful expression that one-day Kazuha might be there only to leave with a sad smile. It makes her want to track her problem child down and bring him back to you. Not that she has any idea where he wandered too.

He ends up in the forests of Sumeru. His keen sense of smell aids him as he treks through the wilderness until he meets a strange forest watcher and a girl in green. Their a bit of an odd pair but so is Kazuha and they become fast friends. Apparently, his calm demeanor is a breath of fresh air and it's enough that they don't pry into his history. Although there are moments when he can feel their eyes on him. Perhaps living in the forest has led them both to be aware of subtle changes far better than Kazuha can smell. It starts when they trek towards the small lakes and waterbeds to gather niloptala lotus for Tighnari that he sees it. An anemone flower. Soft white petals with a dark blue center sway in the breeze as he stands watching it move. It's Collei who approaches him and explains white anemone flowers, also known as windflowers, symbolize sincerity due to their delicate appearance. According to mythology, the anemone flower was created when Aphrodite's mortal lover, Adonis, was killed and from the spot where her tears fell to the ground, an anemone emerged. She says that he might enjoy that last bit of information to use as inspiration for his many haiku poems because he's looking at the flower as if he's fallen in love. Although she warns him that when fresh, all parts are poisonous.

When Inazuma finally calmed down and Thoma informed him that he was no longer a wanted man, it was the second time Kazuha could take a deep breath and relax. He was free from running and could focus on the future. He won't lie and say that his thoughts didn't stray back to you every night. He's been gone for months and he wonders if you still remember what he looks like. But now he has to ask himself the hard question if he's ready to see you. Unfortunately, he doesn't get to make that choice.

He sees you at Port Ormos by chance, speaking to a silver-haired man before you cut yourself off mid-sentence as your eyes lock onto his. Even with everything Kazuha has been through, he feels scared. He knew he would eventually return to you but now that you're here, is he not ready? Or is he scared? He knew that asking for you to wait was selfish, that one day he may return with your hand in someone else's. Maybe that's why you're all the way in Sumeru rather than the high mountains of Liyue. All these emotions reflect back to you and he can see it, your fists are trembling even as you gaze back at him with conviction and determination. The sun shines right behind you, creating a gold halo over your tousled hair. But it makes the shadows of your strained expression darker, your eyes gloss over your jaw tense, and everything about your posture screams please don't disappoint me Kazuha. Then it's gone. Your attention back to the silver hair man, pretending as if nothing happened. You'll wait until he's ready but you won't acknowledge him when he's not. And Kazuha. Kazuha runs away.

"There you are."

Kazuha looks up to see Tighnari sitting at the table facing the entrance that Kazuha has stumbled through. It's late into the night and because his heart has more room to bear, he feels guilty that Tighnari stayed up to make sure he returned. Before he can apologize Tighnari raises a hand to stop him, sighing before he gestures Kazuha to sit down. Fiddling with his pouch he takes something and slides it across to Kazuha. An Inazuma charm. The same one you gave him when he left.

"You dropped it when you were running through Port Ormos like you had stolen something. I had to convince Cyno that you weren't a thief but you're going to have to apologize to Collei for scaring her like that," he huffs as he settles back into his seat, watching at how Kazuha raises a wary hand to pick up the charm like it'll break under the slightest pressure. It makes Tighnari soften around the edges, the worried lines of his face smoothing out as he rests a hand on the samurai's shoulder. "Are you okay Kazuha?"

It only serves to bring a pained smile to the man's face, shaking his head. No. No, he's not alright. He hasn't felt "alright" in months. He's lived his life thinking that as long as his blade was by his side, he could continue moving. But now it feels like he's slowly dying. Poisoned from the core. He thought he would be able to approach this like he had always been. That he thought he understood what he was doing and trusted the wind to guide him. But now he's confronted with his accountability and he doesn't know what to do but run. Back into the silence of the forest until he can't run any further. Collapsing onto the cold ground as he heaves for another breath. Every moment up until now replays in his head, becoming more vivid no matter how long it's been until he can smell your fragrance. It was a similar feeling to when he lost his friend, this lingering pain. It's why he decided he needed to leave first. He always assumed he remembered because of guilt. Guilt that he asked you to wait, guilt that he wasn't the one that was ready, and guilt that even after all this time he hasn't entered the border of Liyue. Yet no matter how long he goes, this feeling of guilt only remains for you until he doesn't know if that's the correct emotion. If what remains in his heart truly isn't guilt, what is this emotion that keeps him looking back at his memories of you? He doesn't know. It's his first time feeling this way.

"You're in love Kazuha. That's it."

---

There's a sudden ruckus on the ship deck that has Beidou draw her head up, her letter to Ningguang momentarily paused as she listens carefully to what her crew is so noisy about. Their voices are muffled through the thick wooden walls of her office but it doesn't sound like they're in any danger. Either way as the Captain she should check out what everyone is so excited about. She shoulders her fur-lined shawl back on and slams the doors open.

"What's got you all so- Kazuha?!" Beidou nearly chokes midsentence to see her sentence when he spots that familiar white and red hair. Even though it's only been a few months, he looks so much older than she remembers. When he said he wanted to do some soul searching, she didn't think it would make him look so...mature. It's not that his outward appearance is any different, he's still got that adorable baby face, but the air around him is tranquil rather than still.

"Captain, it's good to see you again," Kazuha smiles and gives a small wave. His hand is free of bandages letting her see the electro burns that scar his skin. She politely doesn't let her eyes linger on them for long, that's all in the past anyways. So she grins ear to ear and yanks the poor man into a headlock and a giant slap on the back. Her official way her welcome a trusty companion back.

"About time lover boy, let's get you home."

---

Not me throwing canon personalities and good characterization out the window to push my smitten agenda.

[taglist] <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

@genshins1mpact @creatorofstars @xoneaboveallx @timmyitsmeeee @raingoesboomboom @duhsies @thegayrubberducky @isa-solasun @afoxesgreed @yuuki4646 @angel-luv-04 @inlovewithwaffles @maddymints09 @moonssandstars

@tigerpriestess @endurablerose @ayakohana

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chacolachao · 23 days

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Character Bodies 1 - Applying "Shape"

Sometimes when drawing a character you might have a hard time capturing their... character. You might see a drawing like this [clean lined image of Super Sonic] and may not know how the artist got to that point. In this case, it's best to start looking at characters not as a series of lines, but rather as a group of objects. Looking at an officially licensed example of Tails, we'll try to break it up into objects first BEFORE looking at the lines. We'll focus on the body for now [Sonic Riders Tails broken up into sections, red as the head and legs, green as the body] This green section is the main body, notice that I don't include the fur on him, only his body- once that's figured out placing fur will be a breeze. Now we need to imagine what this shape would be if it were a 3-Dimensional object... even though these are drawings, these characters' parts exist on an imaginary 3D space next to each other. Start by taking note of which direction this part [the green body] is facing and draw a line- if this little green blob were now a tube with top and bottom defined, as circles, you can begin to see our 3D object.

Now that you know about Tails'Tube, posing his body will be easier as long as you remember that his body is 3D. Tip: Try practicing keeping a simple shape like this consistent while bending it and posing it every which way.

Placing the limbs onto this object's 3D surface instead of just "drawing legs" will help you with more silly poses that you may not be sure how to pull off. The shocking thing about limbs... they are also tubes, so separate them like the body, take note of their front, and then STOP.

Take note of where on our body object these legs are placed. In the case of Tails, these legs start in the lower corners of Tails' body, and start a bit on the side, not immediately under. Knowing where on that 3D space Tails' legs attach can help you decide how to bend, pose, and exaggerate without the character losing their shape.

*Every character's shape defines their "character" defines their shape- so don't assume every character works the same way, using this process to analyze shape will help you properly understand who it is that you're trying to draw in every style. There are billions of styles that have graced these characters so don't feel like your art has to match IDW* or current gen artwork *note: multiple artists with different styles are within IDW

#my art #tutorial #how to draw #sonic the hedgehog #sonic charactes #tails #he's just an example #i need to go to sleep its 7 am

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deakyjoe · 1 year

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Stormy Skies

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader (no pronouns used I think)

Category: friends to lovers

Summary: Din breaks you out of an Imperial prison (loosely based on chapter 15).

Warnings: angst, fluff, touched-starved Din, helmet is off, prison, nasty guards, restraints, bad men, talks of death, separation, loose implication of what bad men can do, pet names (cyar’ika), canon-divergence (I guess??), when I say loosely based I mean very loosely based

Word count: 5.5k

A/N: Sad, brown-eyed, pathetic love of my life. (He's not pathetic but I’ll make him pathetic.) Din is slightly out of character but only because he's head over heels in love and feeling all soft and squishy inside about it. He's also a little insecure. Poor guy. It's purposefully ambiguous about how long reader has been imprisoned, so guess however long you'd like.

Consider buying me a coffee :)

It took three weeks, four days, sixteen hours and twenty two minutes before you realised that the inside of this Imperial prison would be the only thing you saw for the foreseeable future. The three walls and one row of bars now being your home. After that you resigned yourself to the idea that you'd be there forever so you stopped counting the days, the weeks, the... months? You didn't know how long you'd been there and you didn't want to know how long either.

All you knew is that you wanted to leave. Not because you were scared of death or scared of never seeing the outside world again. But because you missed two very important people in your life. The big, scary Mandalorian who had hired you just under a year ago as his mechanic and his strange green son who had weird superpowers who you sometimes babysat. The both of them meant the world to you and the idea of never seeing them again hurt you. You feared for the child's life as he had also been taken at the same time as you but had been imprisoned elsewhere, probably to be experimented on. And you feared for the state of your Mandalorian who would be lost without his kid.

"Food."

The announcement made your stomach lurch as it knocked you out of your thoughts. A small plate, with a pile of something in the middle, was pushed into your cell - probably the most unappealing thing in the galaxy but your only source of nutrition. Your mind strayed to nicer things as you desperately tried to ignore the revolting taste.

You thought of days spent in the Razor Crest, your Mandalorian's ship, as the three of you travelled from planet to planet in order for bounties to be collected. The memories of attempting to teach the child to speak some words in Basic but only getting baby babbling in response, it didn't matter as his eyes always shone as if he knew what you were saying to him.

You ached for your clan of three to be reunited, but realistically you knew that was unlikely. If anything, you just wanted Grogu to be safe. Back with Din and safe. And there was no place safer for him than under the care of Din Djarin.

A guard walking into your cell had you scrambling back against the wall as he took your plate from you and laughed, slightly muffled by his helmet. He kicked at the chain bound around your feet and walked out again, locking the bars behind him.

He was your least favourite of everyone who served in your section of the prison. He didn't seem to like you very much, and wasn't afraid to show it. You feared that one day he'd use the power he had over you to do something awful. So, for now, you tried to play as nice as possible with him.

The sound of low chattering caught your attention, the unmistakable noise of Stormtrooper armour bashing against itself making its way down the corridor. Plastic against plastic made an unbearable racket. You looked up to peek through the bars of your cell and crawled towards the sound, hoping that they weren't coming for you. If you could guess from the sound of them alone, you'd say there were about three or four of them. Definitely more than two and probably less than five.

Your assumption was proven correct when three Troopers turned the corner at the end of the hallway. One was clearly in charge, leading the other two. You thought his name was... you didn't know actually. And you didn't care either. But he was their superior. But the other two... They were low ranking officers, obvious by their uniform and the way they looked around as if they'd never seen the inside of a prison before. Maybe it was their first day on the job? Boy, were they in for a surprise.

The bald one seemed vaguely familiar, although he looked like pretty much any other guy in the galaxy so you didn't dwell on it too much. The other one, however, held no resemblance to anyone you'd ever seen before. He had sad eyes. That was the first thing you noticed about him. Sad, brown eyes. Along with a strong nose that matched his face. Golden skin. And messy hair along with unkempt facial hair. Very un-Trooperish. You wondered how he managed to get away with it. He was rather beautiful to look at. You pushed the thought away with a reminder of what he was - Empire.

As they got closer, you began to overhear their conversation. They were talking about some battle that had been fought a while ago, lots of soldiers lost. Baldy appeared mildly upset as he disclosed that some of his friends had died. Brown eyes wasn't listening and clearly searching for something. And he seemed to find it when his eyes landed on you.

He paused for the smallest fraction of a second before he carried on walking with the other two. He stared at you but you didn't back down, staring right back through the cell bars. You wouldn't let a Trooper intimidate you, especially not a new one. A sense of achievement hit you when he finally looked away, swallowing thickly and averting his gaze as far away from you as possible. He nudged the bald guy next to him with his elbow and tilted his head in your direction.

What the fuck did these guys want with you? You shivered at the thought, a million horrifying ideas running through your brain. You relaxed slightly when they disappeared around the next corner.

The rest of the day passed slowly, as they all did, and soon enough the lights were going out and all prisoners were warned to stay silent for the next few hours. You shifted to get your body in the most comfortable position possible, pretty difficult when you had chains restraining your limbs, and laid down, resting your head in the crook of your elbow.

You drifted off easily, the low drone of the power running through the walls and the floor lulling you to sleep. With nothing to do all day, zero access to natural light and limited portions of food you were tired all of the time. And the little energy you had was reserved for keeping your defences up when guards entered your cell on rare occasions.

Your dreams were full of Din and Grogu, as usual, and you often wondered during your conscious moments whether your brain was reminding you of happy moments to keep you sane or telling you what you'd had and what you'd lost as a way of punishing you.

What you didn't expect was to be awoken a short time later by your cell door being unlocked, the clanging of the metal shocking you out of your dreams. You sat up instantly, freezing when two looming figures walked in, whispering to each other in hushed tones.

The two Troopers from earlier.

You felt sick.

They were both wearing their helmets now and their heads snapped towards you when your chain scraped across the floor painfully. The broader one, who seemed to be leading the team of two, stalked towards you slowly.

"No, no, no, no!" You kicked at him as he went for your ankles trying, and failing, to fight him off. The breath spilling from your lungs was panicked as you failed to notice the other guy groaning and sticking his arms out to tell you to be quiet.

Your name came through the Trooper helmet in a familiar, reassuring voice. It was Din. Your Mandalorian. You'd never felt such a sense of relief race through your body as you relaxed underneath his touch.

"Mando?" You avoided using his real name around other people, as you'd agreed when he first told you. It was a small price for such a wonderful gift. His name. "You're here. You came for me?"

"Yes." He fumbled with your restraints, managing to get the ones off your ankles and moving to the ones on your wrists.

You looked at the other guy who had slipped his helmet off at some point. The bald guy. "Hang on. I saw you earlier. You walked through here with that guy in charge and-" Your eyes snapped back to Din. "That was you."

He was looking at you through the helmet, you could tell. "Come on, we don't have much time."

"B-but... you... your face." Your voice was weak, mind scrambling back to the memory of him. Brown eyes. Sad eyes. Messy hair. Unkempt facial hair. Strong nose. Golden skin. Beautiful.

He faltered. "I know. I did what had to be done."

"You broke your creed." You were almost crying. "To save me."

Hesitation. "Yes, of course. Come on."

The shackles finally fell from your wrists and you launched yourself at him, embracing him even if you were in a life or death situation.

"Thank you."

He seemed uncertain at the gesture as his arms slowly wrapped around your waist. "You don't have to thank me."

You pulled away quickly, not wanting to push it and make him uncomfortable. "Yes, I do." Looking back at the bald guy as you stood up, you squinted at him. "You're familiar."

"Mayfeld." He had a smirk on his face as he watched the interaction between you and Din, sticking out his hand in greeting but you ignored it. "You're welcome for this, by the way. I'm the main reason we're here right now saving you."

His name reminded you of who he was, a scowl settling over your face. "I appreciate it. But we're not out yet. They have people guarding everywhere. And I mean everywhere."

"It won't be a problem." Din's voice was low as he straightened up.

"How do you know so much about this place, hm?" Mayfeld asked you, stepping slightly closer.

"I may have attempted an escape... once or twice." You shrugged and kicked your restraints away from your feet. "That's why I was chained to the wall."

The two men were silent as they stared at you, Mayfeld looking surprised and Din's gaze burning into you despite being obscured by the helmet.

"I know their rotation schedules, how long of a gap there is between shift changes and which Troopers like me best so will leave the handcuffs a little looser." You looked between the two of them. "What? I had time to plan."

"And what have we got now?" Din questioned, glancing back at the open bars. "Anything scheduled to happen?"

You thought it over for a moment, glancing at the clock just outside of your cell. "Shift change in about six minutes. There will be a thirty-three second gap where the doors are unmanned."

"We can work with that." The Mandalorian replied, producing a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket.

A sick feeling settled in your stomach at the sight of them. "Ah, so I'm fake prisoner. Right?"

"In case we come across anyone." Mayfeld explained, a smug grin on his face. "Need to make it believable that we're moving you to a new cell."

With a nod, you looked back up to Din. "Be gentle, okay?"

"Of course, cyar'ika."

You sighed, storing away the nickname to ask about it later. "Where's Grogu?"

His fists clenched by his sides, the leather of his gloves squeaking. "They still have him."

Bile rose in your throat. "What?"

Why was he here if the child was still missing?

"Maker, why are you here?" You asked him, pushing at his shoulder. "You need to save him!"

"I'm here to save you." He was already bored with you again, you could tell by the lack of emotion in his voice. Maybe he was regretting saving you.

"I could have waited! Grogu's a baby!" You cried, worry settling in your stomach at the thought of your poor, poor Grogu possibly being tortured and experimented on whilst you were swooning over Din rescuing you.

"They had information on the kid's location here as well." The Mandalorian offered.

That made more sense. "Ah, so it wasn't just to save me."

"I would've come for you even if they had nothing on him." He sounded annoyed now, frustrated at your questioning.

"Grogu's priority." You turned to Mayfeld. "Why did you let him come here when the child is still missing?"

His hands raised in surrender. "Hey! Don't turn this on me!"

"Be more grateful." Din stated as he walked towards you and turned you around, pulling your hands behind your back to secure them in place with the cuffs. "I could have left you here forever."

You didn't want to admit out loud that what he had just suggested was your worst fear and something you truly believed until he'd showed up. A part of you thought you'd be there for the rest of your life. But you couldn't tell him that. So you offered a weak joke.

"You know what they say... third time's the charm. I'm sure my next attempt at an escape would have worked." The cuffs clicked into place and you tried not to focus on the feeling of being restrained again. You'd spent too long like this, and here you were about to escape and you were back in the same position. It was almost funny.

Din could sense your unease and placed a gloved hand on the small of your back in reassurance.

"Let's go." Mayfeld chimed and marched out of the cell in front of the two of you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and followed behind, Din's hands locked around yours to make sure the restraints didn't pull too harshly. Weaving in and out of corridors was dangerous, especially with the guards constantly patrolling. Unfortunately, it didn't take long before you bumped into a couple of them.

"Halt!" They shouted, raising their weapons to the three of you. "What are you doing with prisoner five six one?"

There was probably too long of a pause between the question and the answer that was finally given, setting off the initial seed of suspicion.

Mayfeld stepped in with his sly smile. "We were instructed to move the prisoner to a new cell."

The two guards bowed their heads together, mumbling a quick debate. Your hands twitched with nerves behind your back and you felt the Mandalorian trace a thumb over them in comfort. It somewhat worked.

"We'll need you to come with us to confirm." One of them said, straightening up and re-aiming his blaster right at you.

"I'm sorry, cyar'ika." Din grumbled with a sigh behind you before there was a slight squeeze on the side of your neck and you were out.

When you awoke you were surrounded by the sounds of a humming engine and the whirring of the inside of a ship. You jolted up and almost hit your head on the top of the bunk you'd been placed in.

Wait. A bunk?

You looked around you rapidly to suddenly realise that you weren’t just in any bed. You were in Din’s bed. On the Razor Crest.

You jumped out of it and stumbled once you landed on your feet, leaning on the wall for support.

“Woah, woah! Slow down, take it easy.” A modulated voice appeared behind you as strong arms wrapped around your torso to keep you steady.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” You slurred, still slightly groggy from being unconscious. “How long was I out?”

“A few hours.” Din replied, letting you turn to look at him. He was back in his Beskar armour, looking as shiny as ever. The sight of him made you smile.

“You knocked me out!” You cried but there wasn’t an ounce of real anguish in your voice. In fact, it was rather playful.

He didn’t seem to pick up on that. “It was necessary.”

You waved your hand at him, showing you weren’t really bothered by that. So you approached the subject you were really affected by. “You saved me.”

“Yes.” His voice was a gentle rasp as he spoke the singular word. He was never much of a talker. But you hung on to every word.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“You removed your helmet to save me.” You frowned at him, like you were annoyed at him for breaking his creed.

Another rasp. “Yes.”

“But-“

“But what?”

You laughed like it was obvious. "I don't understand why. I'm just me."

"And it's just a creed."

Your head reared back. "Just a creed?"

"Just you?" He answered back, imitating your tone and inflection.

"That's- Din, it's your life. Being a Mandalorian is everything to you.” You cried, hands waving in emphasis. “Why would you risk that? For me?"

His head tilted to the side in his usual expression of emotion. Or lack of. "This is the Way."

"No.” You snapped. “The Way is not showing your face under any circumstances. And you- you showed your face!"

"To save you."

"Yes!"

The helmet tilted even further. "What part do you not understand?"

"I'm not worth it." You said, hands wringing together in front of you. And you truly believed what you were saying.

"What?"

"Why would you do that for me?"

"I'd do anything for you."

Your mouth snapped shut, the protest you had prepared dying in your throat.

"You and the kid. I'd tear apart this galaxy for the both of you. You're... you're part of my clan."

A part of you wished he'd left you in that prison. If he'd done that then your head wouldn't be spinning and you wouldn't be overwhelmed with emotions at what he was throwing at you in that moment. His clan. You were a member of his clan.

"Din..."

His name was soft from your lips and he sighed slowly at the sound.

"The only way to explain is-" He cut himself off and inhaled, taking a step closer to you. Placing his hand under your chin, he tilted your head up to face him and lowered his helmet so your foreheads rested together. The cold of his armour sent shivers down your spine. Although it might have also been caused by the action of what he was doing, what he was saying.

Din had explained this to you before when you'd asked about affection between the people of Mandalore. It was a way for Mandalorians to kiss without having to show their faces. It was... intimate, to say the least.

Your eyes fluttered shut when the reality of what he was telling you dawned. "Din..."

Another soft whisper of his name had him sighing again.

Unfortunately, he took it the wrong way and pulled back. "You don't have to- The kid and you are important to me. That's... that's what you need to know. About why- why I did this."

You shook your head and smiled at him, hooking your hand around the back of his neck and tugging him down towards you again so your foreheads touched. "And I was willing to die in that prison to keep you and the child safe."

"They... they were planning to kill you?"

"I kept refusing to teach them how to get the kid to use his wizard baby powers. And I wouldn't tell them where you were either. Or how to contact you."

"What did they need me for?"

"See you as a threat. Or to use me as bait. I'm not sure which. Maybe both."

"It would've worked. You as bait. If I didn't already know where you were, of course."

"Of course." You grinned at him and hoped he was smiling back. You tended to guess what his facial expressions were, normally hoping that he was returning whatever you gave him but usually settling on the fact that he was probably bored and his face would show it. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, cyar'ika."

Your stomach flipped at the Mando'a. "What does that mean?"

"It's Mando'a."

"I guessed that. I'm asking for a translation." You rolled your eyes, finally pulling back from the Mandalorian kiss to look at him properly again. "I hope it's something nice."

You could tell he was smiling when he said his next words. They were hesitant, but tender. "It means darling or sweetheart. A term of endearment."

"Oh... that's- that is nice." Mentally berating yourself, you bit on your lower lip to hold back an excited giggle. Nice? There were so many words that were better than nice. "I don't have anything like that where I'm from. If I did I'd-"

He cut you off with a hand cupping your cheek. "I know, cyar'ika. I know."

There was a moment of silence as the two of you just looked at each other. It was broken when Din sighed suddenly and dropped his hand from your cheek.

"I never wanted you to see my face that way."

Oh.

"Din, I-" You cut yourself off to contemplate your words. "I'm sorry that you had to reveal your face. And that I saw. If I'd known... I wouldn't have stared at you."

"No, I didn't mean it like that." He exhaled loudly. "Do you remember? What I look like?"

The memory of his face flashed in your mind. Of course you remembered. Every single detail. And you'd probably secretly treasure it for the rest of your life.

"Yes..."

His head dropped for a second, helmet aimed at the floor, before it suddenly shot back up to meet your gaze. "And?"

"And what?" Having no idea what he was asking of you, your brows scrunched together.

He was so close now that you were sure you'd be able to hear his breathing even without the modulator. "Was I- was I a disappointment?"

"What?" Disbelief ran through you. How could this wonderful, gorgeous man ever be a disappointment? With or without the helmet obscuring his face he had always been and would always be perfect to you.

"Well, you must have had some... some image of what I'd look like in your head."

You immediately disagreed with him. "No, never."

"Don't lie. It's okay. You can tell me."

"I'm not lying. And I am telling you."

"Cyar'ika..."

Your heart did somersaults in your chest. "No, I never conjured up some fantasy of what you'd look like. Because this here-" You gestured at the whole of him, hand waving up and down his body. "-is my Din. This is you to me. Why would I ever warp who you truly are for some made up version?"

"You must've been curious."

You shrugged. "Maybe at the beginning. But who you are on the inside is all that has ever mattered to me."

"So what did you think when you saw my face?"

Your eyes snapped away from his on instinct, embarrassment crawling through you as you recalled your immediate thoughts of him. Thoughts you'd pushed away at the time because you thought he was a Trooper. Thoughts that had resurfaced when you found out that it was really him.

"Oh, no thoughts." Your voice was weak, barely coming out as more than a squeak. It was clear you were lying. "Just that you were a man..."

"Cyar'ika..."

A flush racked through you at the use of the term of endearment. He knew how to make you weak in the knees, how to make you break, you were sure of it.

"Calling me that isn't fair."

"Don't avoid the question." His head tilted to the side. "Tell me. What did you think?"

Unsure at how he'd turned from insecure, sweet Din to a version of Din that had you swooning, you shook your head at him. "I told you. No thoughts."

"And I can tell you're lying. Look at me." He placed his fingers under your chin to angle you to face him. "Tell me."

You started with a small truth. "Your eyes were sadder than I thought they'd be."

He seemed slightly taken aback by that but didn't hesitate too much in answering. "I was scared I'd lost you."

"But I thought you said you didn't know they were planning on killing me?"

"It was always a possibility." He shrugged. "We were getting towards the end of the cells when I saw you. I was... getting nervous. Thought maybe they'd transferred you somewhere else and I'd never find you. Couldn't live with that idea."

If it were possible, you softened even more under his touch. "But you did find me. And I'm here. Safe. Because of you."

"Hmm." He just hummed in agreement, shifting his hand so it moved to cup your jaw instead. "What else?"

You huffed, hoping you'd got out of the line of questioning about your opinions on his appearance. Whilst having openly admitted a whole spout of feelings for each other, you weren't quite ready to declare how absolutely breathtaking he was.

"Don't make me say it."

"Say what, cyar'ika? Hm? I'm just asking."

You leaned into his touch, the warmth from his palm along with the sound of the Mando'a pet name set off a spark within you. When his gloved thumb swooped over your cheek gently you were sure that your brain short circuited.

"You're beautiful, Din."

The statement was breathless but held certainty in it. The Mandalorian didn't reply, too shocked by your confession. He honestly hadn't been expecting you to be so open. And to say that of all things.

So you kept going. "It was never going to matter to me what you looked like underneath the Beskar. Because who you are as a person is the only important thing. But I have to admit that I thought you were gorgeous when you walked past my cell. And then I immediately felt guilty because I thought you were a Trooper." Your head dipped in shame for a moment. "You are beautiful, Din Djarin. Inside and out."

He still said nothing, hands just lifting to the bottom of his helmet.

When you heard the hiss of the seal, your hands slapped across your eyes. "Ah! What are you doing?"

"Taking off my helmet. What are you doing?" He sounded amused.

"Covering my eyes so I don't see obviously." You scoffed and scrunched your eyes beneath your palms.

"Cyar'ika, you've already seen my face."

"So? I might have remembered details wrong."

"Thought you said I was beautiful?"

You huffed, not liking how he was turning that against you. "I did but revealing your identity is a big no-no, Din! That's what the Way says, right?"

"Right." He was holding back laughter.

"Exactly! Doesn't matter if I've seen you before. Might not remember you completely correctly." You remembered him completely correctly. "So we cannot risk you revealing yourself a whole other time."

The way you were so respectful of his creed, no matter how ridiculous you were being at that moment with your hands pressed tightly over your eyes, had Din tingling inside.

"I don't think it's a risk if you've seen me before and you're a part of my clan, hm?"

You grumbled something underneath your breath. "I can't argue with you on Mandalorian culture because you're the expert. But I feel as if you're finding loopholes here."

"Perhaps. Just look."

The sound of his helmet hissing and the dull clang of it hitting the floor had you hesitating before slowly peeling your hands away from your face.

He was exactly how you remembered.

Every line, every scar, every eyelash, every inch of skin, the deep brown of his eyes, the angle of his nose, the unruly tufts of curls atop his head and the uneven patches of facial hair peppered across his jaw and down his neck. This was your Din Djarin. Stood in front of you, everything exposed and exactly how you remembered him. Exactly how you wanted him. Perfect. The whole of him was perfect.

With a stifled sigh of relief, you reached out your hands to cup his face, hesitating for a moment when you realised he might hate that. "Can I?"

He nodded, his eyes looking sad yet hopeful - an improvement from the last time you saw them.

Your palms settled on his cheeks, thumbs swiping over his cheeks and across his bristly stubble. A smile broke across your face when his eyelids closed and he leaned in your touch.

"Oh, Din..." Tears sprang to your eyes yet you couldn't exactly explain why, the flood of emotions was overwhelming.

"Cyar'ika..." He breathed against the skin of your wrist, turning slightly in your grasp to plant his lips against your palm.

You took a step closer to him, encouraging him to duck down and rest his forehead against yours. A Mandalorian kiss, stripped of the barrier between the two of you. He let out a shaky sigh as you made contact, his hair tickling your brow.

"When was the last time someone touched you? Skin on skin?" You needed to know, he was acting like he'd never felt the warmth of physical contact before.

He hummed lowly in his chest as he thought about it, eyes shut tight in contemplation. "My parents, I think."

Your heart ached for him. It had been decades. You wanted more, to give him more, but worried that it might be too much too fast. But you yearned to touch him, to show him how good it could be.

Broken out of your thoughts by a rustling noise between the two of you, you glanced down without breaking away from him to see that he was removing his leather gloves and throwing them to the floor beside you.

You stared at his hands, scars littering both the palms and the backs. You'd never wanted someone to touch you with their hands more.

Din appeared to have the same thought as he hovered them over your sides, fists clenching open and closed. "Can I?"

"Can you what, hm?" You wanted- no needed him to say it, to be as clear as possible between you.

"Touch you. Can I touch you please?" His eyes were still closed but you could see he was restless behind his lids, almost worried even.

"Of course you can."

You expected him to just place his hands on your hips or waist, which he did technically. What you didn't expect was for him to slide his hands underneath the hem of your shirt and place them directly onto your skin, squeezing slightly when he made contact.

You hummed contently in acknowledgement to tell him that it was okay and stepped closer to him, your chest pressing up against the Beskar now.

“Can I kiss you?” The question was sudden, hushed, almost unsure.

You didn’t hesitate in tilting your head upwards and reassuring him of how much you wanted exactly that. “I’m so glad you asked.”

Then his lips were on yours, a relieved sigh exiting him and a content one leaving you.

You moved together in time, like you knew how the other worked and what they wanted. And maybe you did. Maybe you knew each so well, or knew that the other wanted the same thing you did. Din’s thumbs stroked gently at the skin of your waist and yours swiped over his cheeks, brushing away a stray tear that had fallen from his eyes. His sad, brown eyes. You hoped they’d be less sad in the future.

He broke away for a moment to mumble against your lips. "I was so scared I'd lost you."

You shook your head and kissed him again. "I thought I'd never see you again."

“I wouldn’t have left you there.” He promised, hands gripping you impossibly tighter. “There isn’t a single thing I wouldn’t have done to get you back.”

You just nodded at him, believing every word he was saying, and pulled him closer to kiss you again. The way his lips melded against yours and the way your tongues curled together had you convinced that this was meant to be. It was so utterly perfect that it felt as if the stars had written it centuries ago, always destined to happen.

“Cyar’ika…” He hummed to you when you both broke away again for some air.

As much as you wanted this moment to last forever, a thought suddenly re-entered your mind. “Grogu!”

“It’s okay. We know where he is and we’re on our way to get him back.” He smiled at your concern for the child, understanding it completely. He felt the same after all.

You nodded gently, relieved that the child would be back and safe soon enough. Then things really would be back to how they should be again. The three of you - you, your Mandalorian and your green child. Perfect.

A/N: this has been under works for agessss… hope you enjoyed!

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samwhump · 1 month

Text

a (very inexhaustive, wincest-heavy) sam whump reclist

@transfemmesam asked me for Sam whump recs a few days ago, and I've had other requests in the same vein before (I can't imagine why.../s) so I thought I would throw this together, since these authors deserve all of the love and support for their contributions to our li'l fandom corner.

like I mentioned in the title, this is not at all a comprehensive list; I have at least ~200 more fics in my to-read queue that could thematically fit here, but alas, I have stupid shit like a job and a body and a dog to take care of, so. I'm always happy to get recs along these lines, so if you notice anything important missing, hit me UP. (and don't take any omissions as any specific commentary by me -- it's likely I just haven't had the chance to read it yet, haha.)

disclaimers:

some (most, honestly) of these contain potentially triggering and dark content, including but not limited to rape/noncon, torture, and suicidal attempts & ideation. I have tried to note content warnings where applicable, and most of the works are hosted on ao3, so the tags should have most of the information you need to make an informed decision. that being said, tread with caution. all of the summaries provided are from the original author, with warnings added after by me.

the list is in alphabetical order and separated into wincest and gen categories. a lot of the gen is also focused on the sam & dean relationship, because...I am what I am. and what I am a sucker for these two dipshits. there is also a brief section at the end with a few fics that don't fit into either category.

gen

All That Goes Unspoken by amnesiawife:

A case forces Sam to confront something long kept buried. (Set nebulously in season 12.)

CW: discussions of past rape/noncon, victim blaming

Beneath the Trees 'verse by Lise (5 works total, starting with Beneath the Trees, Where Nobody Sees):

Sam doesn't go to Stanford. Everything goes downhill from there.

CW: suicidal ideation

a boy is a cage by ad_castra:

After expelling Gadreel from Sam's body, Dean thinks they're in the clear. If only they were that lucky. // S9 fic wherein Gadreel's grace causes some adverse side-effects in Sam's mind.

CW: past referenced rape/noncon, body horror

body of proof by Askance (doomcountry):

There are things Sam hasn't told his brother. They're all in the envelope laid on Dean's pillow.

CW: heavy discussion of past rape/noncon

break these bones 'til they're better by redskyatmorning:

After Sam’s torture at the hands of the British Men of Letters, the latest in a long string of violations, he is rescued by Dean and Mary – and forced to ponder his broken relationship with his own body. Months later, when Sam is resurrected and tormented by Lucifer yet again, Dean confronts Mary and Sam gets his revenge against the devil.

catching my death (staring out an open window) by ad_castra:

Sam gazes at the window, catches the faint pink hue tinting the sky. It’s so realistic - he could breathe in the fresh air if he were really here. ----- They got Sam out. Sometimes, just knowing that isn't enough.

CW: implied past rape/noncon

Death of Convenience by WilsonTheMoose:

It should have been easy. Wendigos are no joke but daylight slows them. The weather's been unpredictable though and perfect, idyllic hunts don't exactly stay that way where they're concerned. Or Sam has one card to play and never stops to think that Dean would care if he killed himself.

CW: suicidal ideation, references to suicide

Echoes of Hell by The_Nightbreaker:

It wasn't real. He wasn't in Hell anymore. That's what he tried to tell himself over and over. But two centuries of torture don't disappear in a day. Sam struggles with visions of Hell, fighting to maintain his grip on reality. Dean hates that he can't protect his brother from what isn't real—but curse him if he doesn't try. When the boys stumble on a case with ties to the Devil himself, will they be able to pull themselves together in time to stop the sacrifices? Or will the echoes of Hell finally overtake them? Aka, season 7, but the plot is Hell trauma, not leviathans.

CW: suicidal ideation

Evening Shadows by withthekeyisking:

Sam is hallucinating the monster who tortured him for nearly two centuries, Dean feels like he's failing his brother, and a diner waitress bears witness.

CW: past rape/noncon

Everything Dies Given Time by Lise:

AU from 5.03. Sam discovers something wrong with himself, and learns to live with it. Only a lot less functional.

CW: suicide/temporary character death

The Freedom to Be Loud by jribbing:

It hadn’t occurred to Dean that maybe Sam remembered so much about that little nowhere town because something memorable had happened there.

CW: referenced past rape/noncon

golgotha by redskyatmorning:

There’s a vacancy on the throne of hell, and Sam is desperate enough to save Dean from Michael’s possession to give into the abyssal depths of his own darkness.

Head Space by ameliacareful:

A witch curses Sam leaving him blind, deaf, and bedridden. Left with only the inside of his own head and the occasional touch, Sam begins to unravel.

CW: suicidal ideation

Hiraeth by inkandpaperqwerty:

(n.) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past "Dean... I made a really big mistake." For a second, Dean actually thought things were going okay. He was out of Hell, Sam agreed to stop drinking demon blood, they had just wrapped up a successful hunt... for once, everything was okay. And then it wasn't. "I overdosed." Not at all.

CW: suicide attempts, suicidal ideation

if i could leave (i would've already left) by serendipity0930:

“I have a mission from God for you,” the Angel whispers to the man. “It is time for you to do what you were born to.” The man’s face twists into a smile, delighted over being chosen by Him, a purpose from God digging into his heart, carving out a place to fester. “Hunt.” ... 05x03 AU where Zachariah is even more determined to keep the brothers apart and hunters are all too willing to take Lucifer's True Vessel off the board for good

CW: referenced suicide

It's A River (But Not In Egypt) by Lise:

He's still a liar. Maybe always has been.

CW: toxic Sam/Lucifer dynamics

Kindred Instruments by PinBitch:

They’re in a tug of war and Sam is the rope. He doesn’t need to be alive for that. OR Sam dies in detox, being flung against the walls of a metal box will do that to you. Dean and Ruby pick up the pieces.

CW: temporary main character death, permanent supporting character death

lazarus trick by katsidhe:

Sam's alive, so everything is gonna be okay. 13.22 coda.

Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence by Lise:

Sam's back. He's in one piece. That's the problem.

CW: self-harm

love is like ghosts by redskyatmorning:

I’m poison, Dean had said instead of I’m sorry. Well, Sam wants to say, what does that make me? What the hell does that make me? (A look into Sam's mind in the aftermath of the Gadreel possession.)

The Other Brother by RadioFriday:

Sam and Adam are pulled from the cage at the same time. Sam is not right, and Adam, stuck as his caretaker, is not pleased.

Oxygen by inkandpaperqwerty:

“Cas! Cas, please! Please, answer me! Cas!” Castiel ignores Dean for several minutes, but then Dean gives him an opening that might help him complete his mission. So, he goes to investigate, and what he finds is a very bloody, nearly dead Sam. Dean tells him where the injuries came from, and Castiel quickly becomes confused. It doesn't make sense, but Dean tries to explain it to him, and slowly... Castiel begins to understand.

CW: suicide attempt

Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc by AmberSock:

Sam waits, kneeling, for his execution. What if Dean hadn't missed?

CW: temporary character death

Safety In Distance by GalaxyThreads and SpiritClusters:

The Mark of Cain is a brand of violence. Sam was an idiot to think that he'd be exempt from it, just because he and Dean are siblings.

sometimes a kind of singing by adi_rotynd:

Sam gets cursed. They're dealing with it. Jack can see souls. That one they're not dealing with quite as well.

CW: past referenced rape/noncon

Soul Windows by GalaxyThreads and Spirit Clusters:

A few months after his birth, Jack learns how to see souls. Then he comes to a realization about the Winchester brothers, Sam in particular, and it's not a pleasant one. (gen)

Starry Night by keepcalmsmile:

Sam attempts suicide-by-monster. Dean tries to help. It sort of works...until it doesn't.

CW: suicide attempts, suicidal ideation

such fragile, broken things by The_Bookkeeper:

Sam wishes that Dean would just get it over with already.

The Tale of Sir Galahad by keepcalmsmile:

Sam once said he could never be clean like Sir Galahad. Dean assumed he was just talking about the demon blood. Turns out, Sam was talking about something else too. WARNING: Extended discussions of the aftermath of rape and childhood sexual abuse (but NO description of the actual events). Happy(ish) ending, but potentially very triggering.

CW: past rape/noncon, mentioned CSA

They Hammered in His Teeth by jribbing:

Sam has a secret.

CW: suicidal ideation

today's troubles (are history tomorrow) by a_good_soldier:

"It's not really something I know how to share," Sam had said. In which Dean figures he ought to help Sam out a bit.

Touch and Go by themegalosaurus:

Tag to 9.19 (Alex Annie Alexis Ann) in which Dean realises why, exactly, Sam is so angry about what happened with Gadreel.

trust fall by ad_castra:

“I’m nothing like you,” Sam hisses. Nevermind relating to the anguish of going it alone. Nevermind that he knows what it is to be strapped down and forcibly cleansed against his will. Sam wonders if these trials are purifying Crowley as well.

Words Like Glass by broken_cinders:

Dean never figured the cage wouldn't leave a mark. He was prepared for memories, flashbacks, and nightmares. He wasn't expecting the words Sam brought back with him or the way they made him seem just a breath beyond Dean's reach.

Wound and Unwound by fascra:

Sam stops eating spring of his freshman year.

CW: eating disorder

wincest (dean/sam)

Brittle by thecapn:

Sam Winchester has an eating disorder.

CW: eating disorder

Don't You Cry No More by sixtysevenlmpala (schittyfic):

The first time Sam gets badly hurt on a hunt, he doesn’t cry. Dean does.

Fall On Your Knees by dollylux:

Sam doesn't quite make it home on the last day of school before winter break.

The Fall Will Probably Kill You by killabeez:

Set between 7.04 and the aftermath of 7.07. Dean is not as okay as he'd like you to think. Neither is Sam.

CW: self-harm

Feels so good to feel again by Trojie:

The pain keeps Lucifer at bay, at least to start with.

Follow In Your Form by withthekeyisking:

Sam is hallucinating Lucifer in the wake of Cas bringing his Hell Wall crashing down. To make matters worse, it seems like this has his dormant powers flaring back to life.

Last Temptation by merle_p:

Sam is running a fever again, the kind of fever no Ibuprofen or cold compress will bring down, the kind of fever that is eating him up alive, eviscerating him from the inside. He is too hot and too cold and too pale, delirious and shaking, resonating with whatever divine energy the trials are subjecting him to, and Dean is not sure how much longer he can stand to see him be in this state. Because Sam is quite possibly dying, and there is nothing Dean can do to stop it. Because Sam is dying, and he just. Won’t. Shut. Up.

CW: mentioned past rape/noncon

leeches by Anonymous:

Sam discovers a spell to make everybody forget him. He’s convinced it’s for the best. Pre-Stanford.

CW: attempted kidnapping/torture

Make Thick My Blood by themegalosaurus:

“You’re going to kill me, Dean,” Sam says, eventually. And all Dean can say is, “I think I am.” A season 10 AU, set after 10x14 ('The Executioner's Song'). Cas finds a solution that might cure the Mark of Cain; but if they're going to go through with it, Sam has a terrible price to pay.

CW: mentioned past rape/noncon

Prophecy of an Abomination by ashitanoyuki:

Sam is kidnapped by fanatically religious hunters and crucified. Coming back from this won't be easy. Canon-divergent from midway through season 2.

Recall by De_Nugis:

Sam's having a hard time telling what's real and what isn't, especially when it comes to some voicemails from Dean.

The Room Upstairs by brokenlittleboy:

Sam comes back from hell, but he’s inside-out and all wrong, and Dean can’t fix him.

CW: mentioned past rape/noncon

Ruin You (and its companion fic Worth) by Mumble_Bee:

Cole fucks Sam with Demon!Dean watching from a devil's trap, snarling that anyone would dare touch what was his. “I told you I don’t care what you do to his face or his blood or his fucking nose,” Dean growled, “but you put your dick anywhere near him and I will end you.” “Better hurry up then, Dean, because I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

CW: explicit rape/noncon

Snowed In by HelloStarlingFics:

When working a case, Sam and Dean get stuck out in a shack in the woods when the snow comes in hard and fast. Trouble is, Sam’s hated the cold ever since the Cage. Time for Dean to step up and look after him.

Wake by minchout:

Gadreel has had Sam for four years, and Dean, lost in guilt and obsessed with finding a way to get his brother back, has isolated himself in a cabin in the Missouri Ozarks with nothing but the woods, a stray dog, some chickens, and all the books the Men of Letters had to offer to keep him company. Then Sam shows up one day without his passenger, and Dean learns quickly that it doesn't matter that Sam is with him again - there is still a lot of work to be done before they can find their way back to each other.

Wanting to Forget by morganaDW (morgana07):

1-shot. S1 fic. After getting Sam freed from the Benders Dean thinks all he has to cope with is some bruises and cuts. He learns quickly just how wrong he is when Sam wakes up with a nightmare, reliving his brief but bad captivity in every detail. Sam just wants to forget & Dean has to try to get him to let him help. Will one night of cruelty and pain ruin what’s been formed between them?

CW: referenced past rape/noncon

when I wake up I'm afraid, somebody else might take my place by quake_quiver:

Sam doesn’t remember the last time he cried for Dean like he did that night. And now it’s been…two weeks. Maybe more. Sam is tired, and in pain, and starting to doubt that Dean’s going to show up. He’s weak and shaking from a combination of constant pain and hunger. Sam longs for Dean. Dean would make it better. Dean would fix it.

CW: rape/noncon, body horror

Wire Inside Me by merle_p:

There are a lot of things Sam hates about his current condition, to the point where he sometimes feels for the gun under his pillow at night, blindly toys with the safety, imagines pressing the muzzle into the underside of his chin and pulling the trigger just to make it stop. But there’s nothing he hates as much as the shadows he sees in Dean’s eyes whenever his brother is looking at him these days. It’s not an expression he remembers ever seeing before, but Sam thinks it’s probably something like revulsion. Horror. Disgust. What else could it be.

CW: referenced past rape/noncon, body horror, forced pregnancy

Worth (and its companion fic Ruin You) by Mumble_Bee:

Episode 10x01 "Black" where Dean is a human, and very, very, pissed off to hear someone has hands on his brother. “It’s nothing personal,” Cole whispered into Sam's ear, too quietly for Dean to hear, “but I need to kill your brother, and I need him off his game when he gets here. I don’t wanna hurt you, kid, but I’m going to, anyway. I’m going to hurt you a lot."

CW: explicit rape/noncon

you'll never see us again by according2thelore:

Then finally, his eyes trail over to Dean. His pupils are pin-point thin, and his hair is straggling in his face so Dean can’t see most of what expression lies there. Sam usually wakes up from nightmares in one of three attitudes: confusion, fear, or calm. A scary, sense-prickling calm that Dean hates more than anything else. Resignation, almost. Or: Sam suffers from nightmares and touch starvation post-Cage. They do their best to deal.

other Sam/Lucifer noncon

Cage Fight (No Way To Do This Right) by Dyed_Red:

Sam’s visit to the cage is already going awry, but Dean’s one-man rescue ends up skidding it sideways into territory neither him or Sam are ready for. (Gratuitous episode scene re-write. If Cas hadn’t come till after, if he hadn’t been there yet when Dean ran down to the 'parole' cage after hearing Sam scream - how bad could it have got for the brothers before he made it?)

CW: graphic rape/noncon

Into Being by withthekeyisking:

When Sam wakes up in the cave on Apocalypse World after having been killed by vamps, it's not just to find Lucifer there with him. It's to find him in him.

CW: graphic rape/noncon, necrophilia, forced pregnancy

Reggie/Tim/Sam noncon

a pointless resistance for you by withthekeyisking:

Sam doesn't know how long he's been with Tim and Reggie by the time Dean shows up and tries to take him out of there. Long enough that's he's already lost one baby and is pregnant with the next. Long enough that this life is starting to feel like all he knows.

CW: graphic rape/noncon, forced pregnancy & miscarriage, victim blaming

screaming birds sound an awful lot like singing by withthekeyisking:

Sam has done his best to move past what Tim and Reggie did to him, pretending it never happened at all. But running into them again makes that very difficult—especially when Dean gets involved.

CW: referenced past rape/noncon

Waste 'Em All by withthekeyisking:

When Tim and Reggie try to force the demon blood down Sam's throat, he spits it back out. He has no interest in being turned into their own personal attack dog. They don't...take it well.

CW: explicit rape/noncon

#sam winchester #sam whump #supernatural #supernatural fic rec #wincest

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jessequinones · 1 month

Text

Writing Advice: Chapters

A lot of my advice comes down to, having beta readers, and “it’s up to you” which doesn’t sound like good advice but when it comes to writing, everyone writes differently so there are different ways of doing the same thing. So, what’s my advice when I talk about chapters?

To me, a chapter is a section of the book which talks about a certain event. There’s no right or wrong way for how long the event should be, and there’s no right or wrong way of how the event can start or end. Here’s how I write my chapters and what I’ve learned along the way.

Starting the chapter:

Before I start the chapter, I need to figure out what the main event is gonna be. Will this event be informational? Action pact? Suspenseful? It can also be a combination of a few events as well, such as having my characters find information, but something goes wrong and now they have to escape.

After I figure out what the main event is gonna be, I start writing and once I complete that event I end it and move on. I try not to carry on too much after the main event has finished because I feel like my chapters might drag if I do.

Writing the chapter:

When it comes to a chapter, I try to have a beginning, middle, and end section. (Keep in mind this doesn’t work for every chapter.) Let me explain what I meant about those sections. The event in this example is Nix and Dante are tryna get information, but something goes wrong after they get said information. So the chapter starts at the beginning where Nix and Dante enter a secured location. The middle is where they get passed all of the alarms and hacked into the network. The ending is they got the information but an alarm gets triggered anyway.

Expanding the chapter:

So, I wrote the beginning, middle, and end, the event is done, but it was kind of boring. Let’s expand it to them escaping. This is where I think chapters start to become long. Some people combine two events into one chapter and some events are longer than others. Escaping a secured facility sounds more difficult than sneaking in. So, adding an escape attempt can spice up the chapter, but you need to be careful with how you do it.

I think when people complain about long chapters, one of their reasoning is “This feels like it could’ve been split into two chapters”. It might be the fact there are two separate events, both with their beginning, middle, and ends. If you want to expand upon your chapter, I would change how the beginning, middle, and end originally played out so it feels more natural when you go from one event to the next. This will take practice and beta readers can help if a chapter sounds too long or just right.

So instead of sneaking into a place, getting the information and having to escape. I would get rid of the middle part where Nix and Dante were sneaking and just show them entering the building, maybe talk for a few paragraphs before they reach their end goal because I already know escaping is gonna add several more pages. It’s a trial and error, and some readers might prefer the sneaking portion, while others might enjoy the fast pace. The end result is what do you like?

Continuing chapters:

What about chapters that don’t need a beginning, middle and end? Those chapters are what I call, continuing chapters. The most obvious examples of continuing chapters are the final climax of a story, like a big battle. The big battle might take multiple chapters to get through, and starting at the beginning, middle, and end of each chapter where the main event is the final fight, might get a bit tiresome. A simplified way of taking a large event, like a big fight, and breaking it over several continuing chapters is having each chapter be its own thing. Let’s say it takes three chapters to finish the final confrontation. The first chapter is the beginning, so there’s lots of build-up, but nothing too bad. The second chapter is the middle and is normally the longest out of the three. It’s the one with the most fighting and maybe a character dies at the end as a cliffhanger. The third chapter is where the villain is defeated and the fight is over thrust concluding the three sections.

That was a very simplified way of explaining continuing chapters, but yeah, not every event can be told in a single chapter, sometimes you have to space them out a bit. I would recommend letting the readers know that said event will most likely take a long time to complete so they'll be aware it's gonna be a long read.

Length of a chapter:

People often ask, how long should a chapter be, and there’s no real answer to that. Some can be a page, and I’ve seen others that are thirty. (Looking at you DragonFire). I personally don’t try to go for a word count or page limit. Often times when I try to make my chapters reach a certain goal, I find there’s a lot of filler that could’ve been cut. This is why I like to write my chapters as if I were writing an event and just focus on the event itself. If I need to expand or get rid of something, I can do that later.

My chapters are normally three pages in length, whenever I go over that, I try to tell my readers the next upcoming chapters will be long. This kind of tactic will depend on your story of course, but let’s go back to Nix and Dante.

In the example, Nix and Dante went into a secured location, took some information and got caught, now they needed to escape. If I want to add the escape portion in the same chapter because breaking in was kind of short, I might tell the reader before said chapter even began that “This mission won't be an easy one”, or “You’ll need to be real careful stealing the information because if you get caught, guards will come.” So, by the time Nix and Dante do get caught, the reader should be aware, the chapter will continue for a few more pages.

Oh yeah, if you’re gonna write a long chapter, make sure to have at least one smaller chapter to break it up. (DragonFire) Having long chapters, after long chapters, is, at least for me, very tiring. I don’t like to stop reading midway through a chapter, but reading thirty pages in a day is very difficult. So if you know you have some long chapters, throw in a few short ones.

Readers might also hate long chapters because they feel like there’s a bit too much filler in them. (Filler-in chapters aren’t the same thing as filler chapters).

Filler-in chapters might appear in one of two ways, either there’s too much filler to get to the main event, or there’s too much filler and the chapter should’ve ended already. Beta readers are a good way of telling you if there’s filler in a chapter or not. Keep in mind, that you, as the writer know what’s best for your story. Readers can only tell you how they feel. If you feel the “filler” part isn’t filler, but a lot of people say it is. Finding a workaround can be difficult. Unfortunately, I don’t have any advice on this kind of topic because this kind of writing problem is unique for every writer. Writing groups might be able to help as they’ll have your text and can help figure out what's going on.

Filler chapters:

There’s nothing wrong with filler chapters. Not every chapter needs to focus on the main story. I personally like filler chapters. They’re fun chapters which explore the characters and the world. A bit of a refresher after an intense fight is fine. When people complain about filler chapters, it’s often because there’s a bit too much of them. Or they came out of nowhere and killed the pacing. For example, if everything has been dark and gritty, having a chapter that’s more on the upbeat side is strange. Also if the chapter ends with a character's death and the next one ignores it, readers might not like that. This is one of the reasons why I don’t like POV swapping between every chapter. If someone dies in character (A) POV, and the next chapter switches to character (B) POV where they’re on the beach…I might get a bit annoyed. Even if Character (B) POV isn’t filler, I just witnessed someone die, I wanna know what’s going on and not swap to another POV.

Also filler chapters tend to be on the shorter side as well. If a filler chapter goes on a bit too long, then it might feel like the story is losing its focus a bit.

Beta readers can help point out which chapters are filler and where to add in filler if that's something you want to do.

Chapter Endings:

Ending a chapter is always interesting, do you want to end it with a cliffhanger or not? Does your chapter flow smoothly from one to the other? I don’t mind cliffhanger endings but try not to make every chapter a cliffhanger. At some point it becomes a bit much for some readers such as myself, I prefer to stop reading at a good stopping point. Cliffhangers aren’t a stopping point, I need to see what’s gonna happen next. Creating a cliffhanger after a long chapter, for me is a bit much. Long chapters already drain me, and forcing me to continue to get to an actual stopping point will make me enjoy your book less. (I understand no one is forcing me to read a book, but I just really, really hate stopping at cliffhangers). Not to mention if there are multiple cliffhangers in a row, I might put the book down and not pick it up for a long time because I’ll have no idea how many cliffhangers I’ll have to deal with before getting to an actual pause in the story. Personally, as a reader, I feel like there needs to be good stopping points. Places where it’s safe to stop reading and the reader can pick it back up later.

If you end a chapter in a city and the next one starts in a jungle, that kind of scene change might be a bit confusing so again, just send it through a couple of beta readers and see how you did with the transition portion of going from one chapter to the next. The same thing goes for tone as well. If the last chapter ends with a death, and the next one is in a circus, the tone shift might be a bit much. Just pass it along with a beta reader.

That’s about it for chapters. If you want some more detailed advice on certain chapters then let me know, but chapters are one of those things where it comes with practice. The length, the event, the ending, all of this stuff will be determined by your ability to write. Beta readers are a great way of pointing out how they felt while reading a chapter and you can go from there.

#writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writers of tumblr #writer #writers #writerscommunity #creative writing #writing advice #write

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dulcesiabits · 9 days

Text

where the stars fall.

summary: in the middle of the zombie apocalypse, you and your childhood friend, Childe, and his little brother try to survive amidst the wreckage of a broken world. things take a turn for the worse when you meet a stranger who shatters what you think you know of the world.

notes: 11k words, author's notes, descriptions of violence, murder (specifically through the use of a gun and of an unnamed stranger), unhealthy relationships, angst with no comfort

It’s the end of the world, and your childhood friend is the only person you have left.

Glass crunches underfoot as you and Childe slip in through the broken window of an abandoned grocery store. There’s not much left on the shelves: a stale loaf of black, furry bread, a forgotten wrapper, a dusty row of cracked children’s toys. Everything good has already been scavenged by other survivors.

Like most other grocery stores you’ve scavenged, the broken fridges buzz with flies swarming rotting meat. The remaining fruits are so moldy they’ve permanently stained the shelves with their decaying juice. The smell barely registers anymore; you’ve long since gotten used to the scent of the world dying.

Childe gestures at you and then the left side of the store, before pointing at himself and waving at the right side. His meaning is clear; you nod, and the two of you separate.

You pad noiselessly down the aisles, eyes wandering over the remains of a forgotten life. You’ve ended up in the beauty section: crusted lotions, murky shampoo, eyeshadow palette spilling their candy-colored guts all over the floor.

You stare longingly at the shampoo bottles, but you can’t take any. It’s an unaffordable luxury, even though you’ve forgotten when you took your last bath. The heating and electricity in most houses is failing, and the encroaching winter means the outside water sources are out of the question.

The dry goods section is desiccated. Most of the food is gone, but there is one stale sleeve of crackers left. You drop it in your backpack, grinning at the lucky find.

You straighten, before your eyes fall on a door labeled “employees only.” There might still be something worth scavenging there. You pull out the kitchen knife you keep sheathed in your pocket, the blade glinting dully as you crack open the door.

The room is dark, save for a cracked light that flickers off and on in aimless intervals. There’s a clock on the wall, frozen permanently at 2:13am, and a table in the corner where employees must have taken their breaks, alongside a microwave and– lucky for you– cardboard boxes still piled up on storage shelves. You hurry over, pulling one down. Nothing but dust, more dust– aha! A crinkled bar of chocolate. It’s still sealed, but it would be a perfect present for Teucer.

Something groans behind you, and the hair on your arms tingle. Your heart pounds as you tightly grip the handle of your kitchen knife, whipping it out as you spin– just in time to see a baseball crack through the zombie standing over you.

Blood and rotting flesh fall to the floor in wet chunks as Childe hits the zombie until it collapses to the floor. Then he hits it again. And again. Its arm twitches, and Childe smashes the limb until the bone cracks. He doesn’t stop, even when the zombie stops moving, not even when it’s just a pile of meat and pooling blood.

Childe isn’t even breathing hard when he drops his arm. His eyes are hard flecks of ice as he stares down at the zombie. For a second, he looks like a stranger.

“You okay?” Childe whispers, his gaze melting into something familiar and warm, and the familiar concern coloring his voice brings him back to you.

The two of you try to limit communication to wordless gestures and hand signals when you’re traveling outside; noise risks attracting zombies. “I’m fine,” you reply.

Childe nods, before looking over you up and down carefully, as if to confirm the veracity of your statement himself. He takes your hand without a word, lacing your fingers together. The blood on his hand smears over your combined fingers, rust and iron seeping into the folds of your skin.

But it’s Childe. You won’t pull away. You can’t, even if you hate the feeling of blood.

He doesn’t let go of your hand the whole time the two of you carefully make your way out of the grocery store, slinking down streets, sticking to the shadows and pausing to listen to the shuffle of undead feet. You keep a grip on your kitchen knife and Childe’s hand never strays far from his baseball bat, but it’s an uneventful trek back to the hotel where you’ve set up a temporary base.

The entire first floor is a wreck, the former grandeur blighted by blood and smashed furniture, wallpaper peeling off in strips, the patterns in the carpet hidden by layers of grime and dirt. The room you’ve chosen is up on the third floor; neither you and Childe have bothered to venture farther up the hotel stairs beyond that.

The electronic locks and elevators have long since broken, and the door of room 302 creaks open easily. Inside, Teucer is fiddling with a radio in his hands, a ratty blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a flashlight shining like a beacon next to him, huddled by the foot of the farthest of the two beds in the room. He looks up at the two of you, his eyes bright and expectant.

It’s not until Childe securely closes the door behind him that Teucer finally launches himself at his brother, arms clinging tightly. “You’re back!” Childe barely has time to ruffle his hair before Teucer tears himself off and falls into your arms instead.

You pat his back, and a crackled voice emanates from the radio in Teucer’s hands. You can just barely make out the broken words; it might as well be a broadcast from another planet.

“... Gov… Facilities… North… Repeat…. North… Nat… tate of… gency… Repeat… Govern… North…”

Nothing you haven’t heard already. The radio has been playing the same message, over and over, for the past few months. After all, it’s only the promise of potential safety and protection that drives you and Childe to travel so far north. That, and resources are dwindling with each new city and town the three of you encounter as you follow the voice promising safety.

“I have something for you,” you say, and fish the bar of chocolate out of your bag.

Teucer’s eyes light up as he unwraps the treat. “Oh, wow!” He pauses, staring at you and then Childe, and breaks the bar into three uneven pieces.

He offers a chunk to you. You hold up your hands. “Teucer, it’s okay. That was for you.”

Teucer pouts. “Well, you gave it to me, so it’s mine now, and I get to do what I want with it. And I want to share it with you.”

You hesitate, before accepting the chocolate with two fingers. It’s softening already, leaving soft smudges on your hand. When you pop it into your mouth, it melts like a dream, flooding a sweetness into your system you haven’t tasted in months. Maybe you’ll never taste this sweetness ever again.

“Anything happen while we were gone?” Childe asks casually. Teucer fiddles with his radio again, illegible voices warbling in and out of focus like ghosts from a distant plane of existence.

“Nope,” Teucer chirps. “Just a few zombies passing by when I peeked out the window, though.”

“Teucer, I told you not to do that. What if one of them sees you?”

“Why not? I was careful, and I wanted to see when the two of you were going to come home.”

“Well, we’re home now, and Teucer is safe. Everything’s fine, so no arguing. We need to head out tomorrow, anyways,” you interrupt gently. “I think we’ve stayed here long enough.”

The two brothers nod at your words, and when they do that, Teucer looks just like an echo of Childe. Same messy hair, same freckles, same mischievous gleam in their eyes. You head towards the bathroom. If you’re lucky, there might be a trickle of tap water left if you turn on the sink.

“Wait! Aren’t you going to play something today?” Teucer chirps.

“I’m not…”

“You always said a good violinist should practice everyday so their skills don’t rust,” Childe adds. “Come on, aren’t you a professional?”

“The noise might draw an entire hoard of zombies to our door,” you say.

“The walls are soundproof,” Childe says.

“Just one song,” Teucer says. “I’ll even let you choose which one!”

You let out a little sigh before moving towards your violin case, snugly hidden by the side of the bed. It’s an unforgivable vanity, you know, to carry this with you. An extra weight, when you should have a bag full of rations or cold weather supplies instead. But when you were fleeing your home, facing threats from the undead and other desperate survivors alike, it had been Childe who shoved your violin into your hands. The electricity was failing. The water was tainted. Food was running out. And yet, Childe had handed you your instrument.

“We can’t take this with us,” you tried to reason with him.

“Don’t leave it behind,” Childe said curtly. “You love it, don’t you?”

You had grasped the instrument in your hands, a lifeline in the rising tides.

It’s not as if the world has any rooms for violinists now, no matter how good you are at playing. Bach and Tchaikovsky can’t save you from dying, and all the concert halls have turned to ash.

But when you fling open the lid, the glossy wood gleaming in the low light, when you tighten the bow and reverently run the horsehair along your amber rosin, when you attach your shoulder rest and bring it to your chin, it doesn’t feel like a mistake at all. Your violin slots under your chin perfectly, right where it belongs.

You pluck at the strings, turning the little knobs, listening, adjusting the pitch, and then you raise your bow letting the first few sweet notes sing in the air, before you launch into a short, bouncy waltz.

It almost feels like it used to, in a way that it hasn’t in a long time, and you’ll never feel again: you, and Childe, in Childe’s own living room. You force him to listen to you practice, something you’ve always made him do, even if he can’t even name all the notes on a sheet of music. Teucer is on Childe’s lap, too young to really pay attention, blinking sleepily in the afternoon light, which shines on you like a spotlight. It’s a poor audience, but this audience of two has always been your favorite, even if you dream of sold out stages and prestigious awards.

The memory is painful, and you shove it back down, with everything else you can’t bear to think about. There is no past for you. There’s only here, and now. There’s Teucer, smiling, old enough to finally pay attention. And there’s your friend– the one who knows you best– Childe. He’s listened to you from the beginning, and he’ll listen to you until the very end.

Childe watches you, the same way he’s always done: face turned towards you, rapt. He’s listening to you play, but it feels like it’s you he’s paying the most attention to, not your music. As if in this dying world, you’re the only one who can save him.

The three of you steal out of the hotel in the blue light of dawn, the cold a bitter chill as you creep down the stairs and make your way to the highway again. You have a map, but following the local highway is the easiest way to proceed to your location, a manmade road marking your path to safety. Cars bead the roads in one long necklace of crushed metal and metal corpses.

The cars are the remains of panicked people who tried to leave town as fast as they could, but the sheer flood of people meant the roads had easily jammed and cars idled in place. The lucky ones, who got out quickly, rode their cars until they ran out of gas before abandoning them. The others discarded their trapped cars to idle and rust as they fled on foot. And the unlucky ones, like you, Childe and Teucer, have no choice but to run as far as your legs could carry you.

Teucer is sandwiched between you and Childe as the three of you walk in silence. The world is so quiet now, a silence that has its own weight and texture. Nothing works, and there’s no one to talk to. You can’t even speak to your companions unless you want to risk the attention of zombies or other survivors.

Teucer’s portable radio hangs limply in his hands, and he lets out a raspy little cough. Instantly, you turn to him, a hand on the top of his soft curls.

Teucer shakes his head, and gives you a thumbs up. You and Childe glance at each other, before Childe sweeps Teucer onto his back. Teucer digs his heels into Childe’s sides as a protest to be let down, but Childe continues resolutely forward.

You let out a little sigh. It’s a familiar sight; ever since Teucer was a baby, Childe was always reaching for his brother with his chubby hands, holding him close to him like a treasure. You like Teucer, but you’re an only child; you can’t imagine what it’s like to have a sibling you love so much.

The road is long, winding and endless in front of you, but even the monotony of your travel can’t stop you from pricking your ears, listening for the shuffle of feet, or a long, winding groan. It’s not safe out in the open, and unease prickles your skin.

You pass a car, and a zombie slams its hands against the window, rotting fingers leaving stains on the glass as it claws at you, eyes sunken. Your stomach shrivels, and you bite your lip to prevent your startled cry from escaping. You can guess what happened here: someone was bitten by a zombie, escaped in a panic, but had turned before they could get very far. Still, the eyeless face turns your stomach. That could be you, if you’re not careful enough.

In the next moment, Childe takes your hand, lacing your fingers together. You look at him questioningly, but he simply smiles in return. Maybe it’s a habit from the time you’ve spent together, but Childe is always reaching for your hand. To reassure you, to reassure himself, or just to comfort you.

Childe takes care of you. He knows your moods before you do, valiantly throws himself in front of any perceived threat to you, and wants to solve all of your problems. When you were little, when he sensed you were upset, Childe used to throw rocks at your bedroom window until you let him in. He reminds you a little of a dog, but if you tell him that, he would only grin.

You sigh, but before you can even signal your thanks, a low, broken shout pierces the air. Instantly, both you and Childe tense; you grab your knife and jerk out of his grasp as you run towards the voice.

There’s a young man lying against a car, a snarling zombie snapping its jaws at his face. The young man is holding it back with his gloved hands, but he’s quickly losing purchase. There’s a gun a few feet away from him; he must have been caught unawares.

Before you can think, you dart towards the zombie and angle your knife through its neck and into its brain. The zombie howls; the noise isn’t good. It could attract more of them– but then the zombie’s voice cuts off abruptly. It totters and slumps over, and then you see why: the young man has somehow shoved a knife within the zombie’s mouth.

“Fuck,” the young man mutters. He’s still slumped over on the ground.

You hold out your hand. “Are you okay?” you mumble.

The young man looks derisively at you, before slowly rising to his feet. “Yeah. I had it under control.”

“If you say so,” you say doubtfully.

“Hey, is everything okay?” By now, Childe has caught up with the two of you, his baseball clutched tightly in his hands. Teucer is trailing behind him.

“Yeah,” you say. “This guy was in some trouble, but it’s okay now.”

Childe kicks the body of the zombie, and you flinch at the weight of the sound. “Okay, great. Let's move on, then.”

“Wait.” You turn back to the young man. “Do you need any medical treatment? Did the zombie get to you in any way?”

“Are you asking me if I have a zombie bite?” the young man says contemptuously. “What would you do if I did? Going to stick your knife into my throat?”

“If they won’t, I will,” Childe says, his smile still pleasant. “They saved your life, so the least you can do is verify that you’re not a threat to us.”

“I just want to know if you’re okay,” you persist.

“I said I’m fine,” the young man says. “You know, do you want to draw the zombies to our location? Why don’t you both just shut up, and then we can all move on, hm?”

“We saved your life,” Childe says. “You don’t think you owe us for that?”

“They saved my life, not you,” the young man interjects. “And I don’t owe you anything for sticking your nose in my business.”

“Why don’t you come with us?” you suggest. Childe and the young man both look at you like you’ve sprouted a second head. “I did save your life, and there’s safety in numbers. You’re heading north, too, right? To the government shelter? We could help each other out.”

“Don’t just assume my plans,” the young man mutters. His mouth puckers, as if he’s swallowed something sour. “Fine. If you’re so desperate for my assistance, I suppose I can accompany you for a while. We can call it even that way. But don’t expect any favors from me after that.”

You nod. “Okay. What’s your name?”

The young man eyes you distrustfully. “I suppose… you can call me Scaramouche.”

After introducing yourselves to Scaramouche, who makes sure to collect his gun, the four of you set off. Scaramouche lingers a bit behind your group. Childe, for his part, keeps a tight grip on Teucer’s hand, who keeps trying to look back at the stranger. Neither men look particularly happy.

Maybe this is a bad idea. Still, even if Scaramouche does become a threat, he’s easily outnumbered; he can’t risk using his gun without drawing in zombies with the sound. Besides, if you just left him to wander by himself after a zombie attack, you’d worry over him. This is for your own peace of mind.

The next town descends into view before sunset, a place whose name was lost when all its inhabitants fled. A town without people isn’t really a town at all. Crumbling buildings, deserted cars, broken windows and overflowing trash on the streets: every place looks the same now. This might as well have been the place you left this morning.

A few zombies prowl the streets. The four of you avoid main roads and storefronts, and it’s at this point that Scaramouche leads your little group. He must be familiar with the area, because it’s not long before you reach a residential district, and Scaramouche nods his head at a nondescript house, with intact windows and a sturdy door, which you go up to open.

The lock is stuck, but you strike at it with your knife until it loosens. The three of you step into what looks like someone’s living room: leather couches, bookcases, widescreen television. The books are dusty with disuse, game consoles lying lifeless on the ground.

You, Scaramouche, and Childe sweep the premises, but there’s no zombies– or other survivors– in the place. It makes sense; most people fled as soon as they could, when the weather was still favorable. You, Childe and Teucer are part of the stragglers, the last few people still on the road. Other survivors aren’t common to encounter anymore, and those that are left are quick to look at each other with suspicion and hostility, if not aggression.

Scaramouche’s reaction is normal, all things considered. To him, you’re probably the odd one out. The world has turned to shit. It takes some measure of courage, tenacity, cunning, or even selfishness to survive. You can’t fault anyone for what they do to live.

But still. You can’t imagine completely turning your back on other people. After all, you and Childe have been supporting each other all this time. Neither of you could have made it this far without each other.

“I’m taking a bedroom upstairs,” Scaramouche says abruptly. “Don’t bother me unless you need me.”

“Get some rest,” you say. You set your violin case carefully down onto the floor, but Scaramouche pauses to watch you as you do.

“What the hell is that?”

“My violin,” you say simply.

“Really?” he says, scowling. “A violin? Do you think this is a school field trip? Are you going to subdue the zombies through music?”

“We could also subdue the zombies by tying you up and throwing you to them as bait,” Childe says pleasantly, stepping in front of you so you’re hidden from Scaramouche’s view.

You can still see him, though, and Scaramouche rolls his eyes at Childe’s words. He must not be in the mood for a fight, because he disappears up the stairs without another word.

“Gov… north… natio… state of… gency… repeat…” Teucer is fiddling with his radio again, cross-legged on the living room, and the sound echoes in the small space. He coughs as he adjusts the antenna, wiping his running nose with the back of his sleeve.

“Are you sure you want him with us?” Childe says quietly, so that Teucer can’t overhear.

You lightly grasp his hand, and Childe curls his fingers around yours. “He could be helpful. We can at least stick with him for a few days.”

“Got it. We’ll do what you want to do. But if he ever tries to hurt you or Teucer, then I’m going to take care of him.”

The way Childe says it leaves you no doubt that he’ll make good on his threat the second he perceives Scaramouche has turned his back on your group. Even when you were younger, you always thought Childe was like a pack animal: friendly and warm to anyone in his inner circle, but unrelentingly distant to anyone outside of it.

You remember the zombie that had almost attacked you at the convenience store yesterday, and the way Childe hadn’t stopped hitting it, not even when it stopped moving.

Childe relishes violence in a way you can’t understand. He was quick to pick up a weapon the second the zombies started showing up, and hasn’t put it down since.

He’ll make good on his threat. You can read it in his eyes alone. Hopefully bringing Scaramouche along isn’t a mistake.

Over the next few days, as the four of you continue to travel north, you’re still trying to make sense of Scaramouche.

He has a sharp tongue, and he’s not sociable whatsoever, but he never ignores your questions, even if there’s a scathing reply on his tongue more often than not. He pulls his weight, finding his share of supplies and sharing them with the three of you. And more than that, he dispatches zombies with ease. Scaramouche moves as fast and merciless as Childe, smashing brains into the pavement and aiming bullets directly at undead hearts and spines that cause the corpses to crumple to the floor, his silencer muffling all sound.

Maybe you’re the odd one, because you can’t stop thinking about how these zombies used to be people, with hopes and dreams dashed before they knew what happened to them. Still, there’s no time for regret; you have to do what you can to protect the people you love.

Overall, it’s nice to have another person around to hunt for resources, to watch your back when you’re out, or to have someone back at your makeshift bases to help look after Teucer.

And, surprisingly, it’s Teucer who Scaramouche seems to get along with the most. He’ll listen to Teucer ramble on, and spend more time with him than either you or Childe.

“He’s a nice guy,” Teucer tells you simply, when you ask him about Scaramouche. “I don’t think he’s really that mean. Sometimes he looks a little lonely, though.”

One night, Teucer’s radio breaks, the voices sputtering to a stubborn halt. Neither you nor Childe have any experience with machines, and not even Teucer’s crestfallen look can will the two of you to bring it back to life.

“Maybe I should just hit it a few times,” Childe mutters, turning the machine over and over in his hands.

“Are you an idiot? Give that to me,” Scaramouche snarls, snatching the radio out of Childe’s grasp.

The three of you watch as Scaramouche doctors the radio, unscrewing the back and checking the wires. A second later, sound crackles through the machine, a faint voice mumbling words you can’t hear.

“These things wear out easily,” Scaramouche barks at Teucer. “Try to keep it from overheating.”

“Thank you!” Teucer throws his arms around Scaramouche, who keeps his arms dangling awkwardly in the air before patting Teucer once, his hand gently curling around his head. He seems familiar with children, and it makes you wonder if he has– or had– a little brother before.

“That was sweet of you,” you say to Scaramouche, when he passes by you and Childe. Teucer is adjusting the radio’s buttons again, trying to find any sort of signal.

“I didn’t do it for you,” he says, scoffing. “I would hate to see that brat crying, that’s all. It would attract the undead.”

“Sure,” Childe breaks in easily, smiling. “You’re big brother material, you know.”

“Shut up,” Scaramouche snarls.

Scaramouche is an enigma, but he’s an asset. It’s only when Childe quietly murmurs that he hasn’t noticed any signs of zombie bites or symptoms of infection on Scaramouche that you can bring yourself to trust in him a little more.

“I still think he’s bad news,” Childe tells you in a quiet voice, when Scaramouche is busy entertaining Teucer in the room over. Teucer’s laughter drifts through the wall. “There’s something off about him. The sooner we ditch him, the better.”

“Teucer likes him,” you say.

“Teucer is young.”

“Are you sure you’re not jealous of him?” you tease, elbowing Childe in the side.

He shakes his head. His eyes are distant, staring at somewhere far away from you, some place you can’t join him in. Childe has that look often these days, and it’s the same one he has whenever he sees a zombie and his hands flex on his baseball bat.

Maybe it’s the apocalypse, or maybe it’s always been a part of him. But it’s frightening, because he’s never been unreachable to you. If you just whisper his name, he’ll usually come running straight to your side. But when he gets like this, you wonder if your voice will reach him at all. You take his hand instinctively, as if to ground him back to your reality, and Childe squeezes your hand in return.

He’s here. He’s here, even if the rest of the world falls to ruin, and he’ll always take your hand.

“I just have a bad feeling,” Childe says.

“We’ll be careful,” you promise.

Childe closes his eyes, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. “Okay.”

Maybe he’s trying to ground himself with your touch, too, so the two of you stay in that position for a long while longer, where you simply soak in each other’s presence, lost in your own thoughts.

As you travel over the next few days, the temperature turns frigid and the ground icy, and the four of you stick to camping out in empty buildings. If you’re lucky, the houses might have an indoor fireplace to huddle around. If not, then you make do with thick, lonely, faded blankets forgotten in closets. If you can’t make it to town, there’s always cars to break into and huddle in for the night. It’s been easy to avoid zombies with the cooling weather; frost gathers in their joints, and they move more slowly. On cold enough nights, you can’t see any at all.

It’s in one of the countless abandoned homes you pass that the four of you stop by for the night. You’re huddled by a fire pit, blankets curled over your shoulders, having pushed the couches closer to the hearth to trap the heat. There are framed pictures over the mantelpiece, of a blond family: two daughters, one with a ponytail and another with pigtails, a mom, a dad. You wonder if they’re alive. Then you turn your head back to the fire, flames flickering in a slow dance, and makes it hard to think of anything else.

Teucer is asleep, his head on Childe’s lap. You’re curled up on Childe’s other side, shoulders touching. Scaramouche sits farther apart, his shoulders hunched, legs folded under him.

“Okay, spit it out. Are the two of you dating?” Scaramouche says suddenly.

“What?” you hiss.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice? All the touching? And he–” Scaramouche jerks a thumb at Childe– “Keeps acting like the two of you will die if you’re apart for a single moment.”

“We’re not dating. We’re just friends,” you say defensively, even as Scaramouche raises an eyebrow. “I’ve known him since I was born, okay? We grew up next to each other.”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes. “Oh, how sappy.”

“Are you interested in us?” you challenge, annoyed. “That’s a weird thing to bring up all of a sudden.”

Scaramouche lets out a short barking laugh. “Hardly! You two were just so annoying to watch. I needed to know for sure.”

“Well, now you know,” you say tersely. “We went to the same school all our lives. Our families were friends. But we’re not dating.”

Teucer lets out a series of coughs, stirring in his sleep. His coughing has gotten worse over the last few days. If it doesn’t get better, you’ll need to stop and look for medicine. All of you freeze, and Childe strokes Teucer’s head softly.

“You guys can talk, but try to keep it down,” Childe says. Under the shelter of your blanket, hidden from Scaramouche’s gaze, his pinky grazes yours. You link them together. There’s something intimate about the gesture. Maybe it’s because you’re doing it in secret, right under Scaramouche’s nose.

Scaramouche stares into the fire, unblinking, his gaze reflecting the flames. “So you’ve known him your whole life.” His voice is quieter now, and you try to match his low tone.

“We went to different colleges, though,” you say. “I was majoring in musical performance. Childe and Teucer were visiting me during spring break at my apartment when…” Your voice trails off. There’s no reason to look back to the past. It’ll kill you. It’ll kill you if you stop moving forward, if you think about the family you’ve lost, the stage you can never return to.

“Yeah, we were visiting them when the apocalypse broke loose,” Childe interrupts easily, continuing for you. “We waited a while before fleeing, and we’ve been traveling ever since we heard about government shelters in the north.”

“And what if those communications are lies?” Scaramouche says. “And there’s nothing up there? Or what if it’s a trap?”

“Then we’ll make do,” Childe says. “We’ll survive.”

“It’s easier if we’re together,” you add.

Scaramouche scoffs. “Sure.”

“What about you?” you ask. “Where did you come from?”

“Nowhere,” he says tersely.

“Sure. You just popped out of the ground,” Childe says. “No family? No friends?”

“No one worth talking about,” he says. “Everyone is dead or gone.”

You nudge Childe’s hand with your own, signaling him to drop the issue, and Childe falls silent. There’s no point in pushing Scaramouche about things he doesn’t want to talk about. No one has a happy story these days.

Scaramouche’s eyes drift to your violin case, positioned snugly on the couch. “I can’t believe you’re still carrying that thing with you. You might as well use it for scrap wood,” Scaramouche says.

“I am not doing that! It’s important to me. I know it’s inconvenient, but I can’t just leave it behind.”

“That’s just sentimental drivel,” Scaramouche snarks.

“Maybe it is, but it’s my decision to live with, not yours,” you reply evenly.

“It’s nice to have a little music sometimes,” Childe breaks in. “Not that I know if you understand what it’s like to do things that make you happy. Do you do anything other than glower and scowl?”

“Shut up. You act just like their dog. You’re both hopeless.” Scaramouche stands, still clutching the blanket tightly around him. “I’ve had enough for tonight. Don’t bother me.”

When he stalks off, you lean your head on Childe’s shoulder. “Thanks, Childe.”

“That’s what family and friends are for,” he says lightly. “We look out for each other, especially now. I’m always here for you.”

You really don’t know what you would do without him. Scaramouche’s words stung, not the least because you used to have a crush on Childe when you were younger. Everyone has always teased you about how the two of you were going to wind up dating, but those childish ideas have no place in this dying world. Romance is an embarrassing indulgence, worse than your violin, and love doesn’t seem like the right word to describe what the two of you mean to each other.

It’s like there’s a string, knotted somewhere in the hollow of your heart, tying you to Childe. And everytime his heart beats, you can feel the tug of that string, a reminder of someone who’s more of you than you yourself are. If either of your hearts were to stop, then the string would snap, and the searing pain of that loss would kill you.

No, love isn’t the right word at all.

“You can sleep. I’ll keep watch,” Childe whispers, and your eyes drift close. You can almost feel the ghost of lips brushing against your forehead, but you’re too sleepy to tell for sure.

The next day, Teucer wakes with a fever burning his skin and shortening his breath. You help Childe carry him to a spare bedroom and pile up the blankets against the chill, but it’s not enough. You melt ice and snow outside into water which Childe uses to dip rags into and cool Teucer’s forehead.

The two of you have been by his side for hours, trying to coax water and stale crackers into Teucer’s mouth, but he only turns away. At some point, Scaramouche has come to hover wordlessly by the door. There’s a tight, almost worried, expression on his face, but you don’t have time to pay attention to him and his shifting moods.

“The fever might still go down,” Childe mutters, but he’s talking more to himself than he is to you. “It’s not that bad yet.”

“We’ll need medicine,” you say. “I’ll go find some. You should stay here and look after him.”

“By yourself?” he says tersely.

“No, Scaramouche will come with me,” you say resolutely.

“I never agreed to do that,” Scaramouche says, the first words he’s said since he’s shown up.

Childe stands, grip tightening around the rag in his hands to the point his knuckles turn white. “I don’t have time for you right now. Teucer is sick, you asshole. You can either help us or keep your shitty opinions to yourself.” Scaramouche holds Childe’s gaze in one long, hard unblinking moment. You tense, wondering if you’re going to need to shove them apart.

Scaramouche is the first to duck his head. He glances at Teucer’s prone form, then glances away again, too fast for you to decipher the emotion in his eyes. “I’ll go. He needs the medicine. Besides, they–” he jerks a thumb at you– “Would probably die without someone to look after them.”

You bite back all your complaints at his tone. There’s no time for fighting, not when more important things are on the line. “Fine. Then we’re going to head out right now to look for supplies.”

The wait to grab your gear and trek outside is short and tense. The air is bitterly cold, causing your breath to cloud in the air as the two of you slink down sidewalks and alleyways, scanning for any sign of zombies. Snow and ice slick the ground, and the sky has a sickly gray pallor to it, like unhealthy skin.

The nearest grocery store is a half an hour walk away. In the silence, you’re acutely aware of Scaramouche next to you. This is the first time you’ve been alone with him since he started traveling with you. His steps are surprisingly elegant, his posture graceful. Something about him doesn’t strike you as a typical college student; maybe he was a dancer? It wouldn’t surprise you.

But Scaramouche’s past, which he clearly doesn’t want to share with you, isn’t important right now. What is important is Teucer.

The grocery store, once you arrive at it, is as dilapidated as all the others; they were some of the first places to be scavenged. This place reminds you a little of the one you had explored with Childe, almost two weeks before. You shrug off the thought and gesture to the left side of the store, pointing at yourself, and then the right side of the store, pointing at Scaramouche. He nods, and the two of you separate.

Your heart beats an anxious rhythm in your chest as you peer at the shelves, looking for the telltale glint of plastic bottles and wordy labels. You need basic fever medication, or, hell, you would even take an over the counter painkiller. Anything to relieve Teucer’s pain. Without a doctor or proper supplies, if anything were to happen to him… no. You don’t want to think about it.

You browse the shelves, stepping over fallen merchandise, dirty stuffed animals and books with their pages splayed open like ribs. Nothing. Maybe you would make your way to Scaramouche’s side of the story instead; you’re clearly in the entertainment section, and the medical supplies might be further off.

You round the corner, and run right into a man in a puffy winter coat. You stumble backwards, hands already reaching for your knife, when the man throws his hands up.

“Whoa, take it easy,” he murmurs.

Despite his words, you keep a hand firmly on the hilt of your knife. You’re close enough that if he makes any suspicious moves, you can easily threaten him or disarm him. The man must realize this, because he backs away a few short steps.

He has winter boots scruffy with snow, and days old stubble around his neck. His eyes are red and heavy with dark eyebags, his face drawn with exhaustion, and his hair is greasy. You probably don’t look any better.

“Who are you?” you ask.

“Just someone trying to survive,” he says lowly. “I could ask the same of you.”

“Well, it’s the same for me,” you murmur. You can’t sense any signs of aggression or hostility from him.

“I’m not a threat,” he says again. “Don’t be hasty, stranger. Please. There’s no need for violence. Look. I don’t have any weapons.” He waves his hands again, keeping them spread in front of him.

“How do I know that for sure?”

“Because I’m tired of fighting with every other person I’ve run into. I know the world is shit, but we don’t need to treat others so poorly,” he says, and there’s a creeping edge of genuinity to his voice.

You let out a little breath, then sheaf your knife. Still, it’s close enough that you can grab it if the man turns out to be dangerous.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

“Looking for supplies. Same as you, I presume?”

“Yeah,” you say softly. You’d be a fool just to trust him based on appearance and kind words alone, as much as you want to believe in his good intentions. It’s probably better not to clue him in on the most vulnerable member of your team.

“Are you by yourself?” the man asks. “Hey, so am I. If you want, we could–”

A soft click of the gun echoes in the air. Both of you tense. “Too bad for you, but they aren’t alone.” Scaramouche digs his gun against the back of the man’s head. His posture is loose, casual, even, as if the man in front of him isn’t trembling like a rabbit.

“What are you doing?” you hiss.

“Something you’re too stupid to do,” Scaramouche says disdainfully. “Really, I can’t believe you would lower your guard when there’s a threat in front of you.”

“He isn’t a threat!”

“He just wants you to let your guard down,” Scaramouche reasons. “You have no idea what he’s planning to do.”

“I wasn’t planning anything! I just thought– if they were alone, we could just team up– I didn’t have any other intentions!” the man insists, voice shaking. “I won’t do anything to you two, okay? I’ll leave the two of you alone. I promise. Just let me go.”

“And why should I trust that?”

“I’m just trying to survive! Come on, man. You know how it is these days.”

“I know exactly how it is these days,” Scaramouche says, and pushes his gun against the man’s head again.

“Scaramouche,” you say tensely. “Leave him alone.”

“Why? So he can turn around and betray us?”

“I won’t do that. I promise I’ll just go,” the man pleads. “If we see each other again, I won’t even talk to the two of you. Promise. Come on. Just cut me some slack.”

No one breathes. The moment stretches out, distorting before your eyes, stretching into an agonizing infinity. You might have always stood here, watching Scaramouche and this stranger, rooted to the spot, as civilizations rose and fell with a roar in your ears.

“Scaramouche,” you whisper, trying to plead with him again.

Scaramouche momentarily links eyes with you, his gaze as hard as his gun, and the man slowly reaches his hand down– towards his pocket? You can’t tell– you don’t know what he’s doing– and then – before you can say or do anything at all– Scaramouche’s trigger finger flicks and, in the next instant, the man is falling, blood spraying from his head in a wine-red arc, and it’s sickening how graceful the spill is, how the calm the man looks as his eyelids flutter and his mouth slackens, and Scaramouche is quietly slipping his gun back into the holster on his belt.

You couldn’t hear the sound of a gunshot at all. His silencer must have been on. And that’s the worst part, really, how easy it is. How quickly death passes, in seconds, like a butterfly alighting on a branch before flying away again.

This is the way the world is, and you want to cry or laugh or scream, but nothing comes out of your throat at all.

There’s blood. Warm and wet. Spreading in a pool by your feet. The man has fallen down, face first, and his wounds gapes open at you. You don’t even know his name.

Scaramouche crouches down by the man, digging into his coat pockets, before pulling out a switchblade. He flicks the blade out, his smile ghostly in the silver reflection.

“Knew it,” he whispers. “This fucker was reaching for this.”

The moment breaks, and you grab Scaramouche by his jacket, slamming him against a metal shelf. Your breath is heavy and fast, and you can feel the pounding of your own blood through your veins, resounding in your head, louder than thought. You can see the reflection of your own wild animal eyes in Scaramouche’s.

His eyes are dark and reflect nothing, not even his own thoughts, like a sheet of black glass you can only pound your hands against, over and over.

“What the fuck,” you spit out. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with you?” he drawls. “You should thank me.”

“He was innocent,” you say quietly. “You don’t know if he was reaching for his knife or not. He was just lowering his hands.”

“Really? Be honest with yourself,” Scaramouche says. “What else could he be reaching for?”

“Maybe he wasn’t reaching for anything at all. You don’t know that he was going to grab his knife. You had a gun to his head!”

“People do desperate things in desperate situations. You’re naive,” he says, spitting out the word like a curse.

“And you’re a bitter asshole.”

You could tear his throat out right now. You could slam his head against the wall until it bleeds. You could do anything to Scaramouche right now, but it wouldn’t matter. A stranger is dead, and you will never know what he was really doing in his final moments.

For the first time, you understand what Childe feels when he raises his weapon against a zombie.

“Are you going to threaten me all day? Don’t you have more important things to worry about?” Scaramouche says.

Scaramouche is worse than any undead threat. Childe is right. Bringing him along is a mistake. But no matter how you feel, there’s more pressing matters at hand. You clamber off of him, and he dusts down his winter jacket, before throwing something at you.

You catch it with ease. It’s a bottle of fever medication for children, orange pills encased in thick plastic, happy fruit shaped mascots dancing in front of the packaging.

“I found that. So let’s go back. The noise might have drawn zombies near us,” Scaramouche says.

Before you leave, you manage to cover the corpse with a ratty white blanket that you found shoved in the corner of the grocery store. It’s not much, and you can’t give him a real burial, but the idea of leaving his open body to the air feels wrong.

The silence is suffocating on your way home. Neither you nor Scaramouche speak much to each other. There’s nothing to say.

Back in the house, Childe is still crouched over Teucer’s bedside, holding his brother’s hand and speaking soothingly to him. He probably hasn’t moved since you stepped out of the house. You don’t know where Scaramouche went when you both returned. You don’t want to know.

“You’re back. Are you okay?” Childe asks.

He knows something is wrong without you saying anything, like some sixth sense or an animal’s intuition. When you sit next to him on Teucer’s bed, he lifts a hand to cup your face. He scans you carefully, as if looking for any sign of visible wounds.

“Childe. If there was someone who we didn’t know was a threat or not, what would you do?” you whisper.

“Easy. I would do what you wanted to do,” Childe says cheerfully. “And you’d probably want to help them.”

“But what if I was wrong?” you press. “What if I trusted someone I shouldn’t have, and then you and Teucer got hurt because of it? Would it be wrong of me to have done that? Should I just have left them alone?”

“I don’t know,” Childe says. He’s stroking soothing patterns on your cheek now, his fingers dancing across your skin. “We wouldn’t know they’re dangerous until they betray us, right? And it would be their fault for betraying you, not yours for trusting them. Besides, if anyone hurt you, I would just kill them.”

“Is it really that easy?” you ask. Killing others, being killed. Trusting others, distrusting them.

Childe shrugs. “Why wouldn’t it be? We take care of each other, right? If you mess up, I’ll cover you. And if I mess up, you’ll do the same. Why? Did Scaramouche say something to you? Want me to punch him?”

You let out a shaky little laugh. “Sort of. Something happened, but I can’t… talk about it right now. I’ll tell you later.”

Childe lets go of your cheek, and before you can react, softly kisses your forehead. His lips are dry and cracked, but what surprises you most is how gentle that single touch is, how cognizant he is of every inch of you. He handles you like you’re more precious than gold, more rare than diamonds.

“I’ll watch over Teucer, so get some rest. Thanks for getting the medicine for me.”

“I’ll take over in a little bit,” you say.

Childe waves a hand in return, and you stumble down the halls. You touch your forehead, where the kiss burns, marking you forever in some intangible way.

Maybe Childe is your salvation, as much as you’re his. You believe in him more than any god out there, anyways, and if you are to pray, it would be to him. Childe is the only one who will answer your prayers.

By the next morning, the medicine has reduced Teucer’s fever somewhat, but there’s still no point in traveling when he’s too sick to move. For the next two days, all of you are stuck in that house. You and Childe take shifts watching over Teucer. You don’t know where Scaramouche is; he hasn’t shown his face in a while.

In fact, you’re starting to wonder if he’s left permanently. You’re absently polishing your violin in the living room on a slow afternoon, when Scaramouche walks right through the doorway. He’s wearing a backpack, his jacket buttoned tightly to his throat.

“Do you still plan on bringing that thing with you?” he says.

“Yes. There’s no reason not to. Besides,” you add, “It’s not your business what I decide to bring with me or not. It doesn’t affect you.”

“It’s going to weigh you down,” he says.

“No more than anything else I bring with me,” you say evenly. “It was my dream, you know? To play at a concert hall. To become a famous musician.”

“You’re foolish.”

“What’s your problem?” you ask. “If it bothers you that much, you don’t have to come with us. We can go our separate ways. There’s no reason for you to stick with us anymore.”

“You want to know why? It’s because I knew someone who was just like you. A foolish idiot, who was abandoned by his mother, and then fell into a group of people who he thought he could trust. He thought he could trust them because they saved him, because they were kind and believed in the goodness of others. There was a little kid with them, too, who that boy really cared about. But then they all ended up dying because they trusted the wrong person, and that idiot was left all alone. That’s why I can’t stand you. I can’t stand anyone like him,” he spits out.

“But it isn’t the boy’s fault for trusting the others,” you argue. “It’s terrible that all of that happened to him, but the one who betrayed him is really at fault.”

Scaramouche laughed. “Well, that’s just the way the world is, and it’s semantics to argue otherwise. The stupid boy shouldn’t have trusted anyone in the first place, and he wouldn’t have gotten hurt. It’ll be best if you learn that before long, instead of clinging to your stupid dreams. Everyone will leave you eventually, you know.”

Something about his phrasing prickles in your mind. Scaramouche, you notice, is wearing boots indoors. He usually takes off his shoes before entering rooms.

Something clicks in his hand. It’s his gun. The silencer is off. For a single moment, you hold your breath, wondering if Scaramouche is going to shoot you in cold blood, right here and right now, and you’ll end up like the stranger in the grocery store.

But no– he doesn’t even look at you. Instead, he heads towards the front door. You don’t even close your violin case as you follow him.

Unease weighs down every step. “What do you mean? Scaramouche? What are you doing with that?”

He doesn’t bother replying before he opens the door, a gust of cold winter air swirling around you. The night sky is bitterly black and cold, like the bottom of the ocean. “You know, I always hated your fucking attitude. Oh, the world is a good place! Oh, you can trust others! Oh, Childe is always going to help me out!” he says, but there’s something gentle about the cruelty in his voice. Like he’s really doing you a favor. “Someone has to put you in your place.”

“Scaramouche–” Your words are cut off as he raises his gun and fires it into the sky. Once. Twice. Three times. The sound richots off the houses around you and into the depths of the neighborhood, like the toll of a church bell.

And then– groaning. Faint groaning and shuffling, carrying over the wind. In the distance, darkened shapes lurch toward your door, lumpy shadows that are too numerous to count. Congregants, summoned by Scaramouche’s call.

Scaramouche has summoned a zombie hoard to your location. The knowledge hits you just as Scaramouche leaps out the door, giving you one last smile. There’s something bitter curling along his grin, but you don’t have time to interpret the meaning before he waves his gun in a single farwell.

“Good luck,” he says mockingly, and vanishes into the night.

You slam the door closed, heart pounding. Oh god. What are you going to do? The backyard– that’s your best option. You can escape out the back. But, shit. Teucer. Teucer is still recovering. You can’t move quickly with him still sick- and the cold weather could make him worse.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Someone pounds down the stairs. Childe is by your side in an instant, grabbing your shoulders.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” His eyes are wild, and his fingers cut into your shoulders. “Where’s Scaramouche?”

“He left,” you say numbly. “I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me. It’s just–” Something slams against the door, a wet thud that echoes into your bones. Multiple bodies are beating against the door, and Childe peeks through the peephole. He glances away, his hand around his mouth, and you look, too: it’s an endless sea of corpses. Scaramouche must have summoned the entire town to your door.

“Fuck. Did he do that?” he whispers. There’s an odd edge of elation to his tone, like a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit quite right in your current circumstances.

“Yes,” you say, and Childe takes your hand, pulling you along, up the stairs.

“Focus!” he hisses, grabbing onto your face, pulling your gaze up to him. In this moment, the only thing you can focus on is Childe’s eyes, pure and open, like the endless expanse of the sky. “I know he did something shitty, but focus! We have to survive. We have to make a way through this. Okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper.

“I’m here. I’m here for you.”

“You’re here,” you repeat, and Childe lets you go. You slap your cheeks, shaking your head. There’s no time to regret, to mourn, to scream. There’s no choice but to keep moving.

For the next few moments, you and Childe pack two backpacks, shoving them full of whatever supplies you can carry.

You head into Teucer’s bedroom next, where he stirs weakly. “What’s going on?” he mumbles.

“Emergency. We have to go now,” Childe says lightly. Teucer holds out his arms obediently as Childe helps him into his jacket, tenderly shoving a hat on his head, tucking it around his curls of hair.

“Can you walk?” you ask Teucer.

“A little.” His speech is still slurred with fatigue and illness. He’s in no condition to move, but you have no choice.

“I’ll carry you if you get tired,” you say. “Childe and I can take turns.”

He nods, and Childe picks him up. Teucer curls his head into Childe’s shoulder. You grab his radio off the bed stand, and Teucer grips it tightly, close to his chest like a heart.

“You need to put on your jacket, too,” you whisper to Childe. “What, are you going to run out like that?”

Childe smiles. “Not at all.” He guides the two of you to the backyard door. For now, the immediate vicinity is free of zombies: yellowed grass, a barren tree with skeletal arms piercing the sky, a wooden gate with a fragile latch at the very end. In the darkness, you can’t make out anything beyond the fence. It’s better that way, because you know all you see will be zombies piled everywhere.

Childe helps Teucer pull on his backpack, and you slip on your own.

“Not bringing your violin?” Childe asks quietly.

“There’s no room for it,” you say bitterly. Scaramouche is right about that, at least. It’ll just slow you down at this rate.

Childe sets Teucer down at your words, carefully pulling out a chair for Teucer to lean against. “Wait for us for a little bit, buddy. We’ll be right back.”

Teucer nods absently, and slumps on the chair. He’s playing with his radio again, the static crackling through the air.

Childe guides you to the living room, where your violin case is still open on the floor. He bends over and picks up the rosin, running one thumb over the closed plastic cap, before handing it to you. “I’ll bring you your violin later,” he says. “So just take this with you for now.”

“Childe. What do you mean? You’re coming with us, aren’t you?”

Ever since you were young, Childe has been unable to lie to you. You know him too well for that, and you grab his elbows at the look in his contemplative look in his eyes. He must know better than to try now, because he only smiles at you. His smile is– it’s excited, almost, as it has been since he first saw the zombies around the house. You want to throw your rosin at his fucking face.

“There are too many zombies around the house right now. Someone needs to be a distraction so the others can get away.”

“But it doesn’t have to be you!” you say desperately. “I can stay, too. I can help you. Isn’t this how we’ve always done this? You and me. We can do this together.”

“Someone has to take care of Teucer. I can’t risk him,” he says quietly.

“God damn it!” Tears are streaming down your face, and you can’t even wipe them away.

For a second, you imagine leaving Teucer behind. You’ll drag Childe with you, and just the two of you can leave. Childe has to survive. He has to. He’s the only one in this world you care about anymore.

But Childe would never forgive you if you do. And you would never forgive yourself. How can you think like that? Teucer is a child. You were there when he was born.

Childe presses his thumb to your face, catching your tears. “I’ll catch up to you guys. I won’t die.”

“You don’t know that! What’s wrong with you? You can’t just leave us like this!” You hold out your hand to him, hoping that he’ll take it, but Childe only looks at it quietly. He doesn’t move to take it. It’s a rejection, your first rejection from Childe.

“I’m not like Scaramouche. I’ll come back to you. I won’t betray you like that. Trust me,” he says. “I’m going to keep both of you safe.”

He kisses you. He kisses you, and all your bubbling complaints are swallowed by his lips. Your hands are trapped against his chest. He kisses you once, and twice, over and over, like he’ll die if he pulls away. Your kisses are salty with your tears. Childe licks your bottom lip, and you finally shove yourself away from him, because you’ll drown in his arms otherwise.

“You promised,” you whisper. “So you better keep it, or I’m going to come back and kill you myself.”

“I’ll always come back to you,” Childe says. “It’s you and me, right?”

You walk back to the dining room, where Teucer is sitting sleepily. Childe has his baseball bat in hand. He kisses his brother’s forehead once.

“Be good, Teuce,” Childe murmurs.

“Where are you going?”

“I have some business to take care of. But I’ll catch up to you soon.” And then, in a low whisper, tha only you can hear, “don’t look back,” he says.

You finger the rosin in your pocket. “I won’t.”

You head out in the backyard, Teucer’s hand in your own, the night air so cold it sears your lungs. You can hear the shuffle of zombies through the fence, too numerous to count.

You and Childe stare at each other through the glass door for one final time, and then he’s gone, running towards the front door. You head towards the gate, heart hammering in your ears as you listen to the shuffle of zombies. You’ll wait until the noise dies down enough to make a break for it, when he’s drawn most of the attention to himself.

A minute passes. Another. The zombies are slowly lurching past you. There’s noise from the front of the house, but you don’t want to think about what’s going on there.

When it’s finally silent enough, you burst out into the street, Teucer’s hand in your own. The two of you run, and run, and run.

You don’t know how long you run. At some point, Teucer falters, and you sling both your bags to your front, and pull him onto your back, and keep going, his arms tight around your neck. His forehead burns against your neck. His fever must be flaring up again.

“My brother…” Teucer whispers reedily in your ear.

“He’s right behind us,” you lie, tears burning your throat and choking your words. “I promise.”

You keep running. You keep running, even when your legs are screaming and your lungs are burning and your breathing is uneven. You keep running until you can’t feel anything anymore, not the ache of your arms or Teucer’s weight on your back. In the endless darkness, you keep going, because if you stop now, then you’ll turn right around and go back to Childe and render his sacrifice meaningless.

Is this your fault? Should you have never trusted Scaramouche and just left him there to fend for himself when you first saw on the highway? Maybe you should have stuck your knife in his ribs yourself the second he pressed his gun to a stranger’s head.

Childe might be dead already. He could be dying right now. But, no, Childe has promised to come after you. He never breaks his promises. He’s always there for you. And now you’ve left him behind, in a zombie swarm.

You remember his smile, too, the way he never hesitates to beat against zombies until they’re pulp on the ground. As much as he loves you and Teucer, he loves the violence of a dying world, too. Does he fight because he wants to protect you, or does protecting you give him an excuse to fight?

Resentment bubbles in your chest, trickling along with your tears. How can he ask you to leave him behind? How can he look excited at the thought of going single handedly against a swarm of zombies?

You can never ask him now.

The world is a cruel place. Your family is dead. Or worse, they’re alive but you’ve abandoned the aunt and uncle who raised you to their fate, without even heading back to your hometown to check if they were still alive. Childe, at least, had the decency to want to go home until it was too late to go anywhere but north. You just wanted to run.

You should have smashed your fucking violin into pieces when you had the chance, instead of carrying it with you all this way. There’s no concert halls left, no audience, no one who cares about your dead dreams.

Something crackles in your ear. Teucer’s radio, turned so low only you can hear. “Gov… north… repeat… state of emergency… shelter…”

Keep going.

But why are you going? What’s left for you?

Keep running.

But what if there’s nothing left? What if everyone is dead, and there’s no one up north to help you?

Keep moving forward.

It’s snowing. You don’t know when it started, but snow clings to your lashes like frozen tears. You stumble over something hard, and you crash into the ground, skidding along the icy dirt. You keep a tight grip on Teucer the whole time, and his radio goes silent as it shatters on the floor, into cold metal stars.

“Teucer?” you whisper, but all you can hear is his labored breathing. If he stays in the cold for any longer, he might really die.

Maybe you should just stay here and die with him. You’re too tired to move. The cold is numbing your joints, seeping into your body. You’ve run for so long. You can’t run any more.

“Look,” Teucer whispers in your ear, and you force your eyes up.

In the distance, a bright light glimmers, a firefly in the winter. A fire, or a flashlight. You can’t tell, but you do know what it means. Other people. You’ve found other people. But there’s no guarantee they’ll help you. Maybe they’ll rob you, leave you for dead in the snow. How can you trust anyone else now?

Scaramouche has betrayed you. Childe is… no, Childe isn’t dead. He’s promised you. He’ll come back for you. If you die here, then you can’t wait for him. If he comes to find you, and you’re not there, then you’ll have betrayed him in the worst way.

Childe can hurt and betray you all he wants, but you can’t hurt him.

And Teucer. Teucer is right here, on your back, still clinging with his fragile arms. Still believing in you to keep him safe.

Your rosin is in your pocket. You force a gloved hand into your jacket pocket to feel its worn edges. You’ve used the same one for years, to coat your bow so it can glide over your violin strings, wearing it down to almost a sliver.

You take a breath. Then another. And then you get up, and you head towards the light.

#liya writes #genshin impact #childe #childe x reader #tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #x reader #genshin impact x reader #childe genshin impact #tartaglia genshin impact

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cubarsis · 1 month

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Baecation | p. cubarsí paredes

— Synopsis : Pau took his girlfriend with him for vacation, of course he can’t resist showing her off to the world!

— SMAU

— pure fluff

liked by fcbarcelona, marcguiu9, hctorforrt_ and 367,569 more

tagged : yourusername

paucubarsi: escaped barna with the loml 😽

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user1 : Bro be living the dream since his mvp award

yourusername : real but as he should

user2 : Pau where do we find a girl like urs

paucubarsi : simply can’t find another woman like that, try going for your best mates sister for the thrill

user2 : 🫡🫡

fcbarcelona : Looks like Pau is enjoying some well-deserved downtime with his girlfriend! They look so happy together 💑

liked by paucubarsi

marcguiu9 : damn you went without us ??

paucubarsi : lo siento hermano 💔💔

paufan : hard to be sad when I see Pau and his gf posting on ig

ynfan : real I love them more than they love each other

user3 : free therapy I swear

yourusername : my man

paucubarsi : proud to be 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨

likey by paucubarsi, lamineyamal and 2,074 others

tagged : paucubarsi

yourusername : impossible to separate him

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user9 : Okay, Pau and his girl make us straight-up all wish we were on vacay with them 🌴

liked by paucubarsi

lamineyamal : cuteness overload 🤭😻💞💞

paucubarsi : please just shut up 😭

lamineyamal : freak

paustan : Yasss! Even ballers need some downtime, and they’re slaying it!

liked by yourusername

yourbestfriend : adorbs!!!

yourusername : told ya he looks better irl than on those pictures back then

paucubarsi : 👎👎

iloveyn : yn and her man = ultimate couple crush

user3 : I want both it them so fucking bad

user 4 : ikr?? She gorgeous asf, he a cutie, what do we want else

liked by hctorforrt_, ilovepau, pablogavi and 405,007 others

tagged : yourusername

paucubarsi : love it here, and even more with my woman 🤍

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yourusername : pauipookie stop, you’re making me actually gonna tear up from this 🙁

paucubarsi : I love you so much

yourusername : we’re in the same room, stop texting me and give me a kiss

liked my paucubarsi

paucubarsi : 🫡

pauandyn : the way he calls er 'his woman' 😭😭 he’s so boyfriend and husband

user7 : if they break up I ain’t gonna believe in love any longer istg

hctorforrt_ : sexy

paucubarsi : me or my girl ?

hctorforrt : both.

marcguiu1 : my son is growing up so fast, bagged a girl and already out the country with her 😪

liked by paucubarsi

user10 : this guy mad ugly she could do so much better 💀

yourusername : you better sleep with one eye open lil bro 😭🙏

posted to story

paucubarsi

hope you liked those flowers, handpicked just for you 🩷

yourusername

Pau 🙁🙁🙁 stop making me melt in the grocery store

paucubarsi

Bare minimum for a pretty lady I call my girlfriend, if you ask me

When will you be back ??

yourusername

I’ll be back in 10, are you okay, baby ?

paucubarsi

mhmm, just missing you, hermosa :( I know we see each other all day but still

yourusername

nvm I’ll be back in 5.

liked by paucubarsi

liked by marcguiu9, lamasia and 398,762 others

tagged : yourusername

paucubarsi : night out with my love, happy two years anniversary ❤️

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user1 : time flies seeing them so happy together 🤧

user2 : I wanna be them so bad

user1 : us ?

user2: say less 🤭

yndefender : the way he looks at her 🥹

liked by paucubarsi

lamineyamal : simp

paucubarsi : don’t tell me you wouldn’t be one if you had her ??

yourusername : Here’s to many more adventures and memories together, love you endlessly💕

paucubarsi : The things you do to me 😵‍💫

user56 : the way he flirts with her in his comment section, he’s so in love

user9 : Bro impossibly down bad for his girl, ain’t nobody can blame him tho

user8 : Lamine so right about him being a simp

hctorforrt_ : you gotta let me be the best man to your wedding

liked by paucubarsi

fcbarcelona : our favorite couple❤️💙

hectorth 24

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sevensoulmates · 1 month

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Buddie 7x01 Meta

Okay! Finally, I was able to watch the full episode uninterrupted and have had a couple days to gather my thoughts. Quite simply this episode was fucking fantastic. My meta does sometimes include some spec, so if that's not your thing feel free to ignore those parts. Those of you who follow me know I write long ass essays, so fair warning for a long meta under the cut. ((Also idk how to make gifs, so enjoy my shitty screenshots)).

First, I love to see Buck and Eddie back at it again in their natural element being partners on a scene.

This was very obviously a call back to season 2, even down to the positioning, having Buck watch Eddie be competent in defusing a bomb. Buck has complete faith in Eddie's abilities, it's the fighter pilot whom he distrusts. In the end, they narrowly avoid getting blown up, just like they did in 2x01. This one scene re-establishes the Buck/Eddie work dynamic and shows how they inherently trust each other on and off the field.

Next, we get a scene of Buck and Eddie getting dressed in the locker room. Notably, Buck is fully dressed and Eddie is without his shirt until halfway through the scene. Buck also keeps his eyes on Eddie's naked torso pretty much through the whole shirtless section. This is another blatant callback to season 2x01 when Buck's first introduction to Eddie is when he's shirtless. This draws attention specifically to Eddie's physical attractiveness and how that affects Buck. This scene is odd to have with Eddie half-naked if we're then gonna make comments later on about "sexual tension" with friends, no?

In the same scene we are reintroduced to Buck and Eddie's separate love lives. Eddie is just now learning that Buck and Natalia broke up, and gives an odd facial expression that looks far too much like vindication. We know from the graveyard scene in 6x17 that Eddie wasn't really a fan of Buck's relationship with Natalia (I don't think there's ever been a relationship Buck's had where Eddie has legitimately been happy about it, which is weird if they're just friends, right?) so to him, this was always coming down the road. He seems proud that Buck was able to end it this easily.

Meanwhile, Eddie's going on a "not-date" with Marisol to chaperone Christopher's date with Penny. It's telling to me that Eddie doesn't classify this as a date with Marisol, but Buck does. Buck considers being at home watching Christopher as a date, and yet he seemingly doesn't classify all the times he's been over at Eddie's hanging out with just him and Chris to be a date? To me, this shows the first big disconnect in Buck/Eddie's brains that the show will likely dismantle this season: what is classified as platonic and what is classified as romantic, and which gender is allowed to be in each category. We'll come back to this when we get to the next scene.

Eddie is very supportive of Buck breaking up with Natalia. He doesn't say it directly to his face, but it's implied that Buck really lost himself when he was with Natalia, hence Eddie's "Welcome back to the land of the living". While Buck did struggle with figuring out his life purpose at the end of season 6, he falsely prescribed that purpose to Natalia. Thankfully, this was rectified here. This also shows significant growth for Buck from his last relationship with Taylor Kelly. Buck was able to identify issues in his relationship quicker and was able to cut the relationship short when he realized it was no longer healthy to maintain for him. I am extremely proud of Buck in this moment, as is Eddie, which is the first of two big moments in this episode where Buck and Eddie really showcase their pride in the other's personal growth. "You were missed" is such a simple yet perfect line for Eddie to give to Buck. To show Buck that Eddie has always seen him, and will always see him, even through personal lows, and will still remain by his side when they come out the other side. I really love this showcase of unconditional love here.

The next time we see Buck and Eddie, the chaperone date has already passed. Eddie and Marisol are seen watching Chris and Penny from behind the wall, but it's highkey awkward to watch and the focus of this scene is really not Eddie/Marisol but rather Chris and Penny and Eddie relaying this info to Buck. I first want to point out that we don't actually get to see Eddie/Marisol's first date, we don't see any subsequential dates, and the first time we DO see her, in an episode meant to be establishing couples, she's so blink-and-you'll-miss-it that I had to try 3 times to get this screenshot because it went by so fast. It's never a good sign when we don't actually get to see the beginnings of a non-established relationship.

Additionally, Eddie/Marisol's relationship is framed WITHIN Eddie recounting the night to BUCK. The important Eddie relationship we're supposed to be paying attention to in this scene is not Eddie/Marisol but Eddie and Buck's. It's not important for us to see Eddie and Marisol hanging out, but it IS important for us to see Eddie TELLING Buck about the night. That isn't insignificant. This means the show is clearly placing far more importance on Eddie/Buck than on Marisol, and for a pointed reason to be revealed hopefully later this season.

This is the only line that Marisol has in the entire episode. This being the one line she has is interesting because it's a callback to Eddie's arc last season ie. "Eddie has no game with women". Christopher makes a pointed comment about it in 6x18. And of course, it's a callback to Performance Anxiety 6x14 where Eddie was being pressured about dating women and 6x17 Love Is In The Air where he once again pressures himself into dating women until he finally settles on Marisol. It's an interesting call back to have, considering this scene could have been considered Eddie successfully dating a woman. And of course this ties into later in this episode where we get the "turning women off" comment, which I'll talk more about later.

Eddie goes on to tell Buck that he didn't really see any difference between Christopher hanging out with his male friends vs hanging out with his female friends. This is drawing attention to two things. The first is a call-back to Buck and Eddie's previous scene where we saw that Buck and Eddie have two different ideas of what constitutes "a date" when it's with a man versus a woman. Buck thinks that an at-home date with Marisol to watch Chris counts as a date, Eddie doesn't. Yet Buck doesn't consider his own at-home "hang-outs" with Eddie and Chris to be a date despite them being far more frequent and more meaningful than what we just saw with Marisol. Eddie also doesn't see it that way. This line is an indicator that both Buck and Eddie have blinders on currently when it comes to their interactions with each other, interactions which very much COULD be considered a date (including the later mentioned "underlying sexual tension") if they had done the same thing with a woman. They're just unable to recognize the truth of it at the moment, and this is clearly demonstrated when Eddie can't tell the difference between Chris having his date with his male friends vs. female. My prediction is that this will become more defined for Eddie by the end of the season or leading into next season.

But it's very interesting that this idea of not being able to recognize the possibility of romance except for the heteronormative options is coming into play now because there's really only one gay way to subvert that.

Which is then doubled down by Buck in the very next scene.

This is blatantly not a true statement. Buck is not only assuming Chris's sexuality, but he's assuming the same would be the case in general, which is not true. Buck knows many queer people, but at the same time, every queer person he knows canonically falls more into the gay-lesbian binary, and not really anywhere in the middle (ie. bi/pan people). It's an oddly heteronormative statement coming from Buck, who is known to be very open-minded and also researches a shit ton? So why are we being shown that Buck has this sort of narrow-mindedness specifically when it comes to the possibility of people being bisexual?

(Spec) Firstly, I think this is to set up for a bisexual Buck arc. It's showing that Buck actually 1.) hasn't ever been with a man before so this is not just a casual bi reveal and 2.) that he's never actually considered it a possibility to have sexual tension with a man before. This is what we in writing call "the character's fundamental misbelief" and it is brought in specifically to be challenged, and I'm near-positive it will be at some point in the season.

Secondly, On the surface, this statement is telling the audience that obviously Christopher would only have tension with his female friends, right? (sarcasm). But what's interesting is that this statement is purposefully gender-neutral. It leaves the real meaning up to the audience to decide. Why? Because this part of the conversation is not really about Christopher. On the surface, yes, but beneath that, this line and the line before it are about Eddie and Buck's relationship with each other. Buck's not out here talking about Christopher having sexual tension with people, and even Eddie recognizes that it's weird to talk about in relation to their child. He's still in the nest for christ's sake! These lines are in relation to Buck and Eddie's friendship and how both of them are blind to the fact that it very much IS possible to have sexual tension with your female AND male friends.

And this is where the gender-neutrality of that phrase gets extra interesting. Because as we've seen before, Buck and (more prominently) Eddie often lack chemistry with their female love interests. It's up for debate, but the general consensus was that most people did not feel any chemistry between Buck/Natalia, and Eddie/Ana or Eddie/Marisol. What's fascinating is that Buck has had chemistry with some of his female love interests, but Eddie hasn't had any since Shannon (and this is not an endorsement of Eddie/Shannon's romantic relationship. I'm not getting into the extreme nuances of that right now.) Some argue Eddie's had chemistry with Felisa or Vanessa, but they aren't the ones Eddie's dating right now, are they? So Eddie, unlike Buck with his female LI's, hasn't really had any sexual tension with Ana or Marisol. The only person that (most) people agree Eddie has had sexual tension with is Buck. And we had a scene with them earlier with Buck watching a half-naked Eddie change too. So in this case, the line might also be a reference to Eddie having chemistry with men, but not really with any of his female LI's. I think the purposeful vagueness here though was a very telling choice on Tim's part.

Additionally, the use of the word "underlying". Underlying implies that the sexual tension isn't overt, but rather is something that lingers unspoken. Under the surface. Subtextual, if you will. Of course, it's possible to have subtextual sexual tension between an M/F pairing. But placing it in the context of this scene, where Buck is being weirdly heteronormative, it feels contradictory. If Buck believes that he (and Chris by proxy) can only have sexual tension with a female friend, why is it something that is hidden under the surface? If anything, due to heteronormativity, the sexual tension between a boy and girl should be plain as day for anyone to see, on the surface, very much textual and with no room for interpretation (ie. "He was a boy, she was a girl, could I make it any more obvious?"). But let's flip this around. With queer pairings and couplings, there's a huge history of their sexual tension and romance only being able to live and breathe in the subtext. This line being spoken between two men that many people for years have pointed out are heavily queer-coded and have a romantically-coded "bro" relationship with each other that so far has only been able to exist in subtext? Tim, you're not sly. I see right through you.

After that, Eddie tells Buck about Christopher seeing 5 girls at the same time. Everyone's shocked and Eddie insinuates that Christopher didn't get this from him. By pointing out that Buck is a reformed playboy (I personally disagree with aspects of this statement but that's neither here nor there), Eddie is implying that Christopher may potentially be getting this trait from Buck. Which is an interesting thing to say to someone if they're not already heavily involved in the process of raising your child. Eddie claims that he's a "nester", which in my mind means someone who is very paternal/maternal, or constantly trying to build the home or the family. ((Sidebar: I googled nesting and apparently it's ALSO a term used in both polyamorous spaces and was later separately coined as a term referring to "where men treat women like they’re in a relationship, but they expect those women to know that it will never lead to real one." I don't interpret this line to mean either of those other definitions, I just think it's interesting that this is what popped up when I googled Nesting)).

Eddie then says he "married the first girl he dated" and Buck instantly volleys back with "think you mean slept with", which is EXTREMELY telling of a few things. First, I want to point out, that I don't believe this is Buck denouncing or disrespecting Shannon's important role in Eddie or Chris's life, but rather recontextualizing it.

We got clarification last season that Eddie fell into his relationship with Shannon almost in the same way that he fell into one with Ana and Marisol. It was heavily implied that Shannon was the pursuer, the one who made their relationship happen. Not Eddie. While Eddie was a little less passive with Ana and Marisol, being the one to ask both of them out, he still exhibits extreme passivity in the furthering of each of these relationships, preferring to "stick it out" rather than actually end it when it's not working. This is the exact same thing he did with Shannon. It's interesting that Buck argues that Eddie married the first girl he slept with rather than the first girl he dated.

Dating someone implies you really genuinely want to form a deep romantic relationship with someone (ie. call back to Buck's line to Maddie "at least when I date someone, I date them"), whereas sleeping with someone does not have to immediately mean wanting to be with them romantically. To me, this implies that while Eddie might've deeply loved Shannon as a friend and eventual mother of his child later and had sexual chemistry with her, the reason why he stayed with her is not because he wanted to continue dating her or being with her because he was IN LOVE with HER but rather because they slept together. And what came about from sleeping with her? A fucking traumatic teen pregnancy.

Both Buck AND Eddie recognize that in this scene (which is huge, especially for Eddie). I'm kinda blown away honestly. It's extremely important for the audience to see that while Eddie did, does and will always love Shannon, it is NOT romantic love, and may have not ever been. Which is FINE. They were literal teenagers for god's sake.

This is once again a recurring theme in Buck and Eddie's story in this episode. Defining what is considered romantic and what is considered platonic AND the possibility of redefining those distinctions years later. And it's interesting that in this case with Shannon, a woman, it's finally being acknowledged that it might not have been as romantic as Eddie may have believed for all these years.

Eddie then asks Buck to be the one to talk to Christopher about his relationship indiscretions. We see Eddie making the active choice to bring Buck deeper into the co-parenting role that's already been established in seasons 2-6. Right after Eddie talks about being a nester, a home-builder, he brings Buck deeper into his family in a parental role. To me, this scene doesn't imply that Eddie can't do it, or that it's out of his wheelhouse, but rather because he feels like Christopher might relate to Buck more about this. But even more so, it shows that Eddie inherently trusts Buck to be the one to talk to Christopher about this, because he's seen how Buck has grown over the years.

Eddie doesn't want Christopher to continue making bad choices in life and he tries to convey this to Buck, but Buck, with his own self-esteem issues, assumes that Eddie doesn't want Christopher to end up like Buck. Which is fascinating because Buck's made it a huge point throughout the series to show that he's grown past his sleeping-around phase (which was never about disrespecting or using women, it was always about Buck's own desire for love and connection that he felt he could only get through sex). And yet with this line, we see that Buck still doesn't realize how far he's come. He still feels like he isn't worth emulating or being someone to look up to. But Eddie does. Eddie sees and loves Buck to his core, and so he points it out to Buck that no, Buck actually didn't become that person, and that Buck is, in fact, worthy of being the one to parent Christopher in this situation. Once again, this is a great moment of showing how these two are able to see past their facades to the truth of each other's issues and provide strength, reassurance, and clarity to each other, as an ideal life partner would be able to do.

Then we get to see this amazing scene of Eddie talking down a panicking woman using his own unique "jello" methods. This coping mechanism tool he walks her through really does sound like something a therapist might teach their patient. Eddie not only is able to admit to having panic attacks but he's able to do it in front of strangers and his team alike with no shame (even a bit of pride at the end). This scene, which could've gotten very awkward very fast, ended up becoming a very sweet, serene moment where we also get to see that love reflected on Buck's face just how proud he is of how far Eddie has come. This episode made a point to show Buck and Eddie recognizing the other's growth and their pride in the other, as well as demonstrate how both are able to be there for the other emotionally in their times of need.

What's interesting is that this is all stuff that we've seen before. Buck and Eddie have been each other's emotional pillars for many years now. This is just a re-establishing episode. We know that this season their relationship is going to be shifting, growing, and showing a new side to it. So I'm intrigued to see how that will manifest given that we have already seen in one episode how Buck and Eddie are each other's closest person. Some might argue that this episode actually frames them to be closer and more emotionally supportive of each other than two of the other canonically romantic couples on the show.

Bathena are shown to be having marital problems in this episode, with Athena worrying she and Bobby might not actually have that much in common outside of the chaos. Madney is shown with pre-martial problems, with Chimney unnecessarily worrying he and Maddie's spark might fizzle out over the years and they might grow to resent each other. I'm not saying either of these relationship problems is really accurate, but it's just interesting to look at in comparison to how Buck and Eddie were framed in this episode, despite not being in a canonical romantic relationship at the moment.

This exchange absolutely took me the fuck out. Because this line did not need to be there. Even for the giggles. It could've even been a line of Buck being sincere and saying that he's proud of Eddie or something. Instead, we get this. "I've never seen a man turn a woman off with such skill". This line connected with the line from Marisol are both callbacks to Eddie's series-long issue with dating women. We get this in conjunction with Buck pointing out that Eddie doesn't really date these women he's in relationships with. He's just with them due to circumstances. Even if the circumstances are of his own making (which could be a symptom of compulsory heterosexuality). Eddie has never once talked about dating women like he's actually attracted to women. I'm so sorry. AND combined with the line where Buck and Eddie actually acknowledge that Eddie wasn't really with Shannon because he wanted to be with her but because of the family they accidentally created. All of this in ONE episode leading up to this line where it's heavily implied that Eddie's skill is his inability to turn women on, and to actually be able to turn them all the way off. And I'm just going to say it, but this line HEAVILY implies queerness. This is the kind of line you'd expect someone to say to a gay man or someone who doesn't actually want the sexual attention of a woman. This, again, in conjunction with Eddie not being able to tell the difference between a date with a woman vs. a man, is all too pointed.

This line alone in a vacuum could maybe not mean queerness, but alongside the whole rest of the episode where beat after beat after beat implies that Eddie has in fact NEVER been in a relationship with a woman 100% of his own active desire for her as a person and not just for what she can provide to his or his son's life?

This points to a very particular direction with Eddie that I'm expecting to see him fight against really hard this season. I would not be surprised if he ends up holding onto Marisol as the last shreds of perceived "normalcy" (ie. heterosexuality) are being threatened. Hopefully, he'll be able to reconcile the truth by the end of the season or going into season 8.

God this is so long and we haven't even gotten to the buddifer scene yet. This part will be a bit more condensed because I'm not really analyzing Chris as a character here or his relationship with Shannon. Maybe I will later.

I'm really loving seeing Christopher become his own person this season. But what really fascinates me here is Chris as a parallel to both Buck and Eddie. Christopher's abandonment trauma is starting to manifest in him through his choices with his love life. The same thing happened with Buck and with Eddie individually. Buck's trauma growing up informed his choices of sleeping around and seeking love from a myriad of individuals who didn't necessarily have his best interest at heart. Eddie's trauma manifested in him being so self-sacrificing that he can't ever choose a relationship for himself, but it always has to be in service of someone else or in pursuit of a perceived "Normal" standard.

In this case with Chris, his trauma is manifesting in a way more similar to Buck's, which is another reason why it's so perfect to see Buck being the one to discuss this with Chris, even though they don't necessarily delve too deep into it. There's no question Buck sees his own issues reflected in Chris. This has been true since 4x08 Breaking Point when Chris runs to Buck's house and confides in Buck his worries about people leaving him. Chris demonstrates a similar issue that Buck and Eddie both hold individually. That being the notion that "it doesn't matter what I do, or how good of a person I am, or how good of a partner I am, I am not worth staying for."

But the difference here is that Eddie and Buck, like the amazing co-parents they are, recognize the problem and take steps to address Christopher's trauma in a way that gives Chris autonomy and isn't condescending or out to make Christopher feel bad about making mistakes. The Buckley parents and the Diaz parents both failed Buck and Eddie in these ways because they blamed their children, never actually took the time to see the underlying issues let alone address them, and made them feel like everything was their fault, even going so far as to actively put their children down over and over and over again. Eddie and Buck get the beautiful chance to break the cycle here with Chris and get to be the parents that they never had.

It was so amazing to watch this episode with Buck and Eddie being supportive partners to each other and supportive parents to Christopher. It was an episode of growth just as much as it was an episode of reintroduction to a new audience. It was also extremely telling of what the future conflicts and themes will likely continue to be for Buck and Eddie for the rest of this season. I'm so excited to see what the rest of this season brings! And thank you from the bottom of my heart, ABC.

#911 abc #911 meta #buddie #buddie meta #buck meta #eddie meta #911 #911 spoilers #911 analysis #buddie analysis #damn this was long as fuck #thank you to anyone who actually sat here and read all this #I will likely do one for episode 2 once I get back from my trip #this episode was fucking amazing #and it's only the beginning of the season

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pianocat939 · 11 months

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hearing you out on the yan pavitr

YES PLEASE- ok I'm gonna start out this new thing where I separate things for romantic + platonic so people can scroll to different sections. (I'm such a good business person- /j)

I will copy and paste some of the headcanons because they apply both ways. So don't bother reading both unless if you want to because for the most part they're the same (with some light editing)

Tw: hardly any tbh-, delusional softie, uh- and breaking in

Yandere Pavitr Prabhakar

Type: Delusional + Clingy (This is really fucking obv ngl)

Romantic

Listen- He literally gives off so much delusional that I can't even tell you why he's delusional because it's literally written all over him omg. Now, the thing he is delusional about is you love him back. It's not in a malicious way; he genuinely thinks you love him.

He's not in any sort of way problematic or concerning with his actions/intentions. He'll be all caring and constantly giving you support. He's the type of guy who wakes up at five in the morning to go buy you a bouquet of flowers to greet you with when you get up.

If you try to push him away or express that you don't love him he just believes you're a troubled person and need more support in your life. Which means more affection from him. He is your therapist. He will be whether you like it or not because he is a softie and will continue to be a softie.

The only time I can see him getting the slightest bit aggressive is if he gets jealous. I'm not entirely sure yet because we haven't seen too much of any trauma or negative backstory to him (Uncle Ben's death canon event doesn't fucking count). I think he's about a medium level when it comes to how easily he gets jealous. Even then I don't think he would outwardly hurt anyone unless they've overstepped a boundary of his. He'll give them a slight threat or tie them up in webs for a while.

Now if anyone hurts you? Bro is going crazy- he will do everything to make the person surrender or maybe even die (if they've caused him enough anger) He'll worry so much if you get hurt. I wouldn't say he would overreact, but he definitely worries.

He is physically affectionate 100%. He will sneak in your window at night for snuggles. Imagine yourself standing at your window one night, knowing he'll come. He arrives and is about to slip inside when you frown and tell him no. He is going to give you the most heartbreaking face known to mankind.

He WILL call you embarrassing/cringe affectionate names. You can't convince me he doesn't.

"Jasmine flower! Look at the stuffie I got you!" *proceeds to hold up giant elephant stuffie*

Platonic

He literally gives off so much delusional that I can't even tell you why he's delusional because it's literally written all over him omg. Now, the thing he is delusional about is he thinks you wanna be friends with him. It's not in a malicious way; he genuinely thinks you guys are besties and constantly hang out. (tbh I feel anyone would be friends with him???)

He's not in any sort of way problematic or concerning with his actions/intentions. He'll be all caring and constantly giving you support. He's the type of guy who wakes up at five in the morning to go buy you your favourite drink or line up for a limited edition product.

If you try to push him away or express that you don't wanna be friends with him, he just believes you're a troubled person and need more support in your life. Which means more affection and suggesting hangouts or giving gifts from him. He is your therapist. He will be whether you like it or not, because he is a softie and will continue to be a softie.

He is a clinger 100%. He will sneak in your window at night for a hug and to talk about random things (he giggles a lot). Imagine yourself standing at your window one night, knowing he'll come. He arrives and is about to slip inside when you frown and tell him no. He is going to give you the most heartbreaking face known to mankind.

He WILL call you embarrassing/cringe affectionate names. You can't convince me he doesn't. Like Pookie Bear or just cringe names to call your best friend platonically cuz it's funny.

"My rat! Look! I have- WEBS!" *proceeds to shoot webs like it's a discovery even though he's known for six months*

——————————————————

That's all I got for now-

I still don't like Gwen.

- Celina

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere spiderman #yandere spiderverse #spiderman x reader #spiderverse x reader #pavitr prabhakar #pavitr prabhakar x reader #yandere pavitr

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stayteezdreams · 2 months

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Celebrating Valentines Day {Maknae Line}

Headcanons/Scenarios: How you celebrate Valentines Day together - Maknae Line

{Hyung Line}

Pairings: Ateez Maknae Line x Gn!Reader (separate)

Warnings: Mentions of food/eating in all members sections.

Words: 0.7k

San

San has always wanted to go all-out on Valentines Day ever since you started dating.

I'm talking rose petals everywhere when you walk into the room, cute balloons, a big bouquet of flowers, chocolates, teddy bear, candles, and a homemade dinner.

He is nervous but excited.

You are in shock when you walk in and he can't help but giggle at your reaction.

San makes you feel spoiled, and that is his intention.

You felt guilty because it felt as though your gift and chocolates paled in comparison.

But San reassured you, you could have gotten him just a card and he would have loved it.

After you ate dinner, you ate a cute cake you had bought for the two of you.

Something he had known you were excited to buy, so he didn't bother with dessert.

You spent the rest of the night cuddling on the couch, wrapped in each others arms.

Where it went after that is up to you...

Mingi

You and Mingi wanted to do something fun for Valentines, but were stressed with the idea of planing it out.

So you decided to just go with wherever the day took you.

After breakfast together you went to a park nearby that was hosting a small music event.

If you wanted, Mingi would put you up on his shoulders/back so you could see everything over the crowd.

You spent a few hours there before heading off to a Valentines cooking class you booked that morning.

You cooked each other food and made each other chocolates.

It had been something you were interested in for a while, so you thought you might as well do it on the cheesiest day of the year.

You finished off the evening going to a small festival nearby.

You played some games, watched fireworks, and somehow ate even more food.

By the time the two of you had gotten home you were exhausted, but happy.

You decided going with whatever you found ended up being the best decision you could have made.

Wooyoung

Wooyoung of course surprised you with a beautiful bouquet, and a much-too-large stuffed animal.

You made him chocolates from scratch which made him squeal with excitement (you know the noise), and he proceeded to pepper kisses all over your face for an alarming amount of time.

Wooyoung is in full support of fun Valentines Dates.

Mainly, a giant arcade.

Someplace you could spend hours having fun together.

You played racing games, sport games, bowling, mini golf.

You danced and did karaoke, and won a dozen prizes in claw games before the two of you grew tired enough to go home.

Once you got home, Wooyoung insisted on cooking you dinner.

After some convincing he agreed to let you help by cutting up some vegetables, and clearing the dirty dishes.

Music played as you cooked, and after a few dance breaks, play fights and ...other distractions, dinner was finally done.

The rest of the evening was spent in each other's company, while Wooyoung ate all of the chocolates you made him, and then proceeded to beg you to make him more.

Jongho

Jongho had never celebrated Valentines with a significant other before.

He had been given gifts and chocolates on Valentine Day, but he had never really wanted to do the same for someone until he was with you. So he was quite nervous and unsure of what to do.

He spent a lot of time agonizing over the perfect flowers, the perfect chocolates, the perfect thing to say.

Then as the two of you were talking about the holiday, you told him you didn't care what he got you. The fact that he would do anything for you at all made you feel special.

This boosted his confidence and settled his nerves.

But he still surprised you with a bouquet of your favorite flowers, and a large variety chocolate box.

Also a large teddy bear he said would be his replacement for when he was away.

You got him flowers too, which made him blush and giggle. A sight you had rarely seen that you wish cold be engraved in your mind.

Neither of you wanted to brave the crowded city full of couples.

So you ordered an abundance of your favorite foods, put on your favorite movies, made a comfy pillow fort in the living room and spent the night huddled together.

It was simple, but it was perfect.

General Taglist: @otsilliak, @brattybunfornct, @bahng-chrizz, @otakutrash669, @tinyelfperson, @the-lemon-boy

Ateez Taglist: @soso59love-blog, @dlmlufics, @hongjoongsprincess, @tunaasan, @thedistractedwriter, @dear-dreamie, @thunderous-wolf, @briqnne, @hyukssunflower, @dinossaurz, @dancelikebutterflywings, @skz1-4-3, @staytiny2000

Jongho: @lieutenantn (I didn't pay attention and tagged you in the hyung line one too, sorry! lol)

Mingi: @ye0nvibezzn

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persevereforahappyending · 12 days

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Maybe in Another Life |6|

Pairing: Clarisse La Rue x Hunter of Artemis!Reader

Summary: You are a Hunter of Artemis, but you start to question what you truly want when you meet Clarisse and get to know her.

Warnings: Major Titans Curse SPOILERS

Word Count: 2.7k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch. 3 | ch. 4 | ch. 5 | ch. 6

You silently moved through the training course, slashing your sword when you heard a training dummy swing out from one of the trees. The grains of sand stung your face, the only proof you needed that you hit your target. A spring mechanism sounded, making you whip around and slash your sword down, slashing the training dummy across the chest. Sand continued to pour out of the dummy as you moved one foot at a time, using your ears to pick up any more attacks. One final dummy dropped down from the tree, without hesitating you slashed your sword, slashed it again on the other side, and then stabbed it through the chest as your final move.

When you ripped off your blindfold you saw training dummies hanging limply from trees, sand continuing to pour out of some of them. The first dummy that came flying at you was laid on the ground, a gash in its side, you had nearly cut the dummy in half, it was held together by only a few strings of fabric on one side. The next dummy that sprang up was still tied to the wood plank and spring fixture, a giant gash across its chest, just like you figured. The final dummy that had swung down from the top of the trees only had the top half still connected to the rope, the bottom half was shredded apart on the ground. The two lashes you did across the chest didn’t quite do it it seemed, but the final stab is what finally separated the bottom from the top.

Camp Half-Blood had a section of the woods set aside specifically for training. The best training was sparring or hands on, fighting others. This was the next best thing in camp though, the Hephaestus kids set up all the gadgets and fixtures, flinging out targets or sparring dummies for someone to train with. You entered the area, but never knew what would be thrown at you, the targets could pop out from trees, drop down from the sky, or even pop up from the ground. There are times when you could be walking through the area with nothing popping up for a few minutes, then all of a sudden target after target could pop up. The training area was meant to give campers an idea of what it would be like in the field because in the field you never knew what was coming next.

It had only been a few days since Clarisse almost kissed you, since you almost kissed her. You had been avoiding her ever since, you had been avoiding everyone actually. You still slept in the cabin, but you found yourself stumbling through the door when all your sisters were already asleep and then waking up hours before they did. You would only really acknowledge them when they directly talked to you, when they asked if you wanted to spar you would find an excuse and brush them off.

You couldn’t believe you had almost kissed Clarisse, that you had wanted to kiss her. You had never felt that kind of desire in all your years on earth. You kept replaying every interaction you had with her from the moment you first met her when you returned Silena’s camp necklace to the moment the two of you almost kissed. You decided you had been attracted to Clarisse the moment you met her, you thought it had just been your competitive nature at first, that’s what it usually was. When you met someone who was a challenge you’d compete against them, beat them, then it would be over. Not with Clarisse though, you had beaten her a few times, but you kept coming back to her.

You weren’t sure how you could ever face Artemis again. You didn’t technically break any of her rules, you didn’t technically break your vow, but you almost had. There was a part of you that had wanted to break the vow in the moment, if you hadn’t, you never would have leaned in. The only reason you stopped it from happening was because you realized what you were about to do, and Zoe and Artemis’s disappointed faces appeared in your head. Phoebe already knew something was up, there was no way Zoe and Artemis wouldn’t figure it out.

Artemis liked you; you were one of her best, besides Zoe you had been at her side the longest. You were always devoted to Artemis, following her every order without question. You hoped that would buy you some forgiveness, Artemis didn’t tend to be forgiving to those who betrayed her. Though you didn’t technically betray her, it was a grey area, you almost had, you had wanted to, to you that was enough reason for Artemis to punish you. She’d probably turn you into an animal like the others and spend another thousand years hunting you down.

“You’re avoiding Clarisse,” someone said, popping out of the woods as you made your way back to camp.

“What the…” you said, whipping around to see Silena. “I’m not avoiding anyone,” you mumbled, continuing your walk back to camp.

You heard Silena let out a groan, you could picture the eyeroll she was certainly giving you. “Yes, you are. Why? You guys were fine after I left you guys to hang out with Charlie.” You glanced back, seeing a light blush decorating Silena’s cheeks as her eyes shifted to look at the ground.

“Clarisse didn’t tell you?” you couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. Clarisse and Silena were best friends, Silena was the daughter of Aphrodite, you figured if Clarisse would talk to anyone about what happened, what almost happened, between the two of you, it would be with Silena.

“No!” Silena let out a dramatic sigh. She seemed to be over her daydreaming over Beckendorf. “I asked and she just brushed me off, saying nothing was going on.” Silena stopped in her tracks, you looked back again, seeing her stare at you with wide eyes, making you instantly turn and continue walking. “Like you just said. Which means something is going on. Something happened after I left the two of you at the bonfire,” she rambled, seeming to be talking more to herself than you. “What happened?” she asked, appearing right by your side. You looked at her and back to where she had been standing, wondering when she had gotten so fast.

“Nothing happened!” you said defensively, you knew you responded to quickly. You swallowed, looking away from Silena. “Nothing happened,” you said calmer than before.

Silena narrowed her eyes. She looked you up and down making you fidget, still refusing to look at her. You stared down monsters without blinking, you talked back to gods, but you couldn’t meet the eyes of a daughter of Aphrodite. “Something almost happened,” she said.

You finally glanced at Silena. You didn’t answer her verbally, you just dropped your eyes to the floor, hoping that would be enough. You flinched when you felt an arm rest on your shoulder, your eyes followed the arm from your shoulder to Silena. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “It’s okay.”

You nodded, staring into Silena’s kind eyes. She was no longer pushing and trying to dig up information on her friend. You knew she had the best intentions, as a daughter of Aphrodite she probably sensed something between you and Clarisse that would explain all the weird looks she kept giving you two. She seemed to understand how much of a struggle this was for you, whether she understood the gravity of a Hunter falling for someone or something you didn’t know, she at least understood you didn’t want to talk about it and despite not knowing what actually happened she seemed to accept that you needed time to process it. She gave your shoulder a comforting squeeze before leaving you with your thoughts.

The rest of the day you walked around camp, attempting to train. Every weapon you picked up didn’t last long, your mind was to consumed with Clarisse to focus on your movements. You only stopped by the dining pavilion to grab a snack at dinner time, not even sparing the Ares table a glance. You could feel Clarisse’s eyes on you as you grabbed your apple, and you caught Silena’s eye as you walked out of the pavilion towards the woods. You needed to clear your head and you knew just the spot to go to.

Despite only being there once you followed the path to the spot by the creek, Clarisse’s spot, as if you walked it all the time. It seemed counterproductive to go to Clarisse’s favorite spot when you were trying to get your mind off of Clarisse but it’s the only place you fully felt at peace. All the times you’d visited camp, over all the years, the closest you got to peace was in the cabin, but it wasn’t true peace, being at Clarisse’s spot brought you true peace though, it felt like being out in the woods with your sisters and goddess.

You sat on the rock, watching the rushing water of the creek under the moonlight. You looked at the moon, you usually never felt closer to your goddess than under the moon but now it felt like she was watching over your shoulder, as if she knew what you were thinking. You didn’t even know what you were thinking, you took an oath, you pledged your life, your loyalty, to Artemis a long time ago, you had no intention of breaking that. Your feelings for Clarisse, if one could even call them that, were new, it was just a crush, a crush didn’t mean anything, you weren’t about to break your vow and betray Artemis over a crush.

You jumped when you heard a twig snap, you whipped around to see Clarisse coming out of the woods. She was frozen, looking down at the foot that had stepped on the twig before looking up at you. You could see her mouth partly open as if she were going to say something, but no words came out.

You stared at her for a moment, she looked quite pretty under the moonlight. You hated yourself for thinking that, you needed to get back to Artemis, once you left camp and were back on the hunt, you wouldn’t be consumed with thoughts of Clarisse, your feelings would die. You got up, intending to make your way back to camp and avoid Clarisse until it was time to leave.

“Wait,” Clarisse said as soon as you started moving.

Despite the desire to avoid her, to do everything in your power to kill your developing feelings, you stopped.

You watched Clarisse, waiting to see what she wanted, you truly didn’t know where her head was at during this whole situation. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. You tilted your head, that was definitely not something you were expecting.

“I never should have…” she let out a shaky breath. “You’re a Hunter,” her voice wavered just barely. “I know better. So, I’m sorry for what almost happened at the bonfire. I never meant to pressure you or anything.”

You looked down at the ground, unable to continue looking Clarisse in the eye. “You didn’t pressure me,” you finally mumbled out.

“Oh,” Clarisse breathed out.

“But I am a Hunter,” you said confidently. “And I am loyal to my goddess.” Clarisse nodded, you could tell she wanted to look away, but she refused and continued to hold your eye contact. “I will not betray my oath.”

“I understand,” Clarisse’s voice sounded raspy. She quickly cleared her throat. “If friendship is all that you can give then I would be honored.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle for the first time since the bonfire, shaking your head at Clarisse’s words. “Friends,” you nodded.

You knew you felt more that friendship for the daughter of Ares but that is all you’d ever allow the two of you to be. You wouldn’t betray Artemis that way, you wouldn’t do that to your sisters. It was for the best for everyone if the two of you were only friends. Allowing something more to develop would only end in tragedy for you and heartbreak for her.

“Silena will be disappointed,” you joked, you couldn’t help but try and break the tension. Ever since you met Clarisse things had felt effortless, the two of you just clicked in your own way but after the bonfire, despite avoiding each other, you only felt on edge, like you lost the thing the two of you had.

Clarisse let out a groan. “Did she talk to you?” she sighed, giving one of her classic eyerolls.

You chuckled. “Jumped me right after my training session.”

Clarisse crossed her arms, grumbling something you couldn’t decipher. “It’s got to be nice knowing she cares so much,” you said.

“More like annoying,” Clarisse snarked.

You just laughed at Clarisse as you made your way off the rocks, nodding at her to follow. The two of you walked back to camp in a comfortable silence. When the two of you finally emerged from the woods the camp was quiet, there was no campfire that night and it seemed like most of the campers had turned in for the night. Nothing had to be said as the two of you started walking towards the cabins and you decided not to comment on how Clarisse seemed to be taking the long way around to her cabin, meaning you’d pass the Artemis cabin first.

“Wow,” Clarisse whispered. You stopped in your tracks when Clarisse was no longer beside you, you turned around with a furrowed brow as you saw her staring up at the sky. “I’ve never seen the stars so bright.”

You looked up, seeing that the stars were in fact brighter than they usually were. You scrunched your brow, you had been all over the world, you slept under the open sky countless times for centuries and you had never seen the stars so bright. “I know I don’t know constellations,” Clarisse started. “But is that-”

Your breath caught in your throat. Clarisse must have heard you because she stopped mid-sentence and was looking at you with concern. You couldn’t pay her any mind though, you were to focused on the stars, specifically the new constellation that seemed to be in the sky. Your heart dropped; the constellation looked like a girl with a bow running across the sky. You took your eyes off the sky, they were now filled with unshed tears, you weren’t looking at Clarisse though, you were looking past her. Clarisse turned around when she realized you weren’t looking at her. Behind her stood Artemis safe and sound in all her glory, but with a sadness you knew all too well on her face.

Without another word you moved past Clarisse, making your way to your goddess’s side. She offered you a sad smile when you got in front of her. “Zoe,” you rasped out, but it hadn’t been a question, you both knew that.

Artemis gave a small nod. You squeezed your eyes shut, dropping your head to the ground, you refused to let the tears fall. You felt the warm hand of your goddess rest on your shoulder. “I must go to Olympus,” Artemis spoke softly. “I apologize for leaving you with this.” You nodded, a sniffle escaping your nose.

“I need you to gather the others,” she said, her tone unchanging, but you were listening more intently, she was giving you your next orders. “I know it’s not enough time but take the night to grieve.” You nodded; you were going to have to tell the others. “Be ready to leave by daybreak, Thalia will greet you.” You sucked in a breath at Thalia’s name, you knew what that meant, it had to be done though.

“Yes, my goddess,” you whispered. You lifted your head, looking Artemis in the eye, giving her a final nod. You continued to watch on confidently as Artemis disappeared in a bright white light.

After she was gone you let out a shaky breath, your tears slowly left your eyes as you collapsed to your knees. You felt Clarisse’s presence behind you, you appreciated that she didn’t try to comfort you. You continued to release your tears for your fallen sister, for Zoe. After a few minutes you took a couple deep breaths, composing yourself as you pulled yourself back to your feet, prepared to inform the other Hunters of your fallen leader.

Taglist: @cxcilla @touchmyfracturedomens @luclue @manu-007s-world

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x you #clarisse x reader #percy jackson #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #maybe in another life

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