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ravenelyx · 9 months

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Cobwebs - Sebastian Sallow

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader

Words: 2k

Chapter Warnings: jealousy, light angst/angst if you squint, fluff, Sebastian's comfort food is corn apparently idk, suggestive (barely)

Summary: When a festival in your hometown causes you to dress up with medieval clothes, dance and act, Sebastian couldn't be happier and more proud - until he realises you will have a partner through all of it. And the partner is not him.

A/N: for the Sallow Sunday challenge !! I'm late in my country but it's still Sunday somewhere - inspired by a festival I went to today (literally came back at 1 am and wrote this: it's currently 5 am)

Masterlist

You can find the whole fanfiction also here on ao3

Sebastian had woken up with the biggest grin on his face. A rare occurrence, really, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't wipe it off his mouth.

Because today, apparently, was special.

He had been waiting for two weeks since his girlfriend had told him the news: at first Sebastian didn't really understand her ardour, but the delighted expression on her face was enough to propel the boy to match the enthusiasm completely.

There was a festival in her hometown: a celebration that, for one reason or another, had been impossible to arrange for about ten years. It was her favourite, she had said, because of its theme — a living re-enactment of old times, with dances and traditional clothing from her home — even more so now that she was chosen to be one of the people who was supposed to parade as an extra.

She was to wear a beautiful medieval tunic, and had to attend rehearsals everyday. As much as Sebastian wished to follow her there to see her hard work, she insisted that she wanted to keep it a surprise for when he finally saw her at the fest.

He had sulked a bit at that moment, but had been since then looking forward to seeing his beautiful girlfriend in an amazing dress.

He stood in the front row, having arrived early just to earn a perfect spot to bask in her splendid beauty ringside as soon as she came, and patiently waited for her to appear, nodding his head to the folklore music in the meantime. When the parade started, his body shook all over in anticipation, standing on his toes, eyes darting everywhere to catch a glimpse of his beloved.

And she was perfect.

Hair cascading in little twirls locked in a beautiful braid on her shoulder, adorned with a headband on the crown of her head, she smiled brightly, her lips shining with clear gloss. Her face was still natural-looking, with makeup that matched her features and made her look even more ethereal, and her green bliaut hugged her figure in ways that left little to Sebastian's imagination as his jaw fell open. It was tight at the waist, her corset even harsher around her flank under the kirtle, and adorned with a brown cincture knotted around her abdomen. Her only exposed parts were her cleavage, from which Sebastian could see a peak of her chemise, and her wrists, where the gown widened slightly. She moved with elegance and poise, careful to mind each graceful motion of her arm as she walked, and Sebastian felt his cheeks hurt with how wide his smile was, almost tearing at the corners of his mouth.

A smile that fell as soon as his eyes darted away from her gorgeous figure.

The parade consisted of couples dressed in different ways, only interrupted here and there by close groups of musicians who accompanied them, and as such, she was on another's arm as she moved.

And, Sebastian noticed, he was very handsome — much more handsome than he was, with his chiseled jawline and elegant walk. He held her arm carefully as they walked together, chin up and perfectly in line, straight posture and measured walk. It was clear he had rehearsed for a long time.

And he had rehearsed with her.

Sebastian felt something sour and ghastly bubble in his stomach when they finally stopped. She turned to the man next to her, and he bowed gallantly at the waist before taking her hand in his.

The dance started. The musicians moved to the side, while the couples took their place in the midst of the plaza, moving from side to side at the fast paced rhythm of folklore music. When she went forward, he did the same, arms bending to meet. And then they stepped away together, extending their arms all the same, hands never separating. The steps of their frolic echoing in Sebastian's ears, thundering in his brain at the ease and preparation with which the couple moved together. She twirled in the man's arms, taking a step back and then twirled again on the opposite side, and Sebastian’s hands began to shake. Their manoeuvres were so measured, so controlled they must have rehearsed a lot. They must have spent a lot of time together to perfect it. Hours and hours, days of days of his beloved dancing with another man.

Panic seeped its way into his core: What if those days of rehearsal had awoken something in her? Something that made her realise that the man dancing with her was better than Sebastian in every way?

He didn't dare go further with his thoughts… but what if…

The crowd cheered, pulling Sebastian from his reverie, and he looked at her. And she was looking at him, too, wearing a bright smile, eyes shining as she silently asked him what he thought. Her forehead glistened a bit with sweat, a sign of her hard work, and Sebastian forced a smile on his face, nodding at her. She nodded back and turned to the man again.

A new dance began.

She had been on that man's arm most of the night, entertaining kids and adults all the same, dancing with him once a new folklore song started, and even re-enacting some play scenes along with the other extras.

Sebastian was left watching, embittered by the sight so much that, at some point, he had to completely avoid said sight.

Whenever he saw a glimpse of her beautiful figure, he would turn around and go into another alley, hoping to find some solace in the street food he had been shamelessly indulging in since the fest started.

"Sickle for your thoughts?" The man in front of him asked Sebastian at some point, after the brunet had visited his corn stand at least three times. "I can't give you another cob."

Sebastian scowled, but he had to admit the man was right. His stomach couldn't take it anymore.

"My girlfriend… she…" Sebastian began, kicking the dirt while the man stirred a huge cauldron of maize porridge. "She looks absolutely gorgeous today…"

"I hardly see how that's something to be concerned about," the man lifted an eyebrow. "Has the corn gone to your head? Why isn't your mesmerising girlfriend on your arm?"

"Because she's on another's arm," Sebastian blurted out, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "And I can't do anything about it!"

A beat of silence followed. Sebastian bit his lip harshly, while the man seemed to understand the situation. He handed the brunet another cob. "Maybe you do need another."

Sebastian's shoulders slumped and he took up the offer, defeated, biting on the warm kernels. "It's just…" he spoke, voice muffled by his full mouth as he moved the cob around frustratingly. "Today was supposed to be a celebration, and instead I'm here with you and those damn cobs!"

He took another bite and the man sighed. "Just go find her is my advice. You're a handsome lad, and the dress up time has been over for a while I reckon, so she can be yours for the rest of the night."

"What if she doesn't want to be?" The words left Sebastian's lips without hesitation. "He's much more handsome than I am! Maybe she's even… they're even…"

He didn't want to think about it, the idea making the back of his eyes sting a little.

"If she was, why would she invite you?" The man shrugged. "And don't finish that corn, you hear me? Give it to her before your stomach gives up on your body more than you've given up on your dignity."

Sebastian grimaced at the man's harsh words, but he could feel his stomach grumble in protest and he knew he was right. He reluctantly let his now-comfort food lay at his side in his hand, and he made his way through the decorated alleys, dragging his feet like some chained torture was pulling at him.

Maybe it was good if he found her — just to give her his corn, that was. It would have been a shame to waste it.

"Seb! Where were you?" She asked in concern once his legs came to a stop in the plaza. "You weren't at the plays. I just… did you not like them?" She asked, voice feeble and unsure, and Sebastian felt his stomach twist as he realised he'd failed her once again.

"I… got you corn," he retorted weakly, handing her the half-eaten cob.

She took it with a frown, and then she met his eyes with disbelief. "You ate corn all this time?"

Sebastian blushed deeply, before his chest turned cold again at the sight of the man standing behind her.

"You were with him all this time?" He asked caustically, shifting his weight on his leg and crossing his arms defensively.

She was at a loss for words. "What— are you serious right now?"

"Very much."

"He's my partner!" She claimed, raising her voice, the cob in her hands swinging dangerously.

"No!" He snapped, unwinding his arms and taking a step closer. "I am your partner!"

She gasped a few times, unable to retort as she saw the look on his face. He wasn't angry, despite his deep frown and lips pressed together. He was hurt.

"Sebastian," she sighed, stepping closer. "It's just a festival…"

"You danced with him," he responded, the heat radiating from her body making his resolve crumble. "You must have rehearsed a lot."

"Yes, for the festival." The hand that wasn't holding the cob of corn came to lay on his cheek, and he melted in her touch.

"Still, I didn't like the way he looked at you!" He hissed, gesticulating sharply, trying to restrain himself from pacing back and forth as he usually did. "You look gorgeous and…"

"Sebastian… he's married," she sighed, her thumb rubbing soothing circles on his cheekbone, "and he's like… five years older than me."

Sebastian was quiet at that, a small blush coming to rest on his ears when he realised. "So… well married men can… I mean…"

"Not him… trust me," she chuckled, now so close she could bump her nose to his. "Besides," she smiled, amused. "It's a small town, and he's my cousin."

Sebastian gasped, mouth falling open at the revelation. How stupid could he be? He had been sulking the entire evening, missing her plays and hard work just because… because…

"Were you jealous?" She asked, nuzzling his cheek.

Because he was jealous.

"I… I…" he stuttered. "I might have been… eating more corn than necessary."

She laughed against his skin, and he smiled fondly at the sound.

"Yes, I imagined that," she said, handing the cob to her cousin and taking Sebastian's hand in hers, guiding him through the alleys. "But no more corn now."

Sebastian frowned, confusion evident on his features, and she smiled at his face as she got a bundle of keys from the aumoniere hanging from her belt.

"It's my family home," she explained, "and it's empty."

She pulled him inside once she opened the door, immediately wrapping her arms around his neck once he was close enough.

"I'm just…" he began, feeling like it wouldn't be right to do anything without apologising for his behaviour. "I'm sorry I missed your plays," he whispered, feeling guiltier than ever as her lips pressed on his skin tenderly. "I should have valued you more…"

"You've seen the first two ones," she smiled and pressed another kiss on his jaw. "Last two were boring anyway."

"Still, I should have enjoyed them," he protested, returning her kisses. "And your dress, too… you look so beautiful… so…"

"Well… dress up time is over," she whispered, mouth hovering his. "Care to help me with that?"

Sebastian let out a low chuckle at that, smirking against her lips. "Oh, I'm so going to enjoy that."

He pushed his arm back and pressed his palm on the door, closing it loudly behind him.

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xjustakay · 8 months

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(9/17) prompt: want — 1,402 words (figure skater Regulus/hockey player James pt.2 - pt.1) @jegulus-microfic

Two rows up the bleachers, Regulus sits with his feet propped up on the bench in front of him, leaning forward, chin in his hand. His limbs fucking ache because his mother had him doing speed skates with a roulette of barked out jumps for the last thirty minutes of practice, and he’d prefer to be immersed in a nice hot bath right about now, but… Well.

It’s hockey practice hour.

He should have left right after his practice ended —there was more than plenty of time between it and when the Phoenixes were trickling in for their afternoon use of the ice. Yet, there he sits, still at the rink. Watching. Unbearably obvious given he’s one of the few spectators there. James hasn’t noticed him yet and it’s the tiniest favor, because Regulus will never fucking hear the end of it once he has.

Hockey and figure skating have always oddly gone hand in hand to a certain extent, especially when it comes to the skaters and teams that train at the same rink. However, Regulus never gave much thought to the sport before, always focused in his own little world. Sometimes by choice, others merely by survival. He couldn’t really care about how well the rink’s home team was doing in their season when he had his own competition seasons to worry about.

Now, he’s suddenly a bit more invested. He’s not going to talk about the reason why.

While he wishes that James could be bad at something just once, Regulus can’t deny the truth of the matter. Because the fact is, James is really fucking good at what he does. He’s fast and he’s precise; there’s almost an art in itself to the way he zig-zags down the ice, twists his grip on his hockey stick just so, and sends a puck sailing right to its intended mark in the corner of the net. He doesn’t miss once.

James makes it look effortless, like it’s as second nature to him as breathing. It’s the kind of grace that Regulus has worked all his life to keep mastered in his own area of expertise. An odd cocktail of both envy and admiration settles in his chest as he watches with rapt attention.

Practice is at its tail end, their coach blowing the whistle to round them up for closing discussions about schedule and things to work on for their next game. As James skids to a stop at the edge of the rink, he tugs his helmet up and off to take a drink from the sports bottle he picks up. His mouth hangs open as he squeezes the short stream of water into it and swallows. Sweat mats his dark curls down, sticking to his forehead in a messy swoop. His cheeks and the tip of his nose are flushed from the cold and the exertion of what he’s been doing for the last hour.

He shouldn’t look this good, but he does and Regulus feels an all too familiar want settling into his bones the longer he stares.

Regulus bites at his thumbnail, intent focus locked onto him for so long that James must feel it because he finally looks up, past his coach in front of him, into the stands. When hazel eyes land on him, Regulus drops his hand in a hurry, sits up straighter. Heat colors his cheeks for an entirely different reason when James’ mouth crooks in a self-satisfied grin upon seeing him there.

Fuck, he should have just left after his practice.

Even as he’s spoken to directly, James keeps his eyes on Regulus, nodding and responding to his coach without looking away. Like he’s waiting for Regulus to be the one who does so first, because he knows it will be. It always is. James doesn’t shy away from a damn thing when it comes to him, no matter how much Regulus tries to live in denial.

Clearing his throat, Regulus breaks away from the entrapment of their gazes. He snatches up his bag with his skates and other belongings in it and rushes to stand. He doesn’t look back as he walks off, stepping down off the bleachers and hastening around the back of them to an area where he might be able to catch his fucking breath for a minute.

He shouldn’t be surprised that after that minute James exits the ice on the opposite side from his teammates just to find him there.

“Didn’t your session end like over two hours ago?” James asks, teasing.

“Shut up,” Regulus huffs.

He’s glistening beneath the rink’s bright lighting as he steps closer on blade-guarded skates that make him even taller than he already is. Regulus has to tilt his head back further than usual when James encroaches on his space, invades even more of his senses with the heat coming off of him and the smell of sweat lingering. Regulus wants to fucking die right now, he’s never wanted someone this bad in his life, even in all his disgusting post-practice glory.

“What could’ve kept you here for so long, I wonder?” James props his hockey stick against the wall on Regulus’ left, then lifts one arm to press higher than Regulus’ head on the right.

He’s too close, even in this secluded area with minimal foot traffic, but Regulus is having a hard time willing himself to put space between them. Not to mention, James quite literally has his back to the wall here. He finds he’s farther from complaining about it than he should be.

“Couldn’t have been me, right?” James continues.

“Never.” Regulus tilts his chin up, but given the way the single word leaves his mouth on a sigh, it’s not believable in the slightest.

“Mm, of course.” James nods, eyes dropping to where Regulus pulls his lower lip between his teeth. “Caught the tail end of your speed skate, you must be tired.”

“I’m fine,” Regulus counters.

James arches one brow, corner of his lips ticking upward. “True, it does take a lot to tire you out.”

Regulus manages a glare at him as he takes a steadying breath through his nose. It’s not without effort, but he does his best. “Go take a shower, you’re disgusting.”

“I can shower at home.” James leans off the wall, gives him the tiniest bit more room as he pushes his hair up from his forehead. He looks ridiculous with the damp ends sticking out, but Regulus bites at his cheek all the same to try to remain focused. “You should come join me.”

“And why would I do that?” There’s a part of Regulus in the back of his mind positively screaming, invisibly shaking him by the shoulders and loudly reminding him because you fucking want to, and you should get to have what you want, you idiot, but he’s pointedly ignoring it.

“Not like you haven’t before,” James snorts.

A purposefully condescending smile, all teeth. “Everybody makes mistakes.”

“Do they make the same mistake five times?” James feigns surprise through his continued amusement. “Like, I know you’re all about breaking records, love, but…”

“I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” James’ grin is far too smug, too proud of himself, despite the fact that it’s not what he actually wants to hear. He grabs his stick from against the wall and tosses it back and forth between his hands absently, dark brows lifting. “So are you coming?”

Regulus looks up at him for a long moment, deliberating. He tucks his thumb beneath the strap of his bag over his shoulder, gripping white-knuckled around it. It was a bath he’d been daydreaming about through practice, but a shower with James? That’s just as satisfying, isn’t it?

He runs the mental math of the time of day in his head —he goes home with James now, they shower and inevitably fuck around a bit, because god forbid they keep their hands to themselves when they’re alone. It’s dinner hour by the time they’re finally finished, James convinces him to stay to order takeaway. Then “what’s the point of even going back to yours, it’s so late already. I’ll make staying worth your while.”

Routine has been constant for Regulus all his life, but establishing one with James Potter was never in his plan, certainly never one he thought he’d come to enjoy so much, either.

And yet…

“Fine.”

#jegulus #jegulus microfic #imagine i just wrote the full oneshot instead of random out of context scenes imagine that #anyway here's this bc they won't leave me alone #and i love them so adjfkasdl damn much #kay’s microfics #kay’s writing #fic: put us on ice #<- the origins

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undiscovered-horizon · 1 year

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would you ever do a chubby/plus-size!reader? i would love to see and 11th doctor x chubby!reader where they go to a formal and it’s the first time he sees reader glow like that, since she often hides herself in baggy clothes.

kinda hurt/comfort vibes. ahh i feel like 11 would be such a romantic dork, feeling all star struck. 🥺 not understanding why she thinks she’s anything but the most beautiful person in all the universes. because that’s how he sees her 😭💕

🫀REQUESTS ARE OPEN🫀 || Doctor Who-inspired playlist

"Blessing me" - 11th Doctor x chubby!Reader

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.5k

Looking for an alien on an intergalactic banquet sounded like a blockbuster space opera but there was the tiniest detail that turned it all into a nightmare - being part of it yourself. Banquets, as it befits them, mean elegant people in fitted clothes and with graceful manners. In a bitter way, it was hilarious to you as it seemed like banquets were everything you didn't have. Nevertheless, it wasn't something you could just opt out of - you signed up for the charming and deranged yourself.

Sometimes being clothed felt worse than being naked and you were painfully aware of that at the moment. Maybe most of your skin was underneath the material but still, it felt like it creased and tightened in all the wrong ways and places as if it sprouted a mind of its own that was determined to make you look the worst way possible; like it wanted to show the entire universe just how ungraceful or inelegant you were, how out of place. The dress itself was absolutely gorgeous: pion purple velvet, leg slit, cleavage... It truly looked taken straight from a magazine cover. Except you could hardly call yourself a cover girl.

The moment he heard the creak of the hinges, the Doctor moved away from the side of the TARDIS that he had been leaning against. His expression became worryingly blank when his eyes fell on you: he could either be a victim of a storm of chaotic, dismembered thoughts or a complete lack thereof. It was hard to tell which one. For some reason, it looked like he was frozen in time for a moment, with no movement or even blinking. He just... stared.

"Do I... look okay?" you asked hesitantly.

The Doctor suddenly shook awake. Immediately, his eyes wandered off and he refused to look at you again. Still, putting on a brave and certainly aloof face, he clasped his hands and turned in the direction you two should be heading:

"Yes, right, lovely. Let's go."

He just began walking away without a care in the world, more interested in the imminent danger than you. His remarkable lack of engrossment sprouted a sinking feeling in your stomach like a lead globe pulling you underground, the dread stealing your ragged breath.

"Oh God, he can't even look at me," you whispered to yourself. Your day was about to get worse as if it wasn't bad already.

Not having much experience in walking in heels, you were doing a silly, fearful trot trying to catch up with the Doctor and his long strides. But your attempt at running wasn't the only silly thing - you felt it was all of you. Finally daring to wear something else than loose jeans and a jumper only to remember why it was your exclusive clothing choice in the first place.

The ballroom was filled with aliens most of which you'd never seen before even after all this time and adventures with the Doctor - your world was still tiny. The place was packed. Every person you laid your eyes on looked fascinating even if not exactly beautiful by human standards. They left a lasting impression that made you all the more conscious about your own outstanding looks. Not the good outstanding, to be clear.

"So, looking for an alien, right?" You tried your best to seem unbothered and collected. Whether you were successful or not, Doctor's attitude remained the same: avoidant.

He was answering you while squeezing past various alien specimens in relatively elegant attire. It was difficult to hear what exactly he was saying as laughter and music echoed through the ballroom. "Yes. Well, no. An android built by an alien."

"Tomato, tomato. We're still looking for something not human on an intergalactic charity ball. It's like looking for a needle in a haystack."

The Doctor stopped abruptly. You were watchfully following his gaze and it felt like time slowed down as you saw him glance at you and hurriedly look away. He was nervously rubbing his hands. "Well then, let's find a magnet. Shall we?"

As if he wasn't a strange enough man already, the Doctor's behaviour only became more bizarre. Sometimes you'd notice, out of the corner of your eye, his curious but reluctant gaze as if he wanted to look at you but didn't want anyone else to know. Perhaps, he didn't want you to know.

The dread only continued to pull you towards the ground, the tips of your fingers turning cold and trembling. A panic raised in your chest, and obsessive thoughts kept rushing you to just go, just leave and disappear - like you were never meant to be in this place at this time.

The aforementioned lead sphere kept dragging you and dragging until you've known nothing else except desperation and panic. You needed to know the reason, to either burn in shame or laugh at your far-fetched conclusions. Whatever the answer was, you had to end that dreadful silence.

"Why won't you look at me?" you asked him.

"What? I am looking at you, what are you on about?" Despite his reassurance, he hardly gave a glance vaguely in your direction.

He kept on leading you through hotel-like corridors, guiding you to a destination he never thought to disclose. The Doctor's attention was focused on the painfully mundane furnishing: ferns, brackets, dusty oil paintings, nauseating carpets and doors that had been repainted a little too many times.

"See? Even now, we're talking and you're staring everywhere but at me. If I look hideous, just say it and let's get over it."

"Hideous?" he repeated as he suddenly stopped walking. He looked over his shoulder at your but only for a short moment. "Of course you don't look hideous, why would you say that?"

"Well, I'm not blind," you said as you vaguely pointed at your body. It was a nice euphemism, a lot less raw and honest than consciously thinking about the graceful, elegant aliens you were surrounded by. "Which is exactly why I noticed you've been refusing to look me in the eye ever since we got here. Why's that? Just... just be honest. For God's sake, just tell me why."

"Because I can't!" he suddenly raised his voice. Whatever nerve you struck, it was a quite prominent one.

"Can't or won't?"

"Both I suppose."

"But... why?" Perhaps if it was so difficult to get an honest answer from him, you shouldn't want to learn it, after all. Maybe there was a reason he kept circling around the truth.

"A Christmas tree!" he exclaimed with excitement. His eyebrows raised ever so slightly. "Everyone loves a Christmas tree. It's lovely, it's gorgeous. Very distracting. Best not to look at it if you've got work to do."

"I'm... distracting?" Although he made it sound fairly good, a distraction could hardly be considered an advantage of any sort. Especially in your current line of business.

"A lot more than I'm willing to admit. Now come on, we've got the universe to save."

The Doctor was about to turn around and probably run off straight into the jaws of danger hiding behind the corner but you grabbed his arm. "No, hold on a minute. You're not going to elaborate?"

"I think I made myself clear, didn't I?"

"Not exactly. 'Distracting' is a little ambiguous, don't you think? Do you mean good distracting or bad distracting? Butterflies of mosquitos?"

He pulled his hand out of your grasp. His eyes stared at your face in a manner so intense, so passionate, it nearly made you want to look way as if his gaze could burn through your skin. The Doctor was bursting at the seams, all the words he hadn't said seeping through.

"I mean distracting as in the whole universe could implode and I wouldn't care because you're here. 'I could die a happy man because I've seen you' kind of distracting."

Your mind was filled with static and even that was an understatement. Maybe you heard him wrong? Or he never said anything close to admiration and you were simply overinterpreting his intentions? Silently, you stared at him. For the first time that day, he also stared at you as if he finally gave in to an urge. At that moment, his eyes dared not look away.

"You keep on blessing me and it makes my mind go all stupid and it's distracting. Does that settle it?"

"Yeah," you answered although you didn't quite believe your own words. Truth be told, you weren't sure what to say or think. How does one accept such a confession? "Yeah, I think it does."

A distant crash and blood-chilling scream distracted both of you from the intimate words. Maybe, in some funny way, it was the android that found you, instead of the proper way around.

"Great! Now let's go on a little hunting trip."

Perhaps his eyes couldn't stay on you but his thoughts never left your side.

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halsins-herbal-underpants · 2 months

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Red - Wyll/Astarion prompt piece (sfw)

This is for @cozykomala who sent me my first prompt ever! After a fight, person A is covered in blood. Person B freaks out "omg are you ok!?" Person A is like "it's not my blood, but it's nice to know you care so much." Person B now has feelings they need to deal with.

AO3 Link

Wyll is used to seeing red. He saw it in the hellish flames of the demons he fought and killed for Mizora. He sees it when he gathers the courage to look in the mirror and his Hells-touched eye stares back. And he sees it with his companions, as they fight their way through goblins and gnolls and githyenki creches into lands touched by shadow.

Red on their enemies, red on his friends, red in his eyes, sometimes. But Wyll can't recall ever seeing this much red on any of them before.

"Astarion!? By the gods, are you all right?"

Wyll runs up the steps of the huge surgical theater towards the vampire, sliding his rapier back into its scabbard. They'd been fighting a mad shadow-claimed doctor and his whispering nurses, Wyll's attempt at parlay failing to convince the dead women to turn on their teacher. It was a tough battle, Gale and Shadowheart both nearly out of spells, but Wyll had lost track of Astarion; the last sight of him he'd caught was the spawn disappearing behind three screeching ghostly figures slashing their rusty surgical tools wildly at his face.

Now he was hobbling out of the shadows almost completely drenched in blood; it covered the leather bands of his drow-styled armor and sank into the crevices. It splashed over his face, his ears, and turned his moon-silver hair to crimson. He was even leaving bloody footprints behind in his wake as he stumbled forward. Wyll felt his heart leap into his throat, nearly choking him as he ran towards the rogue, catching Astarion by the elbow in case he was about to crumple to the ground.

The vampire blinked at him a moment with eyes that matched his bloody visage and then slowly cracked a smile. "Wyll," he said calmly in greeting, as if he didn't look like a slaughterhouse floor.

"Gods man, are you hurt? Where? Shadowheart, I don't think she -- s-she said she was out of--" Wyll's voice cracked and he grabbed at his pack. "I have a superior potion! We can at least stabilize you until we--by Helm's grace, Astarion I had no idea, I'm so sorry, I should have helped!"

"Wyll--" Astarion started, but was interrupted by the Blade shoving a potion at him, his voice laced with acute concern.

"Drink this, please. We have to tend to your wounds...where does it hurt the most? I have to say, with that much blood loss I have no idea how you're standing, it's been so long since you fed."

"Wyll!" Astarion tried to interrupt, his brows raising. The Blade turned, hand up to his mouth as he shouted at the other two while they picked through the dead for loot.

"SHADOWHEART, WE NEED--" Suddenly Astarion's hand was on Wyll's mouth, muffling whatever else he was about to demand. Shadowheart glanced up for a second, but then shrugged and went back to the bodies. Wyll's eyes widened and flicked to Astarion, who had the strangest smile on his face.

"Wyll. I'm fine." His smile widened, showing fangs. "It's not my blood."

Wyll blinked, brows furrowing. Astarion nodded his head towards the balcony, where three bodies were just visible beyond the railing, lying still.

"Mmhph!"

Astarion removed his hand with a soft chuckle. "Mmh, sorry. But yes, darling, I am perfectly all right. Not a scratch on me." He patted himself to prove it and Wyll visibly relaxed.

"Oh. I...I may have been hasty," the warlock admitted, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. He paused and then mumbled, embarrassed. "...May I have my potion back, please?"

"Certainly." Astarion handed it back, a wide smirk on his lips that made Wyll's face feel hot. "Save it for the next time you fear for my unlife." He snickered and Wyll had to turn his head, something far too perceptive in that shimmering ruby gaze. Too dangerous to meet with his own.

"But thank you for your concern, sweet Blade," Astarion murred, stepping past him -- but then paused to half-turn back. A hand lifted to lightly grace Wyll's jaw, thumb sliding over his ridged cheek briefly. "I didn't know you cared so much."

He stepped away with a flourish as Wyll's cheeks burned and started walking back to the theater floor. "By the by," he called back airily over his shoulder. "I always love you in red." He gestured at his face and laughed, before turning to head down the stairs, loudly demanding the others had better not take everything for themselves.

Wyll flushed even darker, touching hands to his heated face and felt his heart still beating quickly in his chest. His fingers traced the ridge of his cheek, following the line Astarion's thumb made. His stomach felt fluttery as his mind's eye conjured the image again, over and over. As if wanting to burn it into his memory.

He swallowed hard and looked down at the far pale figure as it argued with their companions, his chest warming almost as much as his face. Those eyes, looking at him so knowingly, flashed in his mind. Red, warm...and waiting.

Shit.

#bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #bloodpact #wyllstarion #wyll ravengard #astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 wyll

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atopvisenyashill · 5 months

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“i’m not a traitor like that bitch rhaenyra” - stannis baratheon, davos iv, a storm of swords

wrong as usual stannis. let’s dig in!!

the technical, legal heir

"the throne by rights passes to lord stannis, the elder of robert's two brothers." - ned, xiii "The Princess of Dragonstone remained his heir, with half the lords of Westeros sworn to defend her rights...The matter had been decided, so far as King Viserys was concerned; it was not an issue His Grace cared to revisit." - heirs of the dragon: a question of succession, f&b

argue with the wall over how “really legal” it is, that’s not the point of this meta, the point is that Rhaenyra and Stannis not only see themselves as the righteous legal heir to the throne and all others as traitors to the realm, they both talk about this constantly. It is integral to how they see the world.

dragonstone as a base of operations

"And while Robert had been riding north to Winterfell, Stannis had removed himself to Dragonstone, the Targaryen island fast he had conquered in his brother's name. He had given no word as to when he might return. " - ned, vi "Thereafter Queen Alicent kept to the Red Keep, whilst the princess spent her days on Dragonstone..." - heirs of the dragon: a question of succession, f&b

we see this retreat happen several times with lords paramount like edmure, robb, and tywin and with other targaryens like visenya & maegor, rhaena and baela, and daeron ii. it makes sense that, when faced with a political faction they can’t quite get ahead of, they choose to run home to recoup.

HOWEVER.

They both really fumble the recouping!! Stannis knows no one likes him and he’s fighting an uphill battle wrt getting anyone outside of Dragonestone’s vassals on his side, yet he doesn't reach out to anyone at court nor does he do much to endear anyone else to his side. Rhaenyra meanwhile, fucks up in the exact same way - she doesn't ask an ally to spy for her at court, doesn't attempt to endear herself with anyone in the realm except the Velaryons (and then, only specifically Corlys) until the war has already started.

resentful of younger brother because of strained relationship with older male relative

"I never asked for Dragonstone. I never wanted it. I took it because Robert’s enemies were here and he commanded me to root them out. I built his fleet and did his work, dutiful as a younger brother should be to an elder, as Renly should be to me. And what was Robert’s thanks? He names me Lord of Dragonstone, and gives Storm’s End and its incomes to Renly. Storm’s End belonged to House Baratheon for three hundred years; by rights it should have passed to me when Robert took the Iron Throne." - prologue, acok "What a king had done, a king could undo, Viserys pointed out. She would wed as he commanded, or he would make her half-brother Aegon his heir in place of her. At this the princess’s will gave way." - heirs of the dragon: a question of succession, f&b

both of them are deeply resentful of their younger brothers for stealing what they feel is their right; for stannis, it’s storm’s end and for rhaenyra it’s the iron throne. it doesn’t help that both renly and aegon are a) known for being party dudes, something stannis resents bc he’s a stick in the mud and rhaenyra resents because aegon can be a partier and a mess but she tries to fuck criston one (1) time and she’s forever a whore and b) this resentment is fueled by an older male relative.

while robert likely meant Dragonstone to be a gift of affection for stannis - even though robert does away with the prince of dragonstone title, he still gives dragonstone to stannis, who robert likely saw as his legal heir until joffrey was born, it wasn’t meant to be a demotion but a promotion! stannis, however, takes this as a huge sleight and stews over it for years and years. similarly, though viserys makes it very clear who his heir is (its rhaenyra), he makes things more difficult for rhaenyra and fans the flames of distrust between her and aegon by threatening to disown her when she chafes at being married to laenor.

relationships with illegitimate children descended from the first men

The Strongs are "...an ancient line of noble warriors boasting descent from the First Men..." that live somewhere in the Riverlands before taking over Harrenhal (and then dying out completely). Obviously there is some controversy in universe over whether Harwin is the father of the Velaryon boys or not (but. Come On Lmao), but ultimately the main reasoning for why Rhaenyra should be disinherited is that her heir, Jacaerys, is illegitimate. Jacaerys was also rumored to have married another bastard with the blood of the First Men, Sara Snow.

Stannis, meanwhile is heavily associated with two bastards as well - Edric Storm and Jon Snow. Both Cortnay Penrose and Davos Seaworth get incredibly protective over Edric when the boy is faced with death, albeit for different reasons than Rhaenyra gets protective of Luke but there is still the very real fear that someone may kill the boys for who their parents are. Later, Stannis allies with the Night’s Watch and Jon Snow specifically, unsuccessfully needling him into being lord of winterfell, relying on his advice re: the northern lords, and leaving his wife, heir, AND closest ally (melisandre) under Jon’s protection. What i think is a fun parallel here is that there’s a lot of controversy over Jon’s parentage just like the Velaryon boys and what’s more, he’s actually the son of a WOMAN who had a bastard, not a man, just like the Velaryon boys.

fire obsessed lover with a penchant for murder

do i need to explain this. obviously there’s massive differences in their characters but they both serve as the sort of devil on the shoulder types, they’re both associated with the color red, they both use fire to kill, and they both fucking love a murder.

low born advisor who others at court don’t like

again, massively different characters, but what’s important is that what we know about mysaria is how she is perceived & little else, and she is perceived as being a bad influence on rhaenyra. davos is also considered a bad influence on stannis due to his lowborn status.

it’s also fun that you have davos/melisandre & daemon/mysaria.

female heirs

Obviously. Rhaenyra is a woman and her claim is challenged because of that. As a matter of fact, the quote that sparked me thinking about how many similarities they have is Stannis’ own low opinion on Rhaenyra, which i jokingly alluded to above:

"Traitors have always paid with their lives... even Rhaenyra Targaryen. She was daughter to one king and mother to two more, yet she died a traitor's death for trying to usurp her brother's crown." - davos iv, asos

Stannis is calling Rhaenyra a traitor. Stannis is also about to explicitly name Shireen as his heir:

The knight hesitated. "Your Grace, if you are dead — " " — you will avenge my death, and seat my daughter on the Iron Throne. Or die in the attempt." - theon i, twow

The dissonance in this man’s mind makes me weep.

tense and sexless marriage

Stannis had always been uncomfortable around women, even his own wife. When he had gone to King's Landing to sit on Robert's council, he had left Selyse on Dragonstone with their daughter. His letters had been few, his visits fewer; he did his duty in the marriage bed once or twice a year, but took no joy in it, and the sons he had once hoped for had never come. - prologue, a clash of kings

Thereafter, though he joined his wife for important court events where his presence was expected, Ser Laenor spent most of his days apart from the princess. Septon Eustace says they shared a bed no more than a dozen times. - heirs of the dragon: a question of succession, f&b

For both couples, it really goes beyond "we don't like each other that much" like lysa/jon, for example, who do still have sex regularly and have several children (they just all died). instead, it's more in the visenya/aegon category - these couples are actively avoiding each other's beds and company.

homoeroticism

PLUS - it is funny how both marriages have some weird gay subtext going on. laenor is actually, canonically gay and rhaenyra is “more than fond” of laena velaryon. read: they’re fucking. i don’t care if you don’t believe laenyra is real in the books, because do you know when else the term “more than fond” is used in this series? to describe sam’s feelings for gilly, lothor brune’s feeling for mya stone, and arianne’s lack of feelings for arys. it’s romantically used THREE times, and then once for laena and rhaenyra. even if they never actually had sex, there was a romantic friendship there, and not just a Girls Supporting Girls thing.

And I will make the exact same argument for davos and stannis!! although that one is less controversial because Davos is walking around saying that his tongue belongs to Stannis and Stannis calls Davos “MY onion knight”. everyone in the book remarks on how Stannis doesn’t like women, and part of that is just his weird personality but there’s a weird, repressed sexuality thing happening with him here, in an odd sort of parallel to Rhaenyra's very damaged view of sex and sexuality as well (what with all the incest and grooming).

Both Stannis AND Rhaenyra find themselves craving intimacy but whereas Stannis never acts on it and now everyone thinks he’s a prude, Rhaenyra does act on some of her desires and gains the reputation of being a whore. So much gender dynamic shit going on, so much that’s interesting in the way gay men are desexualized and bisexual women are hypersexualized. But moving on to my very last point of comparison!

some opinion on the alicent and cersei of it all

i think a lot of people balk at Alicent/Cersei comparisons because they feel it’s an insult against one or the other. The thing is, I think it’s very on purpose that Alicent and Cersei serve very similar functions in their respective stories - queen mother who uses her son to help advance her own station from a politically active, incredibly rich family with one sweet daughter and multiple sons of wildly differing temperaments - but for literally the EXACT OPPOSITE REASONS.

Similarly, I think Rhaenyra and Stannis are also meant to be a bit of parallel in their stories - a Dragonstone dwelling, fire and murder loving, aesthetic heavy sect of the royal family who somehow managed to produce the only vaguely well adjusted members of the family that are utterly doomed by the narrative (rip shireen and the strong-velaryon boys). But again for the EXACT OPPOSITE REASONS - Stannis is protesting the legitimacy of Cersei’s children while it’s Rhaenyra’s children whose legitimacy is being questioned. It’s a really fun connection between the Dance and the Wo5K to me.

SHOW ONLY BONUS: PROPHECIES ABOUT THE LONG NIGHT

a prophetic dream by aegon the conqueror about a threat from the north has supposedly been passed down from king to heir, and is passed from viserys to rhaenyra in house of the dragon. it plays a significant role in the story; viserys, alicent, rhaenyra, AND daemon all interact with it in some way or another, and the fact that viserys told rhaenyra and not daemon is just, A Huge thing for Rhaenyra. Just look at that face, I’m sorry, the acting delights me:

emma d'arcy the actor that you are!!!!!

Meanwhile, in the books, Stannis not only believes he is Azor Ahai (who it is theorized is the same thing as the prince that was promised), but Stannis going North is a huge turning point in Team Dragonstone, and Jon’s, stories. Just as Rhaenyra takes strength in the idea that SHE is the true heir, a Targaryen capable of uniting the realm to fight the Long Night, Stannis is convinced that he is a fabled hero who will save Westeros from an evil threat.

It seems unlikely it’ll ever be relevant to Rhaenyra in the books but we do know some sort of prince that was promised prophecy does exist and was found by at least a few targaryens because maester aemon mentions it and dany has a vision of rhaegar telling elia. regardless of its relevance to book!Rhaenyra, I find it fascinating that Stannis has this in common with the show version of her.

Anyways, to sum up:

#valyrianscrolls #stannis baratheon #rhaenyra targaryen #getting on my soap box #stannis and rhaenyra parallels #the dance of the dragons #the war of five kings #the war of the five kings #the song of ice and fire #house of the dragon #gif warning #long post #also will everyone look at how sexy that daemon/caraxes edit is. made it less yellow and made caraxes more red #without making daemon look like he's from the jersey shore. i am so good at color correcting bitch!!

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ailendolin · 28 days

Text

Hope - A BBC Ghosts Fanfic

Title: Hope [AO3]

Characters: pre-Nigel/Thomas, Jean, the Plague Ghosts

Summary: Thomas can't handle the quiet after Alison, Mike and Mia leave.

A/N: I began writing this after I finally got to see the final episode of Ghosts last January and couldn't stop thinking about how difficult that first night after the Coopers left must have been for the ghosts with the house being all quiet and everyone probably retreating into their rooms to deal with the new situation on their own.

————

Hope

It was late. Not yet past midnight but still later than usual according to the chime of the old grandfather clock that echoed too loudly through the silent house. Normally, Nigel and the others went to bed early just as they’d done their whole lives but today was not a normal day.

Today, Alison and Mike had left.

Alison had tears in her eyes when she’d come down to the basement to say goodbye earlier. It had been painfully obvious to Nigel that a part of her didn’t want to leave but he hadn’t told her that. He did not want to be the person making this harder for her than it already was. She’d made her decision, for better or worse, and all he could do now was support her in it. So he’d smiled at her and said, “Have a good life, Alison.”

And he’d meant it. He and the others did not begrudge her selling the house. They would miss her, though. She had always been kind to them – even if she did call them zombies, once – and made sure to keep the light on so they would not have to sit in the dark. Today, she’d turned off the light for the first time in years.

“I’ll leave the door open for you guys,” she’d said with one last smile. “I know it’s not the same but this way, you’ll at least have a little light when the electricity will be cut tomorrow.”

The moment she’d turned around, Mick started crying.

It was another reminder that everything would be different now, and Nigel wasn’t sure how he felt about that. The hotel would turn the house upside down and they knew their little corner of it would not escape the renovations. Alison had said they would love the sauna but he had to admit he was still a little sceptical about it.

“Won’t it smell if all the livings come down here to sweat?” he’d asked the others back when Alison had first informed them about the plans.

Geoff had shrugged. “Can’t be worse than us, eh?”

That had gotten a laugh out of everyone.

There was no laughter ringing through the house this night; no calls for dinner from the kitchen, no crying from Mia, no music playing. The quietness reminded Nigel of the time when Humphrey had been alive, and not in a good way, and he could tell the others felt it too. Even though no one said a word, it was clear none of them were eager to go to sleep that night.

So they talked – about the time Mike tried to repair the boiler and nearly blew up the house in the process, about that memorable night when Alison desperately tampered with the lights to imitate Robin, and that fateful Christmas Day a little over two years ago when Thomas’s portrait found its way down to them and caused all sorts of excitement.

“Thank god we’re over that,” Walter’s wife said and the others nodded in agreement.

Nigel glanced over at the portrait in the corner where it stood half-covered and among a myriad of other things Alison and Mike had left behind, and thought, Speak for yourself.

He might no longer be blinded by Thomas’s posed prettiness but that didn’t mean he didn’t find him handsome at all. There was just something about the way Thomas held himself that drew him in. Nigel had likened him to a flamingo once and he stood by that. Thomas was graceful, and his voice – oh it was the sound dreams were made of. Misty Glade might have been a mess of words and metaphors but Nigel didn’t think he’d even have noticed if the others hadn’t started questioning it because Thomas had recited it so beautifully. Thomas could read from the boiler manual for all he cared if it meant he’d get to listen to that beautiful deep cadence of his voice again or watch him prance around on stage playing a prince with all the pathos in the world.

If he were pressed to name the moment when he realised the portrait situation had been more than a passing fancy for him, Nigel would say it was the end of the panto. Thomas had looked so happy then – so completely at ease and content it had taken Nigel’s breath away. He’d never realised how beautiful Thomas’s smile was until he saw it that night in the gentle glow of the Christmas lights, and a part of him began to dream that Thomas would smile at him like that one day.

That was all it was, though: a dream. Nigel had never had any illusions that it could be more, which was why he didn’t tell anyone about what that foolish heart of his felt every time Thomas was so much as mentioned. Judging by the looks Jean sometimes gave him, he suspected she knew anyway. She seemed to have an uncanny sixth sense for this sort of thing – perhaps that’s how managed to hide her feelings for Geoff for so long, Nigel mused with a smile.

When he tuned back in to the conversation, the topic had moved from Thomas’s portrait to the panto.

“Oh, it was so much fun, wasn’t it?” Geoff’s wife said with a happy sigh.

“I did not like the sisters,” Mick grumbled.

Everyone groaned and gave him a look.

“You were not supposed to, silly,” Jean said. “They were meant to be like that.”

“Cinderella deserved better,” Mick insisted.

Nigel was just about to remind him that she ended up with the handsome prince in the end when the soft sound of a throat being cleared made him and the others turn towards the open basement door in unison. To his surprise, Thomas was standing there, looking terribly small and self-conscious in the gloom.

“Knock knock,” he said softly without looking up from his shoes. His fingers were nervously fiddling with the cuff of his sleeves, making him look restless and skittish. “I, uhm … didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation.”

“And yet you have,” Walter said, crossing his arms in front of his chest and staring him down. “What do you want?”

Thomas took an involuntary step backwards. His eyes flicked up, just briefly, but long enough for Nigel to see that they were a little too wide; a little too frantic and glassy.

“Sorry,” Thomas mumbled. He hunched his shoulders and turned away. “I’m sorry. I’ll just go.”

“No, wait!” Nigel said and before he knew it, he was across the room. Ignoring the irritated look Walter gave him, he gently touched Thomas’s arm – not to hold him back but to reassure him he meant no harm. “What’s going on?”

Thomas sniffed pitifully and hung his head.

“The house is so quiet,” he whispered. There was a lost look in his eyes when he glanced up, and a silent plea for Nigel not to make him spell out why he’d come here. It tugged at Nigel’s heart and crush or not, he knew in that moment that he would not send Thomas away to suffer this loss they all felt so keenly alone.

“It is, isn’t it?” he said softly. Giving Thomas’s arm a squeeze, he added, “Come on, you can sit with us for a while.”

“Excuse me–“ Geoff’s wife and Walter said in unison only for Jean to shush them both with a heartfelt, “Oh shut up, you two. We’ve got room for one more.”

Walter glowered at her. “Not if he starts reciting his bloody poetry we don’t.”

Thomas seemed to shrink in on himself at the sharp words and it took all of Nigel’s willpower not to rub his arm reassuringly – or turn around and punch Walter in the face. As satisfying as the latter might feel, he was not in the mood for a row with Walter, not tonight.

“Don’t listen to him,” he told Thomas instead, careful to keep his voice soft and gentle. “It’s okay if you don’t want to be alone right now.”

The small but grateful smile Thomas gave him did nothing to calm the butterflies fluttering nervously about in Nigel’s stomach.

“There’s enough people upstairs if he needs someone to hold his hand,” Walter muttered under his breath but a quick glare from Jean finally shut him up.

“They’ve all gone to bed early,” Thomas said with his head bent low as Nigel led him over to a corner. “We … we haven’t really talked, not since–“

His breathing hitched and he closed his eyes against the emotions threatening to well up inside him. As gently as he could, Nigel helped him sit down on the old stone floor before he joined him. He wasn’t surprised when Jean settled down on Thomas’s other side.

“It sucks sometimes, doesn’t it? Being alone with your own thoughts?” she asked kindly.

Thomas sighed and nodded, almost helplessly. “I keep thinking about what tomorrow will be like, and the following weeks and months and years, and I just – I can’t stop.”

Jean smiled in understanding. “So you came down here for a distraction because god knows we never shut up.”

Thomas hung his head in shame. “I’m sorry. I did not mean–”

“Hey,” Nigel said, cutting him off before the self-blame could take hold. “Don’t worry about it. We’re glad to have you here.”

“Some of us certainly are,” Jean smirked, not even trying to hide her knowing grin when Nigel glared at her.

Luckily for Nigel, Thomas neither noticed the silent conversation he was having with Jean nor the blush Nigel knew was creeping up the back of his neck. He just pulled his legs up to his chest so he could rest his chin on his knees and said, very quietly. “Thank you. I … I wasn’t sure I would be welcome, considering what happened last year.”

“Well, you were a bit of a prick, I’ll give you that,” Jean told him bluntly before her face softened into a smile. “But then again, so were we.”

“It was rude of us to interrupt you,” Nigel agreed. “The least we could have done was let you finish your poem before we started asking questions.”

Thomas blinked at them in confusion. “Why are you being so … nice about this? I … I called you names!”

Nigel exchanged an amused look with Jean before he shrugged and said, “To be honest I still have no idea what a wazzock even is.”

“And you know, it’s never too late to apologise for one’s behaviour,” Jean added gently. Almost stricken, Thomas looked up at her. She gave him an encouraging nod. “Go on.”

Taking a deep breath, Thomas met Nigel’s eyes. “I truly am sorry.”

He sounded so sincere that Nigel couldn’t help but smile. “It’s okay. I’m not one to hold grudges anyway.”

He glanced over at Mick who stopped mid-sentence to stick his tongue out to him and then continued talking to John as if nothing had happened. Nigel grinned, glad they’d reached a point where they could gently joke about Mick’s role in their deaths now, and turned back to Thomas. Feeling a little brave, he gently nudged his shoulder and quietly asked, “Do you want to talk about today? About Alison leaving?”

Thomas stared at him, wide-eyed and looking terribly young, and for a moment Nigel could just imagine him as a little boy: all gangly limbs and with a heart that would always be too big for his chest.

“I’d rather not,” Thomas said softly and averted his eyes. His voice was thick with grief as he hugged his legs more tightly and added, “I just … don’t want to think about it for a little while.”

“That’s all right,” Nigel said easily. “What would you like to talk about instead?”

He expected Thomas to launch into a lecture about the finer points of poetry, or perhaps even a poem to keep his mind occupied and distracted. Instead, Thomas turned those expressive eyes onto him and asked, “Would you tell me about yourself? We’ve been living – well, ghosting – in this house together for nearly two centuries and I know little but your name about you.”

Oh, Nigel thought. Panicking, he looked to Jean for help. He wanted to say he was surprised to find her trying not to laugh at his predicament but he wasn’t. Giving her one of his most vicious glares which seemed to only make her press her hand to her mouth harder to keep from laughing, he turned back to Thomas and stammered, “Well, there’s not really much to know. I lived a rather boring life, I’m afraid.”

“I refuse to believe that,” Thomas said with such intensity that Nigel felt himself melt under his gaze. “Simple, perhaps, but not boring. Not with this lot around.”

He nodded to the other villagers and Nigel huffed out a laugh because Thomas had a point. His life, simply as it might have been, had certainly not been uneventful. So he started at the beginning. “The bluebells were in bloom when I was born. I was my parents’ second child. My sister Susanna was born two years before me, and my brother Henry three years after me. I loved them both very dearly but Henry was always sickly and …”

Just like that, he found himself talking about people he hadn’t thought about in decades and sharing memories he usually shied away from and preferred to forget. Nigel did not know why he was telling Thomas all those painful, private things. Perhaps it was because of the way Thomas was looking at him, silent but attentive – as if in that moment, Nigel had become the centre of his universe. Or perhaps it had just been too long since he’d talked about his family and their ghosts were tired of being forgotten. Whatever it was, not only Thomas and Jean were listening to him intently – the others were as well. No one interrupted him as he talked about his short life, and when he was done, Thomas gave him a soft, grateful smile that made him duck his head and said, “See? Not boring at all.”

One by one, each of them began to tell their tale. They didn’t even notice the hours passing until Lady Button’s scream echoed through the house, heralding a new dawn. Looking at the tired but content faces of the people he had known all his life and death as they settled down to sleep, Nigel smiled. They might have their differences but at the end of the day, there was no one he would rather be stuck with in the afterlife than them.

His gaze wandered to Thomas. He had fallen asleep on his shoulder, a warm, solid presence against his side, and his face looked more peaceful than Nigel had ever seen it. He felt his smile soften and suddenly, desperately found himself wishing that this were not a one-time thing – that he could be someone Thomas would seek out in moments like this; someone Thomas might even come to love one day, like Alison or Lady Isabelle. He was so tired of being alone.

“Don’t lose heart,” Jean said quietly. It was something his mother had once told him as well, back when Nigel had confessed to her that it wasn’t pretty girls like Jean who made his heart beat faster. There had been sadness in his mother’s eyes, then, but understanding and acceptance too, and he saw the same in Jean’s now when their eyes met in the dark. She did not make him any promises, did not tell him that Thomas would madly fall in love him, but she did tell him that he was not alone and that there was always hope.

And hope, Nigel thought as he allowed himself to lean his head against Thomas’s and close his eyes, was all he could ask for.

#thomas thorne #nigel the plague ghost #jean the plague ghost #norne #bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts fanfic #my fic

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dirtytransmasc · 1 year

Note

I LOVE your Spider and Quaritch headcanons! I beg of thee to grace us with more

(I got a day off cause of a blizzard in my town and I finally have the motivation to tackle my oldest unanswered asks, I am so sorry y'all had to wait this long)

miles always wanted to be a good dad, never had the time to think about it back on earth, his life was hell there was no way he would do that to his own kid, but when paz was pregnant it brought out the father in him. but between the fact that miles had no idea how to be a father, to be gentle, to love, after the hell that was his own life and lack of personal relationships paired with the fact he would never be allowed to claim spider as his own or even have a relationship with the kid if he wanted him and paz to be safe; his relationship with spider is so strained yet so desperate because every part of his soul is being lit on fire to claim his child, but he has zero idea how to build that relationship or even just, be a dad. its even worse because this new na'vi body is biologically rendered to be intense parental figure, all new sorts of parental instincts that are driven down to the primal level overwhelming him as he clumsily, like the newborn he is, navigates that tie between him and his son.

spider is aware of this, to some extent, he can feel quaritch trying, even if he's clueless, and he feels some amount of pity for him. he also feels nice being taken care of; quaritch protects him, nutures him in a way not just a captor trying to get on his sweet would, but a father. it reminds spider of jake, and it makes his stomach tie into knots.

quaritch attempts to integrate with na'vi life way more then he needs to for spider's sake.

when spider left him on the little island, he felt like he was gutted right then and there. he knows he can't force spider to love him, he would never do that to his son, would never force him to live a life he didn't want. he tries to lead a life spider would be proud of until they reunite.

he sends cupcake out over the metkayina village, sending her to be with spider for days at a time, making sure spider isn't alone. when she goes back to miles he lives vicariously through her memories of the boy.

he still wants to kill jake for how he treats his baby.

when spider was still back with the squad, it felt like he was finally whole, like he had his kid, his family, and no matter where they were, in the forests, back at bridgehead, on the sea dragon, it felt like they were home.

everyday miles was away for spider he made him things, keeping them in his pack. beads for his hair and songchord, knives, carvings. by the time they're reunited spider could probably make 10 songschords with all his dad had made him, each one with a story, as he would find out; miles had pushed his fragile memory, prodded out each and every memory he had of spider, of what little childhood he got to experience.

quaritch connects to eywa because of spider, he wanted to see what spider saw, he wanted to know why he was so loyal to this planet, these people, despite the hell they put him through. it all made sense, he wanted to protect her just as much as he wanted to protect spider. he know's why spider did it all, and it drive him to do the same.

quaritch 'woke up' all because of spider's existence.

he threatened ardmore, risking getting in serious trouble, when she implied bringing spider back in after miles won his trust, to 'see if her remembered anything now'. he even tells spider this, because he was done keeping spider in dark, he makes it clear just how far he's willing to go to keep him safe.

spider put a braid in quaritch's hair right before the village/tulkun incident and he never took it out.

#sorry these took forever #and are kinda angsty #adhd paralysis is a bitch #and I'm sorta running out of headcanons for these two #at least outside of my au's #miles socorro #miles spider socorro #spider socorro #quaritch #avatar the way of water #avatar 2 #miles quaritch

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undreaming-fanfiction · 3 months

Text

With This Ring (7)

Previous chapter here, Ao3 here

As soon as the spell faded and they could make out the moonlit forest around them, Eddie took a deep breath. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.” He sounded amazed, almost reverent.

Steve couldn’t say anything, even if he’d wanted to. He just watched Eddie’s large, dark eyes, and the way that the moon reflected in them, giving back some of the life they had lost. For a minute, the pale light had returned to Steve the boy he’d thought he’d never see again.

They just stood together in the forest clearing and stared at the night sky.

“You know,” Steve whispered, “this reminds me of when we used to meet after school and talk about music. Especially that fall. Days were so short and it was crazy cold, but…I just remember being so excited.”

Eddie shook his head, a small smile tugging on his lips. “Excited over learning new chords and music discussions? Careful, Harrington. That sounds awfully nerdy for such a popular guy.”

“Would that really be so bad?”

Another shake of the head. Steve found himself wondering if it was a new habit that Eddie picked up to shake free all the remaining dirt in his hair, or if he just happened to disagree with Steve all the time.

“As long as you don’t mind falling from grace.”

Well. That was old news. “That’s already happened and I don’t exactly miss it. Shows you haven’t been around for a while.”

The words left Steve’s lips before he could catch them and lock them away, somewhere deep that they belonged. But now they were out in the open, cruel and unfair, and the sharp intake of breath next to him, the breath that Eddie didn’t need, told Steve how royally he’d fucked up.

“Well, excuse me for being dead,” spat out Eddie. The spark of life brought back by the moonlight was gone, his eyes went were two dark wells of despair and anger. “Must have been really inconvenient, not having everyone in the town as an audience for your tragic downfall. But let’s be real here, Harrington. I didn’t need to be maggot food to be inconvenient to you.”

“Eddie, you- you were never-!”

But Eddie was already moving ahead, marching towards the distant lights of night time Hawkins. “I don’t care,” he uttered over his shoulder. “It doesn’t change anything. Let’s record the demo and stop pretending that we’re friends.”

Steve wanted to say a million things, but not a single one found its way to the surface. Silence was easier.

“Right. Let’s stop pretending.”

He took a careful step forward and followed Eddie towards the land of the living.

Like most plans created under pressure, the one Eddie and Steve came up with had a few holes. Or more than a few. The first ones made themselves known only a few minutes into their walk through the forest.

To put it simply, it was a difference in expectations.

Steve’s breath was coming out in pained huffs as he tried to maintain Eddie’s merciless tempo, his injured ankle be damned. “We…need to stop by my parents’...house first. Get…the recording equipment. Get you ready. Then we either have to go to Robin…or break into the school.”

Eddie just nodded. “Add finding me a guitar to the list. We’ll need that too, some equipment from Gareth’s. Acoustic will do.” Then he frowned and shot a nasty look in Steve’s direction. “Wait. Get me ready? Pray tell, Steve. What is that supposed to mean? Do you want to shoot promo pictures as well or something? Is Jonny Byers back in town with his camera?”

As bitchy as his tone was, Steve was too tired and in pain to argue. “You realize we’re going to have to meet people, right? At least Robin and maybe some people on the street?”

“As if I care what they think,” Eddie scoffed. “What, scared you’ll be seen with a freak, Harrington?”

Through the heaviness of his whole body, Steve felt a spark of anger. All the pressure, the expectations, Eddie’s deserved but still painful jabs, the sharp stabbing in his ankle, it was more than enough to make a man snap. “Oh sure Munson, because everything is about my fucking reputation. Feel free to think it’s about me wanting to protect my nonexistent status as the Hawkins head douchebag and not about, I don’t know, this stupid town seeing a guy who went missing, suddenly back, covered in dried mud and blood. They’ll think you’ve had an accident and haul you off to a hospital. Can’t wait to hear how you’ll explain not having a pulse. Or, in their Christian love and acceptance, they’ll just go all pitchforks and torches on you. And worst of all - they could tell Wayne. Do you know how long he’s been looking for you? Someone told him you moved to Chicago and he…he left everything behind. What if someone calls him? What then?”

“Oh.”

Steve shot a quick look at his former friend. Eddie’s mouth was open in a sudden realization, his eyes wide and concerned. He even had the decency to look ashamed as he pulled a strand of dirt-covered hair in front of his face. He was impossible to stay mad at and Steve hated himself for it.

“So…” he said slowly, finally catching up with Eddie, “Can you please spare me the embarrassment of having to break you out of a hospital, or persuading Wayne that you were a mass hallucination?”

The dead man’s face broke out in a smile. “Anything for you and your reputation, Steve.”

The rest of their walk to the Harrington house was less charged. They both had plenty on their mind and, at least in Steve’s case, plenty they wanted to say but didn’t find the time, the place or most importantly, the courage. Opening old wounds wasn’t a good idea if you always had to be on your toes.

They took the side roads, hid behind trees, dumpsters, cars, anything that could conceal them. Once they had to dive into a small alley, crouching behind cardboard boxes to avoid being seen by a very drunk Tommy Hagan, Steve’s high school friend. A year ago, Steve would have been with him, drinking to his successes and his sorrows.

When Tommy passed them with an off-tune song on his lips, Steve turned to Eddie. “He’s gone now. Let’s go before he decides this is the ideal place to take a piss.”

But Eddie wasn’t listening to him. He was staring over Steve’s shoulder with lips tightly pressed together.

Steve turned around and saw what caught Eddie’s attention - a missing person poster, carefully laminated and glued over a bunch of faded advertisements and concert invites. The girl in it had a bright smile, innocent and charming. The name read: Chrissy Cunningham.

He shifted to face the picture as well. He remembered Chrissy. She wasn’t in his class, but everyone in school knew her - she was the perfect girlfriend and a friend. Always ready to help, to offer a kind word. When she disappeared, people didn’t understand it. She never said anything bad, didn’t have any enemies.

And now Eddie was studying her face with something that Steve couldn’t decipher. He reached out and touched the corner of the poster that was peeling off and pressed it back into place, securing it against the wall.

“Did you know her?”

Eddie nodded, still lost in thought. “Yeah. She was so kind. I met her when I pissed off the wrong group of jocks, you know. I don’t think they meant to hurt me, just…chase me away. Scare me off or something. But one of them didn’t get the memo and punched me straight in the face. It was small, but it bled a lot. The others ran away and I was just trying to stop the bleeding because I didn’t want to ruin my T-shirt.”

Chuckling, Steve imagined the whole scene. Eddie, with his hand covered in blood, desperately willing the blood to flow anywhere else. “I can absolutely see that.”

But Eddie didn’t return the smile. “She was walking past me with some of her cheerleader friends. They looked at me like I was a pile of vomit, but not her. She told them to go and got a bunch of things from her kit, for the bruises and stuff like that. Like I said…she was so kind. And terrified.”

That wasn’t a word Steve would associate with Chrissy. “Terrified? Of you?”

Eddie shook his head. “No. Of…stuff. A lot of different stuff. It’s not really mine to tell. But I hope she made it, no matter where she is.”

After leaving his King Steve years behind, he’d tried desperately to avoid judging people and listening to rumors. But no matter how much he wanted to mind his own business, Hawkins had a mind of its own. Gossip would reach him wherever he went, and soon he learned what everyone was saying about his former friend - he’d made Chrissy Cunningham disappear.

Steve didn’t want to believe this. This was nothing like the Eddie he’d known, no matter what everyone said. But since there was an overlap between Chrissy and Eddie’s disappearances, both happening only weeks apart, it was difficult to stop the stories. Especially when Jason Carver, Chrissy’s mourning fiancé, was determined to prove that Eddie had been responsible for his personal tragedy. He’d claim Eddie killed Chrissy. Maybe sold her off to a cult somewhere. But since there was no body and no news, he kept re-printing Chrissy’s posters and praying to God to reunite them.

Steve licked his lips, unsure how to broach the subject. “You…you haven’t seen her down there then? In…in the bar?”

Eddie shook his head and touched the poster one last time, his fingers following the line of Chrissy’s jaw. “Nah. If something happened to her, it wasn’t around here. But I don’t think she’d end up with us. She had better things to do.”

Steve couldn’t say anything to that. He wasn’t sure if Eddie’s words calmed him down, but at least now he knew that the same person who killed Eddie didn’t get to Chrissy. Whoever it was.

He would ask the question eventually. But it felt strangely invasive to say: “hey, do you know who killed you?”

Tugging on Eddie’s jacket sleeve, the two finally left the alley and continued walking.

When they saw a light in the Harrington family home, they realized the plan yet had another iceberg-size hole.

“What the hell. They were supposed to be at a charity dinner!”

Steve couldn’t believe it. He spent years begging them to stay home, to at least pretend they were a family, to show him that he was more important than all those bald middle-aged men in business suits, at least on his birthday, on Christmas, on the day his team won an important game. Just once.

He finally got his wish and he hated it.

“This is bad. This is really bad,” he whispered towards Eddie. “If they see me, they’ll drag me back to pastor Brenner. And they’ll force me to marry Nancy and everything will go to hell. Not to mention…they can’t see you, Eddie. They can’t. But Robin doesn’t have anything we can use, shit!”

Eddie was chewing his lip, thinking. In the end, he decided to do the unfathomable - he opened his jacket and gently tapped Ozzy’s furry head. “Hey, Ozz? Could you help us and check if Steve’s room is empty up there?”

The answer was definitely a swear word in bat language, but the small creature still spread his wings and fluttered up to Steve’s window. Moments later, there was an affirmative squeak.

Steve turned to Eddie with a confused frown. “What did he say?”

Eddie scratched his head. “That it’s empty and that he’s taking a nap on your pillow for the extra work.”

“That’s fair.”

“He also said your wallpaper is ugly.”

Ouch. “Also fair.”

Eddie scanned the house and its surroundings, and finally he smiled. “Hey, Harrington, think you can climb with that ankle? I spy with my corpse eye a maintenance ladder nearby.”

Steve’s eyes traveled to the maintenance shed in the garden, then to his window. “That should work”, he nodded. “Just a sec, I’ll bring-”

“You’re not bringing anything anywhere, your sprained majesty.” Before Steve could protest, Eddie was already jogging towards the ladder, raising it above his head. “Cool, huh? This would have killed me a year ago. Not having to rely on oxygen rocks.”

He seemed so proud of himself, Steve couldn’t say a single thing he wanted. Something like: if you were still alive, I would have carried it for you. Anything you’d need.

But that wouldn’t have helped anyone. So instead, he just grinned at Eddie and whispered, “Superpowers! Dustin would give you a cool superhero name in seconds. Corpse-man or something, but less lame.”

Eddie froze with the ladder above his head. “You know Dustin Henderson? I mean, I know you know him with all that happened in that junkyard, Bob told me. But you almost sound like you actually spend time with that nerdy twerp.” The last words sounded affectionate, even nostalgic.

Despite the stressful situation, Steve started laughing. As if “spend time” could even hope to cover it. Ever since he’d rescued the kids, Dustin became something like a younger brother to him.

He used to ask Steve why he no longer talked to Eddie, and Steve couldn’t give him a clear answer. Those were one of the few times he and Dustin fought.

“That twerp, as you call him, is one of the funniest and smartest people I know. Absolute lack of self-preservation though. I spend most of my free time making sure he doesn’t blow himself up with his experiments. Or get lost in the woods on purpose because he wants to test out his new radio.” He motioned at Eddie to set up the ladder against his room’s window. “How do you know Henderson?”

“You’d call it nerdy stuff,” shrugged Eddie and balanced the ladder, inching it forward so it wouldn’t make any noise. “His friend group needed a shepherd to take their hobbies to the next level. I offered my services.”

Steve stared at him.

Eddie stared back.

But out of the two of them, only Steve was comfortable with silence. It only took a minute for Eddie to break it.

“Ugh, okay! I was the Dungeon Master for their Dungeons and Dragons campaign, okay? Now, before you ask what it is and before I delve into an hour-long monologue on the intricacies of storytelling with active participants and we get discovered by your parents, can you please get your majestic ass on that ladder and upwards towards your lonesome tower, oh Sir Harrington the Temporarily Sprained Ankle Owner?!”

Steve had to stifle a chuckle with his palm. “I almost forgot how weird you are. I missed that.”

Before Eddie had a chance to ask what the fuck was that supposed to mean, Steve was already halfway up the ladder, not making a sound apart from the creaking of old wood. Eddie might have wondered for a moment about why Steve was so good at keeping quiet when his foot must have been killing him, but then he decided to drop it. He had ladders to climb, songs to record and final thresholds to pass.

Steve’s room was…

It just was. A room. Of a human being, probably.

Eddie didn’t say any of that aloud, but his face betrayed him, as it tended to do. Steve followed his gaze around the room, from the generic poster of a car, over the sport trophies neatly organized on a shelf, to the wallpaper that once again…was a wallpaper, and there was nothing else he could say about it. Wayne taught him to either say something nice or hold his tongue, especially when he wanted to avoid trouble.

“Come on, spit it out,” sighed Steve when Eddie’s eyes decided to do a second round of staring and quiet judging. “You obviously want to say something.”

“Uh, I…I mean…” Unable to form a coherent thought, Eddie settled on the wallpaper. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. I thought you said you wanted it to be yellow?”

Steve’s breath hitched in his throat, and he stared at Eddie with wide eyes. “You remember?” They were both whispering, the risk of getting caught was still too high, and maybe they had way more important things to do. But Steve selfishly wanted this, wanted to keep the memory alive for a few more minutes.

“Sure do.” Eddie sat himself down onto Steve’s perfectly made bed, leaving an imprint of dried soil. “We argued about the best shade of yellow for hours - still that eerie yellow that you’ll find in mysterious alien oozes, by the way - and you even brought me out to your garden to show me the flowers with the exact shade of yellow you liked.”

“Daffodils, man.” Steve joined him on the bed and spoke more to the wallpaper than Eddie. “For someone with such a good memory, you should remember the flower name. Also, I’d much rather have flowers on my walls than some mysterious slime, thank you.”

Eddie nudged his side. It was one of the few touches he gave willingly, apart from supporting Steve through his injury. “So why don’t you?”

“Huh?”

He touched Steve’s side again with his elbow and quickly returned back. It was strange to see Eddie’s wild movements contained like that. “Why don’t you have pretty yellow flowers on your walls? Why do you have…uh…not so pretty squares? What happened?”

Steve would have liked to laugh. As if there had been any actual mystery to why his room had a personality of a furniture catalog. “My dad happened. He knows how things should be, you know?” He glanced bitterly at his neatly arranged desk, the sharp letter opener his father had brought from yet another business trip that miraculously had to be extended over Steve’s birthday, the carefully chosen lamp, his uncomfortable chair (“It was very expensive, Steve, but Mr. Daniels assured me it’s what every young man needs in his room.”).

He grimaced as he finished his sentence. “And his son would never want wallpaper that looks like flowers.”

He felt shifting next to him as Eddie leaned forward. “You know you’re your own person, right? Not just his son?”

Steve knew that. Rationally, he knew he was separate from his father, that he had things that were his own. He had Robin and Nancy, his ridiculously easy banter with Dustin. He used to like some sports too, before the never ending competitiveness and expectations of perfection left them feeling hollow, like yet another chore, another mask to wear.

He once had Eddie and his music too. The two things he’d never get back, not really.

“It’s not that easy,” he whispered.

Eddie scoffed next to him. “Sure is. Just choose what you love. How hard is that?”

Ah. There it was. Steve’s stomach suddenly felt heavy and his heart beat like crazy, until all feeling gradually left his fingertips. He wished the numbness would spread further, into his head. “You told me the same thing once,” he said, keeping his eyes glued to his framed race car poster. “You said it as if it was the easiest thing. I believed it.”

Another scoff, but this time with way more bitterness. And Steve knew exactly why.

“You hardly did, Harrington,” said Eddie and his voice was harsh, cold. “Since that was the last time we spoke as friends.”

And Steve remembered, always remembered with vividness that he hated, how he tried to follow his dreams.

Steve, waiting for the right moment, right place, right everything. It was after another major success that his father only heard about when he returned to Hawkins, but he’d be happy, of course he would. Or at least satisfied.

So Steve presented his trophy, yet another one, and then started explaining. Presenting the merits of his plan, as his father had taught him.

He was nervous but excited. He could be more than his father ever thought he’d amount to. He’d be proud.

“I love music, dad. I learned to play the piano and read musical sheets. I can play some really difficult pieces now. It’s something that feels…natural. I feel like I could be good at it, great even, if I could only show you-”

“There’s nothing to show, Steven.”

And just like that, the light at the end of the tunnel was gone.

He fought for his dream, argued, bargained, begged, anything to change his father’s mind. It felt like talking to a rock. And when he finally gave up, resigned to keeping his love for music secret, as he had until that point, that was when Richard Harrington dealt him the final blow.

“This is all because of that good for nothing Munson. Do you think I haven’t heard rumors about the two of you sneaking around, disappearing for hours? I’m honestly relieved it was just about music, Steven, but I can’t risk you being around his disruptive influence any longer. You can’t risk it, you and your future. You will stop meeting with that young man. Immediately.”

Steve refused. Continued fighting, cursing his father, saying he’d just leave, that his father would have nothing to hold over his head.

And he would have done that, god, he would, if…

His father’s face was stern. Steve had always thought that it was just difficulty expressing emotions due to Richard being a different generation from him, but this was the first time he saw cruelty in his eyes.

“My word is final, Steven. You will stop seeing Munson and continue according to the plan, or-”

The ultimatum. It hurt to even think about it.

“You can’t be serious,” he said then. “You wouldn’t. You can’t!”

The final nail in the coffin of Steve and Richard Harrington’s relationship came in the form of a simple sentence. “With the right connections, one can do anything, Steve.”

He could have been bluffing. Steve could have called his bluff and left. But he didn’t and now it was too late to do anything about it.

Without looking at Eddie, he scrambled back onto his feet and wobbled towards his closet. The recording equipment he had purchased over the years was well hidden, small enough to fit into several shoe boxes. It wouldn’t be a fancy record whatsoever, but if he and Eddie were careful enough and tested the distance and setup, they would be able to present Eddie’s vision well enough. Or at least he hoped so.

Thinking about their agreement was easier, much easier. He hissed in pain when he bumped his sprained ankle against the doorframe, but it didn’t deter him from trying to reach the box.

“Steve…”

Eddie sounded unusually tame. Even remorseful.

Well, that wouldn’t do. Remorse was Steve’s domain.

“You’re right,” he said as he was frantically removing the carefully arranged pile of boring items, boring enough so no one would think to search behind them. “I’m a coward. I deserve to be told, and I have no excuse.”

“Steve, I didn’t mean-”

He didn’t bother to stop and turn around. “I should have talked to you before I made that decision, I know that, but it’s too fucking late to change anything. So I’ll do whatever you need me to do, anything for you to move on.”

Eddie’s voice sounded closer now. “Steve, wait a moment-!”

He finally tossed down the last obstacle, a bag full of clothes to be donated. “And now that we’ve established that, can you help me get the stuff we need?”

Eddie was behind him, he could feel him standing close enough to imagine the warmth that would have radiated from a living person. But there was nothing, just a cold presence of something foreign yet familiar, and a distinct scent of forest soil.

His personal evil spirit grabbed Steve’s shoulder. “Shit, be careful! If you hurt yourself any worse-”

But then the door to the room swung open. Steve fumbled in the dark, trying to pull himself and Eddie into the closet, but there were way too many things he’d pushed down from the top shelf, too little time, and then Mary Harrington turned on the light.

“Steven?”

Yet another hole in their plan decided to reveal itself in the worst possible moment.

Steve and Eddie had planned for the eventuality of being seen. They had the whole story prepared in many different versions, an evil spirit, a husband from beyond the grave, a marriage-averse zombie…but faced with the mundane perfection of Mary Harrington, it all seemed incredibly stupid.

Steve took a step forward, trying to shield Eddie from her vision. “Mom. I thought you had a dinner planned with that charity?”

She shook her head and her golden curls bounced around, reflecting the light. “We didn’t go. Where were you, Steven?” She gasped when she noticed his dirty, torn clothes and the tiny scratches on his face from when he’d fainted on the forest floor. “Were you attacked? Should I call Chief Hopper?”

“No, mom! Please don’t call anyone!” Steve gently held her shoulders to calm her down. When he looked into her large frightened eyes, the genuine concern no amount of self-control could cover, he thought for the first time he might not be the only one trapped in that household.

Mary Harrington studied Steve’s face more closely, frowning at his words. “But…you’re hurt, Steven.”

He kept holding her, maneuvering her with gentle touches away from Eddie. Either she hadn’t noticed him yet or she was more preoccupied with Steve’s current condition. “I just…I fell. I was practicing my vows in the woods because I wanted some peace and quiet. And…something happened. I can’t explain it in a way that would make any sense to you. Or in a way that would make you believe me. But mom…”

Steve took a deep breath. This was it. “I can’t get married. I can’t. I will, eventually, I think maybe in a few weeks it should be okay. But not yet.”

“And why is that, Steven?”

Of course he had to show up. Richard Harrington in all his pompous glory entered his room, attracted by the noise. He was still wearing the suit from the wedding rehearsal. He looked at Steve with that slight smirk that made his son feel tiny despite being almost the same height.

Steve shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “Dad. Look, I-”

But Richard Harrington waved his hand to silence him. “Don’t. You disappear for hours. You make your mother worry for no reason. You destroy your wedding suit. And now you’re saying you can’t get married because of…what, exactly?” He glared at Steve through his glasses. “What could be important enough to ruin what we had been working for, Steven?”

Steve wanted to answer, to explain himself. But how can you talk to someone who thinks they already have all the answers? Where would he even begin? Which version of the story should he stick to? His head was pounding like crazy from all the stress of that day.

He took a deep breath to answer.

“Excuse me, Mr. Harrington, sir? That important enough reason would be me.”

Steve stared in horror as Eddie waved at his father and walked right up to him. The chain on his belt was jingling and when he smiled, his teeth were still dark with dirt. If Steve had looked inappropriate in the cleanliness of the Harrington family home, Eddie was its pure antithesis.

Richard Harrington seemed to share his son’s assessment. “You?” he asked in disbelief. His tone of voice implied he’d just come across a massive spider that he’d smacked with a newspaper once, but the beast kept coming back. “Steven. What is this?”

“I…uh…that’s Eddie?” Of course his father knew who this was, but he had no idea how to explain his presence.

Eddie didn’t share Steve’s reservations. He grabbed Richard Harrington’s hand and shook it with a grip that was a tad too strong. The man winced in discomfort. “Pleasure to see you again, sir. Edward Munson at your service, or probably disservice since I’ve come back from the grave to enrich your son’s life. Did you know your Steve here is a talented necromancer? Here I am, lying in my grave, minding my own business, when suddenly BOOM! Your son unwisely practices his vows to the lovely Nancy just on top of my resting place. How inconsiderate, right?” he turned to Mrs. Harrington.

Mary just stared and probably even forgot to blink. “...very?”

“Right, that’s what I thought!” Eddie spread his arms and the Harringtons took an instinctive step back. “What a rude son you have, walking on top of resting places is a big no-no. But his vows sounded very sweet and genuine, soooo…” he wiggled his fingers, drawing their attention to the golden wedding band, “here I am, soon-to-be Munson-Harrington! I’d love to call you mom and dad, thank you for asking.”

Richard Harrington’s stare could kill. “We didn’t,” he hissed, eyes fixated on Eddie’s finger.

“You didn’t have to!” Eddie’s snickering grew even louder when he grabbed Richard’s cheek and wiggled it. “Aw, you look so cute when you’re mad. I can hear what you’re thinking, and yes. This is going to be reeeeally difficult to explain to your friends and neighbors. Or the Wheelers, goodness gracious! What a scandal!” he gasped, milking the Harringtons’ shock to the maximum. “But maybe…maybe you won’t have to.”

Mary, unlike her husband, couldn’t help stop staring into Eddie’s eyes. Steve could tell she already suspected something was very wrong. “How…how would that work?”

Eddie bent down and grinned directly into her face. “Glad you asked, mom. See, I might have a certain…interest in the world of the living. And if Stevie here complies and helps me finish my business here, I’m willing to release him back to you, unharmed and unwed. But I’ll need him for a bunch of days. A week, perhaps. He needs to remain faithful to me for a month, that means a wedding to another being, living or dead, is absolutely forbidden.” He sang the last part in a sickly falsetto as he wiggled his finger at Steve’s parents. “After that month? Poof! He’s back, as good as new, ready to marry Nancy and give you grandchildren and all that your boring lives need. Deal?”

Eddie stretched his dirtied hand towards Richard. Maybe this would work, Steve thought. Maybe his father would be too shocked to say anything. Maybe he could also see that something is very wrong with Eddie.

But then Richard Harrinton slapped the offered hand away. “How dare you!”

Just like that, the spell was broken. Eddie stepped back and scowled at the older man, clenching his fists. “Oh look,” he sneered. “It has some courage, who would have thought?”

Richard turned to Steve who still stood behind Eddie, petrified. “What do you think this will accomplish, huh, Steven? Is this what you find funny? Or is it yet another attempt to ruin our reputation even further?”

“No, dad, I-!”

But his father stabbed his finger into Steve’s chest. “So what?! Did you think this…this ridiculous story paired with some poorly applied stage makeup would convince us to let you ruin your life? You know what I told you about this young man. You were directly told to stop meeting with him, or else. And now you spit in my face with your actions!”

Steve wanted to defend himself, wanted to yell at his father, to explain all that happened, but he felt frozen. There was no hope to pull this off, what had he been thinking?! How could he even hope to help Eddie when he couldn’t even stand up to the man who controlled his life? He was so tired.

Once again he opened his mouth, trying to get out an apology, an explanation, anything. And once again, he was interrupted.

“Oh. So it was you who made him act like I was invisible. That’s fucking rich.”

“Eddie-!”

Eddie’s words were low and laced with venom. His fake joviality and theatrics were gone now, and he cackled, throwing his head back in humorless laughter. “Of course you did. And of course you listened!” he spat out, glaring at Steve. “I should have known you’d never grow a fucking spine. Well, it doesn’t matter.”

Richard Harrington snorted and gestured at Eddie. “At least we can agree on something. Now get out of my house before I call the police.”

“Oh no. Nonono, Richie. I don’t think I will.” The dead man sat himself on Steve’s desk, legs crossed. “See, I really, and I can’t stress this enough, REALLY don’t give a fuck about the police. What are they going to do? Send me back to the grave?”

Richard’s face grew dangerously red. “You still insist on this insulting charade?! Anyone can see you’re completely fine. Only an idiot would believe you’re a walking corpse!”

Eddie’s grin betrayed that he had been waiting for a taunt like that. “Oh really?” he said in a sing-song voice. “Well then, Richie. I’ll make an idiot out of you just yet.”

He reached for something on the desk and presented it to the three Harringtons, as if he’d been preparing an audience for a magic trick. Steve recognized the item immediately, it was the letter opener that Richard had gifted Steve.

“What are you doing?!” Steve whispered, but it was too late.

Eddie plunged the blade into his chest, directly into his heart.

Mary gasped and collapsed against the door. Richard’s face promptly abandoned the red color and went pasty white. “I…” he mumbled, his eyes searching for an explanation and not finding any, “...I see what you did, you…that’s a theater trick. That’s one of those foldable knives, it’s…it has to be-”

Eddie hopped off the desk and approached Richard, reaching for his hand. “Oh no, Richie. No tricks here. But if you need more convincing…see for yourself.” He made Richard’s fingers grasp the blade and stab it even deeper.

Richard Harrington yanked his hand away and the letter opener with it. It made a metallic noise as it collided with Steve’s bed frame. But Richard didn’t even notice, he was shaking uncontrollably and Steve knew exactly the thoughts that ran through his head.

His hands are as cold as ice.

I know the letter opener. It isn’t fake.

His eyes are empty. So empty.

Eddie smiled again, but it never reached his eyes. “Now, lady and gentlemen, please notice the wound on my chest. Gruesome, isn’t it? But there’s no blood. Why? Because…and I want you to remember this…corpses do not bleed.”

If he wanted to add anything else, he didn’t get a chance. Richard Harrington dragged Mary away and slammed the door behind them.

Moments later, he and Steve heard a running engine and a car hurriedly leaving the driveway.

And as Eddie kicked the letter opener deeper under the bed, he heard a dissatisfied meow from the window. Dart was staring daggers at him and so was Ozzy, who probably only pretended to stare because he was a bat, but his eyes were narrowed and directed at Eddie.

“We really can’t let you go anywhere.”

Chapter 8 here

#steve harrington #stranger things #eddie munson #steddie #steddie au #steddie fanfiction #corpse bride au #corpse groom eddie #steddie big bang 2023 #with this ring

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emmatgc · 4 months

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Hi friend! Mm I have a question because I really don't understand and you analyze very well. I have seen posts saying that Tommy and Lizzie have a beautiful relationship, and that Tommy protects her a lot and that is what Lizzie needs, a love like that. Can you explain to me how they come to those interpretations, when Lizzie is suffering all the time, and bitter about her life and Tommy is completely distant, he is traveling all the time and he is with other women, and he is very unhappy in his life and in his home. What's so great about a marriage like that?

Thank you!

Hi friend! Thank you your question. My 1st question really haha Ill try. First of all, all their "interpretations" of their so called beautiful relationship are solely based on Lizzie's perspective or POV. Like, it is what lizzie needs, a love like that but how about Tommy, eh? See? already one sided. Second, I think they hold on to that "empathy" rope that clearly, we have to admit that Tommy cared for Lizzie as a friend or family, raising her status from a whore to a secretary. Though as a secretary she was still employed as his favorite whore, he still pays her so that relationship still though "caring" was still transactional. But for liz fans, that's progress. That's a development. Third, I also think that hold on to that "longer" years that Liz and Tommy know each other, again as his personal you know what. That is relationship to them and she got promoted. Fourth, all this boils down to them getting reckless and she ended up being pregnant and became the 2nd Mrs. Shelby. So, marriage it is. Not just relationship but marriage. Again, from the streets, to the table as a secretary to a wife of the most powerful man in Birmingham, progress, empathy and loyalty. Fifth, liz fans are like us loyal fans. They see her as a success story of getting what she wants. She got it and ironically, whines each and everytime. She knew what she got into yet still whines and for all the talk that Grace wanted Tommy to change, ehem Lizzie who they say knows the "real him" actually does a lot of whining for him to change. She doesn't get him at all. So, to add all this, basically for me, there was no healthy relationship nor a respectable and loving one. I disagree with the notion that they have a beautiful relationship. What they have was toxic and misery. What i can agree on is the fact that even Cillian said, loyalty, Liz was loyal to Cillian because he was her savior, she loves him. Hence, its for them understandable to be together for ruby and reward her for her loyalty.

Lastly, id like to make myself clear on this. Tommy tried to care and love Lizzie. They tried to make it work. But Tommy is Tommy. He rarely falls in love and when he dies, it goes deep. With liz it was very limited. He still uses her in their business and stuff not as equal partners I presume. A marriage more on paper. Yes, she was the longest "relationship" he had, transactional or not. But he was for the most part, a mean husband. A jerk, a cold and absentee husband and father. We always say, if SK chose to let Tommy fall in love again then by all means, we will accept even if it breaks our hearts because again that is the plot. We respect that and we are afterall sane people. But, it never materialize. Until the very end, Grace was cut above all the ladies and everybody else even his own family. To Fans or extremists of Lizzie should always ask themselves, if this was Grace, would he act like this? Would he cheat everytime? Would he leave after the funeral? Would he look like a 100 year old guy even if its Christmas? I know deep in their hearts they know the truth. They just couldn't accept and handle it. Grace even died and yet, Tommy x Liz were never EVER TRULY happy. He was never the same after Grace. What was everybody expecting after her death? Tommy went on with his life, he cannot stop but he was for the most part dead inside. Tommy didn't put forth the effort that lizzie needed. Its Tommy's fault not Grace though. Tommy simply refuses to love Liz the way a husband should. I for one was pitiful towards Liz in the later part. She suffered so much with Tommy. But to hell they call it a beautiful relationship and marriage? That is beyond me. But, again, its a free world, it is nice to express and i hope dear friend, i shed some light at least in their POV for us to co exist in this world. 🤣🤣🤣

Thank you again, my friend! ❤️

#tommy x grace #grace burgess #grace shelby #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #annabelle wallis #cillian murphy #thomas shelby #tommy x grace forever #true love always win

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shostakobitchh · 7 months

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chapter 51 sneak peek!

sorry its been so long... I forgot how crazy the fall gets at work.

I'm going to try and finish the chapter this weekend; started it about an hour ago and it's storming out so I'm in my element.

Severus invited Dumbledore for a walk the following morning.

He did not extend the invitation with as much grace as he would have in the past. It simply consisted of Severus snarling through the Floo that he would be conducting surveillance of the grounds and if Dumbledore cared to join him, he wouldn’t stop him. Severus hadn’t even waited to hear his response — which he was certain would have been cheerfully accepted — as he slammed out of his quarters.

Dumbledore was already waiting for Severus by the main entrance when he got there, hands folded patiently, as if he’d been there for quite some time. Severus felt a twinge of annoyance at Dumbledore's punctuality. He never appreciated when people were too eager to spend time with him, especially when he was in a foul mood, but he kept his expression neutral and pushed past the old man and through the doors.

Severus began with the castle perimeter, his eyes trained on every corner, every crevice. He knew he’d find nothing, but he’d needed an excuse, and the Dementors would be due back soon.

He was still angry about the Chamber — about Black, about Lupin — about all of it. He hated that Dumbledore spoke of Miss Evan’s safety being paramount only to leave her to fend for herself when she needed it most, but Severus knew he and Dumbledore were matched evenly, now. Severus had set the Dark Lord upon the girl and allowed her to be taken by Quirrell — he could hold contempt in the tattered remains of his heart for Dumbledore knowing he had failed his daughter equally. They were all to blame.

The difference was that Severus already knew Lupin was to blame as well. Dumbledore was too trusting — too willing to see a broken man — to blind to see those shattered pieces cutting so deep that he’d allow a child to be in harm’s way.

They walked in silence for a while, the only sounds being their footfalls. Severus took out his anger on some weeds, cutting through them with sharp flicks of his wand as though he were trying to get a clearer view of the exterior, but he’d known he wouldn’t find anything. He’d already conducted his own search, and for all of Dumbledore’s faults, there was no possible way Black could infiltrate the castle —

“Anything of Black?” Severus asked, his voice sharp as it split through the silence.

Dumbledore gave him a sidelong glance, studying his face before he answered. “The Muggle women’s claims were regrettably unfounded. I’d imagine Azkaban’s guards will be joining us again by nightfall.”

I could hear a woman screaming —

Severus tried to shake the memory off, but tremor in the girl’s voice continued to reverberate in his head. He thought instead of the palm of his hand curled around the base of his wand as he pulled Black’s spine out through his throat.

“Unfortunate,” Severus muttered. “Yes.”

Dumbledore gave him another scrutinizing look. The sun had begun its climb up into the sky, though it was still low enough for long shadows to trail behind them. Severus continued walking, his eyes still fixed ahead. The silence stretched on, broken only by the sound of their footsteps.

Dumbledore looked up at the sky, then, and cleared his throat hesitantly.

"I understand that this is difficult for you,” Dumbledore paused, briefly. “For both of you.”

Severus stiffened, his jaw clenched. “Leave me out of it.”

“I would very much like to,” Dumbledore inclined his head. “It would be careless of me, however, to not acknowledge that it is quite clear that you would love nothing more than to join the Dementors in their search.”

Severus halted in his tracks, glancing sharply at Dumbledore with narrowed eyes. "Is that what you think?" he asked icily.

Dumbledore met his gaze steadily and replied calmly. "It is not a matter of what I think. It is clear that you are struggling to come to terms with the reality of the situation, and it has bled over into Ariel’s… grappling of certain matters.”

He almost asked what Dumbledore meant by that, but he quickly swallowed his retort. He hadn’t asked Dumbledore out here for wisdom — he’d done what he’d needed to do with the girl, and had righted it. She had accepted the circumstances they’d found themselves under — and would find themselves sometime in the future. Perhaps someday soon.

"I assure you," he said through gritted teeth, "my feelings towards Black are irrelevant. All that matters is keeping that girl safe — we have failed before, and I worry if this will be the same. Every time I look at her, I am reminded — that no matter how vigilant, how prepared —”

The wind rustled the bottom of Dumbledore’s robes, a vibrant blue that spilled over his feet like a waterfall. "Nothing is guaranteed, my boy. I have taken responsibility for the fact that I have failed to keep Tom from darkening the halls of Hogwarts in the past, but you know just as well as I that he operates far beyond the limits of most. It was impossible to foresee, but Tom was just as blind as we were. He could not comprehend the protection Ariel carries within her.”

“A man sentenced to life in Azkaban should have been fucking guaranteed — a man does not escape Azkaban by his own volition and live long enough to hunt down a child.” Severus snarled, his breath coming out in quick, shallow pants. He hadn’t inferred it — not when Lupin had been hired, not when Lupin had arrived back in August, when he’d shown his daughter literature from the War — but he did now.

And if what Severus suspected was true — all of the Slytherins had suspected — Reg had even inferred it once, but it had been so taboo that even Reg hadn’t dared to speak of it directly — then it was a goddamn miracle the girl was even still alive. Had Lily been in a similar situation, Severus could not see any limit as to what he would’ve done for her, had she asked it of him. The thought of Lupin — of Black — of what could have been and might still be — it terrified Severus.

Dumbledore’s face hardened, and something was shining in his eyes like a diamond. “Remus has made the same vow to keep the students safe as you did nearly twelve years ago — he agreed at great personal risk, given the Curse, to ensure Ariel is kept safe.”

“Nothing is guaranteed, Headmaster.” Severus sneered back. “Or have you forgotten that Potter held Black in the same regard? Black, who Potter held above all else — even her — what would you have told Potter, had they discovered the spy, then? Would you have told him the same thing?”

Dumbledore’s eyes bored into Severus’, and for a moment, he was sure that the old man could see through him, but then his face softened once again, and he let out a tired sigh.

“Things are different now, Severus,” Dumbledore said wearily. “We cannot change the past — Remus has had an egregiously hard life. He knows that he has not been as present or involved — especially after James and Lily’s passing — but he knew Black well.”

“So did Potter.”

“James and Lily understood the risks when they joined the Order.” Dumbledore blue eyes flashed, then, like a bolt of lightning, causing something inside of Severus to go very hot. “They did not know, however, the risk when Lily lay with you.”

It took Severus several moments to formulate words, his heart beating hard and fast in his chest. “She knew exactly what she was —”

“You misunderstand,” Dumbledore shook his head. “I’m referring to the blood malediction.”

Severus just stared.

“I hadn’t known how to breach it with you,” Dumbledore titled his head upwards, towards the thickening clouds on the horizon. “or if I should at all, really. It could be nothing.”

Nothing. That was how much thought Severus had given it — nothing. It had floated to the surface of his thoughts once — once and only once — days after Miss Evans had shown him Lily’s letter. He’d long buried it, though, because it had been impossible, the girl couldn’t possibly —

“The Stirring was long before I took the Mark,” Severus heard himself saying, but it sounded far away, almost as though he were hearing someone talking through a wall. “It was — a failure. Lucius had speculated it was simply a way to give Death Eaters reason to pillage, none of the children were viable.”

#aim and ignite #writing until my hands fall off #sneak peek #snape #hp fanfic #snape fic #dumbledore #severitus

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wiener-jokes · 9 months

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I Don’t Love You

(Ianthony AU)

(This a story I have in my mind a long time ago and I really wanted to write. This is my first time writing so excuse me if it isn’t perfect TWT)

"I don't love you!"

"Oh Ian, you know you love me. You always love me."

TW: very toxic abusive manipulative relationship;) don’t read if you’re not comfortable 🫶🏻

Chapter 1: WHAT AM I TO YOU?

The first day of the school year arrived with the grace of autumn leaves falling gently outside the classroom window. I found myself seated in a quiet corner, gazing at the shifting weather and the even more unpredictable currents of me and Anthony's friendship.

Across the room, my best friend, Anthony, with his striking appearance, the very definition of meticulous perfection. His naturally curly, ebony hair, now straightened with care, framed his face like a glossy curtain, each strand meticulously in place. Every day was a testament to his dedication to his appearance, from his impeccably fashionable choice of clothes to the way his silver chains and rings shine. His dark, expressive eyes held a depth that many tried to fathom, and his chiseled features seemed almost sculpted, leaving no doubt that he was the embodiment of Mr. Perfect in our high school world.

Anthony is surrounded by his popular friends group. Sitting in my secluded corner of the classroom, I couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness wash over me as I watched Anthony revel in the company of his popular friends. His laughter, that contagious, joyous sound, rang through the air like music, but its melody never seemed to reach my ears when others were around. It was as if Anthony had cast a shadow over our friendship, deliberately ignoring me in public, leaving me stranded in the quiet solitude of our fading connection.

Once, they had been inseparable. Best friends since sixth grade, their bond was forged through shared interests and a deep understanding of each other. They were both nerds back then, lost in the world of videos games and sitcoms.

But as the years passed, puberty's capricious hand had dealt them different cards. Anthony, my best friend, had transformed into the school's heartthrob, with his naturally curly hair meticulously straightened. He had become popular, but I remained introverted, shy, still a nerd at heart.

Out friendship behind closed doors is intense, almost overbearing at times. Anthony can be handful and quite possessive, do not let me have any other friends, a rule established in our early days. Yet, there was a catch - Anthony only cared about our friendship when we are alone.

In public, Anthony treated him like a complete stranger. It was as if their years of friendship meant nothing when others were around. It all happened exactly 2 years ago, at the day like this, Anthony met new people. Now, Anthony is obsessed with his reputation, and he doesn’t want anyone to see him hanging around the nerd like me.

Anthony even stopped picking him up to school last year . Now, I trudged that path alone, the solitude feeling heavier with every step. The journey was a painful reminder of how their friendship had changed, and he couldn't help but long for the days when they had been inseparable, even if it meant navigating the challenges of adolescence together.

Doubts gnawed at him, casting shadows over their once unbreakable friendship. Do Anthony still like him, still see him as his best friend? He had to confront a truth he'd been avoiding, even from himself - he might have a crush on Anthony, more than just friendship. He couldn't help it; he is in love with him.

It was this love that made him obedient to Anthony's ridiculous demands. He'd bend over backward to accommodate Anthony, to hold on to the fragments of what they once had. But it was painfully clear that Anthony rarely considered his feelings, so caught up in his quest for popularity that he seemed blind to the hurt he caused.

As he sat lost in his thoughts, a friendly voice broke his reverie. "Hey there, mind if I sit here?" The voice belonged to a guy with striking orange hair and big brown eyes.

Looking up, he offered a small smile. "Not at all, go ahead. I'm Ian, by the way."

"David," the orange-haired guy replied with a genuine grin. "Nice to meet you, Ian. First day of the school year, huh?"

"Yeah, first day," he nodded, feeling a bit of warmth in David's presence. "Hope it's a good one."

David's pretty eyes twinkled with optimism. "I'm sure it will be. New beginnings and all that, right?"

He let out an unintentional sigh, a hint of worry in his response. "Yeah, I hope so."

Feeling a sudden, cold glare boring into him, he turned his head to find Anthony's emotionless face fixed on him, a gaze that sent shivers down his spine. It was a sinister look, one that he couldn't decipher, but he chose to ignore it. The school bell rang, and the teacher walked in. He reminded himself that he needed to stop caring so much about Anthony.

Throughout the class, he couldn't shake the feeling of Anthony's eyes on him. It was as if Anthony's gaze had become a constant, unrelenting presence, and he suspected that Anthony is angry at him for talking to David. Why is Anthony like this?

When the class finally ended, Anthony and his group of friends filed out of the room, their laughter and chatter filling the air. Anthony walked past him, ignoring him as if he hadn't been the one staring just moments ago.

Ian also packed his things, ready to leave for the next class. He and David shared only this English class on their timetables today, so he said, "See you later, David."

David grinned and replied, "Sure thing, Ian. We'll catch up soon."

As he headed out, Ian couldn't help but think that David was a genuinely friendly person, a refreshing change from the complexities of his friendship with Anthony.

As Ian left the classroom, a knot of worry settled in his stomach. He hoped that his budding friendship with David wouldn't trigger one of Anthony's infamous tantrums. He knew he couldn't handle Anthony's withering glares and looks, and the situation was made more challenging by the fact that Anthony had insisted they share the same timetable, forcing him into all the same classes. It was a delicate balance he had to maintain, and the prospect of Anthony's reaction weighed heavily on his mind.

During their next classes, Anthony surprised Ian by not passing even a single random glare or showing any overt signs of displeasure. Anthony's enigmatic behavior continued to baffle him; he couldn't guess what was going on in his friend's mind.

Since the class hasn't started yet, he chooses to focus on his own thoughts, Ian hunched over his notebook and began writing a two-line poem:

"Unwelcoming changes, like storms, sweep our skies,Yet, in the shifting weather, resilience lies."

The simplicity of the lines brought a sense of calm amidst the uncertainty of his life.

-</3-

Lunch break stretched before him, and Ian found himself amidst a sea of bustling students, each engaged in their conversations and laughter. Yet, despite the crowd, an overwhelming sense of loneliness consumed him. As he sat at a table in the bustling cafeteria, he tried to focus on his lunch – a hot pocket and a milkshake.

Across the bustling cafeteria, Anthony's laughter and conversations with his friends echoed in Ian's ears. They were familiar names, those friends of Anthony's, but Ian had never been formally introduced. He knew them through their popularity, a club he felt perpetually excluded from.

The longing to fit in, to be part of that inner circle, gnawed at Ian. He'd always yearned for best friends, and Anthony had been a godsend in that regard, once making him feel special. But lately, doubt had crept in, like a shadow obscuring their friendship.

Anthony, the ever-popular guy, seemed to have an endless stream of girlfriends, while Ian struggled to keep up with the whirlwind of parties and social events. It was painful to watch Anthony with other girls, especially since Anthony is his first love and still his only love.

Ian had once believed he held some sway over Anthony, but now he felt like a toy, controlled by the whims of his best friend. The frustration of it all weighed on him as he sat alone in the cafeteria, craving the friendship that had once been his lifeline.

Suddenly, a pleasant surprise washed over Ian as David approached him, inviting him to sit at his table. They began chatting about their shared love for the game Legend of Zelda, and Ian couldn't help but laugh at one of David's jokes. It was a brief moment of connection and genuine friendship that warmed his heart.

But just as quickly as the warmth had come, it was replaced by a shock of cold liquid that soaked his back. Anthony had carelessly poured his drinks as if it were an accident, yet his icy demeanor made it clear that it was anything but accidental. With a casual shrug, Anthony and his friends departed without a word.

David's frustration was palpable, but Ian, not wanting to escalate the situation, reassured him. "It's okay, really. Don't worry about it." Excusing himself, Ian made his way to the bathroom to assess the damage.

In the bathroom, as Ian examined his damp clothes, he couldn't help but feel a numbness wash over him, an overwhelming sense of disappointment and hurt that went beyond tears. This was, undoubtedly, the worst first day of school he'd ever experienced.

Anthony had never done something so openly hurtful before, and the fact that he had was a stark reminder of the growing distance between them. Ian had always listened to Anthony, but now he wondered if it was worth risking their friendship by forging connection with David.

The love he held for Anthony was undeniable, a bond that had sustained him through the years. It was a love that left him feeling trapped, unable to break free from the web of emotions that had entangled him. As he stood in that bathroom, he couldn't help but wonder how he could navigate this new, uncertain terrain without losing the person who meant the world to him.

-<\3-

The walk back home was a solitary journey, mirroring the lonely feeling that had settled within Ian since that unfortunate incident at lunch. The rest of the school day had unfolded with the same indifference from Anthony, who didn't seem to care about his actions, even though he'd intentionally soaked Ian's shirt.

As he trudged along, the path seemed longer and more desolate than ever. He couldn't escape the distant roar of Anthony's expensive, loud race car as it sped past, carrying the laughter of a girl who had replaced him for the moment. A heavy sigh escaped Ian's lips, and he couldn't shake the feeling that this was indeed a bad day, one that had left him feeling lonelier and more uncertain than ever before. Maybe it's his fault that falling in love with a wrong person.

Hope ya guys enjoy it. It’s on Wattpad;)

#ianthony #☀️🔎

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trash-can-sam · 11 months

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now I may be cornplating here but. One interesting thing I noticed about MTAS and MTAP is the difference in how the research is structured in terms of the roles the characters have in the system.

in the My Time Universe (MTU for short ig) its notable that the seperation between research and archeology is a lot less clear, with archeology informing researchers on how to view the machines theyre studying and what exactly to look for, and research informing archeology about the purpose of what they find. They are very much close together, as being a researcher is less about discovering new solutions and more about discovering how old solutions worked and how to reappropiate them in a world where they’ve backslid in knowlege. Archeology is still very much about the stories and history of locations where research is still very much about the science, but the line dividing what those two things mean is a lot more blurry.

Now, you can see this seperation a bit in MTAP, with Petra being more archeology focused and Merlin being more research focused, but both are still interested in the other fields, both of them wanting to discover both the how of the science and the why of the archeology. Merlin and Petra work closely together, overall united in their goal of discovery for the sake of discovery.

However, MTAS takes this more cooperative approach and splits it, into Qi and Grace, showing you both sides seperately through two people who do not get along, using their fields to say something about how they think as well, and I think thats an interesting change. It sort of shows you both parts seperately, but brings attention to how they are still closely intertwined.

Qi has no real interest in people or individuals, and doesnt really care about how stuff got there. He does still speculate, like when you find the equitorial mount and hes like “there was probably an observatory here” and he still has a lot of knowlege of old world stuff, obviously. But his focus is very much on the innerworkings of the technology, how he can use it and how he can improve it (and how he can make silly things that cater to his specific interests,) hes also not really interested in it for discovery itself most of the time and will just straight up avoid things he has no interest in (Rosy) despite the fact they would probably further knowlege.

Grace, although she also is interested in how the tech works and knows a lot (both because of her actual job and interest in archeology), is more interested in the personal side. I dont know if she was actually writing a research paper on the Breach or if that was a hoax, but I feel like regardless of if shes an actual archeology student on the side or not, she did take a class on it and it is an interest of hers, because I cant think of any other reason she would want the thing’s she asked you to get. Grace is more interested in what objects say about people than how they work. She also has a goal other than discovery itself, she wants to use this knowlege to help her discover how people themselves tick.

This makes them sort of at odds with eachother, and although their actual fields dont really come up, its more of a symbollic type of battle. Is efficency more important or is the human experience? Do we focus more on the human component, truly understanding and engaging with the past, or do we focus on the best way to optimize and improve past technologies? And really, its a false dichotomy. Both exist, and they exist together and inform eachother, as shown with Merlin and Petra.

I just find it interesting the approach they both take, MTAS taking the system shown in MTAP and elaborating on it with stronger personalities both interested for more selfish reasons. I dont really know if I worded this correctly but I tried I hope you see my vision.

#my time at sandrock #mtas #mtas qi #mtap #mtas grace #mtas spoilers #minor but theyre still kind of there? its not really in detail but I do talk about grace #my time at portia #mtap merlin #mtap petra #a little bit I dont discuss them as much as I would like because I cant find that much on merlin :(#I think all of the characters are very silly and idk #I like looking at the sort of philosophy of the MTU #I rly feel like I couldve worded this better but idk how #Its fun tho #for the record qi and merlin would hate eachother she would drive him insane #will probably draw smthn like that sometime #innane ramblings

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heronchildlove · 1 year

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Would it be wrong to ask for a rewrite of the ending of the scene at the Shadowmarket where James and Matthew aren’t interrupted and get to actually talk to each other?

It’s never wrong to wish for these two idiots to COMMUNICATE, nonnie, be sure of that xD I’m putting this prompt together with another one I got that just asked for hurt/comfort and for them to hug it out. Hope you both like it!

~~//~~

Matthew turned then, raising his arm—James stepped forward, but Matthew had already violently slammed the bottle against the brick wall. Glass sprayed in all directions; Matthew flinched back. A flying bit of glass had scratched his face, just beneath his eye. He wiped at the blood on his face and said, “I don’t want to see you ruin your life. But if you don’t love Cordelia, you should let someone else love her.”

“I could hardly stop them, could I?” said James. “Now let me see your hand—Matthew—”

“No.” Matthew raised his hand between them, keeping James away. His heart sank. They were no more than a few inches a part in the narrow alley, but a chasm had opened between them with just a single word. One syllable. Two letters. And James’ whole world started falling apart.

“Math-”

“Don’t you ‘Math’ me, not after what you have just said. If there’s anyone I love more than that bottle... How could, how could even you ask me that?”

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Because the answer is you, James. You are the person I love most, more than anything in the world. I am your parabatai, how could you not know that?”

“I do, Math, I know, I just-” He tried reaching out to Matthew again, but again he stepped away from him, pressed his back against the brick wall, not even caring the splash from the wine bottle was soaking his coat. Matthew’s eyes were completely clear now, and focused on him, so James could plainly see the hurt in them like he hadn’t in a long time. All his temper had left him, and only regret stayed in its place, as always. He swallowed.

“Do you, Jamie? Because through all these years I have loved you - we all - have loved you. And have only gotten half of you in return, at most. The only person you have thought about, that you have seen, in years, has been Grace Blackthorn. And that’s not love, Jamie, that’s obsession. That’s a sickness that has lodged itself in your heart and you have refused all treatments to get rid of it. I’m the one that drinks, but you are the one whose eyes haven’t been clear in years. What hold does Grace have on you that she is more important to you than anything else in your life? Why do you worship her so?”

“I don’t know!” The confession burst out of his chest, and it startled both of them. James’ wrist seemed to be freezing and burning at the same time. His head was pounding. But the words were like a liberation, and once he had started he found himself unable to stop. “When I try to think of it, nothing comes to my mind. A part of me barely knows why she has such a hold on me, but the other part won’t even allow me to think of that, because of course she should have a hold of me, of course I love her, but do I? How? Why? I don’t know, Matthew, and it scares the hell out of me. What if it’s an obsession, like you say? An illness? How do I rid myself of it?”

Matthew let out a joyless laugh, and motioned at the glass shards and the wine tainting the snow under his feet. “I don’t think... I am the best person to be asked about how to get rid of an illness that consumes you.” He said, the closest James had ever come to hearing Matthew admit he had a problem. “It seems like... we cling to them because they are the only things keeping us from having to face something worse. What are you afraid to face, Jamie? I can help you.”

“And I you. Math. I will ask you once again what is the shadow that hangs over you. I can no longer turn into a shadow, but I’ll still fight them for you, anything for you to return to your true self.”

Matthew closed his eyes in pain, breath coming ragged. “I can’t, Jamie. If I tell you, you’ll hate me. And it might be selfish of me, but I can’t bear that.”

“I could never hate you, Math. Even if you told me you have been conspiring with Belial this whole time, or that it was you that left chocolate marks all over my book of the Three Musketeers five years ago. I don’t hold grudges.”

“As I reckon, I’ve already told you it was a goblin that dirtied your book. It hurts me that you don’t believe me.”

James raised an eyebrow, but all he said was: “I am cursed. Belial has proved what I have always feared, that I will bring blight and pain on whomever loves me. Grace has always known that, and she loves me anyway, and I’m afraid if I don’t have her, then I will never have anyone else.”

Matthew huffed and passed a hand through his hair.

“I suppose I can understand the sentiment, but there are a few flaws in your argument: One: you are not cursed, you are a delight. Two: all you bring us is happiness and strength. And three: as I already stated, I love you. And Lucie and your parents love you. And Tom and Kit. And Cordelia, she truly loves you, even if you are too idiot to see it. So even without Grace, you are not short of people that love you now or that will love you in the future, you buffoon.”

“Weren’t you supposed to be comforting me? I am sharing my innermost feelings with you, Matthew, that’s very hurtful.”

Mathew laughed at the throwback to their first real talk at the Academy. A true laugh, like James hadn’t heard in a long time, and it made him laugh, too.

“I suppose it is not rational, but feelings rarely are. I’m sorry I’ve been so blind and hurtful, I’ll try to keep this in mind and get better.”

“It’s okay, Jamie. Sorry I snapped at you.”

He tried for a hug, but this time it was James that raised his hand and stopped him.

“What?”

“Your turn, Math.”

“Fine, it was me that left chocolate marks in your book, I’m sorry, Jamie.”

“Math...”

“I do not remember having agreed to to any sort of mutual sharing, you unburdened yourself all on your own.”

“I let you help me, now let me help you.”

Once again, Matthew had closed his eyes in pain, and it made a certain panic rise up in James. What could be so bad that just the idea of it scared Matthew so much?

“You don’t know what you are asking for, Jamie.”

“I will after you tell me.”

“I can’t...”

“I promise whatever it is-”

“I am a murderer!”

Whatever James had been expecting, it was certainly not that. It was good Matthew kept his eyes closed, because he was sure he hadn’t been able to school his expression fast enough.

“...I don’t understand.”

“Before anything else, I am a fool. I never believed I belonged in my family, and I couldn’t pinpoint why, until... someone told me I was a bastard, that I wasn’t my father’s son, and my whole family was lying to me, and I couldn’t shake it off. And everyone was acting so weird and keeping something from me and I didn’t know what and I was sure... I just wanted to know the truth at last, so I bought a truth potion, or, I was led to believe it was a truth potion, and I put a drop on my mother’s food, and then...”

James felt a chill run down his body. He had a feeling he knew where this story was going, and he had the urge to tell Matthew to stop, that he didn’t want to know after all, but he had to. He had to know Matthew’s sin so he could bear it together with him, so they could both finally start to heal.

“...And then my mother fell sick, and we, and we called Uncle Jem, but it was, it was not enough. And there was a baby, and the baby died, and it was all my fault, Jamie, it was me. I did that. And I can’t look them in the eyes ever since, and I can never think too much about it or it makes me want to die myself, so I don’t. I do everything, not to think about it, but I am a fool, and a coward, and murderer, and that’s the truth, Jamie, and you can punch me and give me to the clave now, or...”

And then Matthew had to stop talking, because James collided against him and hugged him so tight he took his breath away.

“Math, Mathew, listen to me, listen. You were just a child, you couldn’t have known. It was not your fault, it wasn’t. Mathew bach I’m so sorry you have been carrying this by yourself all this time but you don’t have to anymore, I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.”

There was a loud sob, and James didn’t know if it came from Matthew or himself or both. The tears were falling and they were both clinging to each other desperately and they were not, in any way, shape or form, okay.

But they were together, truly, for the first time. There were no secret shadows looming above them anymore, no hidden pain or false smiles, or blurred feelings smothered by a bottle or a flash of silver eyes. And hat was all they could ask for at the moment.

They were together, and they would remain together and things would, eventually, be okay.

And for now that was enough.

#heronchild #james herondale #Matthew Fairchild #tlh #the last hours #chain of iron #choi #coi #tsc #the shadowhunter chronicles #cassandra clare #fanfiction #fix-it fic #nandawrites #canon rewrite #original #mine

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