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ashes-writing · 2 years

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sweet emotion | stranger things ; e. munson

A/N ; .... so .... I couldn't pick between Eddie and Steve. And apparently, my idiot brain decided well hey, just write similar versions/plots for both your babies, Ashes. So here we are. This is yet another x reader mini series. Each version has it's own take on a Henderson!fem reader -this one is artsy/stoner/smart/pretends to be a witch but in reality just has really strange interests and a dark humor / literal hell on wheels just an fyi. I'll keep them both going but feedback is a motivator as to how frequently they'll get updated. Right now, this is all I got, babes. So if you wanna see more, idk. We'll see.

Pairing ; Eddie Munson x Henderson!Fem reader

Timeline / Other Stuff to Note ; As stated in all my other x reader fics that belong to Stranger things, the Upside Down and all it's unholy horrors are left out. The timeline for this is 86. No, Eddie will not be dying. If you like normal / slice of life / romance-y type shit, this is that.

Tag List ; @musichealsscars @hcloangcls @allelitesmut and @aries-arcade are the only ones currently on my Stranger Things tag. I throw out a courtesy tag to @rampagewriting -feel free to ignore if you wanna bb. if you'd like to be added to my taglists for anything including Stranger Things, please let me know or add yourself -> here.

Warnings ; reader is hell on wheels / detention / swearing / teenage antics and shenanigans, mentions of the devils lettuce to come, mentions of drinking to come, kissing / making out / maybe even filth to come, beyond that, nothing. Oh yeah and Jason Carver is a prick and will probably catch reader's hands by the end of this at least once bc I fucking can. ALSO... Chrissy's ED / home problems are mentioned in this so huge trigger warning for that.

Other Stuff ; tag list doc || my rules - fandoms and some characters I write for || requests are open (pls.. pls... send me things) but they're limited to headcanon asks + filth/fluff alphabet letters and I'm not accepting wrestling / wrestlers in my ask box. Any other fandom/character but wrestling that I happen to write for is fine and I beg of you -> send me things.

I do not consent to my work being reposted elsewhere or copied/reworked/rewritten and reposted here or elsewhere. You don't own this, I do. So like... don't steal my shit.

You dash down the noisy hallway, your clothes and body a multitude of different colors. You’re wielding a paintbrush as you chase down your friend Astrid, taunting her with what will happen when you finally catch her. As you all but baseball slide around a corner in the hallway because the floor is wet, you smash into Eddie Munson.

The collision sends you onto the floor with an unceremonious “Hmmph.” as you settle on it on your ass. You’re about to quickly scramble to your feet but Eddie reaches down and grabs hold of your hand wordlessly, hauling you up off the floor.

And then, with a cute little smile, you’re off to the races again. But you stay on his mind the whole day.

When he spots you sitting alone at lunch, now with a yellow handprint on the left side of your face and your nose stuck in a book that’s been read so many times it’s falling apart as you turn the pages, Eddie finds himself watching you.

Doing it so intently that Gareth nudges him and nods in your direction. “She’s in my homeroom.”

Eddie glances back in your direction and to his shock, he finds you kind of staring at him. When you know you’re caught, you cross your eyes and stick out your tongue, pulling a face that makes him snicker quietly and shake his head. Gareth laughs. “‘M gonna ask her to go see a movie.”

Eddie clenches his fist but he tries to give his friend a smile of encouragement.

Jeff speaks up, laughing. “And she’ll shoot you down for the millionth time, Gare. Just like she’s done every single time you ask.”

Eddie’s gaze shifts to Jeff, who shrugs and then goes on to explain that since at least 7th grade, you are the girl Gareth is always trying to ask out.

And Eddie can sympathize because after all, Chrissy. He’s in a similar situation but he’s just her dealer now.

And he’s not a creep, so he’d never try to use that situation to his advantage.

Jeff continues. “You’re making it weird, Eds.”

“Super weird.” Gareth adds quietly. Glaring at Eddie quietly. A little annoyed, because he noticed you first.

Down the table, Mike nudges Dustin and nods to the table you’re sitting at. “Why the hell is she covered in paint, Dustin?”

Dustin drags his spoon across his pudding as he shrugs. “You know how weird my sister is, Mike. I learned not to question it a long time ago. I’m just glad she’s happy again.”

“Yeah, summer was rough, huh?”

“Kinda. She’s a pain in the ass when she’s moodier than usual. And she won’t say it but that jerk she was dating really hurt her.” Dustin shrugs as he says it.

You spot your younger brother across the lunchroom sitting at the Hellfire table.

And down from him a few seats, the guy you crashed into in the hallway when you and Astrid took the little paint war going on inside Art class to the hallway at the end of it. You study the guy for a few seconds, eating a bean from your salad as you do so. Astrid told you his name is Eddie Munson. Not that you asked or you needed to know to begin with because you’ve kind of had a crush on him since at least 8th grade… You’ve just never really… crossed paths until today.

Eddie is reading Newsweek to the other guys sitting around the table and he’s laughing every other word.

And then, Eddie is standing on the table. And he’s making a speech.

During which, he mentions literally every major clique except your little circle.

To be fair, you’re kind of known as the artsy wannabe witch and that’s how it’s almost always been. The last time you were even a little popular was way back in 6th grade when you were still best friends with Chrissy, who has since gone on to become the so-called queen of Hawkins High.

When Eddie compares basketball to a game where one tosses balls into a laundry basket, you nearly choke on your soda laughing. And you can’t resist it, you have to speak up. You have to make it known that Jason’s actually not that good at it, either.

“And sadly, they’re not even that good. Except Sinclair. The rest of the idiots fucking suck.” you muse aloud, flipping to the next page in the book you found in a throwout pile in the library during homeroom.

But as always, nobody really seems to notice. Which is fine with you, you’re content to go back to the book you’re currently caught up in. To eat in silence.

Jason snaps, calling Eddie a prick.

Eddie makes a face and laughs before sitting himself down. Everybody’s gone back to doing their own thing by now, Eddie’s disruption is for the most part, forgotten and ignored. He said what he needed, he didn’t waste words or anything. Just said what was on his mind and sat down without a care in the world.

“Yeah, somebody’s jealous because they still can’t find theirs without tweezers and a magnifying glass, I see.” you say it without thinking when you overhear Jason at a table over when he goes on a tangent about satanism and freaks and how pricks like Eddie Munson need to be run out of town on a rail. You didn’t think anybody actually heard you say it, but apparently this time, when it’s about him, the idiot can hear perfectly fine.

Jason’s steely blue gaze settles on you.

“What’d you say?” he’s standing and he’s heading your way. Fast. “Repeat it. C’mon, witch.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes and toy with a strand of hair, waiting.

When Jason finally reaches you, you barely give half a glance up at him and you shrug. Taking an aggressive bite of the bean in your salad as you laugh. “You heard me, Carver. I’m not repeating it. I don’t think you want me to, I mean… Unless you just want the entirety of the cafeteria to know you’ve got a teeny tiny little baby dick. Or that’s what I heard, anyway. I’d rather fling myself off the highest cliff down at the quarry than find out for myself.” you grimace and stick your finger down your throat to induce gagging.

Mike nudges Dustin and Dustin glances over right around the same time Jason stops by your table and plucks the book out of your hand, surveying the title critically. “Oh shit. So, what are the odds she snaps and Jason gets bitten, punched, slapped, kicked or stabbed with the fork in her hand?” Mike asks, barely hiding a laugh.

Dustin stands, as your very protective younger brother, he’s ready to go and intervene before your motor mouth overruns your midget ass. Even with the age difference, he towers over you just slightly. And he might not beat Jason’s ass, but Jason will come away knowing he was there. “Shit.”

Lucas stands too, ready to go over and help get you and Jason apart should the need arise. Because he’s learned that there’s a good way to coax Jason into backing down or changing his mind and it’s a useful trick to have in his arsenal.

“Buckland’s Complete Book of Witchcraft. Nice. I thought the board was going to ban this crap..” Jason glares at you and nods towards Eddie. He chuckles. “Hawkins High should kick you out… Both of you..” he shoots Eddie a smirk when he says it and Eddie flips him off, turning his attention back to the situation at hand. He can’t help but notice Dustin, Mike and Lucas’ vested interest in the whole scene as it unfolds and despite being curious, he just doesn’t ask. He’s too busy watching you to see what you do.

“You first, Jim Jones.” you spit out the words and stand, snatching your book back. When you grab hold of his wrist, it’s with a smirk and a warning squeeze during which you dig your fingernails into his skin, just a little. Not enough to draw blood but enough to issue a clear warning of intent if he keeps on pushing his luck. “If I were you, blondie.. I’d shag ass back over to the cool kids table… It’d be a shame if something just kinda…Accidentally happened, right?” you say it innocently enough, with the sweetest little grin you can muster. It’s not meant to threaten or anything, or it wouldn’t seem so to the people looking on as this little confrontation unfolds.

But Jason’s slightly smarter than your average meathead jock. Only slightly. He picks right up on the true intent in your statement.

“Did you just threaten me?” Jason deadpans.

You shrug, mild and calm as possible. Smirking up at him without a care in the world. “Not the brightest bulb in the chandelier, are we?” you ask, tapping your foot a little. That smirk growing on your face as you watch his face contort from that normal holier than thou smug look to one of fury.

He steps closer. Studying you intently like he’s looking for something, anything he can use to hurt you.

He’s trying the wrong girl but he’s too stupid to see it just yet.

When he gets a little too close, you reach back and grab the bowl of salad you were finished with anyway and you raise it, planting it in his face. “I told you, idiot. Walk away.” you practically purr the words as you shove past him and slink out of the cafeteria.

At the Hellfire table, Dustin and Mike are gaping. Both of them knew you were a bit of a hothead but neither of them would’ve ever thought you’d shove your salad into Jason’s face like that. Dustin can’t help but laugh.

Jeff glances at the two.

“You two idiots know her?” Jeff asks. Gareth glances down the table at the two younger boys, waiting. Curious himself, because Dustin looks a breath away from going over there to intervene and he’s only just sat back down.

“My sister.” Dustin is beaming, he’s having a full-on proud little brother moment.

“My old babysitter.” Mike shrugs and drags thin fingers through shaggy black hair. “At least she didn’t punch him.” he muses, mostly to himself. “She punches like a freakin boxer.”

And suddenly upon hearing this particular little revelation, Eddie’s very intent gaze is fixed on Dustin. “You never told me you had a sister.”

Dustin shrugged and took a bite of the bologna sandwich in his hands. “You never asked, Munson.”

Mike palms his face. “Let me save you the hassle, Munson… She’s a grouch. She’s also slightly feral. Dustin, their mom and maybe like… one other person are the only people she really gives a shit about. And she’s always been this way, Munson. It won’t change. Just trust me.”

Eddie mulls it over. When Wheeler put it that way, the whole bizarre high speed chase with paint in the hallway seems to make perfect sense. Then there’s the book you were reading. That fits too. But deeper down, Eddie’s already figuring out that the attitude and the ‘witch’ rumor that you’ve never actively tried to speak up against are probably your defense mechanisms at this point.

You’re swinging at your locker just to rid yourself of a little pent up frustration when Chrissy clears her throat from behind you. Whirling around, you size her up and wrinkle your nose. “You? What do you want, hm?”

“To apologize.” Chrissy mumbles quietly. Gazing at you as she steps away, cautious. She really wants to tell you that she misses being your best friend but somehow, she knows it’s maybe just a little too late to say it.

“Mhm, well.. It’s whatever.” you smirk a little. Lean in a little closer. “It’s your little boyfriend who might wanna watch his back.” you warn and shrug at her. Upon closer look, you feel really bad, she’s obviously struggling with something, you can see it in her eyes. And every part of you wants to say something that might help, but you shove it down. Why should you care? She’s the one who went off and got popular and then spent the next few years ignoring you. If she really gave a shit, you think to yourself, she never would’ve turned her back.

You’re starting to walk away but Chrissy calls your name. And not your actual name, but the one she gave you way back when you were both kids. Before popularity became the wedge that got driven between the two of you.

“Bubbles.” Chrissy calls out to you, making you pause.

“Don’t call me that. Bubbles is gone, Cunningham.” you say it in the harshest tone you can muster and it hurts like hell, but deep down, you don’t mean it and you hate it when she looks like she’ll cry. The unshed tears are what make you walk away as quickly as humanly possible. Because if you don’t, then what if this isn’t some kind of trick? She is one of them, after all.

Astrid is waiting at the end of the hallway, waving you over.

“Guess what I found.” she’s excited, she’s practically bouncing all around.

“Hm?”

“Just c’mon.. Hey, what was the head bitch of Hawkins High saying? How did you refrain from punching her, huh?”

You shrug off the question but you do snap at Astrid calmly that Chrissy isn’t a bitch, despite all attempts to seem as if you don’t miss your best friend and you don’t give a shit about her either way.

“Okay, sheesh. Noted.” Astrid grumbles, adding that you were an idiot to give Chrissy any sort of leeway because she’s the one who ditched you. You make your way out of the building with Astrid and you hear meowing.

Astrid grabs your hand, she’s dragging you down the alley between buildings. When the meowing grows closer, you’re grinning.

But the litter of motherless kittens are under the dumpster and back towards the corner, out of your reach from a certain angle and without a little coaxing.

“Let me go ask O’Brian if we can borrow his broom. Maybe we can kind of scoot it back there behind their little furry butts...” Astrid is settled on the concrete, trying to reach beneath the dumpster from the front but she lacks an inch or two to reach the cluster of meowing kittens.

A throat clears from the top of the alley.

You glance back over your shoulders to find Eddie Munson leaning against the wall. Watching you and Astrid as you both kneel in front of and at the side of the dumpster, trying to meow in the hopes that you’ll coax the kittens out of their safe haven without having to try grabbing them and risk hurting yourself or them in the process.

You manage to get a grip on the smoke colored one when it comes just a little closer and you pluck it out, hissing and in perpetual recoil as you pull the soft little furball into you and gaze down at it, giggling.

“Hey, little one. I’m gonna call you Bjorn. You kinda look like a little bear, yes you do, you’re the cutest kitty…” you coo as Eddie comes to a stop nearby, gazing at you and the zesty tempered little animal in your arms.

You pull yourself up off the ground.

Doe eyes move from you to the spicy little furball you’re holding against you and back again. You’re staring back but you’re really trying not to. But his eyes have this magnetic effect.

“We’re gonna need the broom.” Astrid stands up, brushes off her paint splattered bell bottoms and walks around to the side. “I’m trying to get the solid white one because the poor little dude has some funky stuff in it’s eyes.”

You nod. “We could try to coax ‘em out with tuna.” you suggest, breaking your gaze with Eddie for a second or two. You’re wondering why he’s even outside, but you’re too focused on rescuing baby cats to ask.

“Yeah, but where are we gonna get tuna, hm?” Astrid asks.

Eddie stands back quietly, listening to the exchange. Then he nods to the dumpster.

“If we could move it just a little.” Eddie suggests.

“That thing is fuckin heavy, sir.” you insist as a rebuttal.

“And I have friends.” Eddie points out to you.

You snicker quietly. “So do I.. My little brother has to help me with my bullshit. Familial obligation.” you start to trudge down the alley, wandering right back into the outside cafeteria door to step inside.

You make your way over to the table and grab a chair from beside Gareth Emerson, a boy in your science class. And then you drag it over to where your brother is sitting, flanked by Mike Wheeler and Lucas Sinclair. “You three little shits are comin with me, alright?”

“Please?” Mike hints. You laugh and roll your eyes, standing.

“C’mon… I mean unless you idiots wanna walk home in the rain.” you shrug mildly as you say it. Lucas stands. He notices the kitten and chuckles. “Where the hell did you find a cat?”

“Outside. Under the dumpster out back. There’s like… Five more.” you’re giggling and grinning. You hold out the smoke colored kitten in your hand to Lucas and the kitten’s immediate reaction is to swing it’s little paws and hiss as much and as loud as felinely possible. You pull the kitten away when Lucas shakes his head and you’re muttering softly to the kitten, “Aw, it’s okay, little guy. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Dustin palms his face. “No. Absolutely fuckin not. You are not going to build an army of cats. Look, you already have the lizard. And the garden snake. And the stray dog you think I don’t know you’re trying to lure into sticking around. We’re not a zoo, damn it!”

You place your free hand on your hip and gaze at your little brother. “Bold of you to assume I asked you, dustball. Me older. You younger. Understand, little brother?” you flash him a butter wouldn’t melt grin.

“Mom..” Dustin tried to appeal to your common sense but it fell on deaf ears.

“Will love these little shits as much as I, their new mother, am going to.” you laugh out the words. As you return the chair, you reach out and feel both Gareth and Jeff’s upper arms. “Okay, you two.. C’mon.” you mumble as you gaze at them both after reaching the assumption that they have the required body strength to maybe wiggle the dumpster out enough so you and Astrid can free the kittens.

Jeff and Gareth share a look, puzzled.

“Where?” Jeff asks, shrinking back when the kitten hisses again. “Keep your demon away, woman.” he laughs as he says it.

“Yeah, I mean.” Gareth stammers and gulps, “I’ll help, just.. Are you aware that those uh.. They’re wild. You could get like so many diseases…”

You shrug. “They’re babies, jerk!” you pout a little, holding the kitten tighter when it tries to jump out of your arms. “Ignore him, sweet Bjorn. You’re a little angel, yes you are.” you coo at the cat.

You make your way out of the cafeteria’s back facing door with your brother, Mike and Lucas all grumbling and Dustin trying to argue you down that you absolutely cannot take in another stray, he doesn’t care how cute they are or how much they make you happy and you, humming Sweet Leaf to ignore him. Gareth and Jeff wander out too because they can’t resist the chance to watch a good bout of fuckery as it occurs.

Astrid has gotten one of the kittens and Eddie’s jumping back a little because the kitten in Astrid’s grip is twice as wild as the one you managed to grab before going inside.

“And you were saying, Munson?” you tap your foot and tilt your head slightly as you glance up at him with an amused gleam in your eyes. And your cute little grin.

Dustin nudges Eddie. “She’s lost her fucking mind. Totally.”

“She just wants to help ‘em, Henderson. C’mon, have a heart, kid.” Eddie says it as he’s watching you and your friend Astrid. Well, mostly you. He’s laughing to himself and shaking his head.

“Stop checking out my sister!” Dustin grumbles, annoyed. “Seriously, Munson?”

“Trust me, Munson. This isn’t even half of the crazy. Just stop yourself now. While you’re ahead.” Mike warns a second time, but he happens to look at Eddie as Eddie watches you directing Gareth and Jeff which way to shove the corner of the dumpster. And as he’s watching Eddie watch you, he gets the distinct feeling that Eddie Munson isn’t listening to a damn thing either of the two say.

The dumpster is pulled away and kittens go scattering. You manage to grab an orange colored one with white socks and a black and white one. Astrid snags the remaining two, the white one she’s going to take home to nurse back to health and a solid black one.

“Hey! I’m the supposed witch.” you pout.

“Tough shit! You’ve got three!” Astrid argues. “And my mother is the town vet.”

“Okay, alright.Fiiiine. But I want weekends with those ones.” you insist, nodding to the wild kittens in Astrid’s arms but struggling hard to get free.

“I want weekends with yours.” Astrid nods to the kittens in your arms.

Dustin nudges Mike. “They’re going to be negotiating the rest of the day.”

“Unless your sister just sits on her like she did over the last brownie last weekend. Remember that? We had to pull them apart.”

“I swear, sometimes I wonder how they’re even friends.” Lucas snickers quietly.

Eddie nudges Dustin at some point during the negotiations and he nods to you. “Do they uh… Does this happen a lot?”

“We tried to tell you, idiot. She’s very… strong willed.” Lucas answered, a hand on his hip.

“She negotiated my mom into a 1 am curfew once. Mom was so pissed when she realized what she’d agreed to.” Dustin snickered.

“She’d argue with a brick wall, Munson.” Mike states with a shrug. “But hey, be my guest.”

“Just know that the party has rules about our family.” Dustin says it with a calm smirk.

“And there are no takebacks.” Lucas is grinning, amused little shit.

“Rules?” Eddie scoffs.

“Yeah. Rules.”

“You three little shits sound like the mafia right now.” Eddie laughs as he says it.

Then he clears his throat.

“Ladies.” he fixes his gaze on you and Astrid, who are happily sitting on the gravel, trying to cuddle six little kittens. “Maybe it’s a good idea to take them in. Leave them with the nurse?”

You and Astrid share a look.

“Should we?” Astrid questions you. You shrug but you’re lost in his damned stupid doe eyes again, so naturally, you don’t look away to look at her.

“I mean… at least then she could feed them til we’re done with school.” you muse quietly and you finally make yourself look away.

“And our shared after school detention.” Astrid swears quietly. “No fuckin thanks, Henderson.”

“You went along with it, Cooper.” you assert.

You gaze at Eddie. “Fine.” you pout a little. “But only so these lil nuggets get food when they need it. And if that old bat even thinks she’s getting one of ‘em, she’s not.”

“Again.. Pretty sure Mom said specifically no more animals.” Dustin points out.

“And?” you shrug it off.

“Dustin, just give it up. She literally never listens, buddy.”

“She’s so fucking stubborn.” Lucas laughs as he shakes his head.

– ( later that afternoon )

“Dustin.”

Dustin whirls around to look at you. “Oh god, what now?” is the first thing he asks, which makes you pout. You twist some hair around your finger and laugh. “Do you still have your little thing? The make believe game?”

“DnD, gremlin. It’s DnD. It’s a tabletop rpg, not make believe.”

“Whatever, same thing.” you laugh softly.

“Yeah, we have a meeting. Why?”

You shrug. “Do you guys like… Bring food to these?”

Dustin’s brow raises.

“A cake, doofus. I made a cake. In stupid Home Ec.”

“You mean you didn’t light the stove on fire?” Dustin taunts you and you pout, snatching the covered cake dish away. Dustin is a sucker for chocolate though, so he pouts. “C’mon.. Please?”

“Okay, alright. It’s just to thank you guys for earlier.” you shrug it off.

“How is the little army of demons anyway?” Dustin asks as he takes the cake dish from your arms.

“The nurse mixed them up something that’s close to their mother’s milk. Says they’re eating it like crazy. She gave me the recipe, so before I take you three dorks home later, we gotta go by the market. And the vet because Astrid said her mom would look at ‘em and try to make sure they’re all healthy.”

Dustin grumbles, but he nods. “Okay, alright.”

“Parking lot. After your meeting. Cos detention will be over for me like, two minutes later. Five if I get bored and crawl out the window again for funsies.”

“You are the sole reason for every single one of our mother’s gray hairs.” Dustin palms his face as he says it.

“And yours, sweet little old man.” you reach out to fluff his hair as you taunt him. Dustin makes an annoyed face and steps away. “Don’t be weird, damn it.”

You pout. “Oh come onnnnn. You’re my little brother.” you’re doing it again, just to get under his skin. Maybe embarrass him just a little. But you’d never admit it. You’re happy he’s at the same school as you are now. You always worried about him and his little friends getting picked on and you not being able to be around to stop it.

“Don’t you have detention to be getting to?” Dustin questions.

“Yeah, right. That shit.”

“Do I need to escort you?” Dustin asks, smirking a little when you flip him off and pout. “I’m goin, I’m goin.”

As you walk away grumbling, Dustin makes his way into the classroom the Hellfire Club is meeting at only to come in on the tail end of exactly how you and Astrid managed to get yourself a detention.

“Wait.. That’s what she did?” Dustin questions, trying not to laugh.

Eddie nods to the cake dish in Dustin’s arms. “What’s that?”

“My sister, uh.. She had to bake this in Home Ec. So she gave it to me before I came in. She said it was a thank you for helping her earlier.”

“You mean the teacher finally let her use the oven again?” Mike questions, snickering to himself when Dustin flips him off. “Ha fucking ha, Wheeler.”

“That chocolate?” Lucas’s head snaps up.

“Chocolate cake.” Dustin answers.

– ( meanwhile, in detention + after detention )

“The old bat is napping. Are we making our early retreat now?” Astrid asks you the question as she bounces a paper ball off your nose. You look up from the book you’d stolen out of the library’s trash bin during homeroom and yawn as you give her the thumbs up.

“Shit. She didn’t leave the window open.” you frown as you glance over to the row of windows lining one wall.

“And the door creaks too loud.” Astrid points out.

You grumble, but then inspiration strikes.

“Mrs. Bennett?”

The sleeping teacher comes to. “Can you at least try not to make another visit soon, you two?” she asks, still half asleep and not even realizing that she’s just let you both go an entire five and a half minutes earlier than she was supposed to.

You and Astrid are bursting through the door and into the hallway, laughing chaos.

You rush into the bathroom and when you hear the sound of someone vomiting in the end stall, you hold a finger to your lips and share a look while cringing.

Then Chrissy walks out, dragging the back of her hand across her mouth and suddenly, you feel ten times as bad as you thought you did earlier for walking away. And you want to do something, you want to say something to her.

But words won’t come.

And she won’t even look you in the eye as she passes.

Once she’s rinsed her mouth and walked out of the bathroom, Astrid sighs quietly. “My mom says her mom’s a real bitch. Did you know her mom wouldn’t even let her have real cake at her birthday? That’s what one of the girls in homeroom who went to her stupid party told me.”

You can only nod.

“Yeah. Mrs. Cunningham’s a real piece of fuckin work. She hates me. Hates my mom more though because my mom called her out on her shit years ago. Then suddenly, the ice queen can’t allow her perfect little daughter to be seen in breathing distance–” you shake your head sadly and frown. “It doesn’t matter, she chose those shitheads. Jason treats her like shit and she still dates his pathetic ass.”

“Look, she was your best friend. It’s okay to be a little mad. I-I.. I didn’t get it before. But I do now. Maybe there’s something we can do?” Astrid is giving you that look and you shake your head swiftly, every intention to shut it down.

But then Chrissy steps into view.

“When I said I was sorry earlier,” Chrissy fumbles with her words like she’s twisting a blonde strand around her fingertip. “I meant it. I just.. You know how my mother is.I didn’t have a choice, okay? I just…” she trails off and wipes at her eyes. “I needed you to know that.”

“What the hell is she doing to you, Cunningham?” you ask quietly.

“It’s more what am I doing to myself now.” she sighs sadly. “Because if I don’t give them all what they want, I’m worthless.”

“You’re not a goddamn show pony!” you assert.

“She’s right. Blunt as usual, but right.” Astrid says it more gently. Giving you a warning elbow in your side.

You give her a calm shrug. You realize you’re not as gentle as she is, but in this case, it’s fear for your ex best friend that’s taken over.

“Look.” you shuffle your boots against the bathroom floor. “If you need me.” you trail off, Astrid speaking up quietly, “Us. If she needs us.” she corrects, giving Chrissy her best wary grin, “Come find us, alright?”

Chrissy looks back at both of you, equally wary.

“I,uh.. If I don’t get back out there, Jason’s gonna be mad.”

“Fuck that fuckin fuck.” you mumble, another warning nudge from Astrid. You apologize quietly, but you nod. “I mean it, Cunningham. I still live in the same house and my mom is always there, no matter the time.”

“I know, I just…” Chrissy sighs. She wants to say something, she just can’t. And she’s mortified that she’s been caught. That somebody knows her secret.

Chrissy gives you both an unexpected hug and hurries out of the bathroom and you turn your attention to the mirror, reapplying the deep crimson lip stain and pouting at the mirror. Astrid waits by the door, packing her pack of cigarettes. “Mom said she’d go ahead and worm the babies tonight.”

“Okay, good. This gives me time to at least halfway prepare my mom for her three furry grandchildren’s arrival.”

“You really are committed to this crazy cat lady bit, huh?” Astrid laughs as she gazes at you.

You grin. “Animals can’t hurt you like people seem to enjoy doing. I’m not wasting my time saving the animals.”

“Not like you were with… The asshole.”

“Exactly. I’m fine, Astrid, do not start, alright? It still hurts. Just.. Not as much.”

“Good. I can’t handle you when you’re all mopey and moody.”

“I can’t handle me either.” you laugh when you say it, but the truth is, you can’t.

You wander out into the hallway around the exact same time your little brother and his two friends come out the door to the Drama class with Eddie, Jeff and Gareth behind them. You bite your lip and make yourself look anywhere but Eddie Munson. Just for a little further help, you remind yourself about what you literally just talked to Astrid about in the bathroom not even three seconds ago.

You’re sticking to it, doe eyes be damned.

Because Eddie Munson is probably a heartbreaker, just like your ex. Just like over half of the guys you know.

And you’ve always stuck to the belief that maybe it’s better if your infatuations remain just that. It’s gotta be better than letting somebody in only to discover they’re not what you thought, they’re using you or they don’t actually care about you -like your father when he walked away from your mother, you and your little brother and went out to get himself an entire new family as far away from the three of you as he could get.

Daddy issues, sure.

You’ll gladly admit to having them.

“Your cake was a hit.” Dustin grins as he hands back an empty cake dish. You smile and slip an arm around your brother, who immediately scowls and pries your arm down. “Not here, damn it.”

“Dustinnnnnn.” you whine.

“Damn it.” he grumbles.

“Hey, uh… Are you baking anything else?” Gareth has popped up beside you. You glance up at him and smirk. Shrugging. “Depends.”

“ The chocolate chip cookies, woman!” Lucas and Mike chorus from nearby.

“Okay, alright. Fiiiine.” you laugh. “I suppose I could make some cookies.”

Gareth chuckles. And he’s giving you this little grin. And you bite your lip and try to pretend you don’t know exactly what he’s up to but he makes it so painfully obvious. When he asks if you want to rent some movies on Friday night, you sigh and shake your head. “Gareth, no.”

He gives a little frown but he nods.

And maybe some of Astrid’s gentle nature is finally rubbing off of you or maybe it’s having recently had your own heart ripped right out and crushed. You tap his shoulder and he looks down at you. “Yeah?”

“I’m not in the right headspace right now. I swear, it’s uh.. It’s not a you thing, Emerson. You’re a real sweet guy, just… I don’t wanna lead you on or anything.” you catch sight of Astrid checking him out and you nudge him, nodding in her direction when you’re sure she’s looked away. “Astrid really likes you anyway. I mean, she really likes you. Your little band is the reason she got grounded not long ago.”

Gareth rubs the back of his neck and chuckles. “She is kinda cute.”

“Dude, she’s freaking hot, okay? Go for it.” you encourage.

He smiles and nods. You shuffle away, catching up to your brother and his two friends, who are walking up ahead with Eddie Munson. You pop up right between Eddie and your little brother, laughing. “Hiiiii.”

“Gareth asked you again, huh?” Jeff laughs as he asks the question.

“Mhm.. But I let him down gentle. And told ‘im that Astrid’s in love with him because it’s not like she’ll ever fuckin do it.” you smile at Jeff and shrug.

Eddie’s gazing down at you thoughtfully when Jeff says something to him so he misses it the first time.

Dustin’s looking from you to Eddie and back again, rolling his eyes as soon as the realization of what’s happening right in front of him occurs to him.

Eddie talked about you -and asked entirely too many questions, for most of the little meeting.

To say you definitely got his attention was a bit of an understatement at this point.

The poor bastard was tripping and about to fall right into feelings headfirst.

“Hey, dustball..”

“Yes, gremlin?”

“Hold my backpack while I go pick up my babies.”

“You realize those are not your children, right?” Dustin laughs and shakes his head at you.

“Hmmph. So you say.” you pout as you stop in front of the door to the nurses office and disappear inside. Astrid and Gareth come in a few seconds later and after you’ve gotten the kittens, some droppers to feed them with and instructions from the nurse, you all venture out into the hallway.

Eddie is waiting, talking to your brother quietly.

As you approach, Dustin is kind of grinning, kind of like he knows something you don’t. And before you can say anything, Dustin speaks up.

“You’re tutoring again this year, right?” he asks.

“Yeah?” you scratch your head as you look at your brother. “Why?”

Eddie clears his throat. “The guidance counselor, she’s been… Ya know.. Riding my ass again. Says I need a certain grade in classes to graduate.”

You’re getting sucked into his eyes. The smoke colored kitten has taken it upon himself to crawl up and nest in your hair, cozied up to your shoulders and neck. You finally realize what Eddie’s hinting at and you smile.

“You want me to tutor you… Right?”

“Yeah? I mean if you don’t mind.” Eddie says it fast enough that he stumbles over the words a little. You smile and nod. “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

Eddie grins. “Great.”

“So, look.. If you wanna start tonight, that’s awesome. And our mom is making homemade beef stew.” you smirk a little as you say it and Eddie laughs. “I’ll come by later. I’ve uh.. I gotta go to the laundromat first.”

“Uh, we have a washer and dryer.”

“You don’t mind?”

“No, why would I?” you shrug.

It’s not like it’s a big deal anyway, your mom’s always after both you and Dustin to be helpful and decent to other people. And while yes, you may have just the teeniest crush on Eddie Munson, it’s not like he actually likes you back.

And friends are always a good thing to have.

Besides, this is just tutoring… Right?

#eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x henderson!fem reader imagine #eddie munson x henderson!fem reader fanfiction

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justdreamsandmusic · 1 year

Text

from reddit

https://www.reddit.com/r/SCP/comments/kff6mm/does_anyone_else_miss_the_old_scp_166/

Sending out a bunch of thoughts here ;I

I'm writing something that I hope people might like, involving this very issue. While agreeing the original writes of 166 were not really sexist so much as slightly misognystic of a writing community, "Dear Epon/nna" according to Djoric & or "Dear Meri"/diana according to Clef (both 1st names a 1st & middle name?) really touched a "Dear 4 Letter Name" myself back in the day so that's at least a starting point & there's so much room with Eponna being a real Celtic'Ghaulish deitess, Dr. Clef being whatever he is with or without the 4231 rewrite & in both the actual writer Clefs headcanon, their wife being named "Lily" (or Lileth? Lilith?) both with SCP 336 & or 4231-"A" & in canon at least what isn't rewritten, Iris Thompson "105" being an SCP that was allowed to be in a Mobile Task Force lead BY an SCP, (if u didn't know about Omega 7, it's Able.) & fanart of 105 & 166 together, let alone people who ship Clef & Kondraki together, throwing Draven into the mix? There's a lot that can be done besides the 0166 rewrite giving Epon or Meri some autonomy yet also having her be if not evil, ruthless?

(It's a headcanon verse where 4231 is definitely Clefs backstory; Wikipedias real scale tenor example being 4321 btw & yet also, they might be a reincarnating being? Clef the writer did mention his character is the Devil yet not in a traditional way. Adam Al Asem or Adam Ben Yawhwh? Adam Ben AlLAN Asem'aeYawh?)

I also find it strange how it went from Epon "needing" to ingest Human semen in the "Teenage Succubi" version to that being replaced yet INSTEAD, she & or they? It (like their father?) can't enjoy smoking because they get ulcers? The Agent Ukulele file mentions under ALT-erations & Talents; "Polymorphic Features." Is it possible Epon ("I'm just a Teenage Gaia-LAN-ETWORK DESIGNED TO DESTROY.") was milking the Foundation for all it was worth & faking not being able to smoke or be around smoke?

(Would Iris try out bringing cigarettes into Site 19 from MTF-Omega-7 as if there isn’t a chance an Arizona girl wouldn’t smoke, even as a teen? Chances that Epon was possibly jealous of the fact Iris got to join Omega-7?) Wouldn't the GOC & SCPFoundation in a 4231 Universe want to start employing Type Greens, Blues & Yellows instead of Ichabould Campaign genociding them & using them for SRA battery packs?

Considering "The Jailers" as a term & Ezkett Ligatures (& if Clef is at least by last name, partly Pol-SK-i, I wonder if Lilith was at least partly German? The rewrite 0166 has E/M as Sumerian); - ''SC-HßZ-RA''

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luthwhore · 10 months

Note

Could you share a post or make a post about some tumblr etiquette/ rules for me to give for a mutual, please

i know i've reblogged some posts about them before but i'm having trouble finding them 😭

one of my favorite tumblr historian youtubers, @strange-aeons, has a video about tumblr etiquette and how to set up a blog here, though! the video is a little long, but she has some really good information advice there!

just a few personal tips, though:

make sure to add an icon and set up your profile a little bit! you don't necessarily need to add a header, turning it off is fine, but just having a blog title and some basic info about yourself is usually good.

make sure you go into your settings and turn of "best stuff first" and "in your orbit" if you want your dash in chronological order and to only see people you follow.

download the "xkit rewritten" app. it's available on both chrome and firefox and it will add a lot of quality-of-life features that make tumblr more user-friendly.

when you tag an original post with something, people can find your post by those tags. it's generally considered bad etiquette to put hate for a character/ship in that thing's tag. also, make sure to only tag relevant tags as well, because at best you'll annoy people and at worst you'll get reported for spamming.

reblog content that you like, ESPECIALLY fanart and gifsets. because tumblr isn't algorithm-based, likes don't do very much to boost content.

tagging reblogs does NOT show up in the tags and is primarily for organizing your own blog. you can also use the tags for commentary or jokes -- think of "conversational tags" like talking to your followers.

adding content directly to a post on a reblog (rather than tagging) is usually something people reserve for thoughtful additions to the post, like meta or in-depth conversation. basically ask yourself: would someone reblogging this from me want to reblog this with what i have added? if not, it might be better left in the tags.

use the filters & the block tool if there's content that upsets you and you don't want to see, especially if you're into fandom content and go in the tags a lot.

use the queue! this is one of the best features on tumblr. because people tend to use the dash in chronological order, if you want to reblog a lot of content -- esp if you're reblogging a lot of content from one single user -- using the queue will spread out your reblogs so that you're not flooding the dash.

don't censor yourself by putting letters/numbers/punctuation in the middle of words for sensitive topics, because this prevents people from filtering these things. usually, if you want to tag something for being sensitive content, it's best to tag it with "#[topic]" or "#[topic] cw"/"#[topic] tw" so that people can block these tags.

i'm sure there's more but these are the things that come to might off-hand!

#i hope this helps anon! <3 #if i see any other posts about tumblr etiquette i'll try to reblog them for you too!

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browningandreasen7 · 2 years

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waitimcomingtoo · 3 years

Text

In Case You Don’t Live Forever

~chapter eleven rewritten~

Pairing: Peter Parker x Venom!Reader

Synopsis: you are Peters greatest love and Spider-Man’s greatest enemy

Series Masterlist

In Case You Don’t Live Forever by Ben Platt

The next morning at 6 am, you got in a taxi and made your way to the airport. You packed up all your clothes the night before and told MJ to ship anything else to you. You figured if you waited until a few months, things between you and Peter would be settled and it wouldn’t be too awkward. Or sad. You mainly felt sad.

The sun was rising and your cab sat in stand still traffic. You wiped a few stray tears and looked out the window. You noticed a few people standing by the edge of the highway, taking pictures of the bridge. You couldn’t see because of the glare of the sun in your eyes. You figured it was a sky writer or something like that. But then you noticed people getting out of their cars to take pictures.

“What’s going on?” You asked the cab driver. He turned around. He was an older man with grey hair and thin, black tinted sunglasses. A kind smile poked out from under his mustache.

“There’s something written on the bridge.” He answered.

“Something on the bridge?” You asked.

“See for yourself. We’re not moving anytime soon.”

You got out of the car and squinted in the bridge. Your heart immediately stopped at what you saw. You walked towards the edge of the highway and leaned against the railing. Tears trickled down your eyes, happy ones this time. You blinked them away, not wanting anything to obstruct your view of the bridge.

There on the bridge in big webbed letters spelled out the undeniable phrase:

I LOVE YOU

Just as you were admiring it, Spider-Man swung down and swept you up in his arms. You heard applause and cheering as you two swung away. You held on tightly, as did Spider-Man. He landed on the top of one of the posts of the bridge and set you down, never taking his arms off of your waist. Likewise, you kept your arms around his neck and pressed your body close.

Peter quickly took off his mask and smiled at you. His eyes were puffy, surely from crying. But the loving look in his eyes remained.

“Did you get my message?” He asked excitedly.

“What message?” You played coy.

“On the bridge.” Peter said, not detecting your sarcasm.

“Oh, that was you? I couldn’t make it out. What did it say?” You asked. You knew exactly what it said.

“It said I love you.” Peter said proudly. “It was gonna say ‘I love you Y/n L/n please don’t move to San Francisco’ but I was on a time crunch and it’s very hard to write things on a bridge in webs. I practiced on the Brooklyn Bridge first and I accidentally wrote ‘I larb you.’ But that wasn’t what I wanted to say. What I wanted to say is, you’re wrong. You’re wrong about us being on different paths. We’re not on different paths, Y/n. Because you’re my path. I’ll give up Spider-Man. He means nothing to me if I don’t have you. I mean it. You and I are meant to be. If I know anything at all to be true, it’s that. I can’t imagine life without you. So if you go to San Francisco, I’m coming too. Hell, wherever you go, I’m coming too. They have crime in San Francisco, right? What I’m trying to say is, I love you, Y/n L/n. I am so in love with you. And nothing can keep me away.” Peter professed. You held him tighter and pressed your nose into his.

“I love you too, Peter Parker.” You whispered. “With all my heart.”

“Then will you stay with me? Or allow me to come with you?” Peter asked hopefully.

How could you say no? Every time you thought you could shut the door on Peter, he found a window.

“The world is rooting against us Peter.” You said. His face fell and his grip on your hips loosened. “But if it’s you and me against the world, then so be it.”

Peters smile lit up his entire face when you finished your sentence. He dipped you and kissed you passionately.

“I love you. I love you so much. I can never say it enough.” Peter said as he pressed kisses into your neck.

“I love you too.” You said back. You knew you should feel terrified given your fear of heights, but you couldn’t feel safer in Peters iron grip.

“Can we go home? I need to hold you for an entire day to make up for the time we were broken up.” Peter asked. You laughed.

“We were broken up for less than 8 hours.” You reminded him.

“8 hours of pure torture.” He fake gasped.

“Come on. Let’s get your stuff from the cab and go home. Did I mention you’re moving in? And that we’re getting married? Also what are we naming our children? Do you want it get a cat together?” Peter joked as he tightened his grip around your waist. A part of you hoped he wasn’t joking though. You wanted that with Peter. All of that. Even that cat.

“Does our apartment even allow cats?” You laughed.

“No.” He shook his head. “But if my baby wants one, we’ll get one. I want to start our lives now. I don’t want to miss another second apart from you. I’m serious. Never leave me again.” Peter said, tugging you into a tight hug. He nuzzled into your neck and pressed soft kisses there.

“I won’t. I won’t ever. I promise.”

Peter swung you back to the apartment after collecting your things from the cab. You spent the day in Peters bed just cuddling and talking about all the things you never could before.

“And then he told me you were going back to San Francisco to be with him.” Peter laughed as he told you about his encounter with Andy.

“I can’t believe he lied to you like that.” You shook your head. “He’s such an idiot.”

“He would’ve been a dead idiot if I had known he kissed you.” Peter joked.

“Hm. And I thought I was the only killer here.” You smirked as you pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“What are your powers?” Peter asked as he brushed your hair out of your face. You kissed his thumb lightly.

“Same as you. Super strength, super hearing, climbing walls. And I have acid spit and resistivity to bullets. But I don’t have your uh…Peter tingle.” You told him. Peter chuckled softly.

“It’s called my spidey sense.” Peter corrected.

“That’s really not much better than Peter tingle.” You teased.

“Shut up. What about your weaknesses?” Peter asked. You toyed with his fingers.

“Fire. And sound. We hate sound.” You said.

“All sounds?” Peter asked curiously.

“No. Not all sounds. Just loud ones. Car alarms, feedback, amps, things like that.” You answered.

“What happens to you when you encounter fire or sound?”

“What’s with all the questions? You’re not trying to take me down, are you?” You teased. Peter laughed and shook his head.

“No. I just want to know everything about you.”

“Well sound makes Venom separate from me. And fire kills.” You said, remembering that night on Carlton Drakes rocket when the fire killed him and Riot.

“Both of you die?” He asked nervously.

“Both of us. Venom and I keep each other alive. If we were separated, we’d both die.” You told Peter. Peter looked at the ceiling with a weird look on his face. His heart was beating extremely fast. You took it as him being scared of you dying.

“But don’t worry about that. Venom and I are never going to be separated. No one knows our weaknesses.” You assured Peter. You felt a little strange sharing all your weaknesses with your former enemy, but you knew Peter would never try to hurt you it use them against you.

“What about you? What are your weaknesses?” You asked.

“You.” Peter smiled. You smiled back before something shiny in his closet caught your eye.

“Is that a keyboard?” You asked as you sat up and went into his closet. Peter sat up as well and rubbed his eyes.

“Oh, yeah. I used to play when I was younger. My uncle taught me. Do you play?”

You retrieved the keyboard and sat on Peters bed, answered his question by playing a few notes. Peter scooted next to you and slipped an arm around your waist.

“Play me something.” Peter said softly. It wasn’t demanding, it was a sweet request.

“I haven’t in so long.” You muttered as you began to press down on a few random keys. The keyboard made strangled sounds at first until you slowly began playing a song you had fallen in love with.

“I, I’ve carried this song in my mind. Listen, it’s echoing in me. But I haven’t helped you to hear it.”

You sang softly as you got the hang of playing the keyboard again. Peter looked wonderstruck at you. He didn’t know you had such a lovely voice. He didn’t recognize the song but he wanted to hear you play forever.

“We, we’ve only got so much time. I’m pretty sure it would kill me if you didn’t know the pieces of me are pieces of you.”

You sang with a little more confidence as the song progressed. Your voice wasn’t great but it was everything and more to Peter. Peter began to pick up on the pattern you were playing and softly rested his hands on the keys on his side.

“I’ve waited way too long to say everything you mean to me.” you dragged out the last note before going all in on the keyboard.

“In case you don’t live forever, let me tell you now. I love you more than you’ll ever wrap your head around.” You looked into Peters eyes and he looked deeply into yours. He leaned in so that his lips ghosted yours, but never touched.

“In case you don’t live forever, let me tell you the truth. I’m everything that I am because of you.”

You felt tears of joy pricking at your eyes. Peter felt it too. The moment was pure bliss. It was just you and the boy you loved. Nothing could ruin it.

“I have a hero whenever I need one. I just look up to you and I see one. I’m a man ‘cause you taught me to be one.”

Peter liked the hero line. It made the song perfect, like it was written just for the two of you. He had begun to play along with you and you finished out the song together, never breaking eye contact.

“In case you don’t live forever, let me tell you the truth. As long as I’m here as I am, so are you.” You finished. You and Peter took your hands off the keyboard and immediately pulled the other into a kiss. The keyboard fell to the floor with a clang but you didn’t even hear it.

“I love you. More than anything this world has to offer.” Peter said against your lips. You smiled and kissed him again. He tasted like strawberry chapstick this time. It was yours. He must’ve swiped it from you one day. You didn’t mind.

“Did you steal my chapstick?” You giggled against his mouth.

“Yes. But you stole my heart. Fair trade.” He argued playfully. You laughed and kissed his cheeks.

“It’s okay. You can keep it. What’s mine is yours and what’s yours is ours.” You told him as you ran your fingers through his chestnut hair.

“That’s so cute.” Peter whined.

“I know. I stole it from the Little Rascals.” You admitted sheepishly. He hit you with his pillow before tackling you onto the bed.

You spent the remainder of the day just like that until you had to leave for your final interview with Cletus Kasady.

“Y/n! My favorite gal. Sit down. I have so much to tell you. I got something real good for your story.” Cletus said upon your entry into his cell. You’d been interviewing him for about three months now. It was almost July and you two met in April. You had come to trust him and no longer needed a security guard to stand in the room with you while you talked. You also graduated from talking through those glass windows with telephones on either side to being allowed into his cell. He was still handcuffed to his chair and kept in a cage, so you had no fear of him harming you. You’d actually come to like him in a way. Sure, he killed people, but so had you. He was still charismatic and made you laugh every now and then.

“Nice to see you Cletus. What do you have to tell me?” You asked as you took a seat. Your eyes wandered to the partial wall at the bottom of his cage. You had grown accustomed to his habit of writing on his cell walls with his own blood, but this particular message made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. In big bloody letters it read:

WELCOME VENOM

You swallowed despite your throat being bone dry. Cletus gave you his signature smirk.

“I got me a bug. Just like you.” He drawled. He smiled at your proudly. You felt yourself beginning to sweat.

“A bug?” You asked.

“Are you familiar with the concept of asexual reproduction?” Cletus questioned. You nodded.

“Yes. It’s what plants do. Why?” You asked back. Where was he going with this?

“Not just plants. Symbiotes too.” Cletus stated. Your body went cold with fear. You immediately felt uneasy with the way he was looking at you. He didn’t blink, and had his face frozen with that smirk.

“Y/n.” Venom said cautiously. She held your hand and gripped it tightly for comfort.

“I’m sorry?” You asked. Your voice came out barely above a whisper.

“Yup. And sometimes, they don’t even know when they asexually reproduce. It could happen anywhere. Even in a prison cell.” Cletus continued. You began to piece together the story. Cletus suddenly leaned forward, as far as he could go with his restraints and lowered his voice.

“You and I are no different. We’re both killers. But you get to roam the streets freely while we’re stuck in here, starving. Does that sound fair?” Cletus asked. His eyes weren’t his anymore. They were milky white and bulging. You scooted your chair back in fear.

“No.” You said. You didn’t want to anger him so you agreed with him.

“No. It’s not. That’s why we’re breaking out of here. And when we do, there’s gonna be Carnage.” Cletus smirked, his eyes back to normal now. You trembled slightly.

Cletus Kasady had a symbiote of his own. One that was stronger and deadly than yours. At least Venom bonded to a reporter with morals. Carnage bonded with a serial killer. They made for a lethal combination and you knew you couldn’t stop the havoc that was coming.

“We want you to join us, Y/n.” Cleatus drawled. “You and Venom. Imagine the power we could have. The city would be ours. We could do whatever we want.”

You felt sweat running down the sides of your face as you carefully thought out what you said next.

“Thank you for the offer, but we have to decline. We’re not like you. We only kill very bad people. Cletus, you killed 17 women just because they resembled the girl who broke your heart in high school. We don’t see things the same way.” You told him slowly. Cletus’s face fell.

“I thought you were my friend. I don’t have any friends in here. Nobody wants to be friends with a serial killer. The only person who was ever nice to me was you.” Cletus said sadly. You let out a shaky breath. You felt a little sorry for him, despite his lethal intentions.

“I know and I’m sorry. But Venom and I aren’t killers.” You said in your calmest tone.

“Yes, you are. Whether you like it or not, you will always have to kill to feed. You’ve been a good person your whole life, Y/n. What has it gotten you? You told me about your parents. Did being a good person keep them alive? And what about Andy? You exposed Carlton Drake because you’re a good person, and Andy still broke up with you. Why not throw your morals away and just be the monster you were meant to be?” Cletus persuaded. Your fear turned to sadness quickly and hot tears spilled down your cheeks.

“I am not a monster.” You said angrily. “We are not a monster.”

“But you are. The sooner you realize it, the freer you’ll be. It’s your choice.” Cletus shrugged.

“We choose to be good.” You said firmly. Cletus gave you a disappointed nod.

“Carnage told me you’d say that. I told him you were different. I guess I was wrong. I’m going to be sorry to see you go.” Cletus said sadly.

“See me go?” You asked.

“Carnage said anyone who stands in the way must die. That means you, Venom, Spider-Man, and anyone else who tries to stop us from taking over New York.”

You felt sick to your stomach. Killing you was one thing, but Spider-Man? Peter hadn’t done anything to Carnage. Why was Peter a Target?

“Please don’t hurt Spider-Man. You can kill me but please, don’t touch him.” You begged. Cletus smirked.

“Looks like Carnage was right about that too.” Cletus chuckled.

“Right about what?” You asked. Cletus seemed to be conversing with Carnage in his head.

“Right about there being something going on between you and Spider-Man. I’ll do my best to keep Carnage away from him, but I don’t have much control. So no promises. Even though you let me down, I have a liking for you Y/n. You knew what I did to those women and you still agreed to write an article on me and hear my side of the story. Most people wanted to lock me up and throw away the key. Not you. You listened. We won’t hurt him. But we want a deal.” Cletus stated.

“What deal?” You asked bitterly.

“We want a battle. A fair one. Venom vs. Carnage. If you win, we’ll go back to Klyntar. But if we win, you become apart of our team and we destroy New York together, starting with everyone who got me thrown in this hell hole. Do we have a deal?” Cletus asked. You didn’t want to agree to it but you knew you had no other choice. Carnage was strong but he lacked the impeccable bond you had with Venom. You were confident in Venoms abilities in a fight. Your solemnly nodded your head.

“It’s a deal. When?”

“Tonight at midnight on top of the Oscorp building. Don’t be late.” Cletus said. Before you could answer, the security guard came in.

“The hour is up, Miss L/n. It’s time for Cletus’s meal.” The guard said. Your checked your watch. It was in fact 7 o’clock. The hour had gone the fastest it ever had. You shot Cletus one last look before you thanked the security guard and left. You could feel his smirk watching you as you went.

“Peter? Y/n’s at the front door.” May called from the kitchen. Peter perked up at the slightest mention of your name.

Peter went to his front door and saw you were still dressed in nice clothes for your interview. Peter loved your usual laid back style but he also loved seeing you dressed up. It reminded him of how bad ass you were.

“Hi.” You said shyly, noticing him staring.

“Hey.” He said back. “What’s up?”

“Can we talk in the hall?” You asked. Peter nodded gravely and followed you out into the hall. He shut the door behind him and turned to face you.

“Y/n-“ he began.

“I came here to break up with you.” You interrupted. Peter eyes snapped from the floor to your face. You didn’t seem upset. You seemed almost excited. Peter felt the opposite.

“Wh-“ Peter began but you cut him off again.

“Let me finish. I came here to break up with you. But I’m not going to do that anymore.” You clarified. “Peter, there’s a very bad man after me. I just found out that Carnage bonded with Cletus Kasady. He’s stronger than me, faster than me, and more deadly than me. He’s asked me to join his side and I said no. Now, he’s going to kill me. And he said he’s going to kill you too. I have until midnight until the fight.”

“Okay.” Peter followed along. “So what about the breakup?”

“I figured I’d come here and break up with you, and not just break up but really break your heart. I was gonna tell you I cheated on you and if that didn’t work I was gonna say I was using you to get over Andy and that I still loved him. All lies, by the way. My heart beats for only you. But I thought that if I made you hate me, Carnage would have no reason to go after you and he’d leave you alone. So that was my plan when I left the prison. But as I drove here, I remembered I wasn’t just dating some guy. I remembered was dating Spider-Man.” You said proudly, and Peter grinned.

“What I’m trying to say is, I believe in you. I know you’re strong and capable of anything you put your mind to. You’re extraordinary, Peter. And I don’t have to protect you, as much as I might want to. So, I did come here to break up with you. But now that I’m here, I’m asking you to fight Carnage with me. I want you by my side when I fight the biggest battle of my life. What do you say? Will you help me, Spider-Man?”

“I will.” He said confidently. “Thank you for believing in me.”

“Thanks for giving me something to believe in.” You shrugged.

You spent the remaining hours before midnight coming up with a strategy with Peter. Soon enough, it was time to meet Cleatus on the roof. You and Peter swung there, shaking with anticipation as Cleatus arrived. You held Peter’s hand through this suit, still not in your Venom form. Cleatus looked between the two of you, and then at your intertwined hands.  “Remember when you said I could kill you if I left Spiderman alone?” Cleatus asked through a wicked smile. Peter looked at you, confused as to why you would say that as you nodded.

“Well, I’d like to take you up on that.” Cleatus said as he morphed into Carnage. He grabbed Peter in a quick movement and threw him off the roof, leaving you alone with him. You ran in the director that Peter was thrown but Carnage caught you and dragged you to him, stepping on your neck to keep you down.

“Told you.” He snarled in your ear. “There’s gonna be carnage.”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker x venom!reader #venom!reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #iron man #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction

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seventfics · 3 years

Photo

Prickly Urchin

Written for @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Prompt: Cursed Relationships: Emhyr var Emreis/Sigismund Dijkstra Rating: T (Swearing Language) Content Warnings: None Summary: Few people still alive can say they've met the emperor before his ascension to the Nilfgaardian throne. A young Count Sigismund Dijkstra is one of them. It's just that neither of them knew.

Read on AO3

* * *

“Ah, my friends. Let me introduce you to Count Sigismund.”

Three old gentlemen turn from their muted conversation to look at him—look up at him. Rare to find a man taller than himself, and today is not that day. Dijkstra keeps his smile pleasant as the eldest of the bunch gives him a firm handshake with a not-so-kind side-eye to his build.

This is the first of his ‘courtly’ parties.

In Dijkstra’s mind, the party is merely reconnaissance. In such small and comfortable confines, he can overhear the concerns of the noble elite as they are being spoken aloud, and not from a spy’s penned cipher. He can make note of their political conflicts with each other, their plans for retirement, and if any of it involves the Redanian crown.

He is an agent first. Count is just what the king has chosen him honorable of, and one more weapon to add to his slowly-expanding network.

Of course, attending personally means actually having to mingle and talk with the peacocking arseholes, which is a fucking pain in the bollocks.

He hates the attention his height affords him in times like these. Being noticed means more people bother him with questions and curiosities. But, it also brings whispers to him, names to remember and investigate later.

Adapting is part of a spy's job.

“I’m a humble servant of the king,” he tells the few who look to be snooping too closely at his unfamiliar presence.

“I am a lettered man of Oxenfurt,” he tells the ones who are searching for a status to preen about.

The rest simply get his name, and the evening fest continues.

He doesn’t care about what the evening is about. The important people, the connections, the information—that’s all that matters. Not the distasteful night’s attraction.

"You must stay for midnight, Sigismund. I've a delightful surprise planned for rare auction."

"Is that so?"

The rich love their parties, he knows, and oh how they love a little risqué presentation to end the night.

He is aware of what attending such a fete would also do to his reputation, but that is why, just as they bring out the girls who look too young to be drinking the chilled wine, he slips away into darkened hallways. No one will remember his face among the partying crowd. After a few rounds of drinks, no one will remember the face of the person that sat next to them all night. And he is counting on that.

Most of the guests have been asked to stay confined to the great hall, with servants moving in and out of special doors that connect to the residence’s kitchens. Dijkstra had been tracking the timing of the servant rotations, waiting for the right opportunity to slip through so his evening could start.

The manor is enormous, full of halls and a dozen small rooms, each with their own designated purpose. A book reading room. A letter reading room. A room that appears to be a library, with all of its books covered in dust as if no one’s moved them in a decade. Certainly the lord of the house has too much time in his fucking hands to have a room dedicated to books he won’t read.

Still, Dijkstra makes note of everything in his mental map. Such a place would rarely get visitors, none but a snoop like him on a night like this.

How strange though. A useless, dusty room for a dozen and more servants to ignore. The rest of the house looks so spotless. Smells like secrets get whispered inside these walls.

As he runs fingers through the spine of a book he recognizes from his old Oxenfurt days, he notices the uniform arc of furniture scraping the floor from repeated movement.

He never could resist a secret.

* * *

Of course he also hates musty cellar air worse than dust.

The side of the library’s shortest bookcase gave way to a slim doorway, one he had to squeeze through with effort. “Of–fuckin’–course there’s a bloody fuckin’ cellar under the fuckin’ richman’s house,” he says, mostly under his breath in case there’s someone at the other end of the sconce-lit hall. “It’s practically required decor. Need to make bloody note of that when I hire a mason for my own godsdamned manor...”

He slows at the small cells that emerge between shadows. There is a bear chained against the floor in one of them.

No—not a bear. Dijkstra squints in the lowlight. It’s long-limbed and man-shaped, with a net of spikes, or quills, sprouting out of its head and back.

Well, well. What a curious prize to have stashed away, is his intrigued train of thought.

The lock clicks when he inspects it, but the thing snaps its teeth at his fingers—suddenly close enough to grab him through the bars—and he is forced to push back to avoid losing a healthy digit. He can’t help the angry, “fuck off,” that comes out of reflex.

After its failed lunge, the creature assumes a defensive crouch. Although the chains keep it from scurrying to a dark corner, it still manages to create a significant distance where Dijkstra cannot touch it or its chain.

Strangely sharp eyes never move off of him, even from behind the shield of a wooly arm.

Dijkstra sniffs, and immediately grimaces at the damp, underground smell attacking his senses. “You’re a cursed thing, aren’t you. Smart. Maybe human once. Well,” he scowls harder at the grime and the pitiful secret inside a richman’s cellar, “you’re lucky I've no interest in mangy pets. I’ve also no taste for pointless cruelty and by the look of things upstairs, that's what's going to happen. So if you’re smart enough to understand a single fucking word I’m saying, get your spiney arse over here so I can pick the bloody lock of that chain.”

The creature stares at him for a gobsmacked, godsdamned minute. A minute that he feels inch by with building sweat, dreading an eavesdropper or worse, the lord coming down to poke and prod at its prize before his little midnight 'auction.'

Slowly, the creature slinks closer, the chain rattling as quietly as chains allow.

Dijkstra blinks to himself. So it is smart.

“I was never here,” he starts, turning the picks almost blindly, “I got lost on the way to the fucking loo, did three circles around the central room. I didn’t see or hear anything about a prickly arse man kept in a basement. I’m not a party person, and I hate competition.”

He mutters his alibi uselessly to the mute creature, with no sarcastic input or snappy retort. It's surprisingly trusting and patient, for an overgrown urchin that has no reason to trust a man he’s never met, especially given the circumstance.

“Phil is going to laugh at me,” Dijkstra continues under his breath anyway, “I came for intrigue and left because the most interesting thing in this house will probably get me killed to have discovered.”

“Thank you.”

Dijkstra raises his hands in mock surprise. “So it speaks.”

As if to be contrary, the urchin man keeps his silence again. Now absurdly sardonic of him. He should be kissing Dijkstra’s foot.

“If that's all, scram.”

The urchin man stands to its full height, which is considerably tall among most men, though not even close to Dijkstra’s imposing build. Not that it seems to be intimidated.

“I won't forget this,” it says, voice heavy with gravitas.

Dijkstra snorts. “You should.”

* * *

Years down the line, Karma finally catches up to the great Redanian Spymaster.

It was only a matter of time. It caught up to Radovid first. Now the Black Sun flies over the Redanian capital.

As a self-serving man, Dijkstra worked for and against both sides of the war. He held no regrets, certainly not for any kings whose heads might have rolled and paved way for better allies and stronger ties to him. He is aware of how an emperor might find that threatening. He’s not like Vernon fucking Roche, who is the most loyal, most frustratingly oath-keeping man he's met.

An enemy to the empire’s will, Dijkstra is brought before the emperor himself. In chains, of course. Can’t have an audience without fucking theatrics. He would do the same.

As he is herded through Foltest’s halls—bastard rest in peace—he is brought to a small staircase, one he takes slowly for his bone-aching leg.

“His Imperial Majesty Emhyr var Emreis, Deithwen Addan yn Carn aep Morvudd, Lord of Metinna...”

Dijkstra zones out half through the list. He is the tallest man in the room and still his eyes fix themselves on the ground, weary from being herded around half the damn Continent only to be sentenced to death the proper bureaucratic way. At the marked end of the final title, he bothers to look up and sees an ordinary man emblazoned in black robes, red brocade, and gold chains.

And strangely sharp eyes.

He’s hit with a feeling like he’s seen them before, even though it should be impossible. A faded memory nearly rewritten itself into uneventful obscurity crawls out of the abyss.

The emperor stands. An unusual occurrence, going by the startled attention of the guards.

He looks at the spymaster but doesn’t say anything besides a short, apparently cut off, “you.”

Dijkstra has got to give it to him. The bastard gathers himself to gesture naturally really well. He might have even fallen for it, if he hadn’t already caught the wide look in those familiar eyes.

“You are the infamous Sigismund Dijkstra. Or is it Sigi Reuven now?”

“I like the sound of Reuven better.”

The dead silence tells him he broke protocol by not finishing with the obligatory, ‘your imperial majesty.’ More bureaucratic bullcrap that will get him hanged faster.

But the emperor simply blinks. And rounds the table to stand before him.

Dijkstra carefully keeps still, his back straight as it can be with how his busted knee bothers him. Then the emperor says something in Nilfgaardian, and the guards holding his arms behind his back retreat to the doors. Finally, he can put weight off of his cursed leg.

The room wordlessly clears at the emperor's raised hand.

It’s only in the forced privacy that he is spoken to again, with a very cryptic, “I never forget the favors I owe.”

The memory barrels through his tired brain like a horse-drawn carriage without a rider.

“You don’t owe me shite,” he says with a sniff. That urchin—that fucking urchin man he spared one ounce of pity that night. Became emperor of the godsdamned world.

From rags to riches, he thinks almost hysterically.

Emhyr lifts an eyebrow. “Are you sure you do not want an emperor’s favor?”

Well. When he puts it like that.

"Considering what these fun little trinkets promise," Dijkstra emphasizes with the rattling of chains, "I'm not so sure what I can do with that favor."

Now they're in familiar ground. Deals and offers and counteroffers—and the urchin emperor speaks the language like a fluent native.

Dijkstra keeps his eyes level with Emhyr's as the man circles him round calmly. He doesn't turn his head to follow where he steps. He doesn't need to. It's his ears that must stay alert and attentive to the words chosen for delivery.

“You danced around my agents and my own spymaster like they were children fumbling in the dark." Emhyr pauses to round him again but in the opposite direction. His profile is the very portrait of his imperial likeness painted and sold across the Continent. The artist of those really captured his stare. Respectful and arrogant at the same time. "You made a powerful enemy, Mister Reuven, and you've made yourself quite the competitor in the Redanian scene. But perhaps we can talk and see where our disagreements lie.”

“Disagreements? Light way to put it.” He scoffs, but there is no denying how bloody curious he is to test how far a favor from the emperor will reach. “Sure, I'll be amenable to a talk.”

* * *

When he tells Roche, the fucking vassal lord of Temeria just standing around the corner of the throne room, he laughs at the answering disgruntled, constipated face.

“You saved the emperor when he was a cursed urchin, and now you’re the collared prick at his beck and call?”

“Says the whoreson who gave him Temeria wrapped in a pretty bow.” Dijkstra sighs. Roche sighs too, but his is more soulful. “Ah, fuck it. We both gave him the rest of the world on a silver platter.”

“You don’t sound that angry about that.”

There is a creeping truth to those words. A spy adapts, and he is adapting to the current lay of the land and its rules.

Dijkstra taps his newly acquired cane on the polished floor, remembering a shady party and the cellar with an urchin man with too-sharp eyes. What would have happened, had he not freed the beast? Would the world be under a different iron fist, a crueler fist? Would it have all burned down already, with neither him nor Roche alive to bicker about it? Would it have been peaceful, with no room for spywork like his?

“Maybe I wanna see this through.”

He always did love the challenge of an abstruse, unreadable mind to win over. Kings were one thing, but an emperor?

His thoughts must be written plain as day on his face, as Roche looks at him like he's struggling between throttling him, or diving neck first into a clear bottle of Nilfgaardian Lemon.

#dijkstra x emhyr #pre relationship #rarepair summer bingo #tt #myfics

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justsassysworld · 4 years

Text

Five Demons and a Baby Part 1

Fem!reader x The Conglomerate

Word count: 1,498

Five Demons and A Baby

Mr. Scarabee, you probably don't remember me, but we met at Mardi Gras. You swept me off my feet, laughing and dancing the night away. We finished the night at my apartment. When I woke up the next morning you were gone, with no words and basically no way of getting a hold of you.

I've written and rewritten this letter more times than I could count in this last week, too many times really. Every time I get ready to send it, I start thinking, He left, he wouldn't care what you have to say. Then another part of me argues, He deserves to know, you can't put this off. I made it all the way to the post office the last time, but the person looked at the address and warned me away. They told me some unbelievable, terrible things about you, and the people you associate with. Things that scare me.

The strange thing is, if they're wrong, I wouldn't worry so much, but if the rumors are true, I know I'll need your help, our baby will need your help.

God, writing that, even knowing I might not even send this letter, sets my nerves on end. Maybe the stories set my imagination off, but I've been having strange dreams ever since that night.

Sorry, I'm rambling. The important thing for you to know is that I'm pregnant, and it's yours.

Curled up on your couch, you second guess yourself, again and again. It's been almost a week since you finally sent it. It must've shown up by now and you find yourself constantly rationalizing, refusing to admit it might not have been the right thing. The book in your hand and the silence of your home do little to quell the voices in your head.

Sudden banging at your door has you jumping and letting out a startled shriek. Before you even have time to think, it explodes inward, making you jerk to your feet. Your eyes search for whoever, or whatever, forced it open, but find nothing. Your chest heaves as his energy rolls into the room.

His well polished, black leather shoes catch your eye first. Trailing up his body, your gaze takes in his expertly tailored suit, his tattooed fingers grasping his cane, the beautiful gold paisley detailing on his jacket, green scruff at his jaw, firm and set lips, and finally it settles on his glowing eyes, one green and one purple.

A feral grin lifts his lips as he purrs, “Evening, chaton.”

Shadows rise around him, twisting, rolling, reaching. For you.

Wanting to take a step back, you feel yourself topple, feet caught by something. With a squeak, you brace for impact, but quick as a whip, he clasps your wrist, jerking you back up and into his chest. Gasping, you look to your feet, to avoid his gaze and to see what tripped you, but what you see makes no sense.

Your feet are encased in darkness.

Soft yet firm fingers dance across your jaw, lifting your eyes back to his. His other hand snakes down to your belly, resting just over your belly button.

“Is it true?” he whispers, voice thick with some unknown emotion.

Biting your lip, you nod, voice failing you.

Drawing in a deep breath, his grip firms. The air grows thick as he bites out a sharp command and your home is suddenly filled with strange men. In the blink of an eye, you watch in shocked horror as they start to pack up your apartment. Far faster than should be humanly possible, you find yourself in an empty room, alone with a man who, while being the father of your unborn child, is a stranger.

Fury has you remembering how to use your voice. “What the hell? What the fuck are they doing?”

You try to jerk out of his embrace, but before you can his fingers are twined in your hair, pulling you close, well, closer.

He dips his head to rest it against yours.

“Cher, cher, cher,” he breathes against your ear, sending a shiver through you. “I've got many enemies out there, people just waitin' to find some chink in my armor, and here ya are.”

Your lips tremble as his breath fans against them.

“I tried protectin' ya, leavin', but it won't be no time before they find ya now, and you were right.”

Confused, you ask, “About what?”

“You need me to keep ya safe, both from my enemies and our bebe,” pulling back, he searches your eyes, the intensity searing through you. “It ain't common for my kind to have children, at least not ones they stick around for, so I've got a lot of research ahead of me.”

“Oh,” you squeak out, shocked by the power of his emotion. It's almost enough to make you forget his underhanded tactics.

You try to move away again, but when he just holds you tighter, you resign yourself to tell him off from right there in his arms. Taking a deep breath, you look deep into his eyes, and go off.

“I know you're some big, bad ass, boss type man, but that doesn't mean you can just sweep in and take over my life. It might not be much, but this apartment is my home, and I have no reason to leave it. The only reason I sent you the letter is that you deserve to know about your child, it had nothing to do with wanting anything from you. If I need anything, or something comes up, I'll let you know, but until that happens, kindly have your goons bring back my stuff and get the hell out.”

You feel the growl before you hear it and just as you recognize the mistake, you find your back pressed against the wall, body caged. His eyes glow, both with fury and literally.

Fear has you frozen. What the fuck are you doing? you ask yourself. You've heard the stories, you know just how dangerous the man in front of you is, and stupidly you antagonized him. One night, one incredibly hot, satisfying night, and you felt far more comfortable around a relative stranger than you should have.

The evil grin that slowly stretches across his face is equal parts terrifying and, much to your shame, arousing.

His breath tickles your lips as he mumbles, “Oh, chaton, chaton, chaton, while I love this fire, you need to remember just who you are dealing with. I can be a very understandin' man, but only as long as you remember that I am a very dominant man, and while the only pain you feel at my hand you will beg for, I will take care of the both of you. Which means you will listen to me.”

As you open your mouth to say...something, his lips meet yours, commanding, domineering, drawing a response. While it starts hard and rough, the kiss softens as you do. Melting against him, your hands skim his body, one wrapping around his neck, the other grips his shoulder. His growling chuckle sizzles on your lips, drawing you deeper into his embrace. Everything he does calls to you in a way nothing ever has before. His teeth scrape against your tongue, your lips. Moans and gasps pour from you as you're helpless to stop them.

Time has no meaning; seconds, minutes, hours, what're those? All you need to know in this moment is the feel of his hands against your stomach, against your neck, how his body cradles and presses you against the wall.

Overwhelmed, needing air, you turn your face away, breathing deep. Not deterred, he trails kisses down your jaw, nibbles your neck, biting down where your shoulder meets it.

“Scarabee,” you gasp, making him growl and grind against you.

Just as his hand moves to your chest, a deep chuckle sounds from behind him. Your eyes snap open and you find Scarabee's back to you, blocking out the intruder.

“What the hell are you doing here, Zhuk?” he grinds out, fury evident in his voice.

Another chuckle sounds from the new man. “My friend, did you really think you could leave the way you did and no one would follow? You have been distracted lately and we have been concerned. Of course we were curious as to where you were going.”

Your brows furrow. “We?” you squeak out before you can stop yourself.

The laughter that fills the room comes from multiple sources and your curiosity has you stepping out from behind Scarabee before you can stop yourself. You find yourself trapped by four sets of eyes.

They all look shockingly similar, and yet completely different, a shocking mix of kind and sever, curious and indifferent.

“Scarabee,” you manage to squeak out, “who're your friends?”

Before you can get your answer, you see a flash and everything goes dark.

#beetlejuice mafia au #scarabee #scarabee x reader #the conglomerate #the conglomerate x reader #pregnant reader #fem!reader #sassy writes #self reblog #five demons

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curekibouka-writing · 3 years

Text

There (one-shot HUGtto Precure fanfic)

Summary: Love. Forever and always. Remembering us the way we were. Yours still.

Word count: 1077

To see everything in my collection before this one-shot, please do check out ‘Cure Narrative’ posted on both FF.net and Quotev😉

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Please note:

The dates in this chapter are written based on the assumption that Hugtto’s events started in spring 2018 and ended right after New Years in 2019

Japanese school years start in April

I’m aware that me writing a short 1000 words one-shot for the next 20+ years in Hugtto universe is bound to be confusing, especially the third part in this fic because it involves the question of whether there is one or multiple timelines in Hugtto. So if there’s anything you don’t understand, even if it’s just one specific sentence, ask me. Comments or pm, I don’t mind at all. I will be both grateful for your feedback and happy to answer you ^^

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11 January 2019

Dear Ruru,

This is dated a week or so after your departure back to the future. How are you doing? These days feel so strange. I guess it can’t be helped, we’ve spent nearly a whole year together after all. Saaya-san noticed how I seem to be dejected all the time and suggested I write a letter to you.

Things over here are peaceful once again. And that’s a good thing, my final exams in elementary school are almost upon me, I definitely would not want to mess up. I’ve been considering enrolling in L'Avenir Academy for a while now, it simply would not do if my grades are not good enough.

I wonder if there’s any way to send this letter to you. Maybe I can make a time capsule to put all my letters in and bury it in my family’s garden, maybe it will magically appear in this location in the future where you may find it. It’s a shame that you can’t write back though.

I think I’m feeling a little better now. I’ll write again. Thanks for being here for me, Ruru. I’ll keep sending letters regularly, alright? ^^

Love,

Emiru

27 April 2020

Dear Ruru,

I bring with me happy news today! With the graduation of the previous vice president, I became the vice prez for our school’s Light Music Club! We have quite a few new members this year. Remember the girl I mentioned in last week’s letter? She joined as well. Now we have three vocals including me!

I truly think my experience in the Light Music Club will help in my path to become an idol. Our president just decided that we should do more performances, so some of us will go busking starting next month. I can hardly wait!

I rearranged Friends with You a little by the way, let me write down the new lyrics:

There’s something I wish to say, I wish you’d hear

Everything that I loved about you

Now our hearts are still connected by a red ribbon

Even now we are forever friends

I recall

(Won’t forget)

Your smile and tears

(Anything)

Tell me what’s this strange feeling inside?

Moving on, ‘cause I know, you’re waiting for me

Though it seems you and I can’t meet again

Scattered in different times, entirely different worlds

Even so, if we try, overlapping our hearts

Don’t you think it’ll all be okay?

Even now you’re

(Never changing)

right by my/your side

‘Cause even now we’re connected by a ribbon

Forever and always,

Emiru

15 June 2023

Dear Ruru,

Today is my 16th birthday. And I’ve been thinking about some things.

I’m not my naive 12-year-old self anymore, Ruru. Where are you?

Is it okay to have faith? Is it okay to still place hope in your promise? What did you mean that day? What did you mean by you would wait for me in the future? Did you only mean that you await the day I become a successful idol? Or did you mean you would watch over another me, a me from your time, who would probably have given up on the guitar without you and the others?

And what of you? How are you faring? How is the future faring? Come to think of it, I never asked you how was the future you returned to? Is it the colourful one we (hopefully) rewritten or the forlorn darkness you once knew? Every day, I am overwhelmed with the fear that it’s the latter, the fear that our Precure power was not strong enough to rewrite your future. The fear that you returned to your original time only to suffer again.

If you didn’t get to live in a brighter future, then what did we fight for four years ago?

I don’t want to think about that, but it just pops up in my mind every now and then. So please… if there’s some kind of spectacular technologies you can make use of in the future to send me a sign, to give me an answer, a little bit of reassurance, I implore you to do so.

Tell me, where are you?

Remembering us the way we were,

Emiru

22 October 2030

Dearest Ruru from my past,

It’s been quite a while since my previous letter, I’ve been very busy with my career recently. I have another concert in three days and my new album will be available for sale soon.

Regardless of my job, let me tell you some joyous news! Hana-san finally gave birth yesterday! Hagumi was brought into this world as a healthy little one, Saaya-san ecstatically reported to us. I wonder when can I free up some time to visit Hugtan, after all these years.

Speaking of children, Ruru, I met you again. She’s not exactly you, of course, you don’t exist in this time. But Dr Traum created her with the same concept in mind, ‘an android that would grow in both body and heart’. She’s a child now, but surely she will grow up just like you. I’m tasked with looking after her (I volunteered), and I’ll make sure to do my best. I’ll shower her with love as if she’s my own daughter. I’ll give her the warmth you never had the luxury to grow up in.

I’m not expecting her to fill the hole in my heart. It wouldn’t be fair, to her or to you. She is not you. She will play a different role in my life than you. I truly thought about everything, and I acknowledge the fact that we are never going to meet again. Being separated by time is a distance farther than anything I could conceive of all those years ago.

But I don’t mind anymore, we both have our own future to pursue, no matter where you are. We both have our own loved ones to tend to. We both have our own music to spread. I’m okay now, I’m all grown up now. Even if your promise back then was a white lie, I understand those were words to motivate me who was about to cease moving forward.

Thank you, for being there for me back then, for being my strength even now. And I wish you the best as well, wherever you are, whatever your situation looks like, I believe you can do anything, you can be anything.

Fure, fure, Ruru.

Yours still,

Emiru

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The End

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A/N: Yes you can actually sing to Friends with You with those lyrics. It’s nowhere near as good as when I pour all my effort into rewriting English lyrics for my actual song covers on YouTube though. Honestly I’d love to sing it but there is no instrumental track for Friends with You T^T

#hugtto precure #precure #emiru aisaki #Ruru Amour #precure fanfiction #Hugtto Pretty Cure #anime fanfiction #magical girl #pretty cure

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yuesya · 4 years

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is it ok to ask what issues you had with onwards till dawn that it had to be rewritten and then when it was, that it had to be on hiatus/discontinued?

Hi Anon! I... have no idea when this ask was from, or if anyone is still around (???) but since I’m attempting to go through the giant mess that is my Tumblr account at the moment:

OTD was one of the earlier fics I worked on, so I was hoping to improve on the writing quality in the rewrite. There were also plot holes in the original version that I was hoping to fix, but then halfway through the planning I discovered that the rewrite had a lot of plot holes too... like swiss cheese...

I’m actually still holding out hope for a rewrite (of a rewrite? something like that??) someday; it’ll probably end up looking pretty different from both versions of OTD. But since it’s one of the earlier fics (and a collab project!!), I still have a spot of nostalgia for it haha.

Anyways, though! Here’s a snippet of the rewrite-rewrite that might end up getting scrapped (again):

Living in Namimori was the sort of task that took a special sort of attitude. It wasn’t that the town was dangerous or anything, but more like the residents took care to maintain the careful peace that existed here. There were a set of invisible rules, unwritten and unspoken of, but nonetheless followed to the letter.

Daily life in Namimori required a certain degree of obliviousness, a deliberate turn of the head here and there every now and then. If an expensive limousine rolls down the streets of the quiet middle-class neighborhood, ignore it. When strangers show up out of nowhere and linger about for a few days on the streets, just duck your head and keep going. And if you run into middle schoolers wearing the local Namimori uniform delivering thorough beatings to the thugs on the streets –pretend you didn’t see anything and discretely mosey along the other way real slow like. Wouldn’t want to get caught up in something like that, right?

Tsubaki has been living in Namimori for three years already, but sometimes the way the odd little town works still makes her head spin. She’s been catching on fairly quickly to the unvoiced rules around here so there haven’t been quite as many strange looks directed her way nowadays, but every now and then she’ll still slip up unknowingly and find herself in an awkward situation.

Like now.

The girl looks down at the pen sitting in the palm of her hand, then up at the classmates tittering away around her, strange glances being thrown her way from all directions. It’s an odd assortment of pitying and mocking. Baffling.

She slants her gaze back towards the boy who just handed her the writing utensil she’d lost last week. There shouldn’t be anything wrong with her pen. Which meant that the reason for this problematic situation was because of the boy who’d returned her pen to her.

The boy lets out a small squeak that sounds somewhere halfway between a teakettle whistle and utter mortification from her staring. “I-I-I’ll j-just get going n-now, then–”

And so saying, he turns and promptly trips over his own two feet. Another fresh wave of whispers break out across their classmates as the clumsy boy hurriedly scrambles up again. He stumbles twice before he finally makes it to the doorway, and is shoulder-checked by another boy coming in –Tsubaki winces when she hears the loud thud even from her seat in the back of the classroom.

That… sounded pretty painful.

Guilt sparks in her chest, an emotion that she ruthlessly crushes down. It’s not her fault that the clumsy boy tripped over himself, or that he was bumped into by someone else while exiting the classroom. And if the reactions of the vast majority of her classmates are anything to go by, she’s better off forgetting that the boy even exists in her school.

Even if he did return her pen to her just now.

… Goddamnit.

#QA #Writing

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bittersweetmelxdy · 4 years

Text

Title: sometimes it’s best to leave it at first impressions Pairing: Victor x MC Words: 1,852

Note: so in reply to the post made by the amazing @op-peccatori and added to by so many other amazing people, I made have kinda... rewritten MC and Victor’s first meeting in period AU style. I will accept all criticism on this because it was actually surprisingly difficult for me to adjust everything in their first meeting to the regency era whilst still being true to character, so I hope I managed to capture this well, I may write other parts to this depending on response.

“You will not believe this!” Kiki ran into the drawing room screaming, the door flying open with a bang.

The two seated women sat calmly waiting for Kiki to relay the news.

“Well?” Kiki said, “Do you not wish to know what I just heard in town?” She threw out her hands expectantly and you watched as Minor slipped into the room behind her.

“Minor, do you know?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Well, we were in town and we spotted my friend Gavin-”

“I thought Gavin only tolerates you?” Willow mused teasingly.

“As I said we saw MY FRIEND Gavin,” Minor glared at Willow as the rest of you laughed, “And then Kiki went to the dressmakers for a new bonnet, where she saw-”

Kiki pushed Minor out of the way, “Oh, skip to the good part! I saw Page at OUTSIDE the dressmakers,” she threw a glance at Minor, “And LFG, you know the big estate 4 miles from here, well guess what? The owner is returning!”

“No way! LFG will finally be inhabited, wow however we will go on with our lives?” You sighed, swooning dramatically, Minor and you sharing a high-five at Kiki’s huff as she sat down noisily. LFG being the town’s nickname for the estate as the full name always felt like a mouthful.

“Wait I thought you liked that musician, what’s his name Kiro?” Willow asked placing her hand on Kiki’s shoulder to placate her.

“Kiro will always be first in my heart, but I heard from Page who heard from Bella who heard from the Millner's who heard from the gardener that the owner is rich and-”

“Well he has to be rich to own LFG.” You snarked.

“Like I was saying, he is rich, exceptionally handsome and-” Kiki dragged out the last word for effect, but she was interrupted once again by a maid knocking lightly on the door.

“Yes Maria?” You asked.

“A letter for you ma’am.” Maria handed you a wax-sealed letter, before curtseying and leaving the room.

“What does it say?” Everyone asked crowding around you as you broke the wax-seal on the letter, unfolding the letter.

You read the first words, noting that you didn’t recognise the handwriting, when the first sentence caused you stand indignantly breaking from the others. As you finished the letter you paced back and forth across the drawing room, the others watching you in confusion. When you stopped, looked at them huffing in anger, and shaking the letter at them, before going back to pacing.

“So, what does it say?” Willow asked.

“You- He- I-” You threw stamped your foot, “How dare he! This is my father’s legacy! This is my inheritance; who does he think he is!” you yelled.

“Y/N, what is going on?” Minor asked gently.

“That-!” You breathed out to gather your thoughts, “The new owner of LFG, says that my father’s charity, is “a risk to his income” and he is now “moving his investment to more lucrative operations”, our charity is the lifeblood of this town! How dare he!” you ranted, adopting a mocking tone as you quoted the letter.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Willow stood as well, “LFG are pulling their investment from the charity because of last few years’ troubles?”

“It wasn’t our fault; yes, we’ve never been the most sought after, but we’ve always had a consistent attendance at all our galas and we’ve helped fund so many ventures within Loveland.” You finished dejectedly.

“So, what do we do?” Kiki asked a little scared, “Y/N?”

You thought about it before snapping your fingers, “I’ll go to LFG now, and I’ll convince him not to pull our investment.” You started walking over to the front door

“But our carriage is in for repairs, how will you get there?” Minor asked as the others followed you.

“I’ll walk, it’s barely 4 miles, I should get there around noon.” You said pulling on your gloves and overcoat before sitting down to lace up your boots deftly.

“Good luck.” your siblings called to you as you stepped out the door and began to make your way to LFG.

Victor had been travelling for the last three days as he travelled back to his estate from the Capital where he was in meetings with other land owners and business owners. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sighed deeply. He hoped that Goldman had been able to keep the estate standing in his absence but with how nervous Goldman is he sincerely doubted that. He moved the shades of the carriage to see outside, casually thinking back to the young woman he had saved the other day, the memory causing him to huff out a slight laugh in recollection. ‘What kind of dummy almost walks in front of a moving carriage’ he mused, shaking his head in amusement. The voice of his footman jolted him out of his thoughts.

“Sir we are approaching the estate now.” the footman called.

Victor nodded, picking up the papers beside him and perusing through them, losing himself in them as the carriage trundled closer to the estate.

“Miss, the Master is not to be disturbed, please lead her out.” Goldman’s slightly muffled voice could be heard from a distance.

“Please I just need an audience with him, I won’t take up too much of your time.” Victor frowned hearing a woman speak with both authority and the volume at which she was speaking was above what one could consider proper behaviour.

He made his way towards his study, deciding not to deal with the woman who obviously seemed to be no more than a gossip seeking to gather information to laud over others in drawing rooms across the small town. However, as he came closer, he did hear her mention the name of her estate to Goldman, and he mentally ran through where he had heard that name before, before he remembered, that was the charity that wasn’t worth his investment, as it was too much of a flight risk.

“Why are you here?” He asked, as he stopped in front of her.

“It’s you!” she almost shouted shocked, pointing a finger at him in disbelief, shocking Victor a little. “Um... I’m here because the last gala we organised had a great response, so I was hoping you would reconsider pulling your funding from us.” the fact that Victor Li was the same man that saved you days ago was throwing you off slightly.

“Why should I do that?” Victor cut you off dismissively.

“Because of the success of the last gala, please I can break down the long-term benefits caused by last gala for you if you give me a second.” You stood in shock as Victor had the audacity to laugh a bit at your explanation.

Victor had never seen such a petite woman bottle up so much rage in her being that she was trembling from anger. And then she raised her eyes to meet his and he could swear that time in that second froze completely. Her big bright eyes captivated him in an instant, the big bright eyes looked at him as if she could set the ground aflame with her gaze, and Victor in that moment believed she could. She took a deep breath, steeling her gaze maintaining constant eye contact and held one finger in front of him, presenting it decidedly a couple of inches from his face, and despite her windblown hair and mud-stained hems she commanded his attention in raptures, and Victor couldn’t help but feel like he’d seen her somewhere before. Shaking his head, he made his way past her into his study.

“Wait-” you blinked twice in wide-eyed shock as Victor slammed the door. In. Your. Face.

“Alright you said your piece, leave now.” Goldman held his arm in an obvious attempt for you follow his direction and leave the manor.

“No, I can’t... If I leave now, my family.” You panted out, dejectedly, and moved to take a step, following Goldman’s direction, before the faces of your sibling’s flashed through your mind, and finally your father, steeling your resolve once again your pushed past Goldman and planted your feet before the door.

“Victor Li, I’ll make you regret this!” you yelled at the closed door, feeling a sense of catharsis as you let out your anger, deflating.

“Goldman send a runner to the owner of B.S, to reschedule the meeting to Tuesday.” Victor reappeared in the now open doorway, making your blood start to chill.

‘Did he hear me?’ you wondered a little scared and wide-eyed.

“I’ll regret it?” Victor teasing voice lilted over you, and the teasing spark in his eyes only caused your anger to grow.

“Two weeks.” You finished by tilting you chin up in a haughty manner, and Victor noted how your eyes looked afire with your anger, his smirk deepening in response.

“I beg your pardon?” Victor crossed his arms a smirk tugging at his lips at the bite of the little dummy in front of him.

“In two weeks, I will have a gala proposal that will make you reinstate your investment with us.” she declared, flaring her nostrils in defiance.

“One week, or don’t even bother coming back.” was his final response.

You huffed watching the man you now knew as Victor Li closed the door to the study slowly once again, and you bit your lip thinking that Kiki was right ‘He is exceptionally handsome’, before shaking your head forcefully as if to banish the very thought from your mind. Before turning with a loud swish of your skirts, and making your way back out of the front doors, breezing past Goldman and pausing on the drive of the estate turning back to look back at where you assumed the study window was, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you reflected on your interaction with the new neighbour. It was strange that this cold man and the warm presence that saved you days before were the same man, his person puzzling you exceedingly.

‘Well Victor, let’s see who you are.’ you thought, determined to not only figure out this puzzling man but also to show him you meant what you said.

Victor stood just behind the curtains in the study window shrouded in the shadows of the room as he watched the petite woman walk down the drive before pausing to turn and look back at the manor, right into his window, however due to the shadows and where he was standing, he could see her but she couldn’t see him. He watched her until she eventually turned back and continued her journey home.

“I won’t save you a second time.” Victor said to the retreating figure, deciding to put from his mind the intriguing woman, as he turned to pick up his files and sit down at his desk.

The glance he threw back at the drive of his house, it was purely coincidental, and had nothing to do with a pair of bright eyes that had captured him in an instant.

#mlqc scenarios #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mr love queen's choice #mr love victor #mr love li zeyan #bittersweetmelxdy writes #love and producer #evol x love

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tarithenurse · 5 years

Text

All is fair in Love & War - 14

Pairing: Loki x reader Content: Not much to warn about except a tad of pining. A/N: This is (again) a fairly short chapter, but I hope you enjoy either way :)

(Image from google, Just add heavy curtains)

14. Espionage

Gorm. Of all the names in existence, it turned out the Midgardian king’s name is Gorm. What had surprised you more, however, was the realisation that you had actually never heard his name before which, now that you are thinking about it, is downright strange.

“Are you enjoyin’ your stay ‘ere?” His voice is muffled by the food in his mouth, forcing you to supress a gag. “’Tis wond’ful t’ ‘ave guests fro’ the south, and the chattel ‘ave been ‘structed t’ accomm’date your ev’ry wish.”

That much is true, and you have done your best since arrival to treat the servants decently, ensuring that they have all taken to you kindly. Often, they humour you by telling you things that happen out of sight of the court or sharing rumours (although at first, they had been blushing at the idea of speaking freely with a noble lady). Due to your favoured status amongst the servants, Röskva and the rest of your company are being treated with friendliness and much greater freedom than outsiders normally would. More often than not, the Vanir return to you with descriptions of hidden passages.

“Yes, your majesty,” you smile sickly-sweet, “I am very well cared for. It is a pleasure, too, enjoying the tranquility in the heart of your kingdom. Truly, only a great king can ensure such peace despite the attempted invasion from the north.”

A slight sputtering sound echoes in Gorm’s glass before he manages to recompose himself. Sensitive subject, old fool?

“Ahh…yes…” He has to clear his throat before meeting your steady gaze. “I don’t deny tha’ ‘tis a…ahm…challenge t’ erm t’ stave o’ the constant attacks, bu’ the safety o’ the people comes first.”

Lie. “Of course.”

On the other side of the king, his wife leans forward to address you with a weak voice you have come to believe mirrors her mind and constitution. “My dear husband just wants to care for all those poor commoners. He knows that withoot him, they’d struggle to get by.”

The only truly positive thing you have found about the king and queen is the unconditional adoration they have for each other. Of course, you can also rejoice that they are both dimwitted which will make your task easier, but as it is a dangerous combination when paired with lack of empathy, plenty of greed, and the queen’s blind ambition…well, it is becoming evident that the proverbial snake Loki once spoke of has two heads.

…

That night, after the court has retired, you don the dark shirt and leather trousers, tie your hair back, and tip-toe bare feet out of your luxurious quarters. Daggers, a coil of rope, a long thin stick, and a small pouch of powder is the only thing you carry as the castle awaits to be explored.

It takes little time to find the first hidden entrance to an old system of tunnels long forgotten by the court because only the servants use it to move unseen as they tend to their daily tasks.

It is dark within the walls, but rather than risking a light you let your hands glide across the rough stones of the walls on one side and the stick tap softly on the floor, feeling for steps either up or down. Third side-path on the left. Röskva had brought you the one tidbit of information lacking to ensure a nightly visit to the king’s study.

You are silent as a snowflake when you push a large painting aside just a sliver to look into the room beyond. The fire in the hearth has been reduced to pinging embers, but it is enough to verify that no one is present, and you slip from the passage, leaving the thin stick behind. Bare feet sink into a plush carpet much too soft to be made of wool or canvas and the sudden change makes you wobble slightly. What a place. Tapestries and more artwork depicting Gorm and his wife is covering every wall rather than book cases or maps. Tall windows (as it turns out upon inspection) are hidden behind lengths of heavy curtains in mossy green and blood red velvet. But what draws your interest is the desk. Standing to one side of the room, it is neat enough for you to momentarily suspect that it never gets used despite the inkwell and beautiful quills arranged on a golden tray.

Thankfully, the drawers are a different matter.

Several correspondences are piled together, and as you leaf through them it becomes evident that they are from various chiefs, each reporting their failures and successes at the front. Mainly failures, you note with a smirk tugging at you cheek. It appears Loki has been busy sabotaging anything he can. Only one place has there been actual fighting because the Midgardian forces reached a Jotun village, initially causing the inhabitants to flee after an uncoordinated attempt at defending themselves. Another message (written by someone else) references the same village, briefly summarizing heavy losses on the Midgardian side as the inhabitants had taken back their home with the aid of trained, armed forces.

A different pile of letters, all neatly folded and waiting to be sealed, speak of the measures king Gorm is planning to take in response and of course none of them bode well for the lowly soldiers in his armies. Blood boiling cold, you stare at tactics and numbers for expected losses (few, if any, are mentioned concerning the Jötun) which have been approved although nothing is won by the maneuvers.

It is tempting to destroy these orders, but you know it will only cause suspicion. Furthermore, words can be rewritten, and the delay will not be great enough. Grabbing a clean sheet and dipping a quill, you hastily jot down the main points in the messages with your wobbly handwriting, only bothering to make sure it is decipherable. As the ink dries, you return all else to the original places before continuing you investigation.

…

“Madama.” Röskva greets you with a sigh of relief as you step through the door to your chambers. “I was get worried. You gone long time.”

“Getting,” you correct her with a smile, “and thank you for your concern, but it’s fine.”

Handing her the note, you instruct her to send it to Loki. You have no doubt that she will although she insists on fussing first, making sure that you are safely in bed before leaving you to sleep. The sweet girl has become the closest thing to a friend, and you are helping each other improve your command over respectively the Midgardian and Vanir languages.

Wonder what she’d say to skipping a few steps?

Yawning, you know you must be careful, or Loki will never be able to end Gorm’s life and you will never be able to return to your love. But why wait? Each day apart feels like a year and the time allotted to being with Loki is much too brief. It is with an aching heart that you fall asleep.

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merigreenleaf · 5 years

Text

WIP Rambles Thing

It's been forever since I did any tag games, so I'm super excited that @bluemartlet tagged me in this! And @toboldlywrite asked to be tagged, too. I feel like such a weird writer, though, because everything I’ve worked on in the past five years has been the same series. So I guess if you forgot about dorks, here’s dorks! (There’s info about the characters here or here if you’re on mobile.)

1. Colorweaver (rewriting/editing the guh... 4th draft? Parts have been rewritten six times, but some parts only twice, so I guess that averages to a 4th?) Genre: These are all the same comedic contemporary high fantasy series POV: 3rd person close/limited, multiple POV; in the current draft there are 3 (Adair, Blythe, Dray) plus letters/journal entries from Rosalie Blurb: Adair Cerulean is an amateur cartographer with the ability to make his drawings have the semblance of life. Like the other creators who possess magic and channel this through art, Adair is a Weaver. Adair is in the process of working on the project that, once complete, would advance him in rank when he discovers it missing! As its new owner seeks out more Weavers, Adair feels a tug from his creation to follow. This pull leads him to a carnival where he meets a healer standing guard over a stricken performer. It turns out that his thief is more than a mere robber and there’s more at stake than just a stolen map. Will Adair get it back and stop the thief before anyone else is hurt?

2. Sentinel (writing the 3rd draft, but technically there have been 6 versions; the others were detailed outlines. This has been hard to nail down!) POV: Ditto; POVs are Adair, Blythe, Firedrake, and Rosalie who gets normal chapters in this one. Blurb: Adair has recovered his stolen map and acquired a new family who will -- with luck and a lack of imps -- protect him in the future. His elation is short-lived, however. The other artists refuse to accept his choice of sentinel-intended or his desire to help as magic in the capital city begins to go awry. When an enemy thought to be defeated returns to team up with someone from Adair's past, he and his family start receiving cryptic advice seemingly from the future. Caught between past and present, and hoping they don’t muck up said future, the dorks must decide how far they’re willing to defy authority, their own arcane training, and calendars.

3. Untitled (brainstorming 1st draft) POV: Ditto, although by this point I might throw in a 5th and add Camille into the mix. This book snuck into a previously-planned trilogy a few months ago so it’s the newcomer of this quartet. Blurb: Adair has been begrudgingly promoted and is now able to practice his cartography wherever he chooses. The dorks, along with their fledgling carnival troupe, are asked to travel to the neighboring country to check for anyone showing signs of magic. This is a cover to hide their real task of investigating the possible source of the arcane glitches happening back home in Concordia. They soon find out that Galanvoth’s plotting goes deeper than anyone thought. It’s up to the dorks to do their own kind of bizarre plotting involving disguises and a fake marriage trope to get to the truth. Will they be able to uncover the people responsible before the magical disruption turns into permanent damage to their home?

4. Iconoclasm (first draft started, but needs to be massively re-outlined) POV: Ditto and I have no idea who else might be joining by this point lol Blurb: As if the previous assignment wasn’t weird enough, a being straight out of history approaches the artists with a plea. There's trouble in his home and he asks that the help he once gave be returned. His only requirement is that the dorks be the ones sent, much to their dismay. Three of them are fugitives and Montglace doesn't exactly embrace outsiders with open arms. Fortunately there's a resistance brewing and those rebels are more than happy to accept strangers into their midst-- at least until they realize how strange said strangers are. When the dorks are forced apart, they begin to realize that they can never truly be separated. If they can find a way to weave their magics into each other and face their greatest fears, they just might be able to help bring down a stagnant and cruel mythos. And hey, if they can do this, facing their own people to tell them that they kinda broke artisan tradition (again) and mucked with magic (again) won’t be nearly as bad, right?

I have two more under the read more. :)

5. Shadowweaver (book 1 in the next trilogy. 1st draft is sorta started-- it was originally part of Sentinel before I pulled Gilly’s subplot out of it and moved her later in the series) POV: Still 3rd person limited, multiple. Likely Gilly, Grandeau, and Astra, but this trilogy is weird because it takes place in two points on the timeline with one of the MCs serving as a bridge and I’m not sure yet how much of Astra’s plot fits into the first book. (I introduced Gilly, Chell, and Ametrine here. Ametrine is the dorks’ adopted son, Astra is his younger sister [not adopted], and Grandeau is Gilly’s brother although she doesn’t know that yet.) Blurb: Gilly is a carnival performer, thief, and ghost-freer who shares these jobs with her roommate/best friend Ametrine. While the two of them are tracking down art that was illegally gained by a dishonest art dealer, the dealer’s sister catches Gilly in the act. She gets away, but is intrigued by this girl whose weak voice is oddly captivating. She finds herself drawn back and soon discovers that while Chantrell is confined in her own home, she isn’t as sick as she appears, nor is she as dead as people seem to think she is. Gilly is determined to find out the truth and, with Ametrine’s help, set her new friend free.

6. Sciamachy (book 2 in the next trilogy, brainstorming) Blurb: Chantrell has joined Gilly and Ametrine on their thieving and ghost hunting adventures; with her magical ability to produce any sound, Chell is the perfect distraction for the others’ heists. It’s during one of these encounters that Gilly notices a shadow that shouldn’t be there. Meanwhile Astra, twenty years in the future, notices the same thing. Someone or something is trying to reach out to the girls using the shadow magic they both share. Could this be connected to the elementals that Astra has discovered are being used to power Galanvoth’s inventions?

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I have other stories in progress or in the planning stages, but those are short stories, so I didn’t include them here. I have ideas for way more books because my plan is to make this a huge sprawling series that spans centuries and locations (and possibly worlds). Like I want to write one about the founding of Concordia and the Muses and my immortal character back when she was very young, and maybe more following that character at different points on the timeline, and one that follows the “antagonist” of Colorweaver, and... well, I’ve been working on this series for five years and I’d gladly work on it for another fifty. :D

I’m not sure if you’ve done this yet, but I’m going to tag @lynnafred @elliot-orion @lady-redshield-writes @homesteadhorner @perringwrites @joshuaorrizonte @thatwriternamedvolk @theguildedtypewriter and anyone else who happens to see this and wants to play because I’ve been gone WAY too long and I need a recap on what everyone is working on. So if you’ve done this before or have a similar post already shared, feel free to link me to it or tag me in it. No need to do a tag game, I just would love reminders of what everyone is writing. <3

#writing #writeblr #my writing ramblings #unexpected inspiration series #tag game #wip tag #blurbs are so hard #there are so many subplots going in these books that I could barely mention #like lizards #and gods #sort of gods anyway #I love how the dorks keep being dragged into things #because they can't leave well enough alone #and keep making really bad decisions that sometimes work out #I swear the only reason they survive their own stupidity to have kids later #is because they keep messing with magic in ways it's not supposed to be messed with #and because Adair's artisan bond makes them unkillable when the stupidity is individual #let's just not have more than one or two of them do something dumb at once okay?#ooo this is reminding me of a character world building thing I meant to share when I came back!#so all this tag rambling was useful lol #writing tag

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constellationsanddaydreams · 4 years

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im gonna start rewriting some of my older fics, the originals will still be available on ao3, but they will either be part of a series titled originals, one long fic with all the originals, or just another chapter in the original fics

#not important #for example #letters and strange are both being rewritten #against protocol is next i think #but that will probably only be the market scene bc i actually wrote it pretty recently #maybe fighting life #i'll have to go back and check #i know im not touching separation or neon secret

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melodiouswhite · 5 years

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Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde rewritten Ch. 06

(A/N: This is the last chapter I rewrote from the book, I promise!)

6. The letter The next afternoon Utterson went to visit Dr. Jekyll and confront him about what Hyde had done. The previous evening a slightly battered and shaken Sir Carew had stumbled into his office and rambled about being attacked by some dwarfish, evil-looking stranger (Utterson had no trouble guessing who that was) and being saved by the heroic endeavour of one Lady Summers. After discussing the letter Sir Carew had come to him for, the lawyer had accompanied him home for safety. The old gent asked him to look for Lady Summers, worried for her welfare.

So Utterson had hurried to her home to ask for her. This time it was her Japanese lady-in-waiting who let him in and filled him in on what had happened. Lady Summers had come shortly before him, rather dishevelled and exhausted and spitting blood, but seemingly uninjured. Just in that moment, the mistress of the house herself had tumbled into the room and reassured the concerned lawyer that she hadn't been hurt and that her current condition was a common occurrence. “Your concern for me is very gratifying, my dear Utterson”, she had said tiredly, “It makes me happy that someone actually cares how I do, really. But be assured, this is not as bad as it looks. I will be bed-ridden for a few days, but apart from that I will be well.” Then she had bid him good night and he had gone home, deep in thought. Now he was fuming with anger at what had happened, but somehow he managed to keep up his professional mask. When he was admitted to Jekyll's cabinet, it was foggy, despite the fire in the chimney and the lamb burning nearby. And by the fireplace sat Dr. Jekyll, looking deathly sick. He didn't stand up, but took Mr. Utterson's hand and bade him welcome. “Have you heard the news?”, Utterson asked him as soon as Poole had left. “Yes”, said Jekyll with a shudder, “They were crying it in the square. I heard them in my dining room.” “One word”, the lawyer said earnestly, “Sir Carew is my client and I can't stand for the wrong that has been done to him. But you're my client too and I want to know what I'm doing. Please tell me, that you haven't been mad enough to hide that fellow.” He would have said 'demon', but he wasn't that impolite. Jekyll turned even paler and cried: “No! Utterson, I swear to God – I shall never see him again! I'm done with him, I promise you! And even if I wasn't, he doesn't want my help; you don't know him like I do; he will be alright, safe and we shall never hear of him again!” The doctor was so feverish, so close to hysteria, that it made Mr. Utterson's heart ache. “You seem to be sure of him”, he stated gloomily, “And I hope that you're right. If it came to a trial, your name could appear and you'd be in–“ “I am! Trust me, I am! No one knows him like I do, even though I can't tell anyone how or why. But there is one thing you can help me with: I have received this letter and I don't know what to do with it. I would like you to have a look first, Utterson – I have so much faith in your sound judgement.” “Are you worried, that he could be detected through it?” “Not at all, to be honest, I don't even care what might happen to him now. I was thinking of myself and worried that the police might come to the conclusion, that I had something to do with the assault of poor Sir Carew.” The lawyer wasn't sure why he was so relieved at his friend's selfishness, but finally he caught himself and asked for the letter. It was written in an unusually upright hand and signed “Edward Hyde”. The content was nothing surprising, a brief sort-of-apology to Dr. Jekyll for repaying his generosity so ungratefully and an assurance that the doctor needn't worry about Hyde's safety, that the young man had his own means of escape and would be fine. The lawyer found this letter oddly pleasant, seeing some of his past suspicions unfounded, which relieved him to no end. But when he asked for the envelope, Jekyll informed him, that he had burnt it and that it had born no postmark, when he had received it. The doctor allowed the lawyer to keep it, because he had lost all confidence in himself. That was all fine, but Utterson had one more pressing question: “Those terms in your will about your disappearance – did Hyde dictate them?” “… Yes”, the doctor nodded weakly, looking as if he was about to faint. “I knew it!”, Utterson said grimly, “He wanted to murder you. You got away just in time.” “It's more than that”, Dr. Jekyll returned solemnly, “I have learned a lesson – oh God, Utterson, what lesson!” “No doubt”, the other remarked, “The man who is to inherit your fortune almost killed a an old gentleman and a lady. Lady Summers may be capable of defending herself, but it's all the same. I saw her after the incident, she was in quite a bad shape, even though she told me that he hadn't injured her – she was coughing blood.” “Oh my God!”, Dr. Jekyll whimpered, “Oh my God!” Then he buried his face in his hands for a moment. The lawyer tried and failed to cheer his poor, distressed friend up, bid him goodbye after a while and saw himself out. But on the way he asked Poole, who had handed in the note that Jekyll had given him. The confused butler told him that nothing had been handed in at all today and that the post had only brought circulars. Never mind my hopes from earlier, there is still reason for panic! Later that day, he was sitting in his own home, in front of his own chimney, with his head clerk, Mr. Guest, for company. He was hoping that Guest, being a specialist in handwriting, could help him out. After a short conversation, Utterson showed him the letter. Guest took it with great interest. After studying it intensely, he could tell his superior that, while looking odd and strangely familiar, this was not the writing of a madman. Just in this moment the servant came in to hand Utterson a dinner invitation from Dr. Jekyll. “May I see it?”, Guest asked. Utterson was slightly confused, but handed him the invitation. When the clerk finally gave both notes back to him, he stated: “Thank you, sir. That certainly is an interesting autograph.” There was an uncomfortable silence, in which Utterson struggled with himself, before suddenly inquiring: “Why did you compare them, Guest?” “Well, sir, there is a rather striking resemblance; these two hands are identical in many ways, only differently sloped.” “That's strange”, the lawyer noted, trying to remain calm. “Yes, it is”, Mr. Guest agreed. “Let us not speak of this again.” “Of course not, sir. I understand.” But as soon as Utterson was alone that night, he allowed himself to fly into a mental panic attack. Henry Jekyll had forged for Edward Hyde, that was painfully obvious. His best friend was lying to him, God knew since when. Goddammit, Henry!

(A/N: Yup. "Goddammit, Henry" indeed. I feel so bad for Gabe. And I'm going to torture him some more. I like to see the characters in my stories suffer. You know what that chapter is about. That obviously forged letter Jekyll gave to Utterson. Like, seriously. He should have put more effort into forging Hyde's handwriting, even if their handwriting is one and the same. Anyway, transcribed from the book, but in my writing style, to make it easier to read for you.)

#mr utterson #Gabriel John Utterson #Dr. Jekyll #henry jekyll #mr guest #poole #oc #The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

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good--bye--binary · 6 years

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They/Them or She/Her

Happy Priiiiiiiiiiiiiide!!! 🌈🏳️‍🌈

I got a couple of pics in before heading out to the Chicago Pride Parade today and even talked my mom into taking a couple selfies with me while we were there!

I’m also in the process of coming out to every person I know that I haven’t yet. Most of these are people that are very important to me, but either I don’t get to see them very often and/or they’re more conservative and not at all educated on LGBTQ issues. To that end, I finally wrote a coming out letter and I thought I’d post it here just in case anyone else wanted to use portions of it! 😁

Dear ________,

In case you didn’t already know, this month is LGBTQ+ Pride Month. Both because of this and, more importantly, because I respect and cherish our relationship, I feel compelled to tell you that I am transgender. Specifically, I am non-binary, genderfluid, and transfeminine (more on all of those terms later). Although I have always questioned my gender, I came out to myself in November of 2016. Now I feel it is the right time for absolutely everyone to know.

I have written, deleted, rewritten, and revised this letter many times over many months because I want it to be as clear as possible. To that end, I thought it best to organize it as a list of questions directed towards myself, questions that I would expect you to have. Of course if you ever want me to explain something more, an answer doesn’t make sense, or you have a question that isn’t on here, PLEASE TALK TO ME. You might find that reading these questions and answers are enough, but if you don’t, I would much rather you talk to me directly rather than speculate, be confused, or turn to the internet which may have misleading or inaccurate information. On this last point, I don’t just mean anti-LGBTQ+ websites and organizations; gender is a very complicated and personal experience, so even pro-LGBTQ+ literature may define or explain terms in ways that are different from how I apply them to my gender experience.

Q1. How do you know/what makes you think you’re transgender? A1. Like almost all LGBTQ+ people will tell you, I always knew I was somehow different from most of the other kids. For me, it was about never feeling completely comfortable or understood by boys and men. For as long as I can remember, I have not only preferred the company of girls and women, but I have never felt “like one of the boys.” My closest friends have always been (and continue to be) women. Even in films, TV shows, video games, novels, and short stories, I almost immediately identify with female characters, but rarely do I do the same with male characters.

Have I been able to “fit in” with boys/men in the past? Yes, of course I have, because society has always suggested that I should and that there would be consequences if I didn’t. Did I enjoy the act of having to hide, censor, and think very deliberately about my behavior so that I wasn’t bullied or seen as weird? Absolutely not. I went to sleepovers at my male friends’ houses in grade school, but I hated them. I would get terrible anxiety as the scheduled day came closer and once I got there, I couldn’t wait for them to be over. I hated “acting like a boy.” It brought me literal pain and discomfort.

These feelings of pain, discomfort, and anxiety are symptoms of what is known as dysphoria. Dysphoria is an experience that nearly all transfolk experience. Euphoria is the feeling that everything is perfect—being in a state of mind that is complete bliss and one that you hope will never end. Dysphoria is the opposite of that. It’s the feeling that everything is wrong—a mental and emotional state of torture that feels like it will swallow you up and crush your spirit forever. When applied to transfolk specifically, dysphoria is what we used to mean when we said things like “I feel like a man trapped in a woman’s body” or vice versa. That phrase typically isn’t used any more because it implies that a person is only a man if they have a “male body”/a woman if they have a “female body,” but the intended meaning is the same.

I know that I’m transgender because I experience dysphoria. There are days that I look at myself and I just want to throw up because I don’t feel like I look right from a gender perspective. It feels like I’ve hijacked some other person’s body, like there’s a disconnect between my mind and the person I see in the mirror. Some days I look at my men’s clothes and putting them on feels like putting on clothes made of fire or acid. I see the hair on my legs and I want to rip each and every one of them out. This is dysphoria and it feels terrible.

Q2. What do you do when you feel this way? A2. Before I came out in November of 2016, I just buried it. As a child, I of course had no idea why I felt this way. Not only that, but even in the 1990s society wasn’t ready to talk about gender the way we talk about it now, so the idea of saying I was transgender could never cross my mind because there was next to no representation of transfolk. But now, when my dysphoria hits, I don’t avoid it. I listen to my body, think to myself, “Ok, so you’re not a man today,” and adjust my gender presentation accordingly. This brings me to my specific labels of being non-binary and genderfluid.

Traditionally in Western/American culture, we think of gender as a binary experience—everyone is either a man or a woman. Even most transfolk that you may be familiar with, like Caitlyn Jenner, Jazz Jennings, Laverne Cox, and Chaz Bono, are all binary transfolk. They identify as the “opposite” gender they were assigned at birth. Being non-binary means that I don’t completely identify as a man OR as a woman. Some non-binary people identify as more male than female, more female than male, or feel that they have no gender at all (this is known as being agender). However, I also identify as genderfluid, which means that similar to how water (or any fluid) in a glass can move fluidly in a glass depending on how you tilt it, my gender also moves fluidly.

Try thinking about gender as a spectrum (which nearly all psychologists agree it is), a line from 0 to 10. On one end, you have the feeling of being completely male all of the time and on the other side being completely female.

Though it is impossible to qualify with any kind of numbers, I would say my gender identity varies from day-to-day anywhere between a 4 and and a 10. Because I am more likely to be on the feminine side of the spectrum (6-10), I can also say that I’m transfeminine, meaning that while I don’t identify as a woman every single day (and thus am not a trans woman), I do, on average, tend to feel more like a woman than a man.

So, on days that I’m at a 4 or a 5, I probably just look like what you would expect a man to look like. However, if I’m at a 7, maybe I’ll wear “mens clothes” but also wear some make-up and/or nail polish. If I’m at a 9 or 10, I probably will wear “womens clothes,” make-up, a stuffed bra, and sometimes a wig. However, no matter what my gender expression/presentation is, I’m always non-binary.

Q3. Does this mean you’re a crossdresser? A3. No. Crossdressing is a hobby, which is totally fine if that’s what you’re into. It usually refers to men who always identify as men but find it “fun” to dress in women’s clothes. When I’m a man, I wear men’s clothes. When I’m a woman, I wear women’s clothes. It’s not a fetish or a hobby. I dress for whatever my gender is that day.

Q4. Does this mean you’re gay? A4. Because my gender is constantly shifting, labels like straight, gay, lesbian, and bisexual don’t apply to me. A person’s sexuality is defined not only by who they’re attracted to, but also their own gender. A man who is a attracted to men is gay. A woman who is attracted to men and women is bi. I am only attracted to women, but I myself am neither a man or a woman, so I can’t say that I’m straight, nor can I say that I’m a lesbian. Therefore, it’s most accurate for me to say that I’m attracted to women and just leave it at that.

Q5. What am I supposed to call you now? Are you changing your name? A5. I still go by Rich. If I’m in a very public place (like when placing an order at Starbucks for example) and I’m identifying/presenting as a woman and don’t want to get clocked as transgender, then I use the name Christina.

The only big change is that I don’t go by gendered pronouns (he/him or she/her). Like most non-binary people, I go by the gender neutral they/them. For example, a friend of mine wouldn’t say, “That’s my friend, Rich. He is an English teacher.” Instead, that friend would say, “This is my friend, Rich. They are an English teacher.” You might notice that I changed the gender preference on Facebook to reflect this (i.e. “Rich has changed their profile picture”).

Also, in general, I do not appreciate being addressed with terms/phrases like “Hey man” or “What’s up, dude?” I understand that most of the time when people use “man” or “dude,” they don’t mean it in a gendered way, but it still really aggravates my dysphoria to be called “dude,” even if I’m identifying/presenting as more masculine.

I also understand and can respect that having to think about my pronouns like this may seem strange and/or difficult to remember, but all I ask is that you try your best and definitely don’t misgender me on purpose.

Q6. Are you going to have “the surgery”/a sex change? A6. Just for the record, the term “sex change” isn’t used any more; the medical term is gender reassignment surgery (or GRS). But no, I am not. I do not plan on undergoing any kind of surgery to change my sex nor do I plan on taking hormones. My wardrobe and gender pronouns are enough to qualm any dysphoria.

I know that this is a lot to take in, both literally in the sense that it was almost 2,000 words long and uses terms you might never have heard of before, but also that it might be emotionally difficult, so thank you if you’ve made it this far into this letter. All I can say is that I wanted to come out to you because I love you and because I care about our relationship. I don’t want to be ashamed or hide who I am from you any more. Take as much time as you need to process this and again, please, if you have any more questions or concerns, talk to me. You can call me, text me, or write me a letter of your own, whatever makes you most comfortable.

Much thanks and even more love, Rich

#me #selfie #transgender #trans #nonbinary #nb #enby #transfeminine #genderfluid #genderqueer #girlslikeus #thisiswhattranslookslike #transgirlsruletheworld #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtqia #pride #pride 2018

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