#royal growing pains | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

missbolt · 1 year

Text

Yes, of course it hurts when buds burst

– Wilhelm in the light of Karin Boye

In the second season, Wille and Simon work together on a group project about the book Kris "Crisis" by Karin Boye. The book's plot has obvious parallels to Simon and Wille's story, allowing them to reflect on their own relationship through their discussion of the book. I wonder whether including a work by Karin Boye may serve another purpose in the series as well.

In Norway where I'm from, and I think in Sweden as well, Karin Boye's name is inextricably linked to her most well-known poem Ja visst gör det ont när knoppar brister "Yes, of course it hurts when buds burst". The title/first line of this poem is particularly famous and is frequently referenced. In fact, whenever I hear or think of Karin Boye, this line automatically pops into my head, and I don't think I'm alone in that. As it happens, this poem may also serve as a beautiful metaphor for Wille's journey in the series.

Here is the full poem, first in the original Swedish version, then in an English translation slightly adapted from Jenny Nunn's translation:

Ja visst gör det ont när knoppar brister.

Varför skulle annars våren tveka?

Varför skulle all vår heta längtan

bindas i det frusna bitterbleka?

Höljet var ju knoppen hela vintern.

Vad är det för nytt, som tär och spränger?

Ja visst gör det ont när knoppar brister,

ont för det som växer

och det som stänger.

Ja nog är det svårt när droppar faller.

Skälvande av ängslan tungt de hänger,

klamrar sig vid kvisten, sväller, glider –

tyngden drar dem neråt, hur de klänger.

Svårt att vara oviss, rädd och delad,

svårt att känna djupet dra och kalla,

ändå sitta kvar och bara darra -

svårt att vilja stanna

och vilja falla.

Då, när det är värst och inget hjälper,

brister som i jubel trädets knoppar.

Då, när ingen rädsla längre håller,

faller i ett glitter kvistens droppar .

glömmer att de skrämdes av det nya,

glömmer att de ängslades för färden –

känner en sekund sin största trygghet,

vilar i den tillit som skapar världen.

Yes, of course it hurts when buds burst.

Otherwise why would spring hesitate?

Why would all our fervent longing

be bound in the frozen bitter haze?

The bud was the casing all winter.

What is this new thing, which consumes and bursts?

Yes, of course it hurts when buds burst,

pain for that which grows

and for that which envelops.

Yes, it is surely hard when drops fall.

Trembling with fear they hang heavy,

clammer on the branch, swell and slide -

the weight pulls them down, how they cling.

Hard to be uncertain, afraid and divided,

hard to feel the deep pulling and calling,

yet sit there and just quiver –

hard to want to stay

and to want to fall.

Then, at the point of agony when all is beyond help,

the tree's buds burst as if in jubilation,

then, when no fear holds them back any longer,

the branch's drops tumble in a shimmer,

forgetting that they were afraid of the new,

forgetting that they were fearful of the journey –

feeling for a second their greatest security,

resting in the trust

that creates the world.

In the series, we see how Wille goes from letting his family dictate his life, to realising what agency he does have, and finding his own voice and path. We see him going from trying to conform to what is expected of someone in his role, to prioritising himself and Simon and their love. We see him going from struggling with whether he as a crown prince can be openly queer, to coming out very publicly.

Karin Boye's poem reminds us of why Wille couldn't free himself from the expectations of him as crown prince and come out earlier: because the growth he goes through hurts so damn much. Even spring hesitates. How can we fault Wille for doing the same?

However, Boye's poem also provides us with hope. They start the group project on her book in episode three of season two, a very painful episode where Wille sinks into the depths of hopelessness and despair. It is as though the reference to Boye's poem which for me at least is implied here, tries to reassure us and Wille that everything will be alright. No matter how long spring hesitates, it will always arrive at last. The painful events of this episode is a catalyst for Wille and Simon's journey back to each other again, for Wille finding his voice and forging his own path. And we know that when no fear holds them back any longer, the drops will fall and spring will arrive at last. This moment comes during Wille's speech at the very end of the season, where he says: Jag är också rädd. Men jag tänker sluta med det nu. "I'm also scared. But that ends now." Immediately afterwards, he owns up to being in the video with Simon, thereby publicly coming out as queer and freeing himself from what has been expected of him as crown prince. The he turns and smiles at Simon, who smiles back. The buds have burst as in jubilation.

Whether the writers intend to evoke this poem or not, it perfectly encapsulates the enormous growth Wille goes through during these first two seasons. The growing process is incredibly painful, but it is what ultimately allows Wille to blossom and turn into a truer, better version of himself, letting everyone see the colours he has previously kept hidden inside himself. I can't wait to see Wille blossom in season three!

#crown prince wilhelm #prince wilhelm analysis #simon eriksson #wilmon #growing pains and blossoming #coming out #forging your own path #young royals #young royals analysis #karin boye #ja visst gör det ondt #scandinavian literature canon #thoughts overflowing my fixated mind

40 notes · View notes

kingmaximusboltagon · 5 months

Text

most appealing part of the inhumans is that theyre all middle aged with back pain

#the comfort of a group of characters ostracized for their differences but still finding happiness and love and companionship and home #gorgon having chronic pain maximus having neglected mental illness bb and triton struggling to socialize after being raised outside society #medusa taking on so much responsibility that even her loved ones start to slowly neglect her needs assuming she can handle it all #i was looking at some uncanny inhumans art and now im in a mood over 50yo blackagar .#this probably applies more to me than People In General but like. the royal family as a whole r extremely comforting to me #bc they r characters that like. i can see parts of myself in that i havent ever found in other media before #like i have a bad back! and bad joints and mobility issues sometimes! and it hurts all the time!#and i know a chronically ill character isnt like. IMPOSSIBLE to find but it still means a lot to me that they bring gorgon's pain up #and how maximus' completely ignored and silenced mental health struggles really fucked him up for like his entire life #and how bb and triton being raised almost completely removed from society and only interacting with family members until they were adults #affected their socialization skills a LOT #like these are all things i can find and like. actually see myself there. its nice to not feel completely detached from everyone else #bc growing up these r things i did not see. ever. there r so many parts of me that i thought everyone experienced and. they dont!#i have no idea where im going with this its just. these inhumans r people. and i see them. and it means something to me.#inhumans

3 notes · View notes

theveryconfusedartistsart-blog · 1 year

Note

I probably already asked you this question, but was the whole "Visayan Meteor Death God that lives in a mountain" intentional when you made Frisk's family name Bulalacao?

Ah, wow, well, if I remember, when I was figuring out Frisk's last name, I wanted it to translate to 'shooting star' and google translate gave me 'bulalakaw', so I searched further to make sure it was a proper last name, which ended up with me turning 'bulalakaw' into 'Bulalacao', I remember even looking it up a little and found out that it's also the name of an actual place in the Philippines (it's where I intended Asriel and Frisk to be at in the beginning of chapter 18)

But I guess I should have done more research because I had no idea about the Visayan Meteor Death God thing, but this makes me really happy and amazed, I love when things like that come together.

On a somewhat related note, when I was writing Growing Pains, I had Asgore utter the phrase 'sweet merciful Cithaeron' (or Kithairon, both spellings are correct) who is also supposed to be a (greek) mountain god.

#fanfic monster in the mountain talk #fanfic growing pains talk #I'm white and lived in America all my life #I wanted to make sure I got something right if I was making Frisk Filipino #even when people create things with every good intent- they can still royally screw things up #especially if they have no idea what they're talking about #so research is important #and even then I'm worried I've accidentally written something that's factually wrong or stupid #I'm saying too much

3 notes · View notes

transcendentalmaggot · 2 years

Text

I wish I could excise all fears that my disabilities make me nothing more than a burden and a liability to those I love but I find it impossible to shake the ever present glut of terror that rises in my chest that I will only ever be a source of pain for others largely for reasons outside my control.

#it’s almost like growing up being forced to keep my constant medical crises a secret so I could be normal #or at least ensure that whenever I was bullied or ostracized for my conditions I would never go to them for help #because I’d only get in trouble for failing to keep it a secret #royally fucked me up #not to mention constantly being told I’d be single forever because my disabilities make me inherently undesirable #even now whenever I have a date my family thinks I’m misinterpretting things or being scammed #to them even now they think they’re protecting me from pain by constantly questioning why anyone would want me #unless they had some malicious intent or are playing a joke #venting

3 notes · View notes

lovelykhaleesiii · 24 days

Note

Can I please request thiccc Aegon being obsessed with eating his wife’s pussy

Appetite

PAIRING: Chubby!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Wife!Reader

WORDS: 1,102.

WARNINGS: female oral receiving, swearing, chubby!aegon ii, stomach riding, teasing.

A/N - apologies for the long wait. although this request was too delicious. hope you enjoy x

It was no discrete feat that your beloved husband, Aegon the Second, was known for his grand appetite.

As a young prince, suffering the constant scrutiny of the burden of high expectations, as the eldest sibling and the potential heir, Aegon sought comfort in the company of women, and most often food... With maturity, transforming from a scrawny figure, as his body grew so did his stomach. Much more portly and round, more visible softer edges and a pooling stomach that grew further out of his waistline, Aegon, handsome nonetheless, was a formidable figure.

And as his wife, it was your duty to uphold favors for your husband...

"Today could not have been more unbearable. This family of mine continues to prove to be a complete pain and bore—” Aegon cooly whimpers, his rotund body waddling its way towards you ever so slowly from the doorway, his familiar, heavy footsteps echoing between the stony walls of your shared chambers.

"Is that so? Does your Grandsire still talk your ear off in pursuit with talks of you being King? Has Cole worn you out with your royal training? Mayhaps you’ve grown lazy, as you spend more time shoving that pretty mouth of yours full.”

Aegon’s thick arms snake around your waist, pulling you inch by inch closer towards his larger frame, the warmth radiating from him. Your breasts press against his plump chest, pushing your cleavage upward, only a teasing distance away from Aegon’s face.

“Must you always tease me? You and I both know just how much you rather enjoy this pretty mouth of mine… Although, your absence was greatly felt today. I could not stop thinking about you and…”

"Hmm, and what, Aegon?" You seducingly whisper, your lips ever so lightly grazing against Aegon's plump mouth, as your grip tightens around his clothed, excess adipose.

"That pretty, tight cunt of yours."

With only a mutual exchange of beaming smiles and darting eyes, you found yourself comfortably sat atop your husband's curvaceous hips: feeling the growing stiffness bulging beneath his trousers, the more you shifted and pressed your aching cunt against it, the more it stirred. Earning a groan or two, Aegon sat shirtless, his soft, wife belly exposed, tits growing exponentially, you could practically hold them by the handful.

"Up, baby- I need you now. But turn around. We're doing this a little differently."

It took you a minute or two, steadying yourself with your back facing towards Aegon, as you carefully aligned and planted your exposed bare cunt onto his ravenous mouth. His lips felt moist against yours, although adamant on sucking, his latch was strong feeling his thick, warm tongue slither between your throbbing, velvet folds.

His deep moans, although muffled, were penetrable enough to hear, his grip tightening, a hand clasped at each of your thighs: you felt secure atop of him, as your husband kept you confined in place. Uncertain of your stance however, for this was a first, naturally your hands fell onto his meaty rolls, manoeuvring between the plump folds of his sides, and his ample tits.

"Gotten s-so, s-so big I can practically h-hold onto these t-teats to keep me s-steady, y-your Grace-"

"K-Keep it up, a-and you'll have the most g-gracious tits th-than all the m-maidens, I-I fear."

Your jaunts and jabs seemed only to heighten Aegon's lustful drive, his head pushing in further against your backside as his hands gestured your lap to fall deeper against him: his eager tongue delved deeper between your walls, gently biting at the tender skin of your entrance. Naturally, your nails clawed and dug deeper against the paleness of his paunchy blubber, leaving remnants of red marks to grow visible instead.

Your mind no longer coherent, felt senseless and weak in such a vulnerable position, whimpering for your husband, begging aloud his name, as your cunt began to ooze eagerly with your wetness. Hearing the messy, sloppy sounds as Aegon hungrily devoured and slurped at every inch of your cunt, savouring your delectable flavour, his grand appetite did not cease either in the bedroom...

"S-So fucking good- No craving in the world could appease me, only that of my wife's glorious fucking cunt."

Your elbows grew weary, your inner thighs trembling as the strength you mustered to keep balanced lessened: Aegon kept you secured against him, his hold unmatched you endured the feast he devoured of you.

"Now, my baby's turn. I bet this aching cunt is dying to feel this against her clit- Don't think I didn't feel you groping me that entire time. You love me being fat."

As you delicately shifted yourself to face Aegon, his stocky arms guiding you with assistance, you now sat atop his lap, gazing upon his handsome face, and the glistening, milky film that intoxicated his pouty lips.

"Taste it, my love. Taste yourself. Taste how divine you are, I can never get enough of it."

With impeccable obedience, your lips instinctively plummeted against Aegon's, his tongue remaining ever so keen, pushing through into your mouth, entwining with your own: a sneaky grin echoed across his lips pressed against yours, as you devoured yourself.

Preoccupied, Aegon's meaty forearms, had snaked their way once more around your tender thighs, lifting you gently upwards, nestling you atop his round, rotund belly. Your slick cunt leaves the residue mixture of your ooze with Aegon's own saliva, a glistening trail against the fleshy, fair skin of his prominent gut. Your pace slow, only began to quick as your steady breathing began to hasten with excitement. Your nails once more, digging into the soft flesh of his broad shoulders, claw marks like of some untamed animal, grew vibrant red in contrast with the paleness of his Valyrian skin.

"Mhmm- my beloved, you were so quick to taunt at how fat and round I have become and yet you crumble at the mere sight of me. Look at you, bouncing on this gut, as if you bounce on my cock. Need I grow fatter for you to accept that you relish in lying and mating with a fat man."

"A-Aeg- N-Not just any fat man... J-Just you, my G-Grace. I l-love you for th-this and s-so much more."

The natural friction brewing from beneath, a potent heat feverish against your inner thighs and entrance, against the portly double belly of your husband: feeling his fat meekly squirm between your folds was enough to ripen an excitement only your husband's cock could genuinely deliver. Falling into his cosy embrace, you shared the rest of the evening welcoming dusk in the intimate seize of your husband.

general taglist [bold means I could NOT tag you] - @succnfuccubus @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @sylasthegrim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified @urmomsgirlfriend1 @backyardfolklore @snowprincesa1

Aegon ii taglist [bold means I could NOT tag you] - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @jawline-of-steel @daughter-of-the-stars11 @bucknastysbabe

credit for divider - @/softstargirl

449 notes · View notes

evilminji · 8 months

Text

Ya'll know our BELOVED? Little Baby Man?

The noodliest ghosty boy?

What if he WAS Baby? It wouldn't be the first time Danny's enemies plotting gave him offspring. Only this time it's not a clone! It's a proper GHOST baby. Like Lunch Box.

Who's the other parent I hear you ask?

Pretty human-centric view point there buddy, to assume Ghosts NEED two participants to make an offspring. OR are limited to two! Just cause Lunch Lady And Boxie are a couple doesn't mean that's the standard!

We lack data here! ASSUME NOTHING. *sciences harder in your direction*

*awkward cough*

*shuffles notes*

ANYWAY! The child! All it would really take is one(1) VERY poorly timed ambush attack. Imagine if you will, a cell. How does it multiply? While not even close, the simplistic images ARE pretty good as an explanation!

But isn't that just an ecto-clone? You say?

Close!

But THOSE? Are hollow bags of GOO!

No CORE! *slaps the chalkboard behind me*

However! If you wanted, say, a precious bundle off joy? Well, nothing can come from perfect void! You must contribute the building blocks of LIFE! And what are those, my students, in ghost biology??!

Two vital pieces! The Ectoplasm aaaaaaand? That's RIGHT!

The CORE!

A critical and ever vital part of ghost biological function.

Which, like every OTHER part of the body, is malleable. One could, say, make it smaller. Create part of a proto core. OR, should one be ALONE in this process, a FULL protocol.

Upon which, ectoplasm latches, builds, develops and grows. Becomes its own soul.

Now! Do Not mistake me! There is a WILDLY vast difference between the formation of a core and a shattered core. Between willing life and untimely second death. It is not, and never WILL be, easy to create the soul of a child. Tampering with your core is PAINFUL, dangerous, and leaves you WILDLY vulnerable.

There is a REASON Neverborn are so precious.

Buuuuut..... *pulls out a book labeled "Curses Though The Ages"* we must ALSO consider the famed Fenton Luck(tm).

Consider! Where would be the "safest" place to practice making clones of yourself? A place that's wide open. No one wearing white likely to take pot shots at you while your attention is divided in multiple places at once. No parents blowing up the basement at a delicate moment and leaving you trying to hide that extra arm for a week...

Maybe you forget... oh yeah... OTHER GHOSTS.

So there Danny floats. In the Zone. DISTRACTED. His core HUGE from all that recently Royal business as it tries to digest it. Feeling bloated. Trying to work off some energy, as it were. Then who should come along? Why, the universes BEST HUNTER of course! To say *gun powering up noise* :) HI :)

Like buddies DO.

Danny doesn't see him.

Danny is mid-split.

At his limit, honestly. Already made as many copies as he usually can. Is trying for ooooone moooooore..... when...

PAIN. Something cracks.

He loses concentration. Tries to curl in on himself.

Both 1.5 of him tries. He loses hold of the "clone's" Ecto. Somethings free floating leaving his chest along with it. Behind him, Skulker is freaking out. That was MEANT to be on opening volley. A gentle little "hey, come fight me". That crack sounded SERIOUS.

Danny can't breathe. It's like the portal all over again. He curls tighter and tighter. Feels the crown, which was not THERE until this moment, press down tight and gripping onto his head. Thrumming. And then... something feels like a muscle releasing.

His core is... smaller? He'd been watching its progress, it couldn't have digest so fast... how did it lose so much... mass...

Danny feels all the blood drain from his face.

He nearly died.

Again.

His... his soul... WHERE IS HIS SOUL?? That's a piece of him! A part of his SOU-!

He spins around... only to meet the eyes off a blearly blinking, noodlish, cartoon like gremlin with his color scheme. Who's floating along like they're in zero-g. Just... drifting in a slow circle.

They yawn at him with a mouth full of teeny tiny baby fangs. Then chirp.

That's his Son. He doesn't know how, he doesn't know WHY, but he somehow instinctively... just... KNOWS?

They blep.

Danny looks a Skulker. His eyes hold MURDER.

"You're paying child support."

"......yes sir."

@hdgnj @stealingyourbones

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt

1K notes · View notes

sukunas-wife · 2 months

Note

I'm in desperate need of sukuna just catering to his pregnant wife. Like he's being too careful, caring and overall really really cautious around her. I just need some sweet stuff between the two. Idk how it'll happen but it must, and I think you'll be the perfect person for it♡♡♡ i love your work sm istg i could just smoosh u into a big hug, reading your posts just makes me all giddy and melt. thank you in advance!!!

Stop Ilysm 🥺🤍 imma do my best 🥹

In no way was Ryomen Sukuna a domestic man, much less a man who would show mercy or an ounce of emotion. Yet here he stood, both sets of arms crossed over his chest hard stare following your waddle around the garden, his face was void of emotions but internal something was ignited. Subconsciously, his body led him to find you almost always when he would wander about aimlessly in thought. Here he was, standing on the engawa. His eyes ran over your body, the small swell in your tummy was a pain in his ass but there wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do to ensure your safety and his child’s. He was lucky you hadn’t noticed him or you’d probably demand something from him and there he would have to go to please you.

The cold rush of air on his skin didn't bother him, but he saw how you shivered, tucking your hands into the sleeves of your robes resting them on your swollen belly. You were persistent and stubborn it didn't surprise when the second rush of wind came and you side eyed the empty air as if threatening a being. You sighed continuing your walk in the garden, fingers grazing the flowers of the garden. The garden you had begged him to make because it had been your dream to have a lavish royal garden of your own. He remembers the first time he allowed you out of his sight, he found you sitting on a stone bench under the shade of a blooming sakura tree, you must’ve felt like one of those silly little princesses with how you slowly lifted your hand to catch falling blooms.

You felt the shift in the air but weren’t bothered to turn around and greet him, you were busy on your little adventure. You were looking for the perfect place, you kept walking until you came to a decent open space, in the centre was a ring of bushes. Staring at the space you started to space out thinking only pulled back to reality by your husband when he draped his Haori over your shoulders. He stood behind you, a pair of arms around you carefully tying it closed. His scent and warmth lingered over your skin when he stepped away, you looked back over your shoulder and up at him. He was looking past you at the bushes you were staring at, one of his left hands rested on your left shoulder. He brought a right hand up to his face, squeezing his cheek bones and running his hand down his face like he was thinking, “what have you decided?” You hummed, “A plum tree right there, as our child grows so will the tree, when he’s old enough to eat fruit it’ll start to bloom.” Sukuna didn’t understand the sentiment behind having your child grow up with his or her own tree. In the end one of them would die and they would have to part ways. “Uraume” “Yes Lord Sukuna.” It was an unspoken command. It was one of many he’d be giving for the next few months.

——————-

“…su?” Your voice was lost in the dark before you tried to sit up whispering, “..sukuna.. kuna… suuuu.” You laid a hand on your husband's chest rubbing circles, he took a slow deep breath opening his eyes to look at you. “Yes y/n?” Your hand trailed to his lower shoulder trailing down his arm and taking his hand holding it in your lap between both of your smaller hands in comparison. “I..I’m hungry..” he was looking at you with soft lidded eyes. His lower set of eyes opened when he sat up the arm he had wrapped around you in his sleep and moved to rub your side, he did his best to whisper “What do you need?” He never asked what do you want like it was a bothersome request, but rather what do you need like it was something necessary for you to keep living. “I want the melon from that fruit stand in the village. The one they had at the top in a small crate…” his mouth opened slightly like he was going to say something. Because here’s the thing, he bought that melon when he saw your eyes linger on it a little too long. But at the moment Uraume wasn’t there and he didn’t wanna carry around a small crate while he had things to do so he told the Vendor he would be back for it, and if he tried to sell it or let anything happen to it, it would be his life for that melon. He closed his mouth, “I…” he moved so he was sitting on the edge of the bed, “I’ll be right back.” You sat there rubbing your belly when he left, it didn’t feel like long considering the King of Curses was inhumanely fast. What took him longer was rummaging through the fruit vendor's stand looking for that cursed crate and melon. Finally he found it tucked away with a note in beg red characters, “LORD SUKUNA DO NOT DAMAGE DO NOT SELL AT ANY EXPENSE THE EMPEROR'S PREGNANT WIFE CAN STARVE IF IT SPARES MY LIFE.” He laughed to himself, a smug smile on his face, “These fools do have brains, how refreshing.”

He made it home and had your ladies in waiting bring you to the table, there he cracked open the crate showing you the perfect honeydew melon that had a thin layer of condensation making it look like the night dew had blessed it. Your tummy growled and your eyes shined bright for everyone to see. It was funny to see the melon on a red cushion in the crate before Sukuna carefully pulled it out and placed it on a wooden slab asking how you wanted it. You told him to cut it into slices, you watched him turn down the knife a lady in waiting offered him only to use to dismantle. It was faster, cleaner and efficient, he chose the best piece shaking off the seeds and handing it to you. You bought into it and it was the best thing in the world, until you finished your third piece and decided you didn’t want it anymore you were full and it started to taste funny. Your ladies in waiting giggled and Sukuna sighed when they started to clean it up, they decided to save the rest for you if you started craving it for at least the next two days.

——————

It wasn't long after that night, you found yourself awake at another ungodly hour of the night. You felt queasy and quickly jumped out of bed, rushing to the large washroom Sukuna loved to bathe in. You grabbed one of the brand new chamber pots the ladies in waiting had bought at Sukuna’s command for when you'd get sick in the morning. You thought you were alone but there was your husband, one arm rubbing your back, the other stilling your chalky hands, the second pair braiding your hair back and out of the way. Following you immediately he snapped at one of the servants to bring water and something to settle your stomach if it was needed. For now he provided the best comfort he could. His warm hands on your cold back and shaky hands might not have stopped your nausea but it was comforting to know he was there with you even if he could’ve just rolled over and slept. You would’ve kissed him or at least his cheek if you didn’t feel so dirty and your tummy didn’t ache and feel empty in a weird way.

——————

Here stood the King of Curses, it was past midday. He was lucky your cravings were during daylight this time but what he didn't understand was why you wanted to top your dango with crumbled salted egg yolk and mochi with dried squid topping. It made him sick and he was more than willing to eat raw human flesh. He sat there making sure the waiter never let your cup empty or your plates void of food but he stopped when you tried to top fried squid with a chocolate and red bean paste.

“Enough y/n, you will make yourself nauseous before the morning nausea starts tomorrow.” His voice and look were stern and authoritative which caused you to pout, “…fine.”

Of course that didn’t stop you from packing your left over into a little wooden bento box to take home.

So when you were hungry after being carried over half of the trip home you decided to eat that sinful concoction you called a meal. Just to find your bento had been tampered with and only had red bean paste buns and chocolate mochi. Your puffed out cheeks match your belly perfectly when you went around looking for Sukuna. Only to barge in on him having a conversation with Kenjaku. “Where’s my squid!” Kenjaku was surprised someone had the gall to raise their voice and be so demanding with the king of curses, “Not now Y/n” Sukuna tried to give you a look to tell you now isn’t an appropriate time, that didn’t stop you from getting closer seeing Kanjaku’s look of surprise when he saw your stomach swollen and prominent. The King of Curses’s wife was indeed pregnant meaning it was entirely possible for a curse to impregnate a human… but could a human.. “I told YOU I wanted that squid!” Your teary eyes had Sukuna’s eye twitching his mind was Screaming ‘dammit woman out of all the times you could cry and make a scene and walk out like THAT it had to be in front of this deranged man-?” He cleared his throat “URAUME- Yes Lord Sukuna.”

Uraume was quick to fry up squid for you, fresh, hot and crispy. It was perfect. His jaw dropped when he saw how you squeezed a drop of red bean paste and chocolate mochi filling on the squid just to take a bite. He also didn’t hesitate in running at you with one of the brand new chamber pots when all of your lunch came back up with that cursed squid. Your husband walked in and sighed, he looked at you as you wiped your mouth, “What did I tell you.” You avoided eye contact, “To not..” he placed a hand on your back rubbing up and down your spine, Uraume was quick to bring water.

————-

Finally, here was Sukuna kneeling in front of you between your legs. You were close to birthing so this had become a very common position for you. Your robes were open and he was listening to your stomach. He could hear very clearly and distinct your heart beat from your child’s. That little heart beat was strong and present no doubt his child. You always ran your hand over his hair, your nails scratching his scalp and he’d humm before finally pulling back. Spreading oil over his hands. All those Japanese Camellia seeds he forced servants to gather and extract oil from because you’d become self conscious of your body and the marks in your skin where your skin was stretching. He’d kneel there between your legs, warm hands rubbing your belly, sides, breasts and thighs down with the oil that everyone had sworn would help you prevent and recover from stretch marks. As much as he’d like to have advanced on you in these situations, he would've been doing this for your last trimester daily. There was no doubt in his mind he would’ve induced early labour, so there he sat pent up but tending to your silly little self conscious needs. Honestly, how could you think yourself ugly when he thought you looked perfectly swollen with his child. If he chose you, why would you belittle yourself? He doesn’t choose and take things that don’t meet his ridiculously high standards. So he doesn’t understand why all of a sudden the change in your mindset. But he’s here with you muttering comforting words against your stomach and thighs if it help you truly understand how he feels about you.

Squishy: @sad-darksoul @satorisgirl @bontensbabygirl @lupita97lm @queen-luna-007 @venus-seeks

@cyder-puff @bofadeezs

Perm: @sakuxxi @mercymccann @certainduckanchor @najiiix @bakugou-katsukis-wife @amitiel-truth @souyasplushie @mylovelessnightmare @ynjimenez @dolliira

Broken🥺: @cyder-puff @simpforyoubitch @domainofmarie @ilovemybabies378

585 notes · View notes

magic-and-maybess · 1 year

Text

Bad movies featuring Ashley Johnson is my favorite genre

#ashley johnson #critical role #otis (2008)#christmas cupid (2010)#annie a royal adventure (1995)#growing pains the movie (2000)#growing pains return of the seavers (2004)#the failures (2003)

3 notes · View notes

daenysx · 1 year

Note

Hi, thank you for you answer I have this idea for a Aemond x reader.

Reader is pregnant with Aemond first child. On a ball our a birthday, comes to an accident and the reader going into labor. Aemond tries to protect his wife, but its to late and he can do nothing except to hold her hand am and prey.

I hope u can understand what i mean, english is not my first language c:

thank you for this request, i hope you like it!

requests are open!!

my masterlist

come back to me

an accident leads to an early labor and prince aemond never lets go of your hand.

your prince looks quite bored as he watches the bright lights and people dancing with each other. his hand stays on your thigh, rubbing circles, comforting both you and himself. he's never liked these events, there are too many people and he has to engage conversations with them even if he despises them. he doesn't like the act of pretending, doesn't like the loud voices.

your hand stays on your swollen belly, a habit since your belly started growing. you are carrying your first child. the baby is perfectly healthy as the maesters told you and will be born in two moons. you hold aemond's hand, resting on your thigh. you try to comfort him with soft fingers and a reassuring smile. he looks at you, his lips curved into a little smile.

it's the king's name day. even though viserys targaryen is not present all the evening, he was there at the table for a few moments until he felt tired. the feast still goes on; people dance, eat, and drink. aemond is bored and doesn't want to see his mother's teary eyes, helaena's absent smile, and aegon's scandalous behaviours. his brother keeps drinking like there's no tomorrow and doesn't hide his greedy eyes towards maids.

you bring your face closer to aemond's ear, "would you like to leave, my prince?"

he gives you a worried look. "are you alright, my love?"

you nod, "i am, but we can always use my pregnancy as an excuse to retire early."

he smiles slyly. he loves how you feel his discomfort and try to make it better for him. he would love to leave now, go to your shared chambers and help you sleep with his kisses. he nods, "let me tell my mother."

he stands up, goes to talk to alicent. you stand as well, take a few steps to the stairs connect the royal table with other tables that other people are seated. as you see aemond approaching you, you turn your head to alicent's way and give her a little smile. you turn your direction back to the stairs and walk slowly.

then comes the moment of aemond targaryen's worst nightmare.

you can't even recall how, but your foot slips when you are on the stairs and you lose your balance. your hand immediately goes for your belly but you can't stop yourself from falling.

a sharp pain. that's all you feel. your head feels heavy and your legs don't seem to remember how to carry you. aemond isn't quick enough to catch you from the distance he stands. he goes to your side, sees your face covered in the look of pain and desperation. his hands stay on your body, checking if you are alright.

"my love...talk to me, please."

you sob, everyone is there, too crowded and there is no air. pain. between your legs. the ground is shaky. everything is blurry.

"aemond...our baby-it hurts."

alicent screams for the maesters. her voice is not clear in your ears, your hands never leave your belly. they carry you to your chambers, far away from people. aemond is there, his heart beats too loud, he can hear it. the distance between his eyebrows close as he yells at people around.

you are on the bed now, the pain is there. you hear aemond's voice, explaining what happened to the maester impatiently. the maester tells him that the birth might be started.

"aemond- too soon- too soon. do something, please!" your eyes are slightly open as you beg your husband. you fear of losing your baby. you don't even consider your own life, but your husband does.

aemond would burn the city to the ground if you die.

"the princess must give birth right now, my prince."

you try to reach for his hand. he is there by your side. he looks like he is in pain, he kisses your hairline and holds your hand. "stay calm, my love. we will be alright."

your prince is a rational man. he knows he should keep you calm and strong. he can endure this pain, he can even get used to it. if he wants you to stay healthy and alive, he should ease off your worries. the birth is earlier than it would be under normal conditions but that shouldn't mean the baby and you will be in a certain danger.

"i know the birth is early, but you shall be alright. you are my strong wife, remember? try to stay calm for us, for me and for our baby, please. i'm right here with you."

his voice is an anchor. you try to breathe steadily and even though your head hurts with the feeling of imbalance you do not wish to care for it.

the maester and your handmaids are in the chamber. they are in a rush, all devoted to you and your prince. you can understand that aemond's presence and his stern voice helps little for them to complete their duties.

you hear the maester's desperate voice. "my prince, you shall not be in here."

your husband answers with the coldest tone. "if any of you ever dare to tell me to leave my wife, i will make sure of your painful deaths caused by vhagar."

the maester accepts his words unwillingly. you care little for it. you are too tired, you don't know what to do, you don't want to die here. aemond stays next to you, holds your hand and caresses your hair with his free hand.

"you will not leave me. did you hear that, sweet wife? everything will be fine."

you blink slowly. you try to hold onto that warm tone of his voice. you feel the maester's hands on your body, he keeps telling you to push. you spend all your strength but it feels impossible. it feels like death and you are more scared for your baby than you are scared for yourself. with a little conscious you pray for your baby. for your husband. let them be fine.

aemond is terrified. there's no other word to describe how he feels. he is scared. he keeps thinking about the endless possibilities. he tries to look strong but this is harder than all the battles and duels.

alicent is in the chambers too, watching her son with worried eyes. she fears for your life, she prays and prays and prays. she sees how aemond tries to create a safe space for you. how he tries for you to focus on the birth instead of the fear of death.

"once more, princess."

you scream. you are sure the entire keep is covered with your screams. you lost the count of time. how many hours have passed, is it morning yet? you don't know. then you feel a sudden relief. your baby leaves your body and all your muscles shakes at the feeling.

"a son, your grace!"

you try to see your baby but you don't have the strength to lift your head enough. a boy. a beautiful boy. you wait to hear his cry but there is no voice. aemond stays frozen, he doesn't let go of your hand, his tears are ready to fall.

then the most beautiful sound you've ever heard fills the room.

your son cries and the maester smiles. "there is nothing to worry now, my prince. the little prince looks quite healthy. "

aemond smiles and looks at you. he knows how tired you are but you manage to give him a smile anyway. the relief of your son being healthy and safe is too strong to resist and you close your eyes.

the maids clean the baby and wrap clean, white clothing around him. aemond reaches to hold his son. his son.

the feeling is quite strange for the one eyed prince. he still fears for you but holding his baby in his arms is a relief. he holds him for what feels like an eternity. he memorises the baby's facial features, all the same with his, only with the shape of your mouth. he watches, mesmerised and happy.

alicent approaches closer to her son. aemond looks at her and puts the baby in her arms securely after pressing a little kiss on his forehead. alicent smiles to her grandson, proud and relieved. her worries lessen when she sees how healthy the baby is even though he was born two moons early.

aemond sits on the edge of the bed. your handmaids clean the bed, there is no blood now. you are in a clean space, your eyes closed and your hair messy. he brushes his fingers on your cheek gently, prays to the gods to give you back to him. he prays for you to find your balance again, to be happy now that your son is here. he prays for you to wake up, to tell him you're fine, to ask him about the baby's name. he wishes for you to tell him all your name choices and decide what's your desire to call your boy. he just wishes for you to come back to him.

he keeps stroking your cheek when you open your eyes. your eyes are unfocused for a moment, then you see him. he looks exhausted but when he realizes you open your eyes, he cups your cheek. "my love?"

"aemond, our son-" your voice doesn't feel like your own. you can't complete your clumsy sentence.

"he is alright. a perfect boy, healthy and safe. how do you feel, my lady?"

you sigh in comfort when he tells you about your son. "i'll be better."

"yes, you will. you will be better. than we will choose a name for our boy, hmm? would you like that?"

you nod. "yes. it would be lovely."

your prince takes a deep breath. the experience was terrifying but you survived. he leans and kisses your forehead affectionally. "you have done perfectly. i love you."

"i love you. thank you for never leaving, my prince."

he shakes his head. "i will be by your side until the end of my days."

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond one eye #aemond fluff

2K notes · View notes

aceyanaheim · 2 years

Text

“What I want is for you to stop treating me like a screw up little kid but you’ll never do that because you like feeling better than me you always have”

“Or maybe it’s because one way or another you do mess up and I’m the one that has to step in I’m tired of cleaning up your messes”

OOF the dysfunction the resentment I love it kadhfads

#acey watches!#Royal Pains #im being FED today kiddos i love these boys omg #pour one out for Dyvia tho she's suffering ( and probably glad she found her brothers when they were adults instead of growing-#-up with them lbr lmao)#no but its like.....its all the stuff that build up snuckup when they weren't noticing because they were too busy getting through it #its how much they love each other and how this is just A Thing #communication skills of the fucking tower of babel i love these two kjasf #...don't look at me #( because you can Tell you can Tell that this goes back years probably to back when their mother died and it was just the two of them #and they both Coped in ways that probably hurt the other sometimes and they both developed and #like ppl really arent that Aware of their own patterns of behaviours so its all of that coming to a head #why is this show so under rated im the only one losing my mind about these 2 #...well and my sister but she doesnt have a choice bc we share a room lmao

0 notes

jangmi-latte · 5 months

Text

you just know how much of an impact lilia had on malleus when — the time he still doesn't know about lilia's contribution to his life — he would run away/secretly escape from the castle and visit lilia from time to time in his little cottage in the forest. he doesn't like it back home and prefers to stay in a very homely and small cottage where it's full of life. heck he probably still appreciates lilia's cooking since lilia cooks out of LOVE, not just to keep him alive. despite it being deadly

it's how much he looks up to lilia when it was also him that introduced ice cream to malleus, when he had his tantrums, when he didn't know how to control his magic, how they'd play fight all the time (even until now). he even was willing to assist lilia when it comes to looking after little silver. it was lilia that gave him the confidence and strength and he KNOWS that but it must've been so painful knowing the full truth.

damn it he even listens and cowers to lilia if lilia's mad/scolding him because NO ONE DOES back in his home so how would he learn?? malleus doesn't even like being acknowledged as a prince. that's why he's so admirable/attached towards the mc because they're clueless about his real nature and the mc sees mal for himself. which is what lilia does because heaven forbid lilia doesn't care about mal's title 🥹 he's putting that draconia ass to his place just like he does to his mom. and may i remind you, most of the royal duties were forced on mal leaving him no room to make mistakes and just be...a young fae (ie. during his birthday he needs to do royal stuff as 'acknowledgement' since his birthday is a national holiday in his country). meanwhile, lilia just lets him play and do whatever he wants until he needed to interfere.

if you see malleus and leona's bickering, lilia can actually sense that mal's enjoying it and he fully supports that ideal because again and again he knows malleus needs it as part of growing up. damn it i hate the royal household of briar valley. when leona commented that malleus is so lucky to have everything and be acknowledged, best believe that malleus doesn't even like it. while he's being acknowledged, he's not evolving as a fae. he's just forced into a space where he's not himself. and leona's being ignored by his own senate but gives him to freedom to be and do what he wants. lilia is giving him THAT kind of freedom. a father. the rightful father figure that he NEEDS.

do you see the juxtaposition? do you see how important lilia is now to malleus' life? because damn well the senate of briar valley's deadass eyes don't. like come on y'all dead just STAY DEAD FFS‼️‼️🗣️🗣️

#twisted wonderland #twst #diasomnia #malleus draconia #lilia vanrouge #twst spoilers #i'm sorry but can you just SMELL how much i despise malleus' household now #i'm gonna keep making these posts to spread my agenda on hating on briar valley's senate

471 notes · View notes

merakiui · 2 months

Text

madness of duke venomania, but it's azul. >:D women have started going missing in your village. no one knows what's happening. your lover (riddle) assures you that all will be well. he's here to keep you safe. you have nothing to fear.

and yet, in spite of that, you're the next lady to disappear.

azul, who has made a contract with a demon to make himself irresistible to all, is loved and revered in the manor in which he resides. hidden deep within the forest, it's a place no one knows of. women come, but they never go. it is here where he, who has never known the feeling, is loved. he's fancied at every hour. it's a marvelous thing. out of everyone in the harem, however, you're his favorite. his dearest darling. his sweet childhood friend. even when you mocked and ridiculed him, he thought you were the prettiest. you've since forgotten about him, having grown and matured into a wonderful lady. a lady who caught the eye of that red-haired royal tutor. but azul can forgive you and your forgetful nature. after all, he was a gross, ugly thing in his childhood—someone hardly memorable. of course you would forget him.

but now it's okay because he finally has you and all the affection he could ever want. you fall into bed with him, entangled sweetly in the sheets. you look at him like he hung the stars. you kiss him, embrace him, whisper all manner of saccharine things. you love him, so sickly enchanted that the thought of leaving him never crosses your mind. it can't. he won't allow it. you wear sheer, satin nightgowns for him and giggle when he trails his fingers up your arms to reach your shoulders, peeling the fabric off like he's unwrapping a gift. this sort of infatuation is silky-smooth, dubiously reciprocated, and yet with enough delusion it's real and raw.

riddle never gives up searching for you. he catches wind of rumors about a monster holed up in a mansion. could that be where you've gone? the locals whisper about it: a demon who can enchant and tempt even the most unwavering woman. riddle feels himself growing ill with every bit of information he learns. knowing what he must do, he dons a pretty dress, a wig, and some makeup. He hides a dagger within the frills of his gown, its blade glistening with a potent poison. he's determined. danger be damned; he'll find and save you.

azul embraces him like he does every woman, far too full of himself to realize the con. it's when he feels the sharp, stabbing pain in his abdomen that he draws away, his pompous façade failing. he looks on in horror, blood seeping through his clothes, as riddle tears the wig off to scowl at him. the vermillion-stained dagger is held tightly in his other hand.

oh. he was tricked.

azul collapses, his palms pressing against the wound in an effort to halt the bleeding. it's no use. the poison digs deep, a fatal foil. with the spell effectively broken the women, who were once so wrapped up in him—so ensorcelled—begin to flee. he watches them go, his expression twisted in pain. but nothing hurts more than when you step over him on the cold tiles, striding towards the door. azul reaches out for you with a blood-stained palm. he looks pitiful. weak. sad.

you turn to look at him. his eyes are wide and panicked, tears rolling down his cheeks in rivulets. he'll die alone here. you don't quite care.

with your hand sliding into riddle's, you scoff at him and turn away.

he begs you to wait, to come back, to listen to him. please... please don't leave him. don't go! he hasn't told you he loves you yet!

#meraki mumbles

271 notes · View notes

blackopals-world · 9 months

Text

Writer!Yuu: How did you meet Lilia?

Celestial!Yuu: That isn't a very good question. I always knew Lilia, just like I have always known everyone. Just like I have always known Yuu and your real name.

Writer!Yuu: Anyways! How did you fall in love?

Celestial!Yuu:*sighs* So demanding~ That's a complicated question. My husband was a different man back in those days and so was I. The war between humans and fae had consumed the land and the gods refused to listen to either side. I had shunned my followers human and fea alike. Lilia was one of them. He prayed to me even on the moonless night for my return. But when I condemned my people for their bloodshed he stopped praying. His love for his people and desire to end the war drove him to fight harder. He no longer heard my word. The general called upon me in the wake of the death of the king and queen. He cursed me in anger as he held the prince's still unhatched egg. He claimed that if I had remained by his side and blessed them as I had done before that there would be no royal blood spilled. But he didn't see what I saw. I saw thousands, no millions die in war in my lifetime. Did he not know that I felt their pain? I feel the pain of all those under the moonlight as I became a part of them. I was also able to feel his pain. His grief. I didn't want war but neither did he. Perhaps he was right. If I had done my part to end it and chosen a side this could have been avoided but many humans worshiped me back then. I couldn't betray them. I told Lilia I could not take part in the battle but I could protect the egg. Protecting life was my purpose and gift. Unfortunately, I wasn't very good at hatching an egg. Dragons need a lot of love to hatch and even when the war ended Malleus took longer than anticipated. It was not until Lilia and I admitted to our feelings for one another did Malleus truly start to grow. You have no idea how happy we were. Before Lilia and I would fight a lot. He couldn't forgive me for what he believed to be betrayal and I was ashamed of my follower's actions. Malleus was the tie that bonded us and made us let go of the past. We have come a long way since those days.

Writer!Yuu: *writing furiously*

Writer!Yuu:(internally) This is about to be the greatest Enemies to Lovers book that ever existed.

#celestial!yuu #writer!yuu #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland incorrect quotes #twst lilia #lilia twisted wonderland #lilia vanrouge #lilia x reader #twisted wonderland lilia

570 notes · View notes

the-jules-world · 10 months

Text

thoughts on the Pevensies returning home

Peter Pevensie was a strange boy. His mind is too old for his body, too quick, too sharp for a boy. He walks with a presence expected of a king or a royal, with blue eyes that darken like storms. He holds anger and a distance seen in veterans, his hand moving to his hip for a scabbard that isn't there - knuckles white. He moves like a warless soldier, an unexplained limp throwing his balance. He writes in an intricate scrawl unseen before the war, his letters curving in a foreign way untaught in his education. Peter returned a stranger from the war, silent, removed, an island onto himself with a burden too heavy for a child to bear.

Only in the aftermath of a fight do his eyes shine; nose burst, blood dripping, smudged across his cheek, knuckles bruised, and hands shaking; he's alive. He rises from the floor, knighted, his eyes searching for his sisters in the crowd. His brother doesn't leave his side. They move as one, the Pevensies, in a way their peers can't comprehend as they watch all four fall naturally in line.

But Peter is quiet, studious, and knowledgeable, seen only by his teachers as they read pages and pages of analytical political study and wonderful fictional tales. "The Pevensie boy will go far," they say, not knowing he already has.

His mother doesn't recognize him after the war. She watches distrustfully from a corner. She sobs at night, listening to her son's screams, knowing nothing she can do will ease their pain. Helen ran on the first night, throwing Peter's door open to find her children by his bedside - her eldest thrashing uncontrollably off the mattress with a sheen of sweat across his skin. Susan sings a mellow tune in a language Helen doesn't know, a hymn, that brings Peter back to them. He looks to Edmund for something and finds comfort in his eyes, a shared knowing. Her sons, who couldn't agree on the simplest of discussions, fall in line. But Peter sleeps with a knife under his cushion. She found out the hard way, reaching for him during one of his nightmares only to find herself pinned against the wall - a wild look in Peter's eye before he staggered back and dropped the knife.

Edmund throws himself into books, taking Lucy with him. They sit for hours in the library in harmony, not saying a word. His balance is thrown too, his mind searching for a limp that he doesn't have, missing the weight of his scabbard at his side. He joins the fencing club and takes Peter with him. They fence like no one else; without a worthy adversary, the boys take to each other with a wildness in their grins and a skillset unforeseen in beginner fencers. Their rapiers are an exertion of their bodies, as natural as shaking hands, and for the briefest time, they seem at peace. He shrinks away from the snow when it comes, thrust into the darkest places of his mind, unwilling to leave the house. He sits by the chessboard for hours, enveloped in his studies until stirred.

Susan turns silent, her mind somewhere far as she holds her book. Her hands twitch too, a wince when the door slams, her hand flying to her back where her quiver isn't. She hums a sad melody that no one can place, mourning something no one can find. She takes up archery again when she can bear a bow in her hands without crying, her callous-less palms unfamiliar to her, her mind trapped behind the wall of adolescence. She loses her friends to girlishness and youth, unable to go back to what she was. Eventually, she loses Narnia too. It's easier, she tells herself, to grow up and move on and return to what is. But her mourning doesn't leave her; she just forgets.

Lucy remains bright, carrying a happier song than her sister. She dances endlessly, her bare feet in the grass, and sings the most beautiful songs that make the flowers grow and the sun glisten. Though she has grown too, shed her childhood with the end of the war. She stands around the table with her sister, watching, brow furrowed as her brothers play chess. She comments and predicts, and makes suggestions that they take. She reads, curled into Edmund's side as his high voice lulls her to sleep with tales of Arthurian legends. She swims, her form wild and graceful as she vanishes into the water. They can't figure out how she does it - a girl so small holding her breath for so long. She cries into her sister, weeping at the loss of her friends, her too-small hands too clumsy for her will.

"I don't know our children anymore," Helen writes to her husband, overcome by grief as she realizes her children haven't grown up but away into a place she cannot follow.

#narnia #the chronicles of narnia #the pevensies #high king peter the magnificent #queen susan the gentle #king edmund the just #queen lucy the valiant #peter pevensie #susan pevensie #edmund pevensie #lucy pevensie #pevensie siblings #narnia thoughts #helen pevensie #the chronicles of narnia prince caspian #the chronicles of narnia the lion the witch and the wardrobe

928 notes · View notes

katyswrites · 23 days

Text

put on your records (and regret me)

PART 3 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: asshole!Steve, rivals-to-lovers, swearing, alcohol use, recreational weed use, descriptions of puking/hangovers, no use of y/n, not quite smut but we're getting close folks

Wordcount: 4.3k

Playlist

You love WAMC-Hawkins, Indiana’s top college radio station. It’s your safe space, your niche. It’s where you’ve made your friends, your favorite place to be when the rest of the world gets to be just a bit too much. Well, with one exception.

Steve Harrington is a thorn in your side. And just as well - he thinks you’re a royal pain in the ass. But in your senior year, you’re both on the e-board, so you have to work together. You love to hate him. So why can’t you get him out of your head? And, why do you find yourself going to see his band, each and every weekend?

Underground basement concerts, spinning old records, and screaming matches in the vinyl library with the boy you love to hate. An enemies-to-lovers college radio station 90s AU.

TRACK 3

You don’t see Steve for nearly a week after that - you hang around the radio station quite a bit, as you usually do, but never manage to run into him. You should be thankful for that - for how peaceful it is. It’s not even like you want to see him - no, why would you? He’s a pain in your ass, and you should be thankful that you can do your job in peace.

No, it’s not actually at the station that you see him next - though, it’s tangentially related. You’re at perhaps your second-favorite place in the world - Varsity Vinyl, the local record shop downtown. It has some of the best selection you’d seen, and you always find yourself there - buying for your own growing record collection, or rooting through the used and discounted bin to help stock the station’s vinyl library. It’s where you find yourself on a Saturday afternoon, flipping through records while figuring how much money you actually realistically are able to spend.

You don’t see him, not at first. He’s standing further down the aisle, and when you finally look up and spot him, you nearly jump - he’s just staring at you, eyes wide. You straighten up, just holding eye contact - you feel like two wild animals sizing each other up, deciding whether to run or fight. You’re truly deciding between those two options when he clears his throat.

“Oh - uh, hey,” he says, quieter than you had expected.

“Hey.”

You shift uncomfortably on your feet, a beat of silence passing between you. Then, you both find yourselves speaking at once:

“Your party was fun the other night -”

“Are you okay -”

You both pause, and you awkwardly laugh.

“Sorry, uh - the party was fun last weekend. Thanks,” you say quietly.

Steve shrugs.

“Oh, yeah - glad you came. You… you seemed like you were having a good time.”

Like I made an absolute fool of yourself, more like, you think to yourself.

“Oh! I mean - I guess. Sorry if I got a little - uh -”

“It’s fine, don’t worry - we’ve had worse,” Steve assures.

He hasn’t said anything about bringing you home. Part of you is convinced that Eddie was misinformed, and Steve didn’t actually bring you home that night - that is, if it wasn’t for that stupid note. The note you probably should have thrown out, but stuck into a desk drawer instead - to refer to later, just to make sure you weren’t crazy, you had reasoned.

But now, Steve is standing in front of you, more quiet and withdrawn than you’ve ever seen in the past four years of knowing him.

“So, uh - thanks,” you say quickly, almost mumbling.

“For what?” he asks, confused.

“For, um, getting me home safe - I don’t really remember it, but -”

He waves you off. “Oh, that - don’t worry about it. The hardest part was getting you to tell me your address,” he says, laughing. “You were wasted.”

You groan. “That’s…embarrassing.”

He smirks. “Honestly, yeah, a little bit. But most people were gone by then, so… your secret’s safe with me.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“I mean - I’m surprised you didn’t tell everybody - how I was, you know, throwing up all over your apartment, being a drunk idiot -”

Why didn’t he? It’s leverage - a way to make people lose respect for you, and gain more for him. A part of this stupid, pointless power battle you two seem to always be involved in, seeing how far you can push one another. His response is unexpected.

“You don’t actually think that little of me, do you?”

You don’t really know how to answer that.

He scoffs. “Look, it’s not my fault that you can’t hold your alcohol for shit. But, I’m not going to go around telling everyone that, okay? Christ -”

He trails off, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. You’re welcome, though.”

You suddenly feel like a bit of an asshole - Steve is used to you throwing insults his way, but this time, it seems to have struck a chord with him.

“I was in a really bad way, wasn’t I?” you ask quietly, avoiding eye contact.

He nods. “Honestly? Yeah, it wasn’t pretty. You really don’t remember?”

You shake your head, face feeling flushed with embarrassment. He just sighs.

“What do you remember?”

You rack your brain for a moment, biting your lip absentmindedly as you think.

“Um - I remember playing Kings with everyone… and, uh…”

I remember you coming in from the porch with what’s-her-face on your arm -

“-and it gets fuzzy after that,” you say quickly.

“Oh, okay - wow, that’s pretty early on. Well, you did some shots with Eddie and Robin - you got on the kitchen table at one point ... I think you threw up over my balcony… and after that I, uh, hung out with you in the bathroom while you threw up some more, and brought you home.”

You freeze. “Wait - you babysat me, like, the whole time? I thought that was Eddie -”

“No way, Eddie was too high to help anyone. I was stone-cold sober by that point, thanks to you.”

“Oh,” you say, wishing you could sink into the floor. Steve fucking Harrington knew what you looked like keeled over a toilet and puking your guts out… dammit.

“It was pretty gnarly, but… it’s fine. Really, it’s okay.”

For maybe the first time in his life, it sounds like Steve is being sincere with you. Another beat of silence passes, then he’s clearing his throat again.

“So… you have any big plans tonight? A repeat of last weekend, maybe?” he asks casually. You furrow your brow, confused.

“Um - do you actually care?”

He shrugs. “So what if I do?”

“Well - no, after last weekend I’m not sure if I ever want to drink again -”

“The most famous lie ever told,” he cuts in, grinning. You just roll your eyes, and pretend to be interested in perusing the records as you return to flipping through the crates.

“-but it just so happens that I do have plans tonight,” you say quietly.

“Hot date?”

You scoff. “I’m going to Fuze Box. Nancy’s covering some bands for an article for the campus paper, and I figured I’d check out who's playing tonight.”

WAMC has a long-standing relationship with Fuze Box, a small music venue for local artists and college bands. A lot of students and station members play there, and shows at the Box get advertised a lot on the air. You try to go to local gigs as much as you can - though, you haven’t made as much of an effort lately, too overwhelmed by other responsibilities as station manager. Nancy’s article is a good excuse to go, for the first time all semester.

“So, you don’t know any of the bands playing tonight?” he asks, leaning against a shelf and crossing his arms.

You shake your head. “Nope - just figured I’d check it out, go in blind. Maybe I’ll even put some of the bands in my radio slot next week, if they’re selling CDs or something.”

Steve grins mischievously.

“Right - well, have fun, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes at the nickname, and know that any semblance of an awkward peace between you two is gone - the Steve you know and love (to hate) is back. You turn to make a clever retort, but he’s gone, having stalked off to a different aisle.

You’re not sure what he’s up to, but part of you now has a sneaking suspicion that he might show up at the venue tonight just to piss you off - it’s such a Steve move.

As you go to the checkout, you do your best to shake it - after all, what’s the worst that can happen?

*****

“Thank you - we’ve been Lime of Decision - goodnight!” the lead singer shouts, a collection of hollers and applause following. The lights go up a bit, some venue staff coming out to the stage to adjust the equipment for the next band.

“Lime Of Decision is… a choice,” Nancy says, scribbling something into her notebook.

“Yeah, that’s because their name is literally meant to be a joke,” you say absentmindedly.

“What?”

“Jason, the lead singer? His ex-girlfriend is in a band called Lemon Of Choice, so it’s like…funny. I think.”

Nancy chuckles, shaking her head.

“Which band is better?”

“Definitely hers,” you say immediately.

You and Nancy both stare at each other for a moment, and break into a fit of giggles.

“I’m going to get another drink, you want anything?” she asks.

You shake your head, holding up the cup of beer you’re still nursing from the beginning of the last band’s set.

She disappears into the crowd, and you sigh, taking a drink as you once again survey the room. If Steve actually is here, you haven’t spotted him yet - maybe he decided that getting on your nerves wasn’t worth actually paying the cover at the door. Or, maybe he actually had more important plans - maybe even with that girl he was all cozy with at the party -

You stop yourself - why do you care? If anything, it should be a good thing that he doesn’t seem to be here.

There’s two more bands left to go - you had glanced at the flier on the way in, but only recognized Lime Of Decision in the lineup. So, when Nancy returns with a new drink and the lights begin to dim again, you just hope the next band is better - it can really be hit or miss at these sorts of shows.

Darius, the radio station’s tech engineer, is emceeing the show. He steps out on stage to introduce the next band, earning a smattering of cheers and hollers thrown in his direction.

“Alright, alright everyone! Settle down - that includes you, Hagan - Jesus Christ, okay - can we give it up for the amazing bands we’ve heard so far tonight?”

You clap along with the rest of the crowd, rolling our eyes at the sound of particularly rowdy hollers from the back that you just know comes from Eddie and the rest of Corroded Coffin.

Darius’ eyes narrow.

“Dammit, Munson - when I said a month-long ban, I meant it -”

You glance back to see Eddie flipping Darius off - famously, Corroded Coffin got a temporary suspension from Fuze Box for smoking weed in the green room. But, the ban actually being enforced… not likely.

Darius rolls his eyes, struggling to get the room back on track as he taps the microphone.

“Okay, okay - everyone, can we please - if you all can shut the fuck up - okay, whatever. The next band up tonight - you guys know and love. They’re a Fuze Box favorite - and no, they are not promising anything with the name. Give it up for Free Beer!

You can’t help but laugh at the band’s name - you instinctively turn to Nancy, who is doing her best to stifle a giggle as she writes something on her notepad, squinting in the dark.

It’s during those few seconds while you’re looking away that the band takes the stage - which is why, when you glance back, you freeze as you see who’s standing front-and-center.

Steve stands at the mic stand, an electric guitar slung over his shoulders as he smiles at the crowd.

You freeze. Other band members - including Robin and Argyle, who you know all too well from the radio station - come out onto the stage behind him. But you’re just staring at Steve, dumbfounded.

You knew he had a band - scheduling them to perform on the air was always a nightmare for you, which you knew Steve did on purpose. So, you had never learned anything about them on-principle. You hadn’t heard a lick of music, didn’t know who else was in it, or even the goddamn name - until right now.

Nancy’s eyes are on you, you can feel it. You turn briefly to look at her.

“Do you want to leave?” she asks, glancing at where Steve stands on stage. You shake your head.

“God, no! I - I’m an adult, I can be in the same room as Harrington,” you say, laughing nervously. You’re not sure how much you believe yourself. She stares at you for a moment, then just nods, turning her attention back to the stage, where Steve is stepping up to the mic.

“Hey guys - we’re Free Beer. I’m Steve -”

A few feminine voices cheer from the back. Your eyes roll so far to the back of your head that you’re worried you’ll go blind.

“Thanks, ladies, love the enthusiasm. So - let’s just get into it. Ready to hear some songs?”

There’s an eruption of cheers through the audience - one of the biggest reactions of the night so far.

“Alright - this one is called ‘Closer,’ I hope you enjoy.”

From the moment he plays the first chord, something shifts in the room. The crowd becomes less rowdy, less chatty. No - everyone is really listening. Some are even singing along - how the fuck do this many people know the words?

You want to hate it - you want the set to be something you’re tolerating, something that makes you look forward to the next band coming out. But, despite your efforts, that’s not what happens. Because the band is good. Robin is killer on bass, and Argyle is a formidable drummer, despite his perpetually laid-back persona. And Steve - it’s like he was born to do this.

Aside from having a pretty good voice, and being an excellent guitarist, he’s actually a good frontman. He’s charismatic, knows how to work the crowd, and somehow, he makes the tiny stage of the Fuze Box feel as exciting as Live Aid.

You want to scream - of course he’s good. You catch yourself moving along to the music every now and then, and immediately stop yourself, hoping nobody sees. At one point, you swear Steve sees you. His eyes land on yours - or, at least, in your direction. You think you imagine it - it’s a big enough crowd, and you’re far enough back that he probably can’t see past the first few rows. That is, until he smirks, in the way that you know he reserves only to taunt you, to challenge you.

Fuck.

*****

You find yourself heading down the hallway after Steve’s set - you’re looking for the bathroom, shouldering through the bodies packed into the narrow passage. Part of it is because your beer has finally gone through you, and more so because you need a minute of peace and quiet, just to stare at yourself in the mirror and talk some sense into yourself. Steve’s band can’t be good - that would be a problem. If you didn’t know who was part of it, they’re the kind of band you would buy records for, keep a spare CD in your car, and even include as part of your radio show. But…it's Steve.

You had purposely never gone to any of his shows - you never listened to any in-studio sessions they did at the station, and God knows you would never ask Steve about his music. What the fuck?

Part of you also wants to smack him - of course he was performing here tonight - he looked you in the eye at the record store today, heard you were coming here tonight, and said nothing. Next time you see him, you decide, you’ll ignore him - you won’t even acknowledge that you saw him perform. If he asks, you’ll tell him you left the show early, long before he came on stage. You won’t give him the satisfaction of thinking you sat through his whole set, let alone enjoyed it.

You can’t exactly remember where the bathroom is - was it all the way at the end of the hallway? None of the doors are really labeled, which tracks for Fuze Box.

You knock on a few doors and jiggle the handles - one is an electrical closet, the other is locked and seemingly empty. You finally reach a door at the end, and give it a gentle knock - nobody responds. You try the knob, and it gives way. After shouldering your way inside, you wish you hadn’t.

Apparently, instead of the bathroom, you’ve managed to find the green room - although, to call the backstage area of the Fuze Box a green room is generous. It’s really a tiny room with a worn out couch, a cracked glass coffee table littered with ashtrays, and lighting so dim that you have to squint to figure out exactly where you are as you slip through the door.

It’s only once you’re inside, when it’s too late, that you realize you’ve walked in on Steve.

His back is turned to you, but he jumps slightly and turns when he hears the door open. He’s wiping his brow with a towel, and he grins when he sees you.

“Hey, sweetheart - wasn’t expecting to see you back here.”

You stand in the doorway awkwardly - why couldn’t the rest of his band be hanging out here with him? That way, you could throw out a blanket ‘you guys were great’ statement. But now it’s just him, staring at you, his face saying why the fuck are you here?

“Oh - sorry - I’m in the wrong room,” you say quickly, your face feeling hot as you start to back away.

“Okay - sure you are,” Steve says sarcastically.

“What does that mean?” you ask, stopping your retreat.

He shrugs. “Don’t know - you just seem to always conveniently stumble into me, don’t you sweetheart?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Try to stop me.”

There’s a moment of silence, and you just groan with frustration, taking a few steps towards him.

“Jesus, I - I don’t know if it’s like, a weird sick game to you, or you’re just always trying to piss me off - or if you just can’t help and flirt with everyone -”

“You think I’m flirting with you?” he asks, grinning mischievously.

You stop, folding your arms in indignation.

“No - I mean, kind of, but probably as a joke - I know what you’re up to, Harrington.”

“And what exactly am I up to?”

“This bullshit you keep pulling,” you say, gesturing between you two. “This - like, always sabotaging my shit, and getting in my way - but then like, this stupid nice-guy thing, where you drive me home when I’m drunk and don’t tell anyone, but then like you trick me into watching your stupid band perform -”

He scoffs. “Trick you? Be serious -”

“You knew I’d be here tonight - you knew, and didn’t say anything -”

“Well given your track record, sweetheart, if you had known I’d be playing, I’m sure you would’ve been front row!”

You stop mid-sentence, mouth hanging open as you try to search inwardly for a reply. Your face feels hot all of a sudden.

He’s smirking now, just like he did on stage. As always, he’s too confident, too sarcastic, too Steve. He’s taken away your ability to even come up with a halfway decent retort. It pisses you off.

“I - that’s not -”

Your blood is rushing to your head, roaring in your ears, too enraged to even let you think straight anymore. You’re marching right up to him now, prodding his chest with your finger.

“I don’t like you,” you say.

“You don’t say?” he drawls, still smiling. Why is he smiling?

“Stop doing that -”

“Doing what?” he asks, feigning innocence.

“Stop distracting me -”

“I distract you?”

You want to kick yourself.

“I - well - only because you’re so -”

“Devilishly handsome?”

“-fucking annoying.”

He cocks his head, like you’ve only mildly piqued his curiosity instead of insulted him.

You sigh. “What?”

“It’s just - you didn’t seem to find me very annoying last weekend when you tried to kiss me.”

A beat. You just stand there, jaw agape as his words hang in the air between you like smoke on a hazy summer’s day.

“That’s not funny,” you manage to say.

“Does it look like I’m laughing?”

You’re suddenly aware of how close you are to him - the next band has started outside, a distant din that should be distracting. But all you can focus on is Steve - the beads of sweat on his forehead, the way you’re close enough to smell that he had just had a cigarette.

“I didn’t -”

“Sweetheart - right before you puked your guts up in my bathroom, you tried to stick your tongue down my throat. Don’t worry - I didn’t let you. I really thought you would’ve remembered, until I saw you in the record store - then I realized you didn’t remember jack shit.”

You feel like you’re making this up. He’s just saying this to get under your skin - he must be. It’s the only explanation. Because you’d never -

“You’re lying.”

But he’s just staring at you, and you’re starting to get the sickening suspicion that this isn’t a joke.

“You’re lying,” you repeat, though it sounds more like a question this time.

He’s taking another step towards you, shaking his head.

“You know what they say, sweetheart - in vino vesco, or whatever. You know - how people say and do what they’re really thinking when they’re drunk -”

“Veritas.”

He stops, furrowing his brow.

“I - what?”

You can’t help yourself - you just can’t.

“The phrase is in vino veritas - it means truth. I think vesco means food or something, you’re missing the whole -”

“Shut up,” he says. “You’re always such a -”

You don’t let him finish. Instead, you’re kissing him. You don’t mean to do it, you swear - but he had gotten so close, the heat radiating off of him too much to ignore. And, he was really pissing you off - you didn’t need to hear another word out of his mouth.

You fist your hands in his t-shirt, your lips on his, messy and desperate, like you’re trying to prove a point. And he’s kissing you back.

Steve kisses the same way he argues - he’s aggressive, his hands coming up to grab your face and pull you closer. He tastes like cigarettes and cheap beer, his aura hot and desperate as it envelops you.

The band plays out in the venue, the audience cheering and singing along - but, all you can hear is Steve’s labored breath against your lips, your own heart thudding in your chest.

The kiss was all teeth and tongue, another argument you were both desperate to win. But, right now, you’re losing. Because he’s guiding your body, and you’re responding, stepping backwards until your back is hitting the cinderblock wall.

No words are spoken, just breathy moans and the sounds of your lips moving in unison. It’s not remotely romantic - it feels more like fuck you, I’m trying so hard to hate you, why can’t you let me -

One of his hands has traveled down to your waist, gripping it firmly enough to tell you that he wanted more. You feel his hand start to move, slipping under the hem of your shirt and gently brushing the warm skin of your lower back. His hands are calloused, rough against the softness of your skin. You let him start to explore, unable to stop yourself from quietly moaning against his lips.

You know you should stop - but you can’t. It’s addicting, the way he’s still fighting with you as his tongue enters your mouth. Is this really happening? Maybe this could’ve gone on for hours. That is, until -

The knock on the door makes you both jump, pulling apart as quickly as you had crashed together. Steve is staring at you, breathing heavily, his pupils blown and lips a bit swollen. You imagine you look similarly. He takes a step back, separately himself from where you’re still frozen against the wall.

“Yeah?” Steve calls, voice rougher than before.

“Are you decent?” a voice asks from the other side of the door, barely audible over the sound of the band currently on stage.

Steve looks like he’s fighting laughter, but he just shakes his head, back facing the doorway.

“Nope - you’re good,” he says, his eyes meeting yours again.

He doesn’t need to say it - the look he’s shooting your way is enough.

Not a word.

Robin enters, grinning.

“Hey, we were just going to - oh, hi.”

She’s spotted you, and you just know she has questions.

“Hey, Robin,” you say quietly. “I, uh - I was looking for the bathroom. Ended up in here - I was just telling Steve how much I liked your set.”

Robin beams. “Thanks! It’s fun to see that you came out - haven’t seen you at a gig in a while!”

You nod. “Oh, yeah - I’ve been trying to get myself out there more -”

Steve scoffs, and you want to slap him. If Robin notices, she doesn’t say anything.

“- but, um - I should go.”

Robin nods.

“Yeah - I was just coming to find Steve, we’re all going to head to WT’s for a drink - uh, do you want to come?”

She’s probably just being polite. But, you shake your head vigorously.

“No, I’m good - sounds like it’s a band thing. I should get going anyway - I’ll catch the end of this set,” you say, gesturing towards the sound of the band on stage echoing from down the hall. You still haven’t made eye contact with Steve, not since Robin entered the room. So, you just give her a curt nod, and do everything in your power to head out the door without looking like you’re bolting. You’re screwed.

author's note: thanks for your patience y'all! I'm going away to Ireland on a work trip for about 3 weeks starting tomorrow, so I'm hoping to do some writing while I'm there, but no promises! As always, reblogs and likes are appreciated!

293 notes · View notes