#ruined by decades of emotional wounds

[starshipsofstarlord]

I've waited a thousand hours to tell you exactly how I feel, but you don't deserve an explanation

Warnings - cheating, angst, break up (0.8k)

damon salvatore works other tvd works masterlist

Damon had once enjoyed tormenting human beings, all because he could. There was a violent anger within his cursed soul, he wanted others to suffer just as he had. It hadn't been his choice to be turned into a vampire, however that was now the reality of his life, and so he had chose to embrace the tragedy that had arose his body from initial death instead of holding resent towards it.

But once again he was emoting regret; he had hurt her. Y/N was everything that he had searched for in his 173 years of existence, she made him feel as though he was alive again. Damon was vastly aware that he wasn't the better brother, it was in his blood to be gullible when it came to making mistakes. And that was what he had done once again.

There was nobody that Y/N knew who was as self destructive as Damon, he was unable to accept a good thing without ruining it first. So here Y/N was, in ruins as she sat at the bar, nursing a strong drink as though it would numb the wound that Damon had made in her. She had spent decades loyal by his side, but she was foolish to have ever thought that he would be content with somebody that wasn't a Katherine knock off.

Sometimes the woman liked to convince herself that Katherine had sired him just to make herself feel better. But despite her dark hopes, it wasn't true and she was only temporarily blinding herself to the surrounding reality.

Damon's heart ached as he viewed his girl from afar, he wanted to run to her and hold her broken demeanour in his arms. He wanted forgiveness, what he and Elena had was nothing than a drunken night spent alone together. It would never happen again, he couldn't bear to see his Y/N in such a state. There was a glass of bourbon in his hand, but after his intoxicated rendezvous, he refused to drink.

He had fucked up, and there was no redeeming himself. His actions and wandering hands had been unjustified, in fact criminal as it had costed him the companionship that he craved. Y/N stood, leaving bills on the bar as she turned to leave, however her tracks of retreat were faulted to a stop as she saw him in her peripheral.

Y/N wished she could hurt Damon in the same way he had her, but it would be impossible. He had been unable to control his libido in the shared presence of another woman, and it evidently meant that he had never cared about her. She was just there on his arm for appearances, to show that he had moved on from his messy past. Others had been convinced of that up until now, and so had she, though they had all come to realise that it had all been a cruel hoax.

"Baby." He pleaded with the pet name that often times would make her melt, but she remained hard and stoic despite his conniving words. Y/N wondered if he had called Elena that in their time together, but it was best decided if she didn't know.

"I miss you." Damon proclaimed as though it would make things any better. All it did was blur Y/N's eyes with infinite tears and her break all over again. Her lips trembled as she stood in front of her unreliable lover, she could only see him as a stranger rather than the man that she had shared a bed with for a lifetime. Life only lasted so long, and it was understandable if their vampiric relationship did also, it was a shame it had to end the way it had though.

"I've waited a thousand hours to tell you exactly how I feel, but you don't deserve an explanation. We're over Damon, for good, I refuse to hold you back any longer. Be with Katherine, or Elena, or whoever the hell you want, as long as it's not me." Her shoulder collided with Damon's as she shoved past him, refusing to hear his apologies or regrets. He had lost her for once and for all, and there was undeniably nothing that he could do to make up for his careless reckoning.

Damon only wanted Y/N, but she no longer desired him. He had internally harmed her, and it was damage that would live within her for eternity. She had wasted far too long on the man that she had called hers, and through it she had somehow survived the anguish that she'd endured because of him. If he wanted forgiveness he would have to do more than grovel in self hatred, he would have to be responsible for saving her from the turmoil heart ache that had made her feel more human than the era in which she had been one.

#damon salvatore x reader #damon salvatore imagine #Damon Salvatore angst #damon salvatore x y/n #damon salvatore oneshot #damon salvatore fanfiction #tvd angst #tvd x reader #tvd imagine #tvd x you

[idolatrybarbie]

lover, be sweet masterlist

pairing: marcus pike x fem!reader

word count & rating: 1.8k | explicit - minor free zone!

summary: cuddles. guilt. the sensual caressing of plucked poultry. they don't make Pepto-Bismol for shame, do they?

warnings: references to and discussion of sex - hence the explicit rating, depression, loneliness, guilt & shame, angst, dissociation, citizen kane (1941) dir. orson welles, a few lighthearted moments but don't get your hopes up people, reader is described as slightly shorter than/the same height as marcus, very dramatic metaphors, very lightly edited, bea regresses to using writing as therapy again.

notes: hi - i am sad. this is a fic about me being sad. if you read it you might be able to figure out why i'm sad. i don't love creating from a place of sadness anymore but i am sick of talking about it to people that care about me and my girlfriend marcus pike is, like, right there. so this is me being sad. i am going to try to not write a fic like this again (sad for the fact that i am sad.) we'll see how successful that mission is. we out here.

It’s you who brings up the ‘M’ word. Well, two words: moving in. They come out of your mouth haphazardly one night. A long night of dinner and drinks with wonderful sex after.

It’s been six months. The question, what if me staying over was more…permanent? Marcus is silent for about thirty seconds before he simply kisses you, asking if he needs to start bringing boxes home from work. This is what makes you recoil emotionally, shaking your head as you say you’ve had too much wine. You fall asleep in his arms with your heart pounding and cold.

How are you supposed to tell Marcus that the last time you lived with someone you knew, it ended disastrously? Not just a shit roommate—lives ruined, emotional wounds that never quite healed. A friendship of almost a decade down the drain because the one person you trusted in the world couldn’t grow out of the role they’d locked themselves in. How do you tell him that your family only started treating you right when you moved hours away, that you need an allotted amount of time alone lest you turn into the worst person alive?

You’re over here three out of five nights of his work week. Marcus is the one person in the world you seem to never be able to get enough of. And yet you can’t help that lingering instinct, a stutter in your gut that births a brood of unwanted doubts and insecurities. You live alone. You like it like that. Liked it like that, maybe.

You’d like to move your dishes into the cabinet downstairs—the chipped set of Corelle that Marcus has eaten off of all but once, telling you the plates reminded him of the ones his mother had in Chile. You’d like to wake up with fresh underwear after showers with the man you love only a drawer pull away; his sheets to become your sheets, and yours his. Bender doesn’t like your couch as much as Marcus’ and you’ve been meaning to sell it anyway. 

There is a life that could be lived here. A future within these red walls. But you won’t risk it. You will not make that mistake again. Some things are not meant to be shared, and maybe this is one of them. Better to be in solitude half the time with him than isolated all the time without.

But all this stays in the background. Marcus doesn’t bring it up again, doesn’t push. Part of you assumes that he’s forgotten—he drank a lot of wine that night too. Or perhaps he assumes your life has had enough change for a little while. The new job and all that comes with it.

After months of unemployment and steadily weaning yourself off of babysitting other people’s pets, you’ve found one. It’s not much—the pay or the pleasure in doing it—but it is something. You wake up at seven o’clock to be ready for eight and out of the house by quarter past. The drive to D.C. is busy, an increasingly miserable twenty-seven minute commute that everyone on the road slogs through together.

Marcus is happy for you. He’s happy you leave the house for some other reason than to visit him, and he likes to hear about your work day. The people are fine, nice even, and you tell him that. Neither he nor they can stave off the low mood that takes hold of you with every coming cold season, but you try not to focus on that.

Marcus is aware, but he doesn’t bring it up beyond a simple question of how you’re feeling sometimes. He gets warmer as the world outside does the opposite, softening beyond what you thought possible. Your boyfriend is a sourdough starter, not that you’re complaining. The sex you have is sweet and slow. Lovemaking might be the only appropriate turn of phrase. He can’t seem to stop saying it—the ‘L’ word—every time he’s inside of you.

Your dreams are an odd combination of the Palace of Versailles and Orson Welles’ Citizen Kane. A spotlight, a projector. The many versions of yourself, all of whom Marcus loves. The many versions of yourself, most of which you do not.

Mirrors. Lots of them. You’re grateful now when the shower steam makes the glass in Marcus’ bathroom sweat, sparing you from looking into another one. Being so walled off feels like lying to him. You can’t help it. Maybe it’s the intimacy of telling Marcus that’s getting to you. Might it be easier to stand at a pulpit and do a speech on how you feel? Direct. Factual even if the words aren’t confident.

Some Thursday night, three weeks after the ‘M’ word, you pull your car into the driveway beside your house…and sit. Headlights on, engine idle. Right now is the perfect time to freeze and stare out at the dust settled over the dashboard. You only move when knuckles rap on your window. Marcus, of course. His breath is as warm as his soul, fogging up the dirty glass.

You turn the car off, pulling the key from the ignition. He opens the door for you when you make a move to grab your bag.

“Hey,” he says. His voice is already laced with concern.

“Hi.”

“Are you okay?”

“What? Yeah. Just…thinking.”

Marcus glances at the empty driver’s seat. “In the car…with the engine running?”

“Got home a few minutes ago,” you say. You don’t know how long it’s been.

Marcus senses your fragile footing, redirecting the conversation. “Do you want to come over tonight?”

“I don’t know,” you say. The words are highlighted by a puff of white past your lips. “Been a long day.”

“I’m making roast chicken,” Marcus says, trying to entice you. “We can lay on the couch. I’ll give you a foot massage.” When he sees you aren’t biting, he adds, “We can watch Pacific Rim. Again.”

You smile as the slightest bit of fire sparks in your chest. “You’ve got a deal.”

Marcus waits at the front door as you collect Bender from your living room. Then he leads the way across the street, unlocking his own door and letting you in first. The cat in your arms leaps gracefully away, ready to find a new spot to nuzzle into.

After a hot shower alone, you feel more like a person. No length of time spent under the water is going to get rid of the guilt masquerading as hunger pains, though. Marcus is already working on dinner when you make your way downstairs. His waist apron hangs over his hips, crimson to match everything else; a thoughtless purchase on your part except for the mental image of him wearing it with that adorably taut face he makes when focusing.

Seeing that exact expression now as Marcus rubs margarine over the plucked, pink body of a whole chicken makes you laugh a little. He looks up at you, hearing the noise, a smirk pulling at his lips.

“You like what you see?” Marcus waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“The sensual caressing of dead poultry?”

He makes a face. “When you put it like that…”

“I speak the truth, the whole truth—”

“And nothing but the truth. You forget that you’re dating a man of the law, y’know.”

“How could I forget?” you ask, coming up behind him. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you peer over the side of Marcus’ arm to watch him season the chicken with various spices on the counter. “You’re always here to protect me.”

“I’m glad you know that,” he says. “And I really mean always.”

Marcus can’t see the look of curious confusion that crosses your face. “Of course,” you mumble into his shoulder.

The chicken is placed on a baking pan lined with tinfoil before it disappears into the oven. Marcus washes his hands thoroughly, tossing everything into a sink of hot and soapy water before he finally embraces you. His hugs are a godsend. You melt into his arms and let yourself be held. Then, another twist of your organs. The feeling plagues you like heartburn, showing up at the worst of times. They don’t make Pepto-Bismol for shame, do they?

Marcus must feel you tense up, because he asks, “Alright. What’s wrong?”

Pulling back from the hug, he stares at you—the heat of a thousand carefully probing suns.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you say. Clearly he doesn’t buy it, taking in the way your eyes are starting to water like the Potomac.

“Well that’s just not true. Honey, please just… I want to help you.”

“I can’t move in with you,” you whisper. The first tear falls when you blink, a warm trail falling slowly down your cheek.

Marcus tilts his head. “What?”

“I can’t move in with you,” you repeat a little louder. “I’m not—I can’t.”

“That’s okay,” he says. “If you’re not ready—”

“It’s not about being ready,” you say, pulling yourself from his grasp. “It’s about…I don’t know. I love you. And that’s huge, and the last time I lived with someone I loved it ruined my life. I can’t do that with this. With us. I won’t.”

Marcus gently calls your name as you turn away from him, hands steady against the granite countertop. You can’t look at him. You’ve told the man you love that you can’t take the next step of further knitting your lives together. Of starting anew as a pair. There is no timeline to feed him. No amount of months given will tide him over because there's no expiry date on this feeling of yours. It simply is; there was a time before it existed, but you’re almost certain there will be no after.

That crawling specter of loneliness hasn’t haunted you for six whole months, and you would like to keep it that way. Even if the knowledge that you’re missing minute details about Marcus in your time across the street kills you the slightest bit; even if you want to show him that you’re all in on this, what your boyfriend doesn’t know is that you are a nuclear reactor. The disaster happened a long time ago, but the ground is still poisoned. The air is teeming with radiation even if he’s been slowly sipping the water.

You say, “I don’t know when I’m going to be ready.” Not now, if ever. Breaking your own goddamn heart.

“That’s okay,” Marcus says. “There’s no rush on it. You could take a million years. I’m still going to be here.” He takes you back into his arms, cradling your head against his body.

This doesn’t fix anything—doesn’t fix you, but you don’t want Marcus to do that anyway. For now, this works. Right now this is okay.

#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #the mentalist fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #marcus pike x you #*lover be sweet #ppcu fanfiction #pedrostories

[argisthebulwark]

TES Summer Fest Day 6: In Bloom/Blood

summary: Vilkas thought he conquered his childhood fear of blood decades ago. When the new recruit staggers back to Jorrvaskr after battle it rears up once again. vilkas/gn companion. warning: canon typical explicit depictions of blood/wounds. multiple mentions of nausea. @tes-summer-fest | day one day two day three day four day five

From an early age, blood had downright petrified Vilkas. He swung his practice sword alongside his peers but his young mind refused to acknowledge what exactly he was training to do. His stomach soured when he dared to consider what would happen when wood was traded for steel. He lectured Farkas over every cut he bandaged or bruise he iced, always careful to avoid looking at the wound for too long.

Age and experience aided Vilkas in learning how to handle his reactions. He grew accustomed to the sight of blood. He knew to take a deep breath and avert his eyes before he got queasy. Cleaning armor no longer left him sick, his stomach stopped churning with every swing of his sword. Vilkas numbed himself to the sight of blood, stamping out the perceived weakness before it had a chance to ruin him. Vilkas forged himself into a warrior.

All of his discipline crumbled when Farkas stumbled into Jorrvaskr carrying the new recruit. His training was forgotten at the sight of his brother limping them across the hall, both of them bloodied and beaten. Vilkas was practically choking on his heart when he watched, frozen as other Companions scurried to help them into comfortable chairs.

He'd never admitted that he felt anything for the whelp. Vilkas had long ago mastered the art of ignoring his feelings, shoving them down until they became easy to ignore. He refused to acknowledge the way his heart fluttered when they smiled at him or chose to squeeze next to him for meals. Seeing them so fragile felt wrong. It threw his world off its axis.

Farkas's beast blood was already working to stitch up his wounds. Vilkas was grateful for that when he finally moved closer to examine them. His ears rang when he knelt before the newest Companion, fingers shaky when he began the arduous task of wiping blood from their skin. Cleaning away the mess his stomach lurched, that old fear creeping up at the state of them. They watched him through half lidded eyes, lips pale and silent while he worked.

Each bandage was placed with too much care. He'd seen his fair share of whelps come back bloodied from their first taste of battle but Dustman's Cairn had done a number on them. Even with Farkas at their side they'd taken some horrible hits. Vilkas's hands were sticky with their blood and countless salves, rags a sickly shade of pink when he finally finished.

Their voice sounded off when they thanked him, grabbing his hand with surprising strength. Vilkas stared up at this recruit and realized the grip they had on his heart, the claim they'd made without realizing it. Farkas had disappeared with the others to enjoy a meal but Vilkas remained, kneeling before this whelp that had wormed their way into a heart he'd sealed away long ago.

"Thank you." They spoke again and Vilkas vowed to never see them in such a state again. Dizzy from the rush of emotions he moved slowly, placing his hands in uninjured areas and hauling them into his arms. He didn't say a word as he carried them to their quarters, waiting patiently as they tore off the wrecked armor.

Vilkas knew he was staring. He watched each bandage he'd placed to ensure they remained intact as they crawled into bed. He was glad to see their eyes flutter shut, the weight of their gaze finally lifting when they drifted off to sleep.

Watching from an unclaimed bunk Vilkas crossed his arms. He sat there as evening melted into the dead of night, brows furrowed as he tried to sort out the puzzle of his emotions. His stomach had finally settled when Vilkas heaved out a sigh, hating the knowledge that he had not truly gotten over his fear of blood. Not when it was theirs.

#skyrim #skyrim fanfic #writing #vilkas #vilkas x ldb #tesfest23 #tw blood #tw injury #prompt: blood

[yugiohz]

seeing how ppl always lump bakugo and endeaver together like theyre the same is always wild to me. like i feel like a lot of fandoms hatred of bakugo comes down to the fact that they see their childhood bullies in him (which they arent wrong for, he IS a bully at the start of the series) but because theyre young and that wound is so close, their hatred of him is more visceral and they feel like he's much worse than he really is in the grand scheme of life and are less willing to let him come back from that because they want to see him punished the way they want their bullies to have been punished. whereas i think most adult fans (especially anyone 21+) recognize that endeaver is actually the more unforgivable and worse evil as a grown adult man who beats his wife and children and has been this way for his entire adult life and can therefore give bakugo the grace and room to grow that he deserves because we can recognize that those two things are not the same. bakugo is a child and deserves the chance to learn and grow from his mistakes. whereas endeaver is pushing 50 and has long since ignored and passed over every one of those chances for growth and to do the right thing to double down on being a piece of shit like yes the way bakugou treated izuku was awful and cruel, but a 13yr old kid throwing out a "kill yourself" because he doesnt really understand the consiquences of his actions yet is not the same as an adult man buying his wife and forcing her to pump out heirs while he beats her for over 20 years and abuses his children so badly it drives one of them to essentially kill himself. but when ur 18 or 19, that bullying is probably gonna hit closer to home and elicit more of a negative reaction as opposed to the realities of endeavors abuse

which i think is interesting in terms of analyzing fandoms reactions to characters and why people feel the way they do and understandable to an extent. but its also insane to me to see ppl so often angrier at a misguided child who's navigating his emotions poorly than they are at a middle aged man who used his systematic privlege to ruin the lives of his entire family without consiquence for literal decades

im so sorry for the novel i just have brainworms and i think too much about silly little characters and find peoples different reactions to them fascinating lmfao

it's ok i love hearing people's opionions. tbh, i don't rlly see people be harsher on bakugo than on endeavor, but those people probably exist idk.

i stay neutral in this discusssion, i think disliking bakugo for personal reaons & experiences with bullying is very valid, i think it's abit weird to invalidate those people. but i think it's weirder when characters in the story insinuiate to parallels between bakugo and endeavor like let's calm down lmaooo. Being a mean 14yo and a domestic abuser with a child's blood on your hands are not interchangeable things let's be seriousss

#i respect the bakugo hateration a lot of it is very funny #but yeah it's silly to imply he is irrevocably corrupted #hes 15 #asks

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

okay you know what. i joked about it before, but i'm actually kind of tired of the automatic response to maxwell's actions in encore being "he has a plan" or "he's playing double agent" or something along those lines. he might be, he might not be- currently we don't know. but the point of the matter is in the grand scheme of things that doesn't really matter.

it feels as though people aren't really paying attention to the fact that charlie is. you know. manipulating him? that she's playing max like a god damned fiddle? that the entirety of encore was seemingly planned from the very start?

lets go through the short again piece by piece:

maxwell starts off alone. considering that- at the end of the short, the others eventually found him- they couldn't have been too far away from him. this implies that charlie was waiting for a proper moment to strike, rather than simply coming in at any random time.

not only did the rose vines actively trip him, and not ONLY did he fall directly in front of a newly overgrown statue of him, but he ALSO fell in the direct line of sight of a rook. this is not only a presumable act of emotional manipulation (she pretty much picked him up and dropped him right in front of a big sign with "Fuck You Idiot" written on it), but she also purposefully endangered him! do you really think its just coincidence that this animation completely dominated by chess metaphors begins with an attack from a rook? if it was just there from happenstance, it would have gored maxwell alive after he fell unconscious. its presence was entirely pre-planned. she wounded him completely on purpose.

i really don't even NEED to talk about all the flashback scenes. if you don't understand how that's manipulation i'm sorry but you're a little bit too far gone. seeing charlie as he knew her before- seeing the good memories he had with her, seeing the success he had, and seeing how he ruined it all with his obsession over the codex. pre-encore update he couldn't even LOOK at the codex without thinking about her. she could be about to kill him and he STILL tried reaching out to her. he's been waiting his entire LIFE for this conversation- to apologize, to speak with her. and when he finally gets it, it's charlie who dominates the conversation. who twists it so he can't even get the words out.

"if only you had let me in". accompanied with the previous flashbacks, that line alone is horribly insidious. and the worst part is, it isn't incorrect. he should have done that- back when he had a chance to fix his mistakes. but that isn't what charlie is referring to. the past can't be altered- they both know that. the only reason charlie is saying this at all is to goad him into siding with her. to picking the choice she's pointing him in the direction of. "you didn't let me in before. it ruined your life- my life. our life. obviously you're going to make the same mistake now."

whether its a hallucination or dream or not, being haunted by and in the clutches of shadow creatures is bound to take a toll on his sanity. even with the benefits from his suit. the terrorbeaks, the watchers, the flashbacks, the presence of the woman he hasn't seen in decades. if you don't think that's taking a toll on his mind you're lying to yourself. when charlie phantoms up the chess board, you can see it squeezing him, and him wincing in response. even after it lets him go, he can't do anything but pant on the floor. vision or not, it is having a tangible effect on him

after everything charlie does, she cleans him up. but the thing is, everything wrong with him (aside from his hair, pretty much) was her fault. tripping down the hill, the bruises from the rook, his mental disarray from her shadow creatures. she's undoing what she willingly plagued him with- but in a way that gains his favor, despite the fact she was the catalyst

the use of the rose- the same thing that linked the two of them when times were less troublesome- again plays into that insidiousness of linking the past and the present. if it was the correct course of action back then, it must be now, right? she's using not only his emotional attachment to her, but his remorse for the wrong course of action to make him think this one is the right one.

NOT TO MENTION, CHARLIE'S KIND OF LIKE? GOD? I DON'T THINK HE COULD SAY NO TO HER EVEN IF HE WANTED TO? SHE'S GOD?

in conclusion, if the nightmare conglomerate that used to be your ex waited until you were alone, jumped you on the street (which hurts), sicked one of her goons on you (which hurts), uses her nightmare creatures to psychically and physically torment you, brought up the parts of your past that you- to this day- are horribly scarred by, tells you that she'll forgive you "but only if you make the right decision this time", cleans you up and fixes your wounds from the jumping and the gooner attack and the psychic torment (all her fault), then "gives [you] a chance to right [your] wrongs", AND she's also god? sorry. you're not going to say no.

sure, he could feel regretful about it. he could be planning to go against her. he could have figured out her game from the very beginning. but everyone who's clutching their pearls over maxwell's 'betrayal' is acting like charlie just shot him a business card or something. i would NOT blame him if he thought- in that moment- he was doing the right thing.

#dontstarvetogether #dst maxwell #i still dont know how to tag encore #dst encore #idk #ALSO DON'T COME ONTO MY BLOG WITH CHARLIE HATE EITHER. I LOVE CHARLIE. I THINK SHE SHOULD HAVE MANIPULATED HIM TWICE ACTUALLY. #BUT SHE *DID* MANIPULATE HIM. THATS KIND OF IMPORTANT. TO THE PLOT RIGHT NOW.

[sturthepotoffanfiction]

Searching... Please Wait...

For MegOP Week 2023, specifically Day 6: Atonement.

Takes place in a post-canon au of Animated, and the megop is one-sided.

Also on Ao3 and FanFic.

When he thought of that little red and blue prime-turned-magnus, the first thing that came to his processor was just how determined the little one was and still is. Even after that idiotic acting magnus nearly ruined everything and Ultra Magnus finally succumbed to his wounds (how Shockwave managed to escape being found out from that still eluded him), the red and blue menace managed to claim the title of magnus before that old acting magnus took proper control. He couldn't help but be impressed with how quickly it happened, especially since the little prime was barely on Cybertron before then. He supposed it didn't help that the Magnus Hammer responded positively to the red and blue prime compared to the utter inaction it had to the blue and orange former prime.

Ah yes, former. Especially considering how they reacted to not being moved to full magnus and the leak of what truly happened on that... Archa Seven, though part of him doubted that it was leaked, just conveniently left out for the public to find out. He was sure Shockwave had something to do with it, though the shapeshifter refused to outright tell him. It was odd, all things considered. (Shockwave even assured him he was still a Decepticon their talk just before he saw Longarm Prime throwing his support for the little red and blue prime to become the next magnus.)

If there's something he didn't expect out of the prime-turned-magnus, especially after their last battle on Earth and their escape from Cybertron, he didn't expect the red and blue mecha to be so willing to let them back in. He didn't understand it. And what surprised him more was how easily Alpha Trion and Preceptor were willing to go with that line of thought. Even Longarm Prime showed genuine surprise at... whatever the hell that was. He wasn't going to deny the path so freely gifted, even if he believed it was going to be a trap in the end.

However, it wasn't. Barely a vorn passed before the law that originally banished the Decepticons was repealed and an act making sure both civilian frames and warframes were equal was put in place. Through the test of time over that decade of vorns period between then and now, it held up strong, and the terms of Autobot and Decepticon began, slowly, to become past. Even if it required a rehauling of the system, he couldn't deny that times were better.

There was still corruption, of course, but it quickly became dangerous to do so, especially after the AllSpark was fully restored and it began to act on its own, taking matters into its own spiteful glow. If even the AllSpark wanted peace and refused to let corrupt spread its seeds, then why try to make those seeds in the first place?

Though, hindsight became apparent to why some reacted the way they did. Longarm wasn't outed as Shockwave until a handful of vorns after the repeal due to Alpha Trion's interference, making it seem (seem being the key word, he knew what was spouted was lies for the people) that a hired assassin was the one to target the old magnus and Shockwave disguised himself as Longarm due to no longer agreeing with the Decepticon's actions. Brainstorm (how that scientist was still alive, he didn't know) managed to worm into Preceptor's life and reignite the Autobot scientist's emotions. Somehow. He honestly doesn't want to know how that mess worked out.

However, the entire time, that little red and blue frame stayed within his mind until it became obsessive.

So, Megatron decided to take a risk.

One, he would learn in time, it was more work than what he had thought.

-()-

It started with getting back into the politics of Cybertron, if only as a viewpoint of what to fix so the circumstances of what caused the rise to the first civil war wouldn't repeat again. The energon mines and farms, though harsh and sometimes unforgiving, were kept fair in a way that held up the new balance of rotations, simpler tasks, and the need for rest and off time. The gladiator pits were still brutal and unforgiving, but it shifted to games nearly without bloodshed and only worked off of volunteers. The stability of having riches came at the price of needing real proof a small chunk of it was being used for systems made to help mecha at the bottom rungs of society. Simple changes, really.

Megatron didn't run for anything, just served as a first person source of the times of old. Perhaps that was how he got further than intended at first, with Alpha Trion (the documenter he was) inviting him over multiple times to just... talk, about the past, about current events, or anything else of interest.

He hadn't yet denied Alpha Trion's invites, anyways.

But, he realized that this didn't matter with his goals. Alpha Trion was not a path to Optimus.

-()-

Shockwave, or rather Longarm Prime as he was still known as still held up the façade Alpha Trion helped him put up. He didn't know why the other still did so, but decided not to bother about fixing it. Sure, it was deception, but Longarm pulled the façade up well and stayed clear of him every time he tried to approach the grey and teal bot.

However, it didn't help that it seemed like Longarm (or would he still be Shockwave?) was one of the few, rare ways to connect to Optimus Magnus. Well, not that 'Magnus' was still a proper title. The only reason the small bot kept it was because he was the last one before the complete rehaul.

That didn't matter. What mattered to him was that the path to finding and speaking to Optimus to be unlocked.

He abandoned trying to reconnect with Shockw-... Longarm after accidentally eavesdropping on Longarm breaking down in front of Alpha Trion. Hindsight had boiled over and his former spymaster became the mask.

Megatron couldn't find it in himself to blame Longarm Prime (though, like the title of 'Magnus', 'Prime' wasn't a true title anymore, only kept due to familiarity) for his decision.

-()-

When he decided to visit the head engineer in SpaceBridge mechanics, he didn't expect the AllSpark shard-made Constructicons to be there when times finally aligned enough for them to meet. Why Bulkhead took so long to finally respond to his request, he understood. Megatron was once an enemy. An understanding between them had to be made at some point, sooner or later.

He realized after the first meeting, though, Bulkhead was not a path to Optimus.

Megatron still agreed to meet again, if only because Bulkhead wanted someone to talk to that wasn't as brainless as the Constructicons. He decided that was fair, so continued to meet.

-()-

He didn't expect to be allowed to speak with the current cyberninja master (sensei? One of the two), but he was, so he spoke to him. It took some time, but he eventually got something out of Jazz towards the path to Optimus. Though, if he was being truthful, he didn't expect what he got out of it.

Optimus visited the cyberninja tombs once a year with Rumble. Without fail. It was always those two.

How the frag did Rumble become friends with Optimus?

Maybe Rumble would be the path to Optimus, for all this time.

To Megatron, while Jazz didn't open the path to Optimus, he got a direction, and that was all he needed.

-()-

He knocked on the door a few times, then waited. His vents smoothed out once again and he relaxed his frame. (He was nearly there!)

The door opened and he looked at who opened it. The golden visor that covered Rumble's optics stared up at him, shining slightly onto their orange armor. The smaller mecha clearly did a double take at seeing him, but eventually asked, "Megatron? Why are you here?"

(Now or never-)

"Have you, by chance, seen Optimus?" Megatron asked.

Rumble tilted his helm slightly. "Uh... what for?"

"I want to speak with him," Megatron answered.

Rumble stared at him, but didn't automatically reply.

They stood in silence for a while before Rumble finally answered, "I dunno where he lives, but he visits the Garden of New Time every joor. Only exception is when we go visit Frenzy and Prowl."

Frenzy and Prowl. It suddenly made more sense why those two would show up together to the cyberninja tombs now.

"Alright," Megatron replied. "Thank you, Rumble."

Rumble seemed to have squinted at him under the visor, hesitantly saying, "Sure..." before closing the door on him.

The path was clearer, and it was still a mess, but he was one step closer to Optimus.

-()-

He realized, as he explored the Garden of New Times, that his obsession with Optimus had always been a curiosity and will wrapped up in the wish to love the red and blue frame as his own.

Megatron hoped that it would come through as such, even if it took time.

-()-

After three joors of exploring the Garden of New Times at various times, he finally found Optimus.

The lovely red and blue beauty was found sitting in the cybernetic grass, quietly staring into a pond surrounded by gold roses with a black stem and a small gradient to black at where the petals connected to the stem. Optimus's frame was scratched and covered with dirty and grime, and he spotted a slowly growing infection at the little lovely's right ankle. There were even some dents scattered across his frame and pieces of poorly applied welds that tried to hide open wounds but failed to cover completely.

He frowned, for the moment not approaching him. What had happened to the little beauty since... everything?

A few kliks passed before he finally approached Optimus Magnus, sitting down beside him. Megatron watched as Optimus glanced at him and his optic went wide when he saw how pale the other's optics were. Optimus looked back at the pond as he whispered, "Why are you here?"

Megatron took a moment to reply, those sad optics burned into his processor, then he replied, "I wanted to find you."

Without looking at him, Optimus muttered, "Why me? Why not Cinderdeal or Bumblebee or Strika or anyone on the new council?"

"Because it is not with the new council," Megatron began. "It's with you."

Optimus looked again at Megatron and he saw the hatred in the smaller bot's optics. "You killed Prowl... It was your actions, so the blame is on you," Optimus quietly stated and his field leaked out slightly. Megatron was hit with a wave of utter despair and pain and sadness and anger and mourning from the field and he was forced to hold strong against it.

The field was locked away and Megatron just stared at Optimus as he finally turned to properly look at the warframe, sparks jumping from his optics without any other way release his emotions in a non-devastating way.

"He was everything to me. How could anything make up for Prowl...?" Optimus quietly questioned.

He reached for the little beauty's servo and he realized that his wish could never come true, not while the beauty in front of him was like this. Once Optimus's servo was in his own, Megatron answered, "Time, living. Whatever it takes for you to recover from the pain."

Optimus stared at him for a good few microkliks before removing his servo from Megatron's, looking at the pond, and stating, "I... don't think I can ever forgive you..."

"But is atonement enough?" Megatron asked.

Optimus looked at him again for a few moments before looking at the ground. "Atonement," he whispered. "I... I think I can accept that."

Megatron stood up, then reached a servo down. Optimus looked up at the servo, then at his faceplate.

"Shall we begin, then?" Megatron asked.

#transformers animated #tfa #megop #tfa megop #megop week 2023 #there is past implied prowlop so... yea

[vampire-exgirlfriend]

I’m leaving this little request in your mailbox with absolutely zero pressure.

Eddie Munson (because I’m nothing if not predictable…)

[REUNITE] and/or [MASK]

You know I’ll soak up everything you write like a sponge, even if it’s for a fandom I’m not part of, so I can’t wait to see what you write whether you write my ask or not! Have fun!! 💕

Oh Jax as if I wasn't going to write whatever you asked me to lol somehow it ended up being 4k words of emotional pain and smut.

Lonely is the Word

Pairing: Eddie Munson x femreader

Words: 4k

Rating: E

Warnings: some angst, smut

masterlist

I saw some graffiti once that said "love is like broken glass." And if that's true, Eddie Munson was the boot that had shattered me, ground me into nothing more than particles.

I couldn't even blame him, not really, not after what he had been through.

So I waited. Time passed and his physical wounds had healed, but Eddie stayed behind, the walls he built growing higher and higher, covering over with brambles and thorns and vines to keep me out, to keep everyone out. As much as I wanted to, I was never able to fit in the spaces he had hallowed out of himself, cutting myself on the jagged edges whenever I tried. So, bloody and bruised, I left.

Not just him, but Hawkins altogether.

As summer faded away, I loaded my things in the trunk of my shitty, hand me down station wagon, and picked up Robin the next morning, driving the two of us to New York where Robin was starting a theater program at NYU. I hadn't even said goodbye to Eddie. I doubt he would have even seen me if I tried.

And now it was January, cold and bleak midwinter. The elevator doors closed and regret clogged up my throat as I saw my reflection in the gleaming metal. The dress Robin had managed to snag for me from the costume department could only be described as decadent - black velvet that clung to my waist and breasts, the neckline a deep v that settled just above my belly button. It fell to the floor in a tumble of fabric, a long slit up the side, the sleeves ending at my wrists. Atop my cheek bones sat a Venetian mask, black and gold and secured by a black ribbon.

I felt beautiful. I felt ridiculous.

A warm hand settled on the small of my back and I turned, giving Robin a wan smile. She had worn a black velvet suit to match my outfit, her hair falling in messy waves around her white and gold mask.

"You look killer, you know," she chirped, trying to bring excitement back to the moment.

And I should be excited, I knew that. This party was going to be insane - invites were incredibly hard to come by and I knew how stoked Robin was for this. So I ticked my smile higher and clutched my friend's hand, squeezing gently.

"You look killer," I answered, swinging our joined hands between us. "Thank you for bringing me."

"There's no one else I'd rather crush some fancy masquerade with."

It hadn't been easy for Robin, watching her oldest friend crumble into ruins at the loss of the love of her young life. But she took it like a champ, doing everything she could to bring some light back to the situation. And when her NYU acceptance letter came in, it was a no-brainer that we go together, that we try and escape the ghosts of that spring.

Nancy had gone to California with Jonathan and Steve...well, someone had to stay with Eddie. So Robin called him most nights and they giggled like idiots until sleep claimed them.

The elevator doors slid open as they reached the penthouse. Robin extended an arm. "M'lady," she teased.

A second set of doors opened and I would have sworn we had walked into another world. Original art in gilded frames covered the walls and waiters in all black, masks included, skirted around the room, trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres braced on their splayed fingertips. The lights were low and we had to squint to make out the darker corners, the people who had already found their way to them, masks abandoned, bodies and hands occupied.

"Remind me how you got us in here?" I asked, her eyes wide.

"Uh…remember my thing for hot older women?" Robin whisper-yelled.

I nodded, my eyes refusing to settle on any one thing.

"I fooled around with the Dean of Performing Arts."

I turned to her, my mouth falling open. "You did not?!"

"What? She's only like forty." Robin shrugged. "She's insanely hot. And we only live once, kitten. Better make the best of it."

"You're out of your mind!"

All Robin said was "yes" before leading us toward the nearest waiter and snagging two glasses of champagne. It was bubbly, tart on my tongue, and warm as it hit the pit of my gut. My eyes wandered off in search of the hors d'oeuvres, darting over the other guests who were draped in couture designs. I snagged a bacon wrapped fig and then another, flashing the waiter a stupid grin as I chewed. A hand rose from across the room and Robin perked up at the sight of the brunette woman in red, her dress a frothy confection that wrapped around her like a cloud.

"Duty calls," she whispered, leaning in to press a quick kiss to my cheek before abandoning me for who I assumed was the "insanely hot" dean.

There is a feeling that comes with being watched. That feeling only intensifies when being watched by someone who has seen the most vulnerable parts of you. It's a sort of heavy awareness that pushes at all of your defenses.

That feeling descended on me, leaving me feeling hot and cold, bare and vulnerable, like prey. My eyes scanned the room from behind my mask, lingering here and there, but I found no one watching, everyone too engrossed in their drinks or their company or their hidden, wandering hands. I backed through the crowd and found a spot near the doors that led to the balcony, watching transfixed as the music took on a darker tone, the party slowly melting from upscale gathering to bacchanalian revelry. For a moment, it was easy to forget the unease that ate at me as these upper east side yuppies forget their sense of propriety.

And then I felt it, the watching, like hands peeling away the layers of my borrowed dress. This time my eyes landed on familiar chocolate curls and my stomach dropped, landing somewhere near my feet.

No, that was impossible.

They were gone as quickly as they appeared, disappeared into the crowd. I whirled around, trying to find Robin. My eyes darted over the crowd, looking for the white and gold mask, finally landing on her familiar golden hair. But she was too engrossed in her conversation to notice me, to see the panic on my face.

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, my brain screaming that there was something I was missing, something important, just as a warmth bloomed at my back, a heat so heartbreakingly familiar.

"Hey you."

I knew that voice. I'd heard it a thousand times before in a thousand different ways: soft and intimate near the shell of my ear, shouting at me from across the room, caught in a whine as I touched him, touched him, touched him.

I turned and there he was, his hair pulled back, a black and red mask over the top half of his face. He was here. He was whole. He was…wearing a suit?

"Eddie?"

"Hey, baby," he murmured, and his voice drew me in, dragged me down, like it did every time. For a moment I forgot how angry I still was, how hurt.

But then he grinned and it all came back, crashing over me like a wave against the beach. "What the fuck?" I hissed, looking over my shoulder, looking for escape. I had wanted this so badly, wanted him, but now all I wanted was to run away.

Eddie's face fell, his soft mouth pulling down at the edges. He was quick to straighten it though, holding his hands up in surrender as I pulled away from him. The soft candlelight glinted off the metal of his rings. "I'm sorry," he blurted. "I know that doesn't mean shit and you hate my guts but I just…I couldn't keep it in anymore. I'm so sorry."

"I've been gone for six months, Eddie! And there were five months before that when an 'I'm sorry' would have been way more appropriate." My eyes narrowed and I crossed my arms over my chest. He opened his mouth and I held up a hand to silence him. "I get it, okay. You went through something horrible, something I'll never truly understand. Rob still has nightmares; I know whatever it was was horrible. I wasn't there, so I don't really understand. But you wouldn't let me help you, you wouldn't even let me try to be there for you! I go on a stupid spring break vacation and I come back to my boyfriend on trial for murder and an earthquake that bulldozed my house and you won't even talk to me!" A few heads turned toward the sound of my raised voice.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, scuffing the toe of his shiny dress shoe against the marble tile.

"And where the fuck did you get a suit?"

Eddie snorted a laugh. "Robin."

"She knows you're here?"

"She scored me a ticket."

My eyes flew over the room, landing on my roommate who leaned against a column on the other side of the open space. Robin dropped her gaze when she realized she'd been caught, her smile slipping.

I sighed, shaking my head, buzzing with irritation and resentment and a sadness I thought I had left behind. "You two are unbelievable. I can't believe you, Eddie." I dropped my hands and turned away from him, pushing through the double doors that led to the balcony, goosebumps erupting over my skin as soon as the January night air swept over me. I stomped toward one of the ridiculously fancy fire pits, flames dancing in the dark, the warmth seeping into my bones. So frustrated that I could scream, I stared into the fire, willing my nerves to settle. Footsteps broke my newfound calm and my hands clenched into fists again.

"Jesus Christ, it's freezing out here." Eddie rounded the corner, already pulling the jacket from his shoulders to wrap around me. I fought the urge to snap at him, to shrug off his offering. But it was warm and it smelled like him and oh, god, it was too much. He reached back, untying the ribbon that held his mask to his face and I felt the telltale burn of impending tears when I looked at him for the first time in six months.

Eddie was almost exactly like I remembered. His eyes were still soft, so dark and warm I wanted to drown in them. His plush mouth curved up into an awkward smile that I had memorized almost as soon as I met him. I knew every freckle that lay over his body. I knew just where to touch to make him laugh or to make him moan. I knew what he sounded like just before he came, when my name was a whimper in his mouth. But that Eddie had been a boy. Whoever stood in front of me now was definitely a man. There was a hardness to him that I had never seen before, a hollowness, a haunting.

"What are you doing here, Eddie?" An old softness crept into my voice, the one I saved just for him.

He tossed his mask to the bench tucked into the corner beside us and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I was dead."

My face pinched in confusion. "What?"

"I died down there, in the Upside-down. I was dead." He said it as if it were old news, as if it wasn't earth shattering. "I remember the pain, I remember the blood, I remember Dustin holding me as it all went dark. I don't remember how they got me home. Hell, I barely remember the trial. The lights were on, but no one was home."

I nodded, angling my body toward his. He stared down at his shoes, refusing to meet my eyes. Slowly, gently, as if afraid to scare him off, I reached for him. His dark eyes met mine and it was as if whatever wall lay between us split right down the middle.

"I couldn't stand the sight of myself, so how could I expect you to?"

And just like that, my heart broke all over again. "Eddie, there was never a single moment where I wanted anything but you." Our on again, off again had been in an off period when that Spring Break had come around, but I had genuinely believed it was just another one of our stupid games, a parting meant to make the reunion sweeter, hotter. "I was coming home to you."

He nodded, a sad smile pulling at his lips. "I know. But something broke in me and I had no idea how to fix it. I wasn't gonna let you wait around while I figured it out. It just wasn't fair."

My voice lowered, my festering irritation blooming painfully. "What wasn't fair was you making that choice for me. I get that you had some things to work through that a girlfriend wasn't super conducive to, but we could have had a conversation about that. You could have just dumped me."

Eddie nodded, pursing his lips as he really thought about what I said. But then his eyes met mine and I didn't miss the heat in them, they way they shined in the firelight. He pulled his hands from pockets and stepped forward, grabbing my wrist and tugging me toward a door I hadn't noticed before.

"Eddie, let go of me." I tried to yank my hand back but he didn't give an inch, breathing a soft 'hell yeah' when he found the door wasn't locked, pushing it open and jerking me inside what looked like a small library. Two leather chairs flanked an ornate marble fireplace and a low, plush leather couch sat on the opposite side, its back to the massive built-ins stuffed full of books and sculptures. It was dark, the only light coming from the moon and the lights that had been strung up on the balcony, filtering in softly through the gauzy sheer curtains. The door clicked shut behind us and when Eddie's hand fell to the knob, he slid the lock home.

A familiar spark lit in my belly, a heat that had always promised pleasure, that only took root when he looked at me the way he was now, the way he hadn't in over a year. His eyes were black in the dim room, his face serious as he pinned me with that heavy gaze. And then he was on me, his hands cradling my face, his mouth crushing to mine. My surprised gasp lowered into a moan when he licked into my mouth, nipping at my bottom lip.

"It was never about living without you," he mumbled against my lips. "I just didn't know how to live with myself anymore. But I think I've finally started to figure it out."

"Eddie," I whispered, and it hurt. It broke my heart that he felt that way, that he had lived in a world where he didn't feel like he belonged, even more so than he had when we met, both outcasts and not too eager to change that fact. It hurt even more that it had all played out this way, neither of us able to reach out to the other.

Eddie backed up toward the couch, dropping to splay over the cushions. He pulled me over his lap, my hands finding his hair and tangling in the curls I had managed to free from the hair tie. He sucked at my neck, his mouth hotter than I remembered as his hand slid beneath the slit of my dress. He tugged off my mask before his hands fell, rough fingertips sliding over the skin of my thigh, higher toward the juncture of my legs. I knew if he touched me there, I would forget every reason why this was a bad idea. Yanking at his tie, I wriggled my hands beneath the collar of his shirt, my fingers meeting texture they'd never felt before. Eddie sucked in a breath and I pulled back, my eyes darting over his face.

"You don't have to…," he started, but I cut him off, pressing my lips to his, gentle fingers slowly unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt. When I peeled back the stiff white fabric, my eyes fell to the familiar demon head tattoo and then the thick knot of scar tissue below it.

It looked like…a bite. Like something's teeth had torn through him, ripping chunks of his flesh away.

There was really nothing to say. So I leaned forward and planted my lips to the ruined skin, leaving my tongue over the rough texture before kissing a trail up his neck. "I want to though."

His hand slid beneath the band of my underwear and he groaned when he found me wet for him, his middle finger gliding easily between my folds. "Oh Christ," he groaned, pressing lightly. I felt that tremble in his wrist as he held himself back from pressing inside me. "You're always so wet for me," he said, as if it hadn't been a year since he'd touched me like this.

I didn't bother reminding him, just ground down against his hand, searching out that delicious friction. "We're gonna get caught," I panted against his lips, tilting his face back to look up at me. The sight was divine, his mouth parted, his eyes glassy with need.

"Nah, I locked the door," he said, leaning forward in search of my neck.

"Not the other door, dingus," I reminded him.

He chuckled before licking a stripe over my throat, his teeth worrying at my skin. My head fell back on my shoulders. "We'll be quick. And then we'll go back to your place and I'll take my time with you, apologize however you want me to, baby."

When he put it like that, it sounded too good to argue over. All that pain and anger, all the questions, would still be there. Maybe it was better to just take what I needed, what I knew he could give me.

"When do you leave?" I asked, heart already breaking all over again at the idea.

Eddie's hand stilled between my thighs, his free one rising to cradle my jaw as if I were something precious. "I'm here until you send me away." He kissed me once, gently. "My ticket was one way. Harrington's back at your place, in case I needed a getaway driver."

"Okay, good." I tore my hands from his hair and dropped them to his waist, trembling fingers fumbling with his belt, urging him to lift his hips so I could tug his pants over the slight curve of his ass.

"Are you saying I need a getaway driver?" His breath was hot against my neck, his tone teasing.

"Shut up." I felt the familiar chill of his rings against my skin, his thumb brushing a circle over my clit. He was kissing me again, little groans falling from his lips to mine. It was so easy to fall back into him, to pick up where we left off before life turned ugly and tore us apart. One thick finger slipped inside and I cried out at the shock. Eddie's eyes widened, sliding to the unlocked door, before covering my mouth with his palm.

"Don't get us caught, sweetheart," he mumbled, a second finger joining the first. I moaned against his palm, my eyes rolling back as I rode his hand. "That's it, that's good, right?"

I nodded, unable to speak past the fingers that pressed into my mouth. It was good, but it wasn't enough, not after everything, not after the waiting and the wanting. His belt came apart in my hands, the button of his slacks slipping easily from the hole that held it closed, and then he was in my hands, hard and hot. His eyes rolled back when I stroked him, my fingers not quite able to close around the thick of him. He whined and then suddenly I was falling, the hand that had been pressed to my mouth coming to cradle my head as he dropped me to lay back on the couch.

Eddie tugged my underwear down my thighs, shoving the soaked lace in his pocket and hitching my leg over his hip. I felt the blunt head of his cock nudge at me as his hips jerked forward, impatient.

"Shit, I wanna be gentle with you, but I...I don't think..." His voice was hoarse, his forehead coming to rest against mine. His hands held my wrists over my head and it was all I could do to arch my back, to try and get closer.

"There's time for gentle later." It was true and it was all I could say before he pushed forward, burying himself in me.

I had almost forgotten the near impossible stretch, the way my body had to adjust to the size of him. But then he was moving, a long, slow stroke that pulled him nearly all the way out before thrusting forward and stealing my breath. I thought my heart would beat out of my chest in those heavy seconds before he started to thrust in earnest. Slow and controlled melted into deep and hard and I couldn't swallow down the moans that poured from my throat as he fucked me.

"God damn it, sweetheart," he muttered. "Hush." I couldn't, I wouldn't, and I whined again as he hit that spot up high and I saw stars. "Fucking hell." He crashed his mouth to mine, his tongue curling behind my teeth, swallowing down the sounds I made. He tasted like smoke and spearmint gum, he tasted like home.

Eddie rose up, his hands finding my knees, spreading them wide. His eyes darted between my face and the place where he disappeared inside of me, the sounds of labored breathing and wet flesh growing louder. His hair was wild around his face, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. One hand slid down my inner thigh to where we were joined and began to rub quick circles against my clit. I knew he wouldn't last much longer. I knew I wouldn't either. I palmed at my breasts through the material of my dress, desperate to be naked, to have Eddie's skin pressed to mine, to be able to touch and taste and take our time.

Later.

"Baby," he groaned. "I'm not gonna last. You feel too good, missed you too much. Are you still in the pull?"

I just nodded, a low groan crawling up my throat. It wasn't more than another minute until I felt him bloom within me, that familiar heat uncoiling sticky and deep. Eddie bit out my name from between clenched teeth, his hips stilling. Without a word, he pulled out of me, dropping to his knees on the floor. I moved to sit up, but his large hands found my hips and tugged my ass to the edge of the couch. He winked before ducking beneath the skirt of my dress.

"Oh my god," I choked out at the first pass of his tongue. He slid two fingers forward, their passage eased by the slick of his cum as he pumped them back and forth. My back arched when he pulled my clit between his lips, tiny shocks like lightning pulsing over my skin. Even though he was hidden by the black velvet, the sound of his mouth on my cunt was obscene. Eddie moaned, curling his fingers forward. I felt that clench in my lower belly, the muscles of my legs flexing where he'd draped them over his shoulders. His teeth grazed my clit and I saw stars. When he groaned against me I felt it, all fluttery vibration, and fell apart on his tongue, my back bowing off the couch, a filthy moan of his name falling from my lips.

"I missed that," he murmured, pressing a kiss to my thigh before lifting his head, setting my feet gently against the floor. He tucked himself back in his pants before wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, wet and shining. "I missed you."

He tugged my dress back into place and laid his head in my lap. My fingers threaded through his curls, muscle memory at this point. "I missed you too. I honestly can't believe you're here."

"I don't know where we go from here," Eddie said as he propped his chin against my leg. He reached forward and grabbed my hand, tangling our fingers together. Just then he looked so much like the boy I had loved. "But I couldn't wait anymore to figure it out. And I love you too much to just let you go."

I opened my mouth to respond and the doors that led to the library burst open, giggles and rustling fabric floating into the room. Eddie sat up straight, his eyes going wide. I scooted up the couch, peeking over the back. Robin had herself wrapped around the dean, her hands disappearing beneath her bright red dress. She turned and our eyes met from across the open space, Robin's face flushing hot and red. Just as quickly as they had entered, she wheeled the older woman around awkwardly, backing her out of the room.

"This one's taken," was all she said before flashing two thumbs up and mouthing "hell yes!"

Eddie grinned, his dimples flashing. "At least someone's rooting for us."

I leaned forward, propping my elbow on my knee and resting my chin against my palm. This close I could see the tiny flecks of gold in his dark eyes. I smiled and it was real.

"I'm rooting for us."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #stranger things fic #my fic

[trulybetty]

Gold Rush | Chapter Two

Pairing: Joel x OFC Warnings: none - just turning up the angst dial Summary: Old lovers Joel and Charlotte find themselves unexpectedly reunited in the community of Jackson. Struggling to navigate the complexities of their shared history and the harsh realities of their new lives, the pair find themselves drawn to one another once again. AO3: Link

Chapter 2

The cold wind swept through Jackson, but Joel barely noticed. He stood rooted to his spot, eyes tracking Charlotte until she disappeared from sight. Relief, confusion, and longing churned within him, reopening old wounds he had buried deep.

The silence that settled over the group after Charlotte's abrupt departure was as frigid as the winds sweeping through Jackson. Ellie, Joel, Tommy, and Maria stood in awkward stillness, the weight of their reunion hanging heavy in the air.

Maria, with her practical nature, broke the silence. "Let's head to the dining hall," she suggested empathetically. "You both could use a warm meal."

Tommy nodded, and Joel and Ellie silently followed Maria toward the heart of the commune. Inside, the hall buzzed with comfortable camaraderie. The inhabitants of Jackson moved about, their warm chatter and laughter creating a rare sense of normalcy in the outside world.

As Joel and Ellie ate, Maria and Tommy engaged them in light conversation, pointing out the different aspects of the commune. The couple's pride in their community was evident, their words painting a picture of resilience and hope amidst the ruins of a collapsed civilization.

After the meal, Maria suggested a tour of the commune. "You should see the place," she said, sweeping her gaze over Joel and Ellie. "We've made it a home."

As they walked, Joel's gaze kept drifting toward the direction Charlotte had disappeared. Thoughts and emotions whirled in his mind, struggling to reconcile the sudden reality of her presence. Sensing his turmoil, Tommy laid a supportive hand on Joel's shoulder.

Joel turned to his brother. "Tommy," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "I need to talk to you alone."

Maria, who had been explaining the commune's self-sufficient practices to Ellie, paused at Joel's words. She exchanged a glance with Tommy before nodding. "I'll take Ellie to find some clean clothes."

—

Night had fallen, and Joel left Tommy in the desolate town square, burdened by his confession and feelings of inadequacy. As the snowfall intensified, the world grew silent, yet Joel found a strange sense of calm amidst the biting cold.

In the distance, a lone figure caught Joel's eye, hunched over a pile of firewood. Even in the semi-darkness, he recognized her unmistakably. It was Charlotte. Although he was supposed to head to the house Tommy and Maria had prepared for him and Ellie, he couldn't resist pausing to watch her straighten up as she brushed off the accumulated snow from her shoulders.

Here, in this place of safety, Charlotte was also present. That realization infused the winter air with a touch of warmth.

Eighteen years. Almost two decades together.

Five of them before the outbreak - a life that now seemed distant, as if belonging to someone else – and in a way, it did. Joel knew he could never be that person again, the person he was when Sarah was alive, when Charlotte was as much of a mother to Sarah as she was her father. Four Mother's Days, five birthdays-each, and countless other holidays. The shared laughter of their own little trio existing in a little bubble of happiness.

Then darkness followed, as the world plunged into chaos with the outbreak of the virus. Thirteen years, its number itself an omen, navigating chaos and despair. Then, Charlotte left with the Fireflies. Heading west following the trail of the previous group, who had left the no less than a year before with Tommy. With her departure, a void emerged – one filled with unresolved arguments, unspoken words, and lingering regrets. She was searching for something, for redemption, for a glimmer of hope amidst the bleakness.

That departure, that turning point in their lives, was almost seven years ago.

Joel watched Charlotte in the cold winter night, snowflakes gently falling around him. It was a moment that echoed with their shared history, the weight of their past palpable in the silent air. With her departure, Joel was left with Tess. Their relationship had evolved over time, stemming from shared grief and the necessity of survival. They'd been partners in their smuggling gigs, and gradually, Tess took Charlotte's place in Joel's bed.

But comparing the two relationships was like comparing night and day. Joel couldn't ignore the stark contrast. His connection with Tess was born out of necessity, forged through the shared experiences of surviving in a brutal world. It had its own kind of love, with affection and respect woven into its fabric. Yet, Charlotte held a different space in his heart, one that harked back to a time of normalcy. It was a time when love and family formed the foundation of their lives, not just luxuries.

Now, in the midst of the winter's chill, Joel couldn't help but watch Charlotte, their shared history silently reverberating. The quietness around them spoke volumes, reminding him of the life they had once shared.

—

Charlotte brushed the snow off her hands, turning around to find Joel stood in the quiet square behind her. A wave of déjà vu washed over her, reminiscent of their earlier encounter that morning. This time, however, she resisted the impulse to run towards him. Instead, she held her ground, locked in a silent acknowledgement of their shared history.

The snowfall created a hushed ambience, cocooning them from the outside world. Tension and nostalgia mingled in the air, tangible yet unspoken. Breaking the silence, Charlotte's voice barely rose above a whisper. "Old age is looking good on you, Miller."

A faint smirk curled Joel's lips, amusement glinting in his eyes. Their age difference, a trivial matter, had always been a source of private humour between them. In the past, Charlotte and Sarah would playfully tease Joel, affectionately dubbing him the "old man."

"You look good too," Joel responded after a pause, his gaze appreciating the way time had treated Charlotte. Despite the harshness of their reality, she exuded resilience. Her lean figure, composed posture, and determined gaze testified to her survival.

"Thanks," Charlotte replied, her voice steady.

Joel's gaze lingered on her, a hint of longing masked by the passing years. Finally, he asked, "So, you made it to Tommy?"

Charlotte nodded, her lips pursed as she fought the urge to highlight the obvious. "I'm here." Her tone carried a clipped quality, reflecting the unresolved emotions between them. "But I'm guessing Tommy already filled you in on everything?"

Her lack of enthusiasm to share her journey to Jackson resonated not only in her tone but also in her stance. Their relationship had ended in a tumultuous argument, and the echoes of their heated words reverberated between them.

The memory of that night remained vivid—the bitter words, the ultimatum, the desperation. She had pleaded with Joel to come with her, to join the Fireflies and head West to reunite with Tommy. But Joel had stubbornly refused, driven not only by his disdain for the movement but also by a lingering doubt that Charlotte would truly leave.

That night, she had chosen to walk away, leaving their shared past behind to carve her own path. It was a decision that had reshaped both their lives, forging lines of separation that had endured for seven long years.

The thick night swallowed them, the winter chill seeping through their bundled layers, yet neither seemed to notice. The silence grew once again, heavy with unanswered questions and unspoken words.

"Who's the girl?" Charlotte asked, her voice laced with curiosity, a hint of eagerness to divert the conversation from their shared history.

Joel hesitated, the weight of his journey with Ellie pressing upon him. Dangers, hardships, and moments of unbearable pain had shaped their path together, leaving scars that ran deeper than mere words could convey. It was a journey he would rather forget, yet one that had shaped him, transforming him in ways he was still struggling to comprehend.

"It's Ellie," he finally began, his voice tinged with defensiveness, his gaze drifting momentarily towards the snow-covered ground. The falling snowflakes mirrored the delicate balance they now treaded upon—a balance between sharing and concealing their individual journeys.

Just as Charlotte held back her own journey to Tommy, Joel found himself grappling with the weight of revealing his journey with Ellie. Their lives had diverged, and now, as they stood facing each other, they were compelled to confront the reality of their separate paths.

"It's a favour for Marlene," Joel muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. The words hung heavily between them, a simple explanation that carried layers of resentment, regret, and fractured trust.

Marlene's name stirred memories within Charlotte, a flicker of surprise dancing in her eyes, quickly giving way to confusion. Marlene, once an unlikely ally with Charlotte within the QZ, symbolized a movement and a faith she had once held hope on. But for Joel, Marlene embodied a different weight—a reminder of broken promises and choices made under duress.

The mention of Marlene seemed to break the spell that held them captive in the past. Charlotte's confusion deepened, her eyes searching Joel's face for answers that were yet to be spoken.

"Marlene?" Charlotte's face twisted as if she'd been slapped. "The same Marlene from the Fireflies?"

Joel's only answer was a nod, he couldn't look at her. He keenly felt the implications of his admission, aware of the questions it would inevitably raise.

The vastness of the town square seemed to close in on them, the wind whipped through the short distance between them. Marlene's name hung there, a bitterness that dredged up too many raw emotions and ghosts they thought they had buried long ago.

"I don't believe this," she said.

Her eyes were bright in the dim light, a fire blazing in their depths. Joel remembered those eyes, remembered how they had looked at him the nights they had argued over the Fireflies, over Marlene. He had mocked her then, scorned her for her trust in the movement, for her naive belief that they could change the world. But he had done the same. He had trusted Marlene.

Joel reached for her. His hand was a plea, a silent apology that hung in the air between them. But he couldn't speak. He couldn't find the words to explain why he had done what he had, why he had trusted the woman he supposedly despised.

It was as if a storm had suddenly erupted between them, any soft thoughts of seeing him again had evaporated.

The memory of Charlotte’s last arrangement with the Fireflies came rushing back, a flood of images that twisted his gut. He remembered Charlotte's bruised face, the evidence of Marlene's betrayal. He remembered how Charlotte still wanted to leave with the Fireflies, despite everything they had done.

Joel's hand dropped back to his side, the space between them seeming like a chasm he couldn't cross. He looked at her then, meeting her gaze, his heart pounding in his chest.

"I'm sorry," he said, but the words felt inadequate, a poor offering in the face of her anger.

A storm erupted within Charlotte, her anger gathering like dark clouds, threatening to unleash a torrent of pent-up emotions. Joel's betrayal stung, she could almost hear his words from the night she left, the harsh accusations and cruel dismissal reverberating in her ears. He had done exactly what he had ridiculed her for. And not just with any Firefly, but with Marlene.

Her eyes burned with an intense fire, reflecting the raw depth of her emotions. The moonlight painted sharp contrasts on her face, emphasizing the hardened lines etched across her features. The tender reunion they had shared earlier was swallowed by a storm of unresolved grievances and lingering animosity.

Joel's heart sank as he sensed the sudden shift in her demeanour.

"Charlie, listen..." he croaked, the familiar nickname escaping his lips involuntarily. His eyes pleaded with her, desperate to reveal the transformation he had undergone. The man who had left Boston seemed like a distant memory now.

Her response was swift and cutting, her words slicing through the frigid air like a sharpened blade. "Do you remember what you said to me that night, Joel?" she spat, her voice laced with intensity. "About Marlene, about me?"

Her words landed with the force of a punch, jolting Joel back to the memories of their heated arguments, the cutting remarks and the icy silence that had lingered in their wake. The sound of the apartment door clicking shut reverberated in his mind, echoing through the nights when he replayed the scene over and over, his eyes unable to witness her departure despite the harsh words he had spoken.

The confrontation crackled with tension, shattering the tranquillity of the night in Jackson. Their reunion had become an unwelcome mirror reflecting the consequences of their choices and the distance their years apart separated them.

Joel mustered the courage to speak, his voice barely a whisper, "Tess..."

Charlotte's laughter erupted, even sharper than before. It pierced the stillness of the winter air. It echoed her disbelief, her shock etched on her face, as she struggled to comprehend the revelation of Joel's association with Marlene and now Tess—an addition that felt like a personal insult to her.

"Jesus, it just gets better," she scoffed, her laughter fading into a sardonic tone.

Joel, Tommy, and Charlotte had weathered the storm together, forging an unbreakable bond, their shared history was etched into their souls, stitched with the fibres of survival that had led them to the Boston Quarantine Zone.

Then Tess arrived, a force of nature amidst the chaos of the outbreak. She commanded attention, her boldness and resourcefulness captivating Joel in ways that Charlotte found both captivating and unsettling. Their connection had grown stronger with time, reshaping the dynamics that Charlotte had once believed were unshakable.

Charlotte couldn't forget that first encounter, the sight of Joel laughing with Tess, their chemistry palpable. Tess possessed a rawness, a roughness that resonated with Joel's own spirit, and it both fascinated and threatened Charlotte's sense of security.

But as the days passed, tensions simmered between Charlotte and Tess. Charlotte, fiercely protective of Joel, couldn't help but resent the way Tess seemed to bring out a different side of him. Their conflicting personalities clashed, creating a strained atmosphere whenever they crossed paths.

It was clear to Charlotte that Tess had her sights set on Joel. She saw in him a kindred spirit, a partner in navigating the harsh reality of their new world. Charlotte couldn't shake the feeling that Tess had already established a place for herself in Joel's life, and it hurt. Jealousy had no place in their post-apocalyptic existence, yet Charlotte found herself wrestling with an unexpected resentment.

Charlotte didn't hide her feelings. There were no masks, no pretences. In their brutal world, there was no time for games.

"Joel," she confronted him one day, cornering him upon his return from a recon run. "This thing with Tess. Do you really think it's a wise choice?"

Joel's surprise was evident in his eyes. "Tess is a good. She's smart, and she knows how to get things done."

Charlotte crossed her arms, her gaze unwavering. "That's not what I asked."

Joel's expression softened. "I know, Charlie. It's... it's not like that. Tess and I... we understand each other. We have a similar mindset."

"And that's what worries me, Joel. She's too much like you," Charlotte voiced her concern. She knew Joel's resilience, but Tess possessed a cunning that could easily manipulate him. "Just... be cautious."

Joel nodded, acknowledging the weight of her words as he pulled her into his arms. Their shared history and the struggles they had faced together had forged a deep bond that was not easily broken. However, Tess's arrival had ushered in a willingness to game the system rather than resist it, giving birth to their smuggling endeavours.

The months slipped away, each one blending into the next, until the passing of time turned into years. Tommy's departure had created a void, leaving behind an unmistakable absence in their once tight-knit group. Now, it was only Charlotte and Joel, with Tess effortlessly filling the void left by Tommy.

Their ventures outside the Quarantine Zone grew bolder and more frequent. Charlotte would stand on the sidelines, silently observing their departures, it was her job to run interference within the walls of the QZ. Tess exuded confidence and determination, leading the way, while Joel followed her with a resolute dedication that bordered on recklessness.

Charlotte's trust in Joel remained steadfast. Her concerns were not rooted in the fear of infidelity; she had grown accustomed to other women finding him attractive during their time together, a trait that he remained blissfully unaware of. It was a characteristic that hadn't faded from their lives, a reminder of the ‘old Joel’ she had fallen in love with. Instead, her worry lay in the inherent danger of their endeavours. With Tess's audacity and Joel's unwavering resolve, their forays beyond the QZ became increasingly hazardous.

Night after night, Charlotte would wait for Joel's return, the anticipation weighing heavy on her. The faint creak of the door would signal his arrival, a familiar sound that brought a mix of relief and concern. Thinking she was asleep, he would tread quietly across the apartment, dropping his bag and shedding his clothes. But sleep would always elude her until Joel nestled beside her, his comforting warmth seeping into her bones. In those moments, she would find a temporary respite from her worries, her eyes finally able to close, if only for a little while.

As time passed, Charlotte's concern for Joel grew deeper. She couldn't help but notice the change Tess had brought into their lives. While Tess was undeniably resourceful and crucial for their survival, Charlotte saw how she pushed Joel to the edge, leading him into increasingly perilous situations. And Joel, always the protector, dutifully followed her lead.

Charlotte longed for the days when it was just her, Joel, and Tommy, when their roles and responsibilities were clear, their trust unshakable. Tess disrupted their well-ordered existence, a wildcard in their carefully constructed lives.

Charlotte yearned for the days when Tommy's caution guided their decisions and when the old Joel, who valued safety and returned home relatively unscathed, was still present. This new Joel, shaped by the harsh realities they faced, both frightened and saddened her. While she understood the need to adapt for survival, she couldn't help but question the toll it was taking on their humanity. When did the pursuit of survival start overshadowing the essence of truly living?

The outbreak had brought Joel, Charlotte, and Tommy closer together in an unlikely trio. A contractor, a Gulf War veteran and a lawyer - formed a diverse combination that seemed like the setup for a punchline. But their pre-outbreak familiarity meant they understood each other's strengths and could rely on one another.

Their shared experiences had both forged deep bonds and inflicted lasting scars. In the chaotic aftermath, they found themselves navigating the grey areas of morality, embracing actions that blurred the lines between right and wrong.

For Charlotte, witnessing Joel fully immerse himself in the violence of their new reality had been unsettling. It was a side of him she had never fully seen before, and Tess, in her own unique way, seemed to draw out that darkness within him.

This turmoil had played a significant role in the lead up to Charlotte's eventual entanglement with Marlene and her involvement with the Fireflies at Tommy’s convincing. Feeling lost and adrift, she had been pulled into the cause seeking meaning and purpose in a world that seemed devoid of both.

The loss of Sarah had shattered Charlotte, and Tommy's departure had only intensified her sense of isolation. As for Joel, he remained physically present, but emotionally distant—a hollow shell of the man she once knew. The darkness and violence that consumed him were almost as devastating as losing him completely.

Marlene's keen eye had always recognized Charlotte's unique skill set, but Charlotte remained steadfast out of her grasp refusing to join them. That was until Tommy, Marlene had used their relationship to present an opportunity to recruit her into the Fireflies to their advantage.

Back while Marlene had been at the precipice of forming the Fireflies in Boston, Charlotte had been using her law background to form a different kind of grass roots movement. She had built a wealth of contacts very quickly upon her arrival, exchanging information and favours. She eventually won precarious favour with some of the Boston FEDRA officers.

Her negotiation skills and her ability with words, often leveraging her expertise to help Joel and Tess evade trouble once their smudging ring got more involved. Charlotte's work and eventual access FEDRA made her an attractive asset for Marlene. Persuaded by Tommy's appeals and fueled by her desire to make a difference, Charlotte had made the decision to work alongside the Fireflies.

Discovering Joel's involvement, the one who had indirectly pushed her into the arms of the Fireflies, particularly with Tess by his side, was a betrayal she was struggling to comprehend and was trying to keep her temper in check.

It was a bitter pill to swallow.

One leaving her grappling to comprehend the magnitude of this revelation. The surrealness of Joel's sudden reappearance in her life added an extra layer of confusion, fueling her struggle to keep her temper in check.

"Let me explain," Joel began, his voice trembling with a mixture of desperation and vulnerability.

Charlotte's defensive stance softened slightly as she observed the raw emotion etched across Joel's face. The weight of his earlier confession to Tommy hung in the air, and she could sense the exhaustion that clung to him.

“Why should I?” she asked, her voice laced with a touch of hesitation. She wanted to understand, but she couldn't deny the pain and betrayal that still lingered within her.

Joel took a step closer, his eyes searching hers for a glimmer of understanding. His voice trembled as he spoke, the weight of his words evident in his every breath.

"Because you deserve to know the truth," he said, his voice filled with a mix of earnestness and regret. "I owe you that much, Charlotte."

Her name on his lips sent a shiver down her spine. Despite the distance and time that had passed, there was a familiarity in the way he spoke it, a trace of the connection they once shared.

Uncertainty flickered in Charlotte's eyes as she silently granted Joel permission to speak. The weight of her guarded expression hinted at the curiosity stirring within her.

Joel took a deep breath, his voice laced with a mixture of pain and vulnerability. He began to recount the events that led to his departure from the Boston Quarantine Zone. The desperation that fueled his need to escape, his fateful encounter with Marlene, and the deal he had made to smuggle Ellie out in exchange for transportation to Tommy.

His voice trembled as he spoke of Tess's tragic death. He shared the countless perils he and Ellie faced during their journey, the near brushes with death that became their constant companions. With a touch of admiration, he revealed Ellie's unwavering bravery and determination in despite of her age, her actions saving his life time and time again.

Amidst Joel's confessions and revelations, one glaring omission gnawed at Charlotte - he hadn't mentioned her.

She had hoped for some acknowledgement, some validation of the sacrifices she had made and the pain she had endured. It was as if her presence in his life had faded into the background the moment she’d left.

"What about me?" The question escaped her lips, carrying an undercurrent of bitterness and hurt that she couldn't suppress. She despised the vulnerability in her voice, the way it exposed the raw wounds she had tried to bury deep within. And yet, she couldn't deny the burning need to voice her pain, to demand the recognition she felt she deserved.

For a moment, the air between them was heavy with unspoken emotions. Charlotte's gaze remained fixed on Joel, her eyes searching for answers, for a glimpse of understanding. And as the seconds stretched into eternity, she saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes, a glimmer of realization dawning upon him.

Charlotte's gaze softened slightly, but the pain still lingered in her eyes. She longed for an explanation, for something that would alleviate the ache in her heart. "I stood by you when Sarah... when we lost Sarah," she reminded him, her voice tinged with both accusation and longing. "I was there when Tommy left. We were supposed to face all this together, Joel." She gestured with outstretched arms, as if trying to encompass the magnitude of their shared burdens. "But you shut me out."

Joel's gaze met hers, the guilt etching lines on his face as he realized the impact of his past actions on her. He remained silent, unsure of how to respond.

In his silence Charlotte realised as much as she didn’t owe him anything anymore, nor did he her. Closing the remaining distance between them, Charlotte took a hesitant step forward. Her hand, gloved in a thin layer of protection from the biting cold, reached out to touch Joel's cheek. He leaned into her touch, his eyes closing, the flicker of peace that settled on his face was not lost on Charlotte.

But as she withdrew her hand, a sense of clarity washed over her.

This wasn't the Joel she had left behind in Boston. He wasn't the man she had fallen in love with. This Joel was broken, haunted by demons she couldn't fully comprehend. The distance between them was palpable, a chasm that had widened during their years apart. And she, too, had changed. She had hit rock bottom and had clawed her way back, slowly rebuilding the fragments of her shattered self.

Even after six years, Charlotte was still in the process of rebuilding her crumbling foundations. She couldn't afford to sacrifice her own progress to rebuild someone else. She had spent too much of her life trying to fix the man standing before her, and she was emotionally spent. It was not her responsibility to repair him, regardless of their shared history.

“I need to head home,” Charlotte finally broke the silence, her gaze shifting towards a distant point in the opposite direction of Joel. He paused, caught off guard by her sudden declaration. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if there were people waiting for her, if there was someone who had replaced him in her life. The thought stirred within him a strange mix of jealousy and longing that he hadn't anticipated in the knowledge he knew nothing of the last seven years of her life.

She turned back to him, her question piercing through his reverie. “Are you sticking around?”

He hesitated, uncertainty clouding his response. “I don't know.” His answer was vague, lacking conviction. He didn't have the energy to untangle the web of his emotions—the confession he had made to Tommy, his plea for his brother to take Ellie onward, and his resolve to wander alone as a form of penance for all that he had done.

Charlotte seemed to accept his uncertainty with a simple nod. “Well,” she started, pausing as if gathering her thoughts. “I know Tommy would love for you to stay. He’s missed you.” Her words hung in the chilly air.

“It was good seeing you, Joel.” Her voice choked with the weight of unspoken emotions. She didn't wait for a response, turning on her heel with the sting of unshed tears threatening to spill over. The reality of their situation reminded her that their shared past didn't guarantee a shared future.

Joel watched Charlotte's retreating figure, he wasn’t sure what the future held for him, but he had bridges to mend and debts to repay and it was undeniable, the load was getting heavier.

#gold rush #joel miller x ofc #joel miller x ofc (no age gap) #joel miller x oc #joel miller/ofc #joel miller/oc #hbo the last of us #hbo the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction

[misteria247]

Gab, even worse for a combination of both angst and fluff.

Reincarnated Mikey in Turtles Forever crossover Au

*places a hand over my heart dramatically* Marie my God aren't we living the villain life with the angst possibilities!

This is why you're one of my favorite mutuals shsgsgsgsgshshsg-

Oh let me tell you fam, if Reincarnated Mikey was in a room full of other variants of himself, all of which he's lived their lives. It'd be a downward spiral kind of deal. Seeing so many different Mikey's, all in one room, all of which he knows how their stories end it's absolutely maddening for him. Because he's lived their lives, every single one of them. And he sees how they're naive to the futures that lay before them and it just kills him inside.

In a way Mikey can't help but wonder if it's some kind of sick, cruel joke that's being played on him. It's bad enough that he remembers these lives, that he still carries the memories, emotions and traumas of those lives. But to see them, the living proof that he's existed as one of these orange clad turtles at some point in his very, very long existence, it's like getting a batting ram straight to the face. It cements it, the evidence that the memories he remembers with each new cycle is real. And that the endings of each life were real as well. Before there was a chance that he was just losing his mind, a chance that all the drawings and notes he'd made for the very people standing in front of him weren't really connected to anything. But now that slim chance is gone, the illusion shattered in a heartbeat.

And he doesn't take it very well at all.

Mikey completely keeps his distance for a very, very long time. Refusing to hold a conversation with any of the turtles or rats cuz every time he looks at them it's something like-

"I know what happens to you at the end of the road. I know how you died in each and every life we've shared together, I've watched you all suffer and accumulate scars. Scars that tear you apart mentally, emotionally and physically. And I can't tell you about any of it, because the burden of holding such knowledge could ruin your lives."

Nasty thoughts of this degree as well as pure grief and mourning at knowing that he's basically seeing his brothers and father and friends happy and alive. Completely oblivious to their gruesome or bitter ends. And when he sees turtles like Future Rise Leo and Future Rise Mikey, it fills him with a sense of dread cuz that's a future variation of him. That sometime possibly in his current run he and his brothers could end up in these twos position and that honest to God terrifies him. And seeing Ronin Mikey and the Mutant Apocalypse boys??????

It's like rubbing salt into the wounds that he's carried for decades. He'd also feel a bit bitter at everything, cuz in a way what he's experiencing wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he had to face the faces he'd personally known once and still loved with every fiber of his being, down to his very bones and veins. Hasn't he suffered enough? Hasn't he endured the burden that he carries well enough? What else did the universe want from him he'd already given it everything he could!

As for the others, as soon as they see this other Mikey it becomes painfully clear that he's different from the rest of them. That he holds this heavy atmosphere, that somehow he's older than this 14/15 year old teenager. And it's quite unsettling to say the least.

Eventually everyone would warm up somewhat and get along but there's always gonna be that invisible barrier between them and Reincarnated Mikey.

#oli talks #ooc #muns ramblings #mindless ramblings of a madman #asks #ask and you shall receive #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #tmnt #rottmnt #tmnt/rottmnt crossover #turtles forever #turtles forever crossover #reincarnated au #he's not gonna have a good time at all with this sgsgsgsgsgshsgs

[occultradio]

Trace: When we hugged yesterday...his emotions are just so heavy I don't know how I didn't cry....Oh shit wait there was something funky mixed in there too...he...has feelings about me.

Well that makes things easier!

I know for a fact though that hug was a slip of mind. Big guy doesn't touch anyone, he's afraid of anyone feeling those heavy energies.

Trace: Big guy answer your phone....your literally on the other side of this wal....Hey Vis!!! I just got done with a gig, wanna hang out like old times?........Asshole hung up on me??? Ohhh he's at the door!!

Trace sprints out of bed to the door, tripping a few times on the way there.

Viscera: ...Is this about yesterday? ....I'm really sorry if I ruined your day.... just really glad your back. I haven't seen any of the band since...you know.

Trace: Vis...Your feelings. I think I read them correctly. ....I...I want you too...I've just bottled them up for decades, I never wanted you to know because you were with Tilly, But she's been dead for twenty years now. I want to help you, let's go to the bed.

Viscera: the bed? Trace I'm not one of your groupies.

Trace: I don't want your dick, I can get that anywhere. I want something you haven't given to anyone. I want your gaping hole of a wounded heart to bleed on me. I want your touch, Let me in, I was with you for nearly all your trauma it wont scare me away.

Viscera: Your face doesn't scare me either.

Viscera: You have a pole? Could I watch you dance later?

Trace: Oh...that...ummm..only if you want to see me bust my ass. I Just started and I fall.....a lot.

Trace laughed

Trace: Come sit!

Trace: Vis, your so beautiful....Can I kiss you?

Viscera nods, and pulled his bandmate closer before wiping away a single tear. Trace's body was flooded with decades of sadness and pain, hitting them all at once like a typhoon.

Viscera: You've wanted to for so long, I never meant to keep you waiting. If I had known....I would of made you mine long ago. You never left my side 'till I pushed everyone away.

Trace shivered as a chill went down their spine and sniffled, their face was now soaked in tears.

Trace: I'm yours?

Vis wipes away Trace's tears again

Viscera: Yes. Is this too much? We can stop, You don't need to feel my burdens.

Trace: Your soul is so ...so ..fucking heavy, how are you not crying too big guy?

Viscera: I'm used to it. But if we're asking things....how are you hard and bawling your eyes out?

Trace's eyes immediately went wide

Trace: I...I'm sorry! I don't exactly have control of either right now! I want you so bad, fuck all your worries away. Give me all of you.

Viscera: No. I mean I'm sorry....Trace....I can't and you shouldn't, if your crying this bad now.... I don't want to throw you into a full panic if some deeper emotions surface.

Vis wiped off his partners face again before kissing their nose, with Trace letting out a sigh.

Trace: Stay the night, I want to sleep in your arms.

Viscera: I'll make your favorite breakfast, I still remember it.

You hold the candle I once lit You shine your light When you forgive I cry You run your fingers through my hair And tell me it's worthwhile, it's all worthwhile Even when I hate myself Even when I feel your pain When you cry Even when my heart is cold You assure me it's worthwhile, it's all worthwhile You see, see what can't be seen You repair the damage done to me

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#ts4 story #queer sims #simblr #ts4 #sims 4 #ts4mm #sims4 #ts4 alien #sims

[feralchaton]

There are the years that make us. I have been healing for the better part of a decade. It is at the point where I can talk about my story but don't feel the need to. However I do feel the want to get some things out and it will probably be messy and uncomfortable for a while, but that's how things often are.

The memories don't tear at the wounds anymore. Gentle tugs maybe, burns a little, and that may always be the case, but with high tolerance it is bearable. I am also not alone in my journey, although it often feels that way. When I post of love, deep understanding relationships, D/s...these aren't fantasies or hopes, it's often sentiment that mirrors what I, we, have. Things I believe, embody, share, keep learning, and live, daily.

I do yearn for friendships, genuine connections, a tribe (I have secluded myself for a long time, necessary but...) as I am open to it now, perhaps that hope will fill in, in time, baby steps and I feel beyond fortunate for some that I've met here. You have no idea what kindness and presence can mean to someone, even if it's just seeing a familiar avatar/notification.

Are relationships work? Um...

Are relationships technically every single interpersonal dealing and exchange not just those we deem honored by our presence? Yes. Why isn't that considered work? Isn't everything worth having and doing technically "work" anyway? Why do we call it work as opposed to effort, which is all it is? With parenting, friendships, family, co-workers, strangers you meet (or don't)...There is no clocking in and out, no breaks, no vacation or sick pay maybe because it's not a fucking job!

Labors of love, effort, with no clear reward or condition. Love. There may be one word for something that encompasses a few hundred thousand different emotions/feelings/circumstances/reasons/excuses/truths (love doesn't lie) so maybe we can chill with limiting parameters based in nothing but fear and the unknown.

Besides, the relationship with others isn't the difficult stuff, it's the relationship with ourselves that may actually be work but that also has nothing to do with anyone or anything else. Being honest, communicating earnestly, kindly, truthfully, openly and being and embodying that which we yearn and hope for. Sounds so much easier than it is.

My husband, partner as I prefer to say, and I hold ourselves and each other to this. 16 years together, half of that time considered to be a D/s relationship (no it didn't start out that way!) I took over a position he was holding and our professional nature, plus a very sweet and innocent misheard moment, solidified the actual love at first sight. We fought to be together. Yes, these things do happen. Often. People often try to ruin beautiful things so I don't feel the need to broadcast. We had established and enacted what works for us and revisit, discuss, and evolve as needed or wanted. Every single day we show up for, and with, each other in whatever capacity that means. It is far from always being sunbeams and rainbow unicorn farts but, no matter what, we have each other.

Be present, be aware, be open and keep moving forward. Allow yourself the grace to stumble, fall, maybe even take some extra time getting up, but hiding behind insecurities and masks to remain comfortable isn't going to do it.

Find comfort in your discomfort and forge ahead. It's worth it, all of it, every single part of it and if you don't know that, just wait, you will.

feralchaton

#feralchaton #tales of a feral kitten #healing is a process #spilled thoughts #spilled ink #spilled milk #writing on tumblr #writing #up close & personal #relationship #D/s #honesty #daddy & kitten #these are the days #tl;ow #seriously though #it's a privilege #it's a treasure #it's a journey #it's an adventure

[rickgrimesdoingrickthings]

"How long have you been hiding it?"

Rick sighed in sadness and looked down. He knew it was a road he couldn't go back. She had see it...there was no point in hiding anymore. The huge red deep bite mark on his left thigh. The man took a few moments of silence for himself. He didn't have many hours left, even though he had been avoiding it- he hadn't told anyone, not even Carl. "It happened when I was clearing the fence." Richard said, his eyes holding so much frustration, even so, his voice was calm, carrying a load of sadness. "It was...it was so stupid. So fast. I got careless." The man took another deep breath, looked Beth in the eyes. "I didn't notice a walker on the floor. I got too close...I really didn't see it- the teeth went through the jeans...I got bit." He had changed clothes, but the wound had started bleeding again when he was working and Beth had seen it. The bite mark tainted in blood appearing against the fabric. It was useless to hide. "You know...after all your father went through...I didn't..." He paused. "I didn't want to have my leg chopped off. I didn't want to go through that. And without a leg...I wouldn't be able to protect my son...or any of you. I would be just a weight." Rick's eyes got glossy. "So I decided to just...leave it." He shrugged, his eyes looking at Beth's again. "It happened this morning, really early. It's almost night now..." He looked up to admire the sunset forming at the horizon. "It's been 12 hours or so. Ironically...I'm not feeling anything. Not even a light fever. Anything at all. But in any case..." Rick tapped his magnum on his belt. "I've got a bullet reserved for me. When I feel I start...turning...I'll...I'll just do it myself." Without Lori...without any emotional support, with so much weight on his back...maybe...maybe it was for the best. "I've been sick...Beth. Real sick. Mentally sick. I'm not fit to lead this group. Not anymore. Well, maybe I never was." A tear escaped his eyes, a sad brief smile formed on his lip. Gently he took hold of her nap and kissed the top of her head, the kiss longing. "It was a pleasure getting to know you. You're very strong, Beth. You'll still make your father and sister so proud." He let go, hands focusing on the shovel he had been holding, the man admiring the sunset, feeling the sun against his skin. "This probably is the last time I'll feel the sun." Rick said, calm in his voice. He already had done everything he wanted to that day. He had kissed and hugged Carl, read some comics with the boy even- he had spent time with Michonne and Hershel, and had breakfast and lunch with the others, hunt some animals with Daryl, helped Carol organize their kitchen. It was a nice day. A last nice day. Now everyone was busy doing their own thing. Rick didn't want to ruin it, and he definitely didn't want them to see him get sick and drag and drag and drag himself to death, decadent. He didn't want that.

"Maybe I'll be lucky to appreciate the stars before I'm gone." His left eye was already getting this odd color, the cyan of his iris getting brighter. His skin was starting to feel colder. Slowly, he realized it was starting. He wouldn't get near the others. He didn't know if he would die to then wake up as a walker- he didn't know if he would just suddenly try to attack them. Rick gave Beth's shoulder a soft punch. "You better go." He whispered. The man was getting pale faster, his touch absolutely cold already, the core of his body extremely hot. Rick touched his own chest- His heart had stopped. He was a dead man standing. It was surprisingly painless. Maybe it was different from person to person- how it happened. He could feel the air he exhaled warm, his heat fading from him. One of his eyes got extremely blurry, intense dead cyan- his lips were purple like grapes, he felt so numb, felt his muscles tense rigid and then this intense headache, starting from afar, so distant, the right part of his sight starting to fade. Quickly he drew his cuffs and locked one of his wrists against the fence. Then calmly, he drew his Magnum, unlocking it. "Beth...just go...alright? It will be okay." He gave her one last sad smile, before his eyes focused on the sun, his other hand gripping the metal grid, some tears on his cheeks, his other hand ready to shoot. Rick just....he just...wanted to see...a bit more of that sky before he was gone.

@thesongbiird

#thesongbiird #rick grimes #the walking dead #rick grimes rp #twd

[compassionatekiller]

@kenpxchi

Happiness.

There was a time when she thought she was happy.  Killing warrior after warrior, bathing in entire battlefields worth of blood, personally slaying the champions of Soul Society’s enemies...at the time, she had thought herself quite happy with her life.  Even as her opponents slowly started to disappear and that dreadful, all-consuming boredom began to set in, she had only ever regarded the height of her slaughters as the happiest times of her life.  She had believed that with every fiber of her being.  She would have sworn to her grave that it was so.

Then she met him, and for one glorious moment, she realized she had never known the meaning of the word.  When her sword clashed against his, when their twin smiles were as wide as the moon, even as his blade plunged into her chest and she realized with trembling elation that he was stronger than her, she finally learned the meaning of joy.  It was magnificent.  Breathtaking.

And she ruined everything!

When she fully understood what she had done to him, she could barely contain her disgust.  Her weakness and incompetence had robbed him of his strength.  She had healed the boy as quickly as she could, but the damage was done; his great power was now a shadow of its former self, shackled forever by his fear of losing his treasured foe.  Her bile rose at thought that this was all her fault, that this magnificent man’s potential had been hobbled because she hadn’t been good enough!  And so, for the first and last time in her life, Unohana Yachiru did the unthinkable.

She ran.  Before the boy had the chance to awaken, she ran as far and as fast as her legs would carry her.  Yet no matter how far she fled, she could not escape her sin.  Realizing that she would never be able to forget her great failure, Unohana completely cast aside all she had been.  As far as Soul Society was concerned, that was the day that “Yachiru” had died, and it was the day that “Retsu” was born.

It had been so long since that day.  They had both gone through so much.  So many new faces had come and gone, so many foes had reared their heads and been felled.  But now, finally, in that pit, with clashing blade and beaming grin and booming laughter, when his blade once again pierced her chest in the same spot as before, she finally felt that glorious emotion again.

Happiness.

She was on the ground now.  Her strength was fading, and her life with it.  Yet, she was still so happy.  He was finally whole again.  She had finally given him the fight he’d deserved.  The sin of her past, finally atoned.  With this...yes, with this, she could-

“DON’T DIE!”

...Oh, honestly!  Even after all these years, even after regaining his true power, he was still such a hopeless child.  He didn’t even have the good sense to see her off in triumph?  Why couldn’t he at least win with a smile?

What if he damages himself again?

A small thought.  An unbidden thought.  An absolutely unforgivable thought.  Fury spread throughout Unohana’s every pore at the very notion that she might yet again put his potential in jeopardy.  Through the sheer strength of her scalding spite, she dragged the last reserves of reiatsu she had within her body and used as much of it as she could to heal the wound he had dealt.  It wasn’t enough to close it completely, unfortunately.  But perhaps, if he could stop blubbering and bothered to think for once, then Isane...

She barely had the thought before she slipped into the inky blackness of unconsciousness.  She wasn’t sure how long it lasted; it could have been decades, or it could have been seconds.  Whatever the reality was, she felt the unbidden sting of light pierce her eyelids.  This feeling...was she laying on one of the medical beds in the Fourth Division?  How had she gotten here?

With a mighty groan and a bleary series of blinks, Unohana sat herself up, trying to shake off the last vestiges of unconsciousness as she asked the room she couldn’t yet quite see “Where...?”

#kenpachi zaraki #kenpxchi #unohana yachiru #compassionate killer #benevolent predator #bleach #rp #bleach rp #it's #uh #longer than i thought it would be #sorry for the word vomit #i hope it's alright #and i hope to have fun rping with you!

[theacevampire]

A Princess' Duty I

Pairing: Kita x fem!Reader

Genre: Royal AU, romance, forced/arranged marriage, betrayal

Wordcount: ~2.3k

Warnings: mentions of parents' death, (attempted) murder but nothing graphic

Track: Amanda Tenfjord – Die Together

A/N: This fic is part of @sasusaki's Kavyaverse Collab.This was due on July 2, so I apologize for posting late. Also, happy (belated birthday to our king Kita!

A Princess' Duty masterlist

The weather was beautiful as springtime slowly banished the winter and its gloomy atmosphere. The sun shone brightly, no clouds blurring its rays, the bird’s chirping chimed through the air and a soft breeze twirled petals and leaves around you. The scent of hyacinths tickled your nose like a page from a picture book. A tear fell down your cheek and into the bouquet in your hands.

It was ironic. The weather was so different from your sentiment. Usually, the sun would invite you to go for a ride with your beloved horse, enjoying the warmness on your skin and the wind in your hair, but today the warmth felt like salt in your wound.

You got on your knees and placed the bouquet of flowers on the moist soil, right next to the black marble statue of an angel. Not even two months ago, Daichi would’ve scolded you for potentially ruining your dress and lectured you about how a princess shouldn’t kneel in the dirt, but today he didn’t.

Today the dirt on your dress was trivial. Insignificant. Negligible. Just like everything else. Your fingers brushed over the names of your parents and younger siblings engraved in the gravestone. Today, Daichi laid his hand on your shoulder and squeezed it, silently providing you stability. Stability he barely had himself. 

“I don’t think I have realized they’re gone forever yet.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. If you spoke any louder only a croak would come out. “We will never hear Akiko’s laugh or Shiro and Yoshiro’s banter again. Or Mother and Father arguing about the next banquet’s seating arrangements.” More tears streamed down your face and you balled your hands into fists, gathering the grave’s dirt under your nails.

Daichi’s laugh was heartbroken. “Don’t say that. We wouldn’t want them debating in heaven whether they were having a discussion or an argument once again. What would God think of our family?”

Despite all the tears and sorrow, you smiled at the memory of your mother’s voice echoing through the halls, defending her firm belief she and your father had been merely discussing the matter while he had mumbled something about this hardly being a discussion but rather an argument. Still, they always smiled at each other while doing so, because such trivial matters couldn’t damage their marriage – nothing could. Ever.

“They really loved each other deeply.” You turned your head to Daichi as he looked up into the sky. His expression was dreamy, but you noticed the tears burning in his eyes too.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown. And he was still able to point his gaze up. Sure, his whole life Daichi had been prepared to become king, to reign over the Kingdom of Karasuno. But not at the age of twenty-one. He wasn’t supposed to take over the throne until your father had died of old age in a decade. But there he stood now: a king after losing his family and his head still high.

You made a move to get up and his attention snapped back to you, before he offered you his hand, helping you on your feet again. You gulped the lump in your throat, picking an entangled leaf from his hair.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” You faked ignorance, very well aware you did nothing to hide your emotions – not that it was an option. He had always been able to read you like an open book.

“Pity written all over your face.” A smile tugged on his lips as he tipped your nose with his index finger. “I’m your older brother, I’m here to protect you, to comfort you. I’m supposed to be the strong one, the one helping you through the loss of your parents and siblings.”

“Our parents and our siblings, Daichi. They were your family too, Daichi. It’s fine to express your grief to me. To whom else would you, if not me, your sister? We’re in this together.”

Slowly, the two of you made your way back towards the castle, away from the cemetery’s heavy aura. The servants knew not to approach you during your mourning times at the grave, but neither of you could escape the royal duties forever. Both of you knew that.

Passing through the palace grounds lifted some of the weight of your chest. Leaving the thick atmosphere made breathing easier again and the bird’s chirping didn’t feel like mockery anymore but reassurance the two of you could manage. With a shy smile you linked your arm with Daichi’s, squeezing it lightly to give him silent support.

“Your Majesty!” 

Daichi flinched as Nishinoya’s voice called from behind you. He still wasn’t used to the new title. A title he didn’t like because it reminded him of the price he had paid.

Daichi furrowed his eyebrows as he turned around. “Nishinoya! Did I not tell you to refrain from disturbing us?”

You laid your hand on his forearm to calm him down. Nishinoya was a reliable messenger, who would never refuse orders if it wasn’t a serious matter. “What is it, Yū?” you asked in a tone softer than your brother’s.

Breathless, Nishinoya bowed to you and you noticed the sweat glistering on his forehead. As Karasuno’s messenger, it was hard to bring his body to the point of sweating. “Your Highness.” He took two more deep breaths before continuing, “I’m really sorry for disobeying your orders, Sire, but His Majesty, King Shinsuke Kita of Inarizaki, is here, asking for his bride.”

“His bride?”

Nishinoya’s gaze flickered to you and he faltered. Your confusion and the deepening furrows on Daichi’s forehead told him neither you nor your brother knew what he was talking about. He gulped, looking at Daichi. “Yes. According to him, you signed a contract, arranging a marriage with him.”

Your nails dug into the stiff fabric of Daichi’s uniform. “Yū?” you asked, your tongue heavy. “Who is stated as the bride?”

His Adam’s apple bopped when he gulped again, avoiding eye contact with both of you. A moment of heavy silence passed with only the sighing of the wind interrupting it, his expression provoking an uneasy feeling. “I’m afraid it’s you, Your Highness, the Princess of Karasuno.”

Irritation and confusion wouldn’t do justice to what you felt at that moment. Shinsuke Kita, King of Inarizaki, requested your hand in marriage? This was out of the blue. Sure, you knew about him, who he was, but you hadn’t spoken to him aside from the time your parents had introduced him to you years ago at a ball in Shiratorizawa’s palace. If you recall correctly, this had been seven years ago, just a few months after your fourteenth birthday, and since then you hadn’t seen or corresponded with him in any form. So, why was he suddenly asking – or rather demanding – you to marry him?

“Tell him, we will hear him in the throne room,” Daichi ordered Nishinoya who promptly nodded and ran back to the palace. With his hand on your lower back, he guided you back as well. “Come on.”

You looked down on your dirty dress, the soil differentiating greatly from the lavender silk. “I should change. I–”

“There’s no time for that.” With a stern glance, he shook his head, continuing to drag you through the gardens. 

And there was nothing you could do aside from following him into the building, through the long, wide hallways to the throne room where Sir Kōshi Sugawara and Sir Asahi Azumane, your personal guards, were already waiting, standing left and right of the podium with the two thrones. They were exchanging glances but stopped as soon as Daichi and you entered after giving each other a nod in a wordless exchange. Daichi settled in the left throne as you took your stand beside him, a hand resting on his shoulder.

Not even a minute later, Nishinoya slipped in through a door to the side, signaling the arrival of King Shinsuke Kita. Your brother gave him a nod and Nishinoya hurried to the broader, taller door right across the podium.

The other two knights stationed right next to the main door, pulled open the door wings and Nishinoya cleared his throat before announcing, “His Majesty, the King of Inarizaki, Shinsuke Kita!”

Three people entered, their swords dangling from their belts, striding over the red carpet in Inarizaki’s characteristic knights’ uniforms: a suit of armor made of shining metal and a black cloak with white ornaments adorning the hem, held by a shoulder plate bearing a silhouette of a fox.

Shinsuke Kita’s physique wasn’t particularly more impressive than his guards’: both were taller and just as broad. However, he was so far from inconspicuous, that – even without his dark red sash under his cloak and the gold trim in the fox – one could tell he was the one coming from royalty. His presence was unmistakably a leader’s, a king’s.

“Your Majesty.” His voice was unexpectedly bright though deeper than you remembered it – no wonder, he wasn’t a boy anymore. “Your Highness.” He barely spared you a glance, keeping his eyes on Daichi as his guards bowed their heads.

His greeting was acknowledged with a nod and a “Your Majesty” in return.

For a moment you contemplated refusing the curtsy, but your mother had taught you manners and this was not the place for immature behavior. “Your Majesty,” you greeted him, brushing off the sting of frustration when he continued ignoring you.

Daichi watched his opponent closely, legs crossed and chin resting on the back of his hand, aware of every single movement. You could tell he looked more confident than he felt. “I hope your travel to our humble kingdom was without trouble and I welcome you in my castle. Though I must admit, I am surprised to see you here, Sire. I didn't expect you to show up at my palace’ door – unannounced, at that – demanding for a bride.”

The blonde guard's eyebrows rose in surprise before he caught himself. The other guard and Kita remained stoic.

“I fail to see how my appearance is unannounced. Two weeks have passed since the signing on your part and now I am here to pick up my appointed bride – like agreed.”

Under your touch, Daichi’s shoulder tensed and the knuckles on his other hand turned white as he gripped the armrest tighter. He was holding back – in favor of the neutral relation your kingdoms had and to save face as a king. If he lost his temper now, word would go around, damaging his reputation and authority over Karasuno.

But something was wrong. Daichi knew how much you valued a marriage out of love, how much you wished for a marriage like your parents’. There was no way he would marry you off to someone you didn’t approve – much less you barely even knew.

From Kita’s wording you deduced there was a written contract, quoting the terms and conditions of this arranged marriage. But Daichi couldn’t ask to see it, considering he supposedly signed it, as this would prove someone had interfered with his business. Which no king should ever, under any circumstances, tolerate. Saying Kita had shown up unannounced had already painted a bad light, but it could be excused by saying it must’ve slipped Daichi’s mind that the stated amount of time had already passed, as a ruler’s schedule tended to be rather busy. However, you could very well ask to see the record without raising suspicion, feigning the unknowing princess whose brother married her off and attempting damage control.

“May I have a look at the document? I assume you have it with you, Sire.”

Three pairs of eyes flickered to you instantly. For the blink of an eye, they fell on the stains on your dress and the dark-haired guard raised an eyebrow disparagingly before they got a hold of themselves and lifted their gazes to your face. Kita kept a straight face though his brown eyes studied your every movement with a certain interest.

“Ren.”

The dark-haired guard nodded silently and pulled something out of the interior pocket of his uniform. The paper’s rustling was earsplitting. The dull sound of your heels on the carpet and the rattling of his armor were the only things to be heard in the room as you walked down the steps from the podium, meeting the guard halfway.

“Thank you.” Internally, you thanked the gods your voice and hands weren't shaking as you reached for the document, noticing the guard eyeing the dirt still clinging to your hands.

The material was rough under your fingertips as they worked on unfolding the document and silence set over the room.

Holding your breath, you skimmed the text, catching a point here and there – exchange for the Princess’ hand in marriage – alliance between the kingdoms of Karasuno and Inarizaki – as soon as the wedding ceremony is fulfilled – typical conditions for a contract outlining an arranged marriage. Then your gaze fell on the signatures at the bottom and you froze. What you saw proved your worst fears to be true. Daichi betraying you and marrying you off against your wishes wouldn’t have been nearly as bad as this. There, down at the bottom, in black ink, stood Daichi’s name.

Only the signature wasn’t his.

“Sire? What shall we do now?”

Dull brown eyes set on the fields of hyacinths around Karasuno’s palace, observing the estate’s structure and layout, watching the animals scurry from bush to bush and the servants hurry from one side of the palace to the other.

“We will wait.”

Tagging: @hanayanetwork

#kavyaverse collab #kita x reader #kita shinsuke x reader #kita shinsuke #kita a princess duty #vampire:SSD #vampire:haikyuuOS

[geistxhund-a]

      big ugly lore dump for khaz since my brain finally decided to do something for once, just gonna put it under a read more though since there’s definitely some mature stuff and I’m not too sure how to tag it

       Khaz has implanted memories/false memories, given to him by the Facility and basically processed him into believing that he was a blank slate, artificially-made bio-organic weapon, despite the reality being he was an orphan of war being plucked from the ruins of his home to become a child-soldier with a self-repairing machine that he’ll effectively keep him alive but due to excessive use and essentially nearly-abusing it’s own function now runs are nearly one quarter of it original effective healing-factor but can out of emergency rapidly heal severely damaged or lost limbs or even possibly save him from a critical-state depending if he can preform emergency first-aid on himself properly according to the wound.        The indoctrination procedures would include implanting basic run of the mill memories, leading the kidnapped children to believe that they were bio-organic weapons, effective test-tube babies developed, born & produced for the sole purpose of infiltration-exfil and assassinations, despite the truth being that the children were in-fact war-orphans from a nation that was fighting a civil war. The Facility staff believing that it'd be more than perfect to select children that would effectively have already been broken from the atrocities and horrors of warfare, the brutality of man. Thinking that they could mold the built-up rage and complex emotions of children who've supposedly lost their entire lives and families due to the avarice of men who were willing to kill their own country-men to ascertain power.          Khaz would eventually find out about this falsehood he had believed for so long, after having a stray dream that was different from the usual occasional reminder of his implantation when he would see a poppy in a store during november when he was still working as a bodyguard for his father’s gang. He had collected enough information after working a few odd jobs for an information broker he knew through his old connections within the decade he had in the criminal underworld about a small compound belonging to the company which more than piqued his interest in the matter since he still had a seething hatred for those who’d brutalized him and strapped the accursed machine to his back. Infiltrating the small compound belonging to the pharmaceutical company responsible for his mutations and forced surgeries and fighting through some basic security just to find the facility was running on bare-bones staff, most of the files were wiped, the only real viable intelligence left for him to scavenge for were physical documents that were scattered across the floor, supposedly in a hurried manner one would could assume from how hectic the archives and other rooms in the state they were left in. Once he did find something about him, or at least related to the project he was a prime test-subject and failed product of. 

      To say the least, he was more or less not happy with what he found, in fact he'd rather believe that the false-memories of him being a product more than an orphan with nothing, at least him being a weapon had some purpose for him to continue his drive for survival, besides, he had nothing else left to return to anyways if he were to pry any further, at this point he could honestly be considered a ghost as he has no recollection of his original name, only that of the serial number given to him by the Facility staff and the name given to him by his adoptive gang-boss father. Sometimes, he'll have dreams at night about his really early years, sitting in a massive field of long green grass, corn poppies littered among the grass, a couple who he could only assume was his parents, their face blurred by the sun when he'd look up to them when they would mutter something, like the sound was being absorbed, muffled into an undistinguishable garble. Other times, he'll have reoccurring nightmares, all pertaining to his time in the Facility during the processing and production, the falsified memories of him lazily floating in turquoise-colored liquid in what seemed to be some device suspending him in said-fluid, cables connecting to the freshly planted mechanical spine, his vertebrae and surrounding muscle and skin tissue raw from the surgery. An oxygen mask strapped over his mouth, presumably also pumping him full of tranquilizers and a small dosage of sedatives. Other nightmares being the surgeries and operations, or in other words, the testing phases of the mechanical spine-technology the pharmaceutical company was researching, seeing how far they can push it's regenerative healing factors capabilities, just how much they could tear apart a human and just how much the spine can repair and was able to repair. All of the brutalized, cruel and inhumane torture they had put Khaz through as he had not been administered anything for the pain nor to put him under while they operated and tested, the times he'd pass in and out of consciousness are the nightmares he remembers most, waking up to catch glimpses of limbs in the process of being hacked off or incisions being made with different tools and weapons and different lengths and widths, all too see the effective healing prowess. They wanted results and were willingly to exhaust the healing factor of the spine and to see if there was anything they could improve on with the next iteration and model when the research would get to that point, although it seemed that Khaz’ spine had been already over-exerted 

      This all in all, would also develop his nosocomephobia and his effective insomnia as well, often finding it hard to sleep for long when it was a gamble if he'd actually have a good decent chunk of sleep or if he was just going to go to sleep and have a horrible night trying to sleep but just having the worst nightmares or just not fun dreams in general since his own memories don't even feel right as he can't remember any of the important details, not even his parents' voices and faces, nor their names.

#07 //: HEADCANON

[fenixfoxtrot510]

Hate when people say shit like, "Oh you might not want kids now; But when you get older your clock will start ticking! Might as well get it out of the way now!"

Ma'am, there isn't a clock in anyone's body without some fucked up medical practices going on. Those are hormones changing with age.

Hormones were a shit reason to make any major life changing decisions as a teenager.

They are still a shit reason to make major life altering decisions as a 30 year old adult.

Kids are a life long investment that will always need time, money, love, and support. And parents need to be ready, able and willing to provide all of that for decades to come. Deciding to have a child based on temporary emotions, without any long term plans set in advance and consideration that feelings may change later but the fact that you now have a kid will not change, is irresponsible.

If you can't ensure that shit outside the heat of maternal longing then it will ruin not only the parents' lives but the child's life as well.

I ain't about to ruin my life and fuck up a perfectly adequate child just because some random ass lady that knows jack shit about my life told me to listen to the chemicals in my uterus and not think shit through.

That's fucking ridiculous.

Children deserve better from their parents than that.

I know that regardless of my uterus may feel it wants in the future, if I wound up pregnant, I'd probably jump off a bridge after getting off my medication on doctor's orders.

I refuse to put that on my friends and family.

If someone says they don't want kids. That is the end of that topic.

Talk about your dog or that racoon you saw in the dumpster last night instead.