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starrystevie · 1 year

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eddie figures out that he likes steve all because of nancy fucking wheeler.

it isn't often that they find themselves hanging out just the two of them, quite the opposite. this is the first time they've ever done it and the only reason nancy is even stepping foot inside the munson's new government-provided trailer is because she's having a crisis.

"but what does it mean," she asks, voice muffled as her lips wrap around the opening of her beer bottle before taking a swig. her cheeks hollow and her eyes shut against the feeling of the carbonation bubbling up before she fixes eddie with a glare that he doesn't think is for him. "it didn't... feel this way with barb."

and eddie's just sitting there on the couch, rolling a much needed joint for both of them, trying to follow along with what nancy is saying. she's pacing a hole in the carpet and her hands are flying around in a way that eddie himself does when the wheels in his brain are spinning too fast.

"... what didn't feel what way?"

nancy glares at him again and he gets the feeling that it's directed at him this time. he feels himself shrink under her eyes and wants to raise his hands up in surrender (he gives in and does indeed raise his hands in surrender).

"i think i'm in love with robin, please try and keep up."

eddie stills, his hands in the air and mouth open in shock. nancy's still muttering about something but his brain is stuck on the being-in-love-with-robin part of her tirade. it's not an issue, not in the slightest, and sure he's heard of people who... but he's never met someone who actually-

"are you even listening?" nancy asks, her tone firm. she has a hand on her hip while the other is clenched tightly around the neck of her beer. "what am i supposed to do?! am i just supposed to kiss her and tell her that her eyes are my favorite color and that i miss her when she leaves a room even for just a minute?"

"how should i know?! i'm not in love with robin!" eddie responds and he knows it's the wrong answer by how nancy's whole face falls in the span of .02 seconds. she looks like she's on the brink of tears, frustrated or hopeless or sad, and eddie doesn't know what to do with that either.

"but... you know. what about steve?" nancy's voice is soft now, and paired with her puppy dog eyes, eddie almost doesn't process what she says. "how'd you know with him?"

and if eddie thought he was stunned before, this takes the cake. a nervous laugh bubbles out of him, his face hot and heart pounding. his arms feel a bit like liquid and he doesn't know if he's even breathing anymore.

"nancy, i'm sorry but i think we're on two different wave lengths here." he needs to do something with his hands so he starts to fiddle with his lighter, flicking the zippo open and shut until the clink of the metal sounds too loud in the quiet room. "i don't.... love steve."

tears start to roll down her cheeks and yeah, eddie definitely messed up somewhere. she's wiping the drops away furiously like she's surprised they even dared to show up and she's biting her lip in a way that looks like it hurts.

"what are you talking about? of course you do." her eyebrows furrow which makes her look even angrier or disgusted and eddie feels like they're on a tightrope in his living room that's about to snap away from underneath them.

"well yeah, i... love him," he stutters over the words, "like i love you and rob and everyone. but not like... love love."

nancy's laugh sounds way too harsh for it to have come out of her. "are you sure? you stare at his ass more than i stare at robin's." she takes a deep breath, ignores the gasp of indignation that her statement gets out of eddie, and tilts her chin up like she's taking the high ground.

"i do not!"

"do too! and you're always looking for him when you walk into a room, like it doesn't matter if we're there, you only look for him. and you sit right next to him even if there's an open seat that's more comfortable. and you have this little, i don't know, tic when he smiles that makes you wiggle your fingers and you-"

"wheeler, you gotta stop."

"-always listen to him and he does all of that back for you and it's so obvious. i can't believe you didn't know you were in love with steve! you do everything that i do for robin and i'm in love with her so it must mean you're in love with steve and- holy shit i'm in love with robin."

the silence after nancy stops rings loud in his ears. honestly, he hadn't really given it any thought before but it makes sense.

the very idea of steve has his heart feeling a way it hasn't since he was nine and tracy nichols gave him a shiny rock on valentine's day. he does always look for steve when he enters a room, his very presence calming and dependable. he does sit next to him no matter what, their sides pressed together, heat radiating between them like a blanket. and god, when steve smiles, he does have to move his fingers, something to get out these jolts of energy that he feels licking through his veins.

steve is good and steve is a bit of an asshole but eddie likes that and suddenly the line between platonic and romantic seems to have vanished because holy shit, how did he live for the past year without spending every day loving steve harrington?

eddie reaches for the half rolled joint, licks at the paper to close it and lights up quickly. he holds the smoke in his lungs for probably too long but couldn't care less because he's now having a crisis of his own thanks to nancy.

"goddamnit," eddie hisses out as he exhales. "i'm in love with steve."

nancy looks smug, her arm extended as she waits for eddie to pass the joint to her before taking a hit. "that's what i'm saying."

"but i'm not... you know."

nancy rolls her eyes. "it's not going to bite you if you say it, eddie."

"i'm not gay."

the silence seems louder now as the paper on the joint sizzles. there's a dog somewhere in the park barking and he can hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

"neither am i." nancy responds quietly with a shrug of her shoulders. "but i am for robin. and you are for steve."

she passes the joint back over to eddie and stands up from the couch, wipes off imaginary crumbs from her pants like she didn't just turn eddie's world upside down.

"i think i'm gonna go. i have a lady to woo." nancy looks happy. it's a good look on her, one he doesn't see all that often what with everything that's happened to them in the past year. she deserves it, he thinks, happiness.

"let me know how it goes," he calls to her as she stops at the trailer door.

"i will." with a tilt of her head and a with a gleam in her eye, she gives eddie yet another look that he doesn't know if he wants to try and decipher. "you should call him."

eddie snorts and takes a hit, rolling his eyes as he stares up at the ceiling so he doesn't have to look at nancy's all knowing eyes. it isn't that he's scared to call steve, it's that he's terrified. petrified. what would he say? what would steve say? he just figured out that he loves him, he hasn't had time to prepare a whole speech to declare it and-

"eddie." nancy's voice is sharp but certain and part of him thinks that robin is a lucky woman to have nancy wheeler falling in love with her. "trust me. call him."

after she's gone, he finishes the joint. he sits in the silence of his trailer and pulls hit after hit of sticky smoke until it's down the end and burning his fingertips. he stares at the ceiling some more, contemplates what to say, how to say it, how to do anything without throwing up.

he wonders if wayne knows, if he saw what nancy saw, what he thinks of eddie falling in with a guy. he wonders if this will change everything. wonders if it'll change for better or worse. wonders if he'll have to skip town and change his name like he imagined doing after he was cleared of murder.

picking up the phone is easy, dialing is easier when he has steve's number memorized like the back of his hand.

"hello?" steve mutters like he's been roused out of sleep. his voice is scruffy and somehow soft and eddie knows he's going to throw up.

"steve."

"hey, man. is everything okay?"

and it makes eddie's heart flutter in a way that a generic question shouldn't but damn it, he's in love. he's allowed.

"yeah, yeah. everything's good i just-" eddie sighs, scrubs a hand down his face to stop from twirling the phone cord in his fingers. "do you wanna maybe come over? watch a movie or something?"

eddie can almost hear the smile in his voice when he breathes out a yes, thanking whatever higher powers there may be for nancy wheeler.

#yikes i had way too much to do at work today but didn't do anything of it until i wrote this down oops #honestly the only place i write stranger things headcanons is at work apparently #steddie #steddie headcanon #but also a mini bit of #ronance #steve harrington #eddie munson #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #my writing #the next fic i write has to be ronance because i've yet to write anything angsty for them and i NEED to #please excuse the gratuitous overuse of italics in this #1k #2k

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belokhvostikova · 11 months

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | Following Friday’s events, Eddie Munson was on a mission to apologize to you, though everything fell short when your life began to crumble in a matter of hours.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, yelling, crying, self-deprecating thoughts, violence, experienced anxiety and panic attack, mentions of childhood abuse and neglect, and brief mentions of blood, body shaming, and non consensual touching.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | For the sake of my sanity, I'm going to need all of you to ignore the blatantly unrealistic process of making a book in this story, lol. If there are any necessary warnings that were accidently left out, please feel free to let me know!

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 | One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡

Whatever mantra of the Munson Doctrine Eddie had been feeding himself to believe about the highest of the social hierarchy embedded within Hawkins High was really starting to fall short, specifically when your pretty face started monopolizing every one of his thoughts imaginable.

As much as he’d like to admit otherwise, Eddie Munson liked staring at your face, and it was really starting to piss him off just how much he really liked doing it. And the situation only became worse when he steadily watched your wonted bewitching smile fade into a disheartened look of dejection, because that following weekend after your impromptu photo shoot with Hellfire, became the worst week of your life.

And Eddie Munson watched it entirely unravel right in front of him.

It never really occurred to Eddie just how much he’d casually gawk at you prior to said photo shoot. I mean, you were the face of the school, of course, you were hard to miss when you practically lit up the halls with your smile. And that’s merely what Eddie had chalked it up to; your popularity involuntarily placed you at the forefront of his attention. It wasn’t the small strands of baby hairs that perfectly framed your face, whether you decided to keep your hair natural, or styled it for the fun of it; it wasn’t your enthralling eyes that seemed to almost squint close because your cheeks became so full of delight with your spellbinding laugh; and it definitely wasn’t your apologetic reassurance that everything was okay to the kid from the drama club who accidentally bumped into you, causing you to drop your books, and you gave Andy McAvoy a stern talking to when he tried to defend your honor with violence against the poor kid.

No, it was none of that that caught Eddie Munson’s attention to you (he forced himself to believe).

But now, things are different.

He’d actually gotten a chance to talk to you—yes, that cafeteria instance was the first time Eddie Munson had ever actually spoken to you, and he berated you with dehumanizing comments—and he blew it with his rash decision to automate you into a box of prissy cheerleaders that had nothing better to do than gossip with their friends- ah yes, that box, that was formulated by sexist losers who used it to justified their mean actions against innocent teenage girls. Oh, fuck, Eddie cringed to himself at the sudden self-realization.

He had to fix this. He didn’t even have to confess his feelings—which, he didn’t have *cough* *cough*—he just had to apologize for his mistakes. What he wanted to believe to be patronizing was actually sincere on your part, and you didn’t deserve any of his degrading tirade. And his conscience was letting it be known. Resuming the campaign had been a shit-show that Friday, when all he could focus on was your crying face. It became even worse when he realized that he’d never actually seen you drive—always painfully third-wheeling with Jason Carver and Chrissy Cunningham, or silently pleading to Patrick McKinney to control Andy McAvoy when he felt entitled to nonconsensually feel you up in his convertible when they drove you to school—meaning you were probably left crying alone at night waiting to be picked up, or worse, walking home. And you did it just for him. For his friends. To be included in some stupid fucking yearbook, because he made a big deal out of it in the first place.

Oh, shit, he was an awful fucking person, Eddie thought.

So, come Monday morning, he would apologize. He had all weekend to find the right words, rehearse his apology to perfection, and plan when to actually say it to you.

But Eddie Munson never got to correctly apologize to you on Monday.

Because aforementioned, Monday was the start of the worst week of your life, and he got scared and simply watched everything happen.

“No running in the halls, young lady.” Mr. Long sternly reminded, as you zoomed past him.

“Sorry, sir.” You weren’t sorry. The second he turned the corner, you picked up the pace and ran to the newspaper room, frantically attempting to shove the slender key into the slot with shaky hands.

Earlier on Saturday, the Yearbook Committee had worked to finish the final draft of the Hawkins High 1986 Yearbook, and with the team’s effort, you all concluded the first official copy that held the recognition of all staff and students intertwined with a school year’s worth of memorabilia, squished between the glossy green and orange cover that encapsulated Hawkins High.

And now, you were about to destroy it.

Sixty minutes. You had sixty minutes. You managed to wake up early that Monday morning, practically running to school, and situating yourself within the newspaper room—sweaty and exhausted—an hour early before the bell rang to commence the school day. In truth, you’d like to say you were a badass, and demolished the yearbook with no regrets, but reality had quite literally sucked, and you were panicking for a solid five minutes before you came to a consensus.

It had to be destroyed- well, not destroyed, just unbinded. God, you were such a dramatic coward.

See, that Saturday afternoon with the Yearbook Committee, you had done your part, you really did. You gathered photos, helped have them printed, assisted Nancy Wheeler with the placement of pages, and took over binding the book together when Fred Benson’s scrawny hands cramped into oblivion. You also may have—very discreetly—had Hellfire’s picture printed, created an entirely new page to fit them between the Glee and Math Club, and it was then you realized you didn’t even know half of their names. It had never occurred to you on Friday night that—with the exception of Eddie Munson, Lucas Sinclair, and Mike Wheeler—you never caught the names of the other four members, prompting you to lose precious time after having to locate their stupid names in the student registry for identification—they weren’t stupid, you were just really frustrated at that point.

And now, on this fine Monday morning, you persevered through blistering callouses, contracting muscles, and sore knuckles to unbind and bind back the yearbook with an additional page within the “Hawkins High’s Clubs” recognitional section.

Hellfire’s page.

And it was perfect.

The pages were still intact with their crisp stiffness of that of a newly unopened book, and you cleaned off any smudges that impaired the quality of work within the creation. You stood back. You couldn’t help the soft giggle that left your lips at the mere sight of Hellfire sticking out like a sore thumb against the formality of the other photos—in true Hellfire fashion. But there it was. Their title, their photo, and their names that gave them the minimal ask to simply be acknowledged in a school that consistently disregarded their beings, and you were happy they finally got it. They deserved it. Even if Friday’s event left you crying alone in your bed feeling awful. It was worth it. Your thumb gently caressed the smooth page of their photo—Eddie’s photo—and reminisced on that night.

Had you actually done something terrible? Was Eddie right to call you out on your actions? You certainly knew you hadn’t caused this entire commotion out of pitiness, though you understood where he may have interpreted it as such. I mean, even though you never did anything, your friends made his life a living hell, villainizing his differences, casting him as a danger to society, affecting his life beyond just a superficial high school social life. It was true torment.

You understood the facade which Eddie Munson had to put on to protect himself, but what you didn’t understand was the sudden shallowness that appeared when you thought you proved yourself to be more than just a ditzy cheerleader. Why were you even trying to prove yourself to some guy? Eddie Munson was an awful person. Right? He yelled at you, judged you, degraded you, and all for nothing- well, as far as you knew. So yeah, Eddie Munson was an awful person. You may have understood him, but he was still an asshole. You’d done your part, adding Hellfire to the yearbook, and that was that. That was all you needed to do. You no longer had to think about his stupid feelings, his stupid hair—which you totally didn’t want to run your hands through—his stupid brown eyes that made you shutter as they bore into yours, and his stupidly beautiful smile. You also kinda wondered how his hands might feel on your-

“What are you doing here?”

Jesus Christ, how long has Nancy Wheeler been standing there? You didn’t even hear the door open.

“Uh, um, j-just looking at the, uh, yearbook?” You mumbled. You wished you had better control over your facial expressions, because right now, Nancy Wheeler was eyeing the fuck out of your worried guise.

“You came to school early just to see the yearbook?” She questioned.

“W-well, yeah, I mean, isn’t that why you’re here early? …Right?” You prayed.

Nancy blinked. “Yeah, I guess, just had to make sure everything was correct before Fred takes it to make copies.”

“Oh, Fred’s here?” You piqued with interest.

Fred Benson didn’t actually pique your interest all too much—though, it was quite fascinating seeing how fast his slender fingers would cramp after just a couple minutes of working—but he did give the perfect escape from Nancy Wheeler’s captious glare.

“Uh, yeah, he’s out front waiting for the book-”

“I’ll hand it to him!” You interjected, watching her face scrunch with confusion. You could only awkwardly laugh, “You know me and Fred,” you zoomed right past her, “just always so, uh… tight.” And you left without further explanation.

Shoving Mr. Long’s word of chastisement right up his ass, you ran down the empty hall, yearbook held tightly in your tired hands, as you rejected any of Nancy’s calls for you to come back. Reaching the double glass doors, you spotted Fred mindlessly tweaking with his camera in the front seat of his car.

“Fred!” You could visibly make out the bewildered “huh” that fell from his gaping mouth from your sudden appearance. “Fred, here take this and go!” You shoved the yearbook past the small crack of his window.

“W-wait, didn’t Nancy want to che-”

“No, she sent me to give this to you!” You urged. “And she said go now, or else the copies won’t be done in time!” My god, the entirety of this situation had you lying more than you ever had in your life.

“But the distributors don’t close until six-”

“Fred, I don’t care!” You whined. “Do you really want to make Nancy upset?!” If your calculations were correct, Nancy Wheeler’s flats were currently speed walking—she was one to follow the rules—past Mrs. Durberry’s science classroom, meaning you had ten more seconds until she appeared.

“Well, n-no-”

“Then drive! Now, please!” He scrambled to turn his car on, and luckily, the old piece of junk managed to roar alive with a heavy blow of carbon dioxide, and you heaved watching Fred Benson skirt past the incoming wave of students on bikes and cars, leaving tire tracks on the cracked pavements. When he came back, you’d be sure to apologize for demanding him so aggressively.

Nancy Wheeler screamed your name.

Turning around, she came pummeling towards you with a might of pure irritation. “What the hell was that?! I didn’t even get to check the book!”

You huffed with exhaustion. It was only 8:18 a.m and it had already been a long day. “Nance, come on, I’ve been on the Yearbook Committee for the last three years, don’t you trust me by now?” Admittedly, guilting Nancy probably wasn’t the best option, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“I don’t care how long you’ve been in the committee, I have the authority to make final calls, not you!” Gee, you really had an act for getting people to yell in your face. Were you actually the problem?

“Look, I understand, but I promise everything was perfect with the yearbook. I mean, come on, you saw the finished product on Saturday when we completed it.” You reasoned.

Nancy took a deep breath to regulate herself. “This is your only strike.” She pointed a finger at you like a child. “You pull something like this again, and you're off the committee. Understand?”

You swallowed thickly. The trouble you went through just for Eddie Munson- his friends. Just for his friends. “Yes, I understand.” You submitted quietly. “But I promise, the book was fine, everything is going to be perfectly okay.”

Everything was not perfectly okay.

Because unlike your little white lie of being “tight” with Fred Benson, he actually was with Nancy Wheeler, and, boy, did he rat you out when he paged through the printed copies of the yearbook and found the seven believed satanic cultists mischievously smiling right back at him, tainting the committee’s precious work.

It was in the midst of your A.P U.S History class when the staticy call of your name over the intercom interrupted Mr. Whitney’s lecture of the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution, and prompted you to the principal’s office at 10:57 a.m. Now, it wasn’t an unusual occurrence for Principal Higgins to often call you down as you were a valued student representative of Hawkins High, though you quickly knew your visitation had nothing in relation to an honor medal or scholarship award. No, it became quite evident that such subject matter was beyond any congratulations to you, because upon entering, you were faced with a choleric Nancy Wheeler, displeased Principal Higgins, and timid Fred Benson. You were fucking screwed, I mean, Principal Higgins quite literally had a yearbook in his hand. Crazy part of it all is that a good third of your being actually believed you may have gotten away with it, but they managed to find out in a matter of two fucking hours. Who were you kidding?

There was only so much nonchalant-ness you could mask, though your previous revelation of being unable to control your facial expressions was really biting you in the ass, and your insistent cracking under pressure was palpable.

Your wide eyes flashed between everyone as they stared you down. You didn’t speak. You couldn’t even manage to speak. And they didn’t speak. Why wasn’t anyone speaking?

“Aw, you miss me already, Higgy-”

Everyone’s attention snapped at Eddie’s sneering voice as he strutted his grand entrance, though he was quick to flinch back in surprise when he saw everyone looking at him. And you, shit you were here! You were here looking at him. He’d been searching for you all morning just to apologize, and now you were here… with everyone… why was everyone here?

“Now that I have everyone situated,” Principal Higgins cleared his throat, “I’d like to clear up a matter that has been brought to my attention. I’m sure as you all are well aware of, an unauthorized change has been made to our yearbook and I’m looking to get to the bottom of it.” Higgins turned to you, “Ms. Y/L/N,” he spoke with such care, “this is a safe place for honesty. Did Mr. Munson subject you into making these changes?” With a dramatic slam to his desk, the yearbook was turned open to showcase Hellfire’s designated spot on the page.

“What?!” Both you and Eddie questioned in unison.

“I didn’t “subject” her to shit!” He was quick to rightfully defend.

“Language!” Principal Higgins was even quicker to yell back.

The atmosphere was taut, and it felt like their judgmental stares were swallowing you into an endless blackhole of utter disappointment and failure. You couldn’t even muster up the courage to meet their gaze, simply staring at the old rug beneath your sneakers, wishing it’d come alive and consume you already.

“Ms. Y/L/N, is that true?” Principal Higgins lectured you.

A part of Eddie actually wished you would have lied and accused him of being the aggressor while you were the helpless victim, because that was the usual reality of Eddie Munson: to be denigrated. It would have justified his previous beratement against you from Friday, it would have supported his initial beliefs about you, it would have cleared him of being an asshole, and most of all, it would have changed the way he viewed you, from a genuinely beautiful person inside and out that took a sincere interest in bringing simple recognition to him and his friends to a cold-hearted superficial bitch that chalked up this elaborate plan as a vendetta with your jock friends.

But Eddie Munson knew you weren’t like that.

Which only made it hurt worse when he watched you pain through the sting of your manicured nails stabbing into your palms and your teeth sinking into your tender lip.

“Y-yes, that’s, uh, true, sir.” Your voice was so delicate, Eddie was ready to jump in and just take the blame. “He didn’t make me do anything, it was, uh, all me. I lied, and made him and his friends take the photo. And, well, I, uh, added the page and told Fred to print it.”

You shuddered at the sudden slap of the book, as Principal Higgins closed it with much despondency against you. “And is there valid reasoning as to why?!” Principal Higgins wasn’t one to be known for his placidness and he was quick to make that apparent. “You are the best student at this establishment, you should not be falling under influence of a hooligan like Mr. Munson! How have you fallen so naive all of a sudden?!”

You were really tugging on Eddie’s heart the way your eyes grew round with panic, completely helpless to the grown man scolding you, just as he did last Friday. And while he may have caused it the initial time, he’d be damned to watch it happen to you again.

“Hey, look, you can insult me all you want, but you don’t have to yell at her like she made some dire mistake!” Eddie lambasted Principal Higgins, far more harsh than any regular tone Eddie used when he was regularly being reprimanded.

Higgins could only scoff in disbelief. “Vandalizing school property isn’t a mistake to you, Mr. Munson?! Well, given your grotesque track record of uncivilized activities, it seems as though I’ve answered my own question!” He sneered back with intended offense.

“Please, ‘vandalizing school property?!’” Eddie mocked. “She fucking put our picture in the yearbook, and for good reason, too. You’re the one at fault here, excluding students from recognition!”

The thudding sound of your heartbeat was completely muting you from the onslaught of shouts that was suffocating you in the tight room. While Nancy Wheeler was beginning to contemplate if telling Principal Higgins was too far, Fred Benson was merely watching with joy that none of the blame was being casted on him, and you, well, your body was racking with stiffness, as it suddenly felt like your airway was tightening every breath out of you. Your hands began shaking by your side, unable to control the instantaneous wave of trepidation, as everything was beginning to blur around you.

And no one was noticing.

“I have rightful reasons to exclude your gang of misfits from my yearbook!” Principal Higgins walked from his desk, standing against Eddie with pure spite in his eyes. “You and your posse of cons and aberrations have done nothing but taint the reputation of our school and town, running around like imbeciles who have nothing better to do than waste their lives away! And I will not stand to have you be associated with the work I’ve done to correct this school from delinquents like yourself!”

Chest heaving and nostrils flared, the Eddie Munson from the cafeteria instance was back, though angrier, and he was two seconds from actually gaining an assault charge from hitting Principal Higgins square in the face. But the older man was quick to turn, and eject his dissonant castigate towards you.

“And you, missy!” Your eyes were blinking posthaste with fret to control the swell of tears that were burning your eyes, at the clashing outburst being directed against you. “How did you even gain the facilities to take such picture?!”

Your mouth was dry with consternation, unable to formulate words, and simply quivering your mouth open.

And unlucky for you, Fred Benson spoke for you.

“After our yearbook meeting on Friday,” heads snapped at his gravelly voice, “she said she was going to stay after to work, and that she would lock up herself. She must have taken the key, and stolen a camera.”

Higgins scoffed with great disgust as he judged you, before turning to Nancy. “Ms. Wheeler, as president of the Yearbook Committee, had you permitted her to do so?”

Nancy looked at you with guilt. She hadn’t anticipated the situation to blow up this much, though she spoke honestly to the authoritative eyes of Higgins. “Uh, no, I didn’t.” She meekly answered.

“And Mr. Munson,” Eddie rolled his eyes, trying to control his frustrations before doing something he wouldn’t be able to take back. “When did Ms. Y/L/N enforce these photos?”

“Why the hell does that even matter?” Eddie gritted with a clenched jaw of tension.

“Mr. Munson, you choose not to answer me, and I will not hesitate to place you as an accomplice, and you certainly cannot afford another detention or suspension if you’re planning on finally ending this school year as a graduate.” In a perfect world, Eddie Munson would have lied for you and lessened whatever punishment you were about to receive, but Hawkins, Indiana was far from perfect, the threat made him budge under the pressure of his potential future and your distraught eyes.

“It was, uh, after her cheer practice. After school.” He sheepishly murmured with regret.

“Ah,” Principal Higgins turned to your shaking stature. “So, not only did you make unauthorized changes to the school yearbook, but you stole school property, used our equipment prohibitively outside of school hours, and actively unsubordinated my authority. I have to say, I am awfully disappointed in the person you have become, Ms. Y/L/N, and I am ashamed to have valued you so highly when you simply choose to go down the path of delinquency.” Everything about Principal Higgins words were humiliating and slammed you into a vicious cycle of believing the worst about yourself. “Finish the rest of your day,” he sighed, “but you’ll be suspended for the rest of the week for your actions.” Your heart sank at his news, and Eddie stood dumbfounded that he contributed to it.

Your visions grew blurry under the swell of tears, and your breath was becoming sporadic with panic, and everyone just kept fucking staring at you. “N-no, sir, p-please!” You choked, “I-I have scholarships, a-and acceptances that I-I’m still waiting to hear back from, this could ruin that for me, p-please, sir!”

While your pleads were being disregarded, everyone stood stun watching your fate unfold in front of you. Eddie Munson didn’t know what to do. Nobody did. On top of being berated by him from Friday, you were now facing the worst possible consequence for something so trivial, and he watched it happen. Granted, there was quite literally nothing Eddie could do to fix the situation, but seeing you stand there, panicked about your future and trying to conceal your incoming sobs through the ache of heart palpitations, it was fucking excruciating for him to witness.

“You should have thought about that before you made your choices. Everything is on you.” His words were ringing in your ear like a loop confirming everything you’ve ever hated about yourself. “I’ll be sure to let your father know of the news, and as for your spot on the committee, it is up to Ms. Wheeler to determine where you stand. Now go, everyone back to class.”

Fred Benson was first to leave, giddy to have been cleared from any trouble. Eddie Munson should have left, but he couldn’t stand to leave, simply watching you turn to Nancy Wheeler in a flash. Your round eyes were pleading to her to let you stay, but her previous words of “This is your only strike,” was tormenting you. She sighed, “I’m sorry,” and the shake of her head answered everything before she could verbalize it.

You were off.

You stormed out of the room, bumping shoulders with Eddie, though with no malice intent, just simply needing to get out. The second you reached the clearing of the empty hall, your tears were drowning your cheeks, your sobs so unbearably hard your breathing staggered for release. Suddenly, your little cashmere sweater felt like it was sticking to your skin, giving you hot flashes that brought dizziness to your pounding head. The blood battering your ears cleared out any noise, including Eddie’s calls of your name. He reached out to hold your arm, causing you to severely flinch in hysteria, and he appeared devastatingly concerned for your state of being.

“Sorry! Ar-are you okay?” He winced at the loud sob you choked out, as he felt stupid for even asking you that question. “Look, everything, uh, everything’s gonna be fine.” He rushed to reassure. In truth, Eddie Munson was completely talking out of his ass, he didn’t know if everything was going to be fine, your panicking was just causing him to panic, and all he wanted was for you to be okay. “J-just, uh, breathe for me.” He offered.

“I-I c-can’t! I’m scared, Eddie, help me!” You pleaded with frightened eyes.

Your beg hit too close to home. Suddenly, Eddie was a little boy curled up in the corner of his trashed living room, as he watched his parents abuse one another with words and fists. He pleaded the same words to his parents, who merely ignored his shaking little body. Such horrific events disfigured Eddie Munson’s belief of healing. No one cared for his emotions, no one cared for his feelings, and no one cared to make sure he was okay. So, yes, Eddie Munson yelled at you Friday night because he was petrified. Petrified to be hurt, just as everyone else had done, because to Eddie Munson, that was his fate. To be hurt and to be forgotten. Maybe that’s why he cared so much about being excluded from the school yearbook. While anyone would have rightfully been upset, being excluded cemented the notion that Eddie Munson was disposable. His father spoke it, the townspeople spoke, his teachers spoke, and his peers spoke it. But you didn’t, and that fucking scared him. It’s why he yelled, it’s why he panicked, and it’s why he’d try anything to help you right now.

“I-I know, sweetheart, just listen to me, please.” He quietly spoke. “I’m not gonna touch you or anything, I just really need you to listen to me.”

You fervently nodded your head, and he sighed with relief, because though minor, it was progress, and progress was incredible.

“I, uh, I want you to focus on my voice, okay?” His wide eyes connected with your red ones. “I wouldn’t lie to you, and I mean it when I say everything will be okay. I-I’ll make sure of it.”

Could he physically do that? No. But would he try his damn hardest, putting his being through anything to make it happen? Yes. For you.

“Okay, I want you to-”

“What are you doing to her?!”

Eddie’s eyes screwed shut with disappointment.

Jessica fucking Lewis.

“Get away from her!” She charged past him to get to your hysterical figure. “Did you do something?!”

“No, no, I’m trying to fucking help her.” Eddie implored. “Stop yelling, she’s having a fucking panic attack.” He gritted through his teeth.

“Don’t fucking come near her ever again, you freak!” Eddie watched as you tried to get your words out, but your shrinking throat made it impossible to get your voice out, and he recoiled, watching the fear in your eyes as Jessica held a tight grip in your arms.

But before he could stop her, Jessica was dragging you into the girls bathroom, and he stood frozen doing everything in his power to not rip out his hair in frustration.

Aside from her fault-finding comments against Eddie, Jessica Lewis had actually been a fairly good friend to you through the years of cheer, connecting with the girls through the pact of lifelong sisterhood, as she insisted. Though such pact also came with unwarranted advice when she felt one of you was “falling out of line” with a pristine, perfect image. That being said, when she found you panicking at the hands of Eddie Munson, she was actually concerned, impetuous, yes, but concerned, nonetheless. She’d sat with you, decisively skipping the rest of Mrs. Otis’ home economics class, to console you, bitching out any innocent girl to leave as they attempted to alleviate themselves, while you sat heaving with the back of your thighs sticking to cold tiles of the bathroom. When you did finally manage to catch your breath and calm your heart rate to a healthy status, Jessica had petted your hair with care, constantly asking what was wrong and what Eddie had done. Through your tremored voice, you hoarsely clarified that “He didn’t do anything,” and “He was just trying to help.” That revelation had actually baffled Jessica Lewis, honestly, some part of her believing you to be lying, but she gave it a rest when you assiduously shook your head in response to her asking what was actually wrong. By then, the bell had rung to signal the start of third period.

And it was during said third period when your situation only worsened completely unbeknownst to you.

While you were in the middle of trying to focus on your quiz—which proved damn near impossible after today’s events—Fred Benson was seemingly trying to get back at you for nearly inducing him into a heart attack after your actions almost cost him his spot on the Newspaper and Yearbook Committee (In reality, Nancy Wheeler had only yelled at him for not previously checking the books).

See, once Fred had informed the rest of the Yearbook Committee of what you had done and how you were being punished, the news had spread like wildfire; nerds, geeks, punks, jocks, everyone knew one version or another. “Perfect Cheerleader Falls Under Satanic Cultist’s Influence and Vandalizes School Facilities,'' small town high school students sure had a talent to dramatize any given situation. You’d only taken a picture, that’s all it was, but the students of Hawkins High had conspired together to formulate you into a freak slut who allegedly got fucked by the Eddie Munson after cheer practice in exchange for putting his club in the yearbook.

As the students of your class hurtled to mitigate the dreaded boredom of the school day with the clashing laughter and stale food of lunch, you sighed in your seat, head pounded and anxiety still churning in your mind and stomach, slowly packing up your belongings before handing over the quiz—quite literally the worst you’ve ever performed on one. Lunch seemed like the worst possible thing to conquer, right now. Despite the horrid grumbling of your stomach, you felt no need to satiate that hunger, as your appetite was long gone for the afternoon. In addition, you’d known Jessica Lewis long enough to know that she had informed all your friends of your panic attack, and if you chose to call her out on it, you knew you would only be met with a “I’m only trying to help,” as if you needed an intervention. She’d done it to Paige Semore when the girl healthy gained a couple pounds over the summer and got ridiculed by Jess.

But when you entered the cafeteria, you quickly wished you were subjected to Jessica Lewis’ harmful “advice”, rather than the reality you got.

The sound of the heavy double doors announced your arrival, and suddenly all eyes were on you. No, like quite literally, all eyes were on you. No greeting smiles from acquaintances, no shying-away looks from crushing students, no bright wave hello from Chrissy Cunningham from across the cafeteria, in fact, she was heavily avoiding you, seemingly finding the table more interesting as Jason Carver glared at you. Everyone was staring at you as if, without notice, you had become the town pariah. Because you had. Your perturbation had bombarded you like a missile hit, as quiet whispers flooded your senses. Peering around you caught his eyeline. Eddie. His brows had severely been furrowed with much worry, because he knew. He knew how quickly it went around, and he knew just how bad the news got twisted. Now, he was no stranger to the onslaught of destructive rumors, but you weren’t, and with the day you had, his chest was pounding with dread for you.

Chalking it up to merely being in your head, you swallowed the lump in your throat, and with quick steps, you sped to your usual lunch table. But everyone kept staring- your friends were staring. “Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?” You whispered, as they genuinely looked at you with disgust.

“Why don’t you tell us?” Jason scowled. “Seems like you’re the one who caused all of this, you desperate slut.”

Your mouth dropped incredulously. “What did you just call me?”

“You fucking heard me!” Jason stood from his chair, rejecting Chrissy’s quiet ask to not cause a scene. “It’s exactly what you are.” He laughed.

Eddie Munson’s residual anger was fueling. Hard. He stood from his chair all the way across the room, metal legs scraping the floor with a deafening screech. But his presence only caught the worst attention. “Oh, would you look at that? Your little freak coming to help you?”

Eddie faltered at your watery eyes, begging for everything to just stop. If he spoke, nothing would help you. “What are you talking about?” Your voice stung with pleads to just understand what was happening to you.

“Stop acting like you don’t fucking know!” Andy’s booming voice startled you. “You wanna choose some gross freak to fuck, then fine by us, go right ahead, but don’t think that you’ll be able to with us!” Andy McAvoy was taking it far more personal. He liked you. That was obvious. But hearing the rumors simply led him to believe you chose Eddie Munson over him.

“What?” Your voice cracked in distress.

Eddie had had enough.

“She didn’t fucking do anything!” He marched his way over. All the boys of the basketball team stood in preparation for a fight that Eddie Munson was known to love to finish. Finish, not start. “Your bland lives got that fucking boring you all have to go around making shit up to make things interesting?! She didn’t do anything!”

“Aw, defending your precious little fuck toy, isn’t that cu-”

Chrissy Cunningham's shrilling scream startled the entire cafeteria as Jason Carver’s blood stained her powdery skin. You flinched at the bone-crunching punch that busted Jason’s pretty face, and everything felt heavy in your chest. Your hands were beginning to shake beyond your control, as everything was horrifyingly disfiguring in front of you. It was happening again. Before your mind was about to shut off from the assault of today’s events, your instinct had elicited all rash decisions, and you had to leave. All you could comprehend was the diffusing sounds of students instigating the fight before everything fell silent and you trudged down the hall to escape.

Staff were quick to call Eddie’s name before another detrimental hit was casted upon Jason. It was only then, Eddie’s judgment was left unclouded, and he noticed you were gone. “Did she leave?” He hadn’t necessarily asked anyone in particular, moreso questioning himself, but Chrissy Cunningham had ardently answered him with a swift nod of her head and bulging eyes of fear.

Eddie broke through the doors with force, catching you near the end of the hall. “Y/N!” You didn’t turn, though. Every repeated call of your name fell with no response, and he chased you down, following you into the zephyr of the afternoon weather outside. “Y/N, c’mon, wait!” He’d grabbed your arm.

“What?!”

Eddie staggered at your biting tone. Not once, in the four years he’d known of you—freshman to senior year—had he ever heard your voice so malicious, yet drowning in urgence to make everything stop. Your inconsolable state devastating him helplessly.

“I-I’m sorry.” He sighed so softly.

“‘Sorry?’” You affronted. “Now you’re sorry?! After everything that’s happened! Why, is it out of fucking pity?!” Internally, Eddie was begging you to stop, because if you kept yelling at him like this, his defense mechanism was going to lash out, especially when he was already angry from everything that’s just happened. “I don’t want some stupid apology, not when every time you appear, my life gets worse! I just want you away!” You cried.

Eddie scoffed in disbelief. Were you actually blaming him for all this? No, you weren’t. But after the day you just had, you were not looking to be comforted by someone who partially hurt you. But Eddie Munson couldn’t understand. His judgment had a habit of being clouded; his cynicism about anything good happening to him had protected him from a lifetime of hurt, and now, unfortunately, your rightfully pent up polemic about him was believing his suspicions to be true.

“This isn’t my fucking fault, you’re the one who wanted to take our picture in the first place!” He shouted, shielding his vulnerability.

“Because you made a big deal out of it!” You screamed with frustration. “You yelled at me first, you said mean things to me first- why- why were you so mean to me?!” You blubbered through drowning tears.

“Because- be- ugh,” Eddie pained with vexation. “You fucking terrify me, okay?! You terrify the living shit out of me!” Guarding his tearing eyes from your shattered being, he groaned realizing you weren’t going to understand unless he opened up, but he couldn’t bear to, and maybe that was the best solution to move on, run away. “It’s just fucking hard when, you know, you look like that and you’re fucking you, and I’m just me, and you have a great life-”

“‘Great life?!’” You derided through tears. “You know nothing about my life!” You shoved him. “You know nothing about me!” You shoved him again. Eddie was quick to retrain your wrist in a tight grip, preventing you from touching him again, no matter how hard you tried. “Stop acting like you know everything about me when you know absolutely nothing! I’m not going to stand here, and let you say mean things to me, when you know nothing, do you understand?! I have never done anything to you, and I never will, because unlike you, I’m not some sulking asshole who can’t handle their fucking emotions, and uses their sorry life to lash out at people because they’re too pathetic to deal with their own problems!”

And maybe your rash psycho analysis of Eddie Munson was too much, or not harsh enough, but either way, your critical comments derailed him off the edge of sanity. He aggressively dropped your wrist, and got into your face with a full might of fury. “You are such a miserable bitch!” He shouted, invading your space with intent, causing you to wince and step away from him, but he wasn’t relenting. “For once, you got a fucking taste of what your bullshit friends have been doing to me, and now you can’t fucking handle it?! God, just love playing the fucking victim, don’t you?! Maybe they are right, maybe you are just some fucking desperate slut craving fucking attention?! Is that why you did all this shit in the first place?!”

The way your face flashed with sudden dejection had him biting his tongue. Oh, fuck. He regretted it. He fucking immediately regretted it.

Eddie began furiously shaking his head in denial to what he just uttered, he couldn’t believe it. “No,” he heaved out. “No, I-I didn’t mean it, I’m s-sorry.” He could only muster a whisper.

You didn’t even have the energy to fight back, merely accepting his words as truth with a silent sob that burned your being. “Yeah,” you shakily sighed with a sniffle of sobs. “I’m sorry, too, Eddie. I would have loved being your friend, and now I just want nothing to do with you.” His heart dropped at your calmness. When he first spoke those words to you, demanding you to stay away from him and his friends, he knew a deep part of him didn’t mean it. Why would he, you were fucking perfect? But you, the stillness and tranquility of your words cemented them to be the final verdict. You were done. “So please,” you wiped your drenched face from tears, “just leave me alone and stay away from me.”

No malice, no anger, no fury.

Just pure defeat.

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 | This is my first time making a tag list, and I got overwhelmed—in a good way—that I simply tagged anyone who commented. If you were not looking to be tagged, I’m so sincerely sorry, and please let me know to respect your wishes and remove you!

(Big, fat kisses to all of you) @televisionboy @batkin028 @lostdreamingwallflower @cevais @myfavoritesareproblematic @btbabyy @married-to-the-music01 @super-nova-03 @deathnote6666 @cherrytc @sleepy-bunnie @eggo-segual @bambi-horror @aheadfullofsteverogers @sademoloser @averagestudent03 @freakymunson @princess-eddie @imagine-a-world-blog1 @negativity4you

@nope-thanks @allsortsedits @callingmrsbarnes @f0rgggg @hurricane-abigail @sweet-sunflower64 @redlovett @goldstars-to-all @eddiesguitarskills @goslytherin @sashaphantomhive @maxinehufflepuffprincess @emeritusemeritus @angel-upon @middle-of-the-earth @scarletwitchwhore @my-tearsricochet @pixiepaintt @ericasdumbworld @animechick555

@gewrgia-black @hookandchain @roseanddaggerlarry @prestinalove @sebismyhubby @maddsunn

(I’m so sorry, some blogs are not popping up when I try to tag y’all, if it’s an issue on my part, I’ll try my best to fix it as soon as possible)

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #mean!eddie munson #the yearbook: club pictures

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circlebuttons · 4 months

Text

“Actions” - Rafe Cameron x Gn!Reader Blurb

:short blurb abt explosive rafexgentle reader

(originally a carmyxreader but i thought rafe was more fitting lmao)

You can faintly hear the doors downstairs slamming as they lead to your shared bedroom. The sound of his heavy footsteps can only push you to imagine who or what has triggered Rafe for the night.

The door flys open, followed by your problematic boyfriend bursting through. "I'm gonna kill him!" Rafe yells to himself, pointing one handed in the air with the gun he already has drawn for god knows why, as he yanks the chair away from his desk and throws himself in it.

You slowly rest an elbow behind the rest of your body, sitting up to watch and assess his anger. "Who are you gonna kill baby?" You softly ask him in your most gentle tone.

"Fucking Maybank!" He rants the same rant you've heard a thousand times just with more gun violence this time. You get out of bed, sauntering over in your pajamas to where he's sitting as he finishes his tirade of murderous complaints. "Am I some kind of a fucking joke?" he bitterly spits out as you round his chair and sit in his lap facing him.

"No sweetie, you're not a joke" you assure him as you wrap your arms around his neck, hands holding each other behind his head as your thumbs brush against his nape. You get a better look at him as you straddle his lap, his eyebrows are furrowed and his lips are tight as he tounges the inside of his cheek. His chest rises quickly even as he sits in his mopey silence, so you lean forward to hold him. He doesn't move his arms to hug you back as your arms close in around his neck and rest your head on his shoulder.

The hard metal of his gun sits between the two of you, stiff and uncomfortable in your stomach, and piercingly cold on your exposed thigh. You ignore the discomfort and place a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips, trailing them down his neck on a short path before leaning back to look at him again. "No more, please" you ask him speaking just above a whisper as both of your eyes trail down to the gun in his hand.

He quickly nods, running his unoccupied hand through his hair. "Yeah, okay" he agrees. frantically trying to calm himself down. You drop your hand between the space you've created and lift his fingers away from the handle.

"Done?" You ask, holding firm eye contact with him as you move his gun from his grasp to the corner of the desk.

"Done." He confirms, as he wraps his now free hands around your waist, reciprocating your embrace. You let your arms loosely hang down to rub his back, while he pulls you harder against his chest. Your face buried in his neck as you mouth gentle kisses into his skin and it only takes a second for your breathing to sync and for him to relax.

His arms tighten around you and you take a moment to relish in it. You love having calm moments like these with Rafe, they somehow outweighed the bad. He's often quick to anger, so ever since you established your relationship the conversation of self control was a must. "You can rant about your day My Love, but we talked about the yelling-"

"And the gun. I know, I'm sorry" He finishes your thought for you with a knowing tone, always eager to apologize after impulsively breaking the boundaries he knows like the back of his hand.

"Actions not words, hun" you continue to speak gingerly to him even through your irritation, you can't help but give him an overflowing amount of never ending patience.

"Actions" he repeats, looking at you with the eyes of a hurt puppy and it just melts you completely as you lean down to press a soft kiss to his lips, a way you often communicate accepting his apologies. kiss and make up was the perfect way to capture the haste in which you always forgive him.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe fic #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #gender neutral reader #blurb #rafe x you

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liminalpebble · 7 months

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Hi ya, my ask would be for Loki....

For some reason his magic is glitching. He needs to understand why before anyone finds out.

Oddly, when he's around [insert character name] the effect is better/worse*

*delete as appropriate

Hello dear nonny!

Sorry it has taken me a thousand years to write this. It's kind of a long one but I hope it warms your heart. It's kind of silly and fluffy but unexpectedly emotionally real. I hope you enjoy.

CW: Fluff, all fluff. Loki x gn reader, surprisingly wholesome, just bit of cussing.

----

The Glitch

“DAMN!” Loki screamed for the tenth time that morning, smacking his fist against the kitchen counter. In the privacy of his quarters at Avengers Tower, the god of mischief was having a horrible morning.

He woke up as usual and tried to spark up the green glow of his magic to help him get ready more quickly for the day. Although long hot showers were pleasant to him, so was sleeping in after reading late into the night. Being able to magic oneself clean and ready for the day in seconds was a major convenience...one he had always taken for granted.

Although his fist was no longer magically charged, the strength of his hand still left divots in the counter top, frustrating him further. Finally the god of mischief screamed so loudly and smacked the wall so hard in rage that it was a miracle the whole building didn't hear it.

He was very lucky, in that case, that there was only one person walking quietly through the hall to the morning meeting (something Steve cutely called the “Superhero Roundtable”). You rolled your eyes thinking of the name, but Steve was too much of a sweetheart to burst his bubble about it. As your steps clicked over the polished floors you were feeling a bit proud of yourself that you would actually be early for once.

“DAMMIT!! NORNS SPIT UPON YOU, YOU HORRIBLE FICKLE FORCES.”

You jumped at the sudden avalanche of sound. His biting baritone tirade crashed into the hall from behind Loki's door. Your superhuman reflexes were the only thing keeping your files and your coffee from hitting the floor. Sighing in exasperation, you considered whether or not to get involved with whatever the hell this was. Ever since you joined the team a few days ago, your dramatic Asgardian coworker was none too thrilled to have another non-human demigod on the roster. Sharing the spotlight was never his forte and he made it everyone's problem, especially yours.

But...you were kind, sometimes to a fault. The idea of simply waking by and ignoring him, of enjoying some schadenfreude as this arrogant ass was finally being inconvenienced by something, was incredibly tempting. But pity welled up in your heart, knowing what it's like to be a stranger in a strange land, to feel alone and angry, so you knocked on the door despite being afraid of whatever hurricane was behind it.

Loud steps trudged closer, then the door swung open as Loki barked, “WHAT do you WANT?!”

You took a step back, eyes wide and coffee still death-gripped in one hand.

“I...uh...I heard you screaming, and breaking things. You know, you'll never get your deposit back if you keep it up,” you attempted to joke, painting an uncertain smile across your face, brows peaked in concern.

His aquamarine eyes stared down, boring into yours as he clenched his jaw, then said dryly, “How very perceptive of you.”

You rolled your eyes and huffed. “God, you're such a bellend.”

He flinched at the insult. He didn't know what “bellend” meant, but he could infer from your tone that it was not a compliment. As he tried to swing the door shut again, you slapped it back open, “But! I really am concerned about you, so can you please let me know what's wrong?”

“Nothing!” he growled out, chest heaving.

Your eyes scanned him up and down, taking in his disheveled hair, wrinkled pajamas, and the slew of objects strewn across his living room. “I'm not an idiot, Loki. I can see the obvious. Will you please just talk to me?”

He flinched again, this time struck by the genuine care in your voice and in your eyes. It rendered him uncharacteristically unsure of what to say or do. As he paused and you stepped closer, he could feel the surge of his magical energy building back up within him. Loki's face suddenly cracked into an unnerving gleeful grin. He hastily cast a green glow over his body, rendering himself dressed, scrubbed, and ready for the day. Although he knew he might be stretching his luck, he waved a hand behind him to reset the apartment back to its immaculate order. To his delight, it worked. “I'm ready, your highness. Let's go, shall we,” he said lightly, as if he wasn't in a tyrannical rage moments earlier.

You stared, eyes and mouth wide open in confusion, then shook your head and shrugged. “Whatever, Vlad the Complainer. Let's just go,” you said, striding quickly down the hall towards the conference room.

The demigod strutted after you, in much less of a hurry, until he felt the magic within him wither and shrink as the distance between you increased. He gingerly tested a theory, picking up his pace so he gained on you. As he suspected, each step closer caused his magic to re-energize within him.

Damn he thought with a huff, as the two of you entered the conference room, just in time. You settled in the only two seats left at the table, next to each other.

Great. You thought, realizing that at least for the next few hours, you would be stuck next to the intergalactic diva. That's what I get for being nice.

-------

The meeting went on far too long, but while Steve droned on, you turned the issue of Loki around in your mind. He sat next to you, not bothering to hide his boredom; arms crossed, chin tilted haughtily and legs spread wide. By the end of the first hour, you finally couldn't stand his long limbs sprawled out into your own space, so you swiftly kicked his shin under the table. He glared, but the message was received, loud and clear, as he wheeled his chair slightly away from you and crossed his legs.

As you touched, it happened yet again, the flaring of your own magic levels and a definite feeling of transfer to him. You could sense it ever since he answered his door this morning; the fluctuating magic. It didn't take you long to put two and two together. His magic was faltering, and for no reason you could discern, your proximity was jump-starting it again. You made a mental note to immediately drag Loki with you to Bruce to get this all sorted out.

You're welcome, Loki. You thought to yourself, considering that you could have just brought it up here in the larger group to get everyone working on the problem, but you instead decided to preserve his fragile pride. Finally, Steve dismissed everyone and you waited until the room was completely empty with a hand on Loki's arm, urging him to stay seated as well.

When you were alone, Loki took the opportunity to speak first. “Well, well, wellll,” he teased, “eager to prolong my charming presence, darling, and just the two of us, no less.” He winked and smiled. And although it was corny it was also devastatingly sexy coming from his stupid handsome face.

“Can you, for once, cut the crap? Just tell me what the fuck is going on with your powers.”

Those gorgeous icy eyes went even wider than usual, as he forced out a breathy chuckle while saying, “Why, what ever do you mean?”

Your expression remained knowing and unamused as you explained. “I know, Loki, I can feel the movement of my magic in my body, just like you can, and I can tell when someone's siphoning off of it like a gas tank. We have to go to Bruce, see if he can sort it...”

“NO.” he growled, deep and articulate, close to your face, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Can you put your enormous ego on a shelf for a few moments and just go with me? This won't just fix itself, you know.”

He sighed. “Very well.”

“You're welcome,” you quipped as you already left your chair and made your way to the lift. Loki was dragging his feet until he felt the magic seep away as you left. Reminded of his predicament, he jumped up and followed closely.

------

Several hours later you were sitting in a strange plastic shell of an observation room with Loki, a transparent, zipped divider between you. You sat in opposite corners trying to get comfortable while Bruce ran his tests, sometimes unzipping the middle panel, and sometimes closing it again to isolate each of you. Dr. Banner's warm voice rang in through the intercom as he looked through the observation window, “You okay in there, kid? Got everything you need for awhile?”

You laughed. “I'm 100 years old, Bruce, and I'm totally fine,” you said gesturing to your comfortable pajamas, piles of books, laptop, pillows and blankets. “It's...uh...it's like a slumber party. I'm doing great.”

“Except for the company,” Loki quipped under his breath, as he sat against the wall reading, not raising his eyes for a moment. Unlike you, Loki refused any creature comforts besides a book to keep him occupied over what would probably be long hours of testing.

---

When you arrived at the lab earlier that day, Bruce welcomed you warmly with a kind hug and chit chat. He definitely did not do the same for Loki. Instead he frowned warily and gave him a wide berth. After a few initial tests you asked, “What's the verdict?”

“Well, it looks like you two have powers that behave on similar principles but for some reason, they're interfering with each other like when radio signals cross...or maybe more like magnetic fields...still figuring that out...anyway. We never knew about this problem before because we never had two...uh...similar beings living in the same building. To bring it all back to normal, I need to find a way to separate the signals and keep it that way...some device to wear or even a nano device planted under the skin.

“I beg your pardon?” Loki said, brows furrowed and expression indignant. “You want to cut open my skin and implant something?”

Bruce smiled wryly. “You're making it sound medieval. I'm not chopping anyone open. It would be a tiny laparoscopic incision. It would take seconds and then you'd be back to normal.”

“That's great news!” you chirped.

Dr. Banner, held up his hand. “but I have to keep you both here for an extended period of time to collect enough data...eight hours or more. It might be best if you come in the evening and just sleep overnight. That way I can take readings and it won't interfere with whatever else you have to do today. It might not be the most comfortable sleeping ara...”

You put a hand on Bruce's arm. “It's fine, Bruce. I just appreciate your help.”

Loki was still glaring, arms crossed, but nodded his reluctant agreement to the arrangement.

-----

So now, here you were, locked in a bubble with Loki until morning. You almost wished the divider in the middle were opaque, so it could block his moody glares and sidelong glances. Although you bristled at his comment, you made the best of things, arranging your blankets and pillows and reading a book just as you would if you were in your own bed, in your own quarters.

Before long you heard huffs of annoyance and shuffling coming from the other side. You ignored him until you found yourself reading the same page three times because of the interruption. Finally, you gave in.

You looked over to your cellmate and asked blandly, “Can I help you?”

He grunted. “I can't get comfortable.”

“Yeah. You didn't bring a sleeping bag or blanket or pillow or anything.”

He stepped closer to the divider, as did you. “Well, I thought I could conjure what I needed. I didn't think the good doctor would ask us not to actively use our powers.”

You tutted. “A remarkable lack of foresight from the god of cunning.”

He put his hands on his hips and be began to rush his words out, “And I should have...what? Made my side look like a damn nursery as yours does? With those bizarre creatures, and that atrocious nightwear. I am a god, not a toddler.”

You braced yourself, responding as he paced. “Well, for one fucking thing those creatures are called Squishmallows and they are incredibly comfortable as pillows...and they're cute. They make me smile, Loki.”

The god of mischief raised an eyebrow, looking skeptically and derisively at a large plushy winking mango you had been using as a pillow. He asked, “And what is this apparel you have donned for your captivity.”

You blushed, looking at the zip-up hooded onesie you were wearing, and mumbled, “Shut up. It's warm and very soft on the inside.”

“In the semblance of what? A bear?”

“A capybara.”

“A what?”

“A capybara. They're cute and peaceful...look a bit like overgrown guinea pigs?”

His face screwed up into a a cringe. “I wouldn't know. I haven't been spending my long godly lifespan on a silly little eternal holiday, playing with midgardians and forsaking my dignity,” he pronounced loudly, in his most aristocratic tone.

You were now facing each other only inches apart, breaths fogging the plastic divider, arms crossed pugnaciously. You paused, gathering what little patience and compassion you had left to muster, then asked. “And which of us seems happier, Loki? Hmm?”

You didn't wait for a reply, knowing it would just raise your dander even more. Loki, however, found he didn't have any rebuttal. He watched, puzzled, as you crossed the room and spoke something Loki couldn't hear into the intercom. He watched curiously, as a lab technician took several pillows and blankets from you and brought them to Loki in the other compartment.

He held them, staring blankly at the pile in his arms. You held back a chuckle at the incongruity of the scene; the proud ancient god in his regal clothes holding a pile of soft, pastel-colored material.

To your surprise, he spread them out very carefully, returned to the divider and said quietly, “Thank you.”

As he was turning to resume his pacing at the far end, you finally asked, “Loki. Why do you hate me so much? What do you have against me? I've been nothing but kind to you...even kinder because I know what it is to be like us...to be the only ones like us, alone and misunderstood in a foreign world.”

You tried to keep the hurt from your voice, but it seeped in, and the perceptive Asgardian saw it easily. Loki's stony face softened unexpectedly, eyebrows peaked in concern and a little shame at his behavior.

“Look...I...I don't hate you. I just....I took me years...years to gain the midgardians' trust after...everything. And then it took so much time and so much effort for these Avengers in particular to accept me, respect me, acknowledge me as someone other than Thor's little bastard brother and a nuisance to the planet. But eventually, finally, I had my identity as unique and glorious and a vital member of the team and finally...finally even, perhaps, gaining friends here.”

His voice dropped to an angrier growl, “But then there was you, and in mere days...days...all of that had unraveled because of you; because of your understanding of their ways, and your intelligence and your skills and....and your kindness...your incredible, unwavering kindness.”

He sat down heavily, slouching with a bowed head, as a barely perceptible tear rolled down his cheek.

There were a few moments of silence as you came closer to the divider sitting down to match him on the other side of the plastic wall. “Loki,” you said so softly, putting your hand up on the divider.

He raised his head and met your eyes, this time not bothering to hide his tears as he barked, “Spare me your pity!”

“I don't pity you,” you said, and he could see you were telling the truth. “But I do feel for you because I have been where you are. I'm sure none of it has been easy for you, but Loki, I've wanted to be your friend since I arrived here. I'd heard all about you...all those good things you said they finally thought and felt about you were the things I heard. I was honestly, a little star-struck over you.”

He chuckled at that. “Really? Star-struck?”

“Yeah. You seemed so fascinating, and bright, and...well...and handsome obviously.”

He smiled broadly at that.

“Yeah. Yeah. Don't let it go to your head. I know everyone says that about you.”

He looked puzzled. “Actually, no one has said that to me.”

“Well. I assure you, they all think it.”

He smiled, looking you up and down in your ridiculous plush onesie and said, “And you're very...I don't remember their word for it...yndig in your...your....”

You smiled and chuckled, “In English the word is 'adorable' and I think this thing is called a onesie...which..actually is also what they call the ones babies wear so I guess you're a bit right.”

Now he was laughing too and neither of you could stop.

----

In the morning Dr. Banner smiled triumphantly as he strode into the isolation room. He held up two little syringes and said, “I've got it, you two! I hope you haven't torn each other's throats out after we unzipped the barrier.”

He stopped dead in his tracks as he saw the two of you curled up together in a pile of blankets and pillows. The laptop was still streaming movies you had long since fallen asleep during. Loki's hand was around your shoulders and your sleepy head was resting in the crook of his neck. Sometime during the night, you had even convinced Loki to don your extra onesie (a black cat). Then, dressed up like animals, you had snuggled together and drifted off that way.

Bruce smiled, chuckled and walked right back out, deciding to let you both sleep a little longer.

He shrugged and quipped, “Guess it was a good slumber party.”

@goblingirlsarah @lokihiddleston @lokisgoodgirl @unlucky-number-13 @thedistractedagglomeration @gigglingtiggerv2 @muddyorbs @acidcasualties @alexakeyloveloki @joyful-enchantress @marcotheflychair @mischief2sarawr @icytrickster17 @loz-3 @loopsisloops @peachyjinx @peaches1958 @lokischambermaid @ladyofthestayingpower @sweetsigyn @november-rayne @little-wormwood @littlespaceyelf @mochie85 @sarahscribbles @alexakeyloveloki @holdmytesseract

#loki fanfic #loki asks #loki x gender neutral reader #loki #lovely fanfic friends #sas #mcu loki #loki fluff #lovely asks #lovely anons

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onceuponastory · 1 year

Text

all this love - bucky barnes x reader

I took all this love I found, and I hope that it's enough Is it enough? - only love by pvris

Plot: After John Walker oversteps, Y/N makes sure that her boyfriend Bucky knows just how much she loves him. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader Warnings: John Walker being an asshole, some violence (not from Bucky), slightly graphic mentions of injuries and blood, a few mentions of Bucky’s past as The Winter Soldier, and the anxiety/self doubt he has afterwards. As always, if I miss any triggers please let me know! Notes: Some of you may know but I love PVRIS, and I love this song, so of course I had to write something for Bucky using it. Not beta’d, so any mistakes are my own. Also, thanks again to @staticscreenwriting / @astartothemoon for my dividers!

Y/N scans the room, keeping an eye out for Karli and the other Flag Smashers. As she does, she suppresses a sigh. She loves accompanying Bucky and Sam on their missions and helping them as best as she can, but this time it’s different. For once, she can’t wait to get home. Mostly because of their company - John Walker.

At first, she tried to be civil, even though she, like the others, doesn’t agree with him being made Captain America. And Lemar is friendly enough. But John’s done nothing but be annoying and rude to them all ever since they joined forces. At least once this is over, they can forget he ever existed.

Right now, John’s complaining about something yet again, angrily pacing around as he does. “John, just calm down. We’ll find Karli soon.” Y/N insists. Immediately, John stops, his head whipping round angrily. Despite how annoyed he makes her, the glare John gives her at that moment strikes fear into her heart.

“Don’t do that Y/N. Don’t fucking patronise me. You have no idea of the pressure I’m under.” He warns. As soon as he takes a step towards her, Bucky and Sam are by her side, ready to shield her if needed. Bucky’s face hardens angrily.

“She wasn’t patronising you, John. And you better watch your tone. Don't talk to my girlfriend like that.” Bucky warns, his eyes narrowing slightly. However, instead of backing off, John keeps going, this time turning his attention to Bucky.

“Or what? Are you going to go all Winter Soldier on me?” He scoffs. Bucky visibly tenses at John’s words. Protectively, Y/N steps forward, reaching out for Bucky’s hand. “This is really easy for you, isn’t it? All that serum running through your veins.” John continues, not caring about the obvious effect his words are having on Bucky.

“Watch your fucking tone….” Y/N hisses. Yet John ignores her warning, continuing his verbal tirade on Bucky.

“I mean, does anyone here really trust him after what he did? Who’s to say he’s not working with them, or that he won’t try to kill us too?” Y/N’s anger grows, and she tightens her grip on Bucky’s hand.

“John.” Sam warns. Bucky opens his mouth, about to defend himself.

“What? Don’t act like you don’t agree. He’s a monster who doesn’t deserve to be here.” And with those words, Bucky’s face falls. He turns and looks at Y/N, his eyes shimmering with tears. The sight breaks Y/N’s heart. Before she can say anything, Bucky turns and storms off.

“Bucky! Bucky, wait!” Y/N calls after him. Just as she’s about to go after him, John’s smug voice sounds once more.

“I don’t know why she’s going after him. He’s not worth it. She’s too good for someone like that, anyway.” He murmurs, clearly intending for her to hear him. Y/N’s blood boils, and her fist clenches.

“Y/N….” She registers Sam’s voice beside her, warning John to be quiet, and for her to control her anger before she does something she regrets. And for a moment, she considers doing just that, and simply going after Bucky. Yet, John’s next words seal his fate.

“Besides, I’m a much better choice. At least I’m not a murderer.” Y/N turns around, marching right up to John. He sneers at her, the look making her stomach churn. But she’s too blinded by anger to think about that right now. “See, she understands-” John’s words are cut short by Y/N’s fist connecting with his nose. A sickening crack fills the room, and John hisses as blood begins to pour from his nose. “You fucking bitch.” He hisses, lunging for her before being pulled back by Lemar in the nick of time, whilst Sam pulls her back, protectively grasping her arm.

“Say that shit about my boyfriend again, and I’ll end you.” She warns, her voice like venom. Sam’s voice sounds again, telling her to choose her next words carefully. Of course, she knows he’s right, but she ignores him, too angry to even think straight. “He never chose to be a killer, but you chose to be an asshole.” She blocks out whatever the rest of John says, consumed by her desire to find Bucky safe and well.

“I’m going to go find him. Can you deal with…that?” She gestures vaguely in John’s direction, and Sam nods.

Y/N visits several places to try and find Bucky: a park, a number of coffee shops and bars, searching high and low for the brunette super soldier she loves more than anything in the world. And yet, there’s no sign of him. With each failed sighting, Y/N’s stomach churns more and more with anxiety, and her heart pounds more and more. Bucky is fast, and he could be anywhere by now. The next time she sees John, she’s going to do more than break his nose. Suddenly, her phone starts ringing, and for a moment, her heart almost stops, thinking it’s Bucky.

When she sees Sam’s name flash up on her caller ID, she can’t help feeling disappointed. But she knows Sam is Bucky’s friend too, and he wants to help find him just as much as she does.

“Any sign of him?”

“Nope. Checked everywhere nearby I could think of. Any news on your side?”

“None yet.” He replies, and she sighs. “Look, I’ll take the wings and see if I can find him. You go to the house and see if he’s there.”

“Okay.” Sam can immediately pick up on the anxiety in her voice, and he sighs.

“Y/N. We’ll find him, alright. I promise.”

“I hope you’re right.”

As soon as she steps into the house she shares with the boys, Y/N immediately senses that someone is there. Her heart rate picks up. Bucky. Maybe he’s here. “Bucky? Babe, are you there?” She calls. “It’s just me.”

“Go away.” A quiet, yet familiar voice calls. Despite how much her heart wrenches at the sound of pain in his voice, Y/N breathes a sigh of relief. He’s here, and safe. Y/N immediately sets off towards his voice, quickly texting Sam to let him know that Bucky’s okay. Bucky sits huddled beside their bed, curled up into a ball. He doesn’t even look up at her when she enters. The sight makes Y/N feel like a hundred daggers have been stabbed into her. She kneels down in front of him, gently placing her hand on his knee.

“Bucky, sweetheart, it's me.”

“I said, go away.” Bucky’s voice is muffled, but she can tell he’s been crying. Her eyes fill with tears, and she has to stop herself from finding John and punching him all over again. The fact someone like him, someone so rude and cruel, could make someone like Bucky feel so awful about himself infuriates her. “John’s right. I’m a monster. I don’t deserve anything good, especially not you.” Bucky sniffles, and Y/N’s heart breaks all over again.

“No, you’re not Bucky. What you did all those years, it wasn’t you. They tortured you and brainwashed you. It wasn’t your choice.” She insists. “The serum never corrupted Steve, but it didn’t corrupt you either. They made you a killer. It wasn’t your choice.” Bucky looks up at her then, the skin around his eyes red from crying. Y/N’s face softens. “You’re making amends and showing people you’re sorry. That says a lot about you. John has no idea what the fuck he’s talking about. He’s just an asshole.”

“But the serum is still in me. W-What if I hurt you?”

“You could never. All you’ve done is show me love and support. Honestly, I don’t think you’ve got an evil bone in your body.” Bucky takes her hand, squeezing it tightly, which Y/N returns. Even before they got together, Bucky has supported and protected her through it all, and now it’s her turn to do the same.

“You still deserve someone better. Someone who isn’t as broken and messed up as me. I thought I wasn’t good enough for you ever since we got together, and even John sees it, too.” Y/N leans in, gently kissing his forehead.

“Hey…I love you, Bucky. Nobody else, just you.” She insists, cupping his cheek in her palm and using her thumb to wipe away his tears. “And I love you just the way you are. To me, you’re the best person in the world. Don’t listen to John Walker. He’s not even half of the man you are. I know I can’t possibly take away all your pain and trauma, but I’ll be here to tell you just how good you are and how much I love you every day.”

“You’re such a good person, Y/N.” Bucky mumbles. “So kind, and so loving.”

“So are you. And you show me that every day.” Bucky shuffles forward into her embrace, wrapping his metal arm around her tightly.

They sit together for a while, Y/N letting Bucky cry as she holds him protectively, and whispering reassurances in his ear. “I’m going to be here forever, Buck. You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.” She tells him when they pull away. Bucky manages a chuckle at that, and it makes her heart flutter. He gazes at her, smiling like she hung the moon.

“I’m glad. I don’t think I could ever survive without you in my life.” Smiling, Y/N leans in close, gently kissing his lips.

“Me neither. Good thing that I’m not going anywhere.” Bucky takes her hand, pressing a kiss to it. Suddenly, he notices the bruise developing on her knuckles, and his eyes widen.

“What happened to you? Did he hurt you? He can say whatever he wants to me, but if he hurts you, then there’s going to be a problem.” Bucky insists. Just as he’s about to get up, Y/N stops him.

“Don’t worry. It wasn’t him that did it…sort of.” Bucky’s brow furrows, and Y/N chuckles. “I punched that smug fucker right in his face after what he said to you. I probably broke his nose, actually.” Bucky gasps.

“You did that for me?”

“Of course I did.” She shrugs. “He doesn’t get to mess with my boyfriend and make him feel like shit without facing the consequences.”

“Thank you.” Bucky smiles. “At least let me get you some ice, though.” He helps her up, gazing at her with a smile. Y/N’s stomach flutters once more. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world to have you protecting me, you know that?”

“Well, you protect me, so it’s only fair I return the favour.” He kisses her lips once more, and Y/N smiles. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #Bucky Barnes x female reader #bucky x Female Reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky oneshot #bucky one shot #bucky imagine #the falcon and the winter soldier fanfiction #marvel oneshot #marvel cinematic universe #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction

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hp-hcs · 8 months

Text

(Fine, I’ll do it my damn self: part 3 of my silly lil mlm stories <3)

Slytherin Twin — draco malfoy x male! slytherin! weasley! reader x harry potter

tws: umbridge’s blood quill, maybe like a pinch of homophobia?

i need more representation of slytherins who enjoy care of magical creatures goddamnit

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Ronald Weasley.”

“GRYFFINDOR!”

“Y/N Weasley.”

Oh, no. Minerva McGonagall does not get paid enough to deal with another set of Weasley twins.

“SLYTHERIN!”

Maybe I should retire, Minerva thinks faintly.

You don’t seem to mind at all that the Great Hall is dead silent as you skip towards the Slytherin table, your brothers watching in a mix of shock, fascination, resignation, and abject horror.

You plop down right next to Draco Malfoy, grinning widely at him before waving cheerily towards some of the older students who are struggling to hold back their unabashed glee.

“A Weasley in Slytherin? I thought your entire family was made up of idioticly naïve fools,” Malfoy sneers sharply, a look of contempt rising on his smug face.

“Draco Malfoy in Slytherin? How much did your family have to pay to ensure you got in?” you reply with a sweet smile on your face. The older students stare in awe at the Weasley who just left a Malfoy speechless.

Much to their surprise, however, Draco’s face broke out into a grin. “So you do belong here. Very well then, Weasley. Lovely to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise, Malfoy.”

~~~

“‘The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir beware.’ What does that even mean?”

“D’you still think it’s about Potter?” you ask around a mouthful of toast. “Cause I think you might’ve been wrong ‘bout him, Dray.”

“Potter is a spoiled prat, Y/N. Just because he’s the Chosen One, he thinks he’s so special-”

“My brothers broke him out of his uncle’s house over the summer. They’d put bars on his window and starved him.”

Draco stops his tirade about Potter, looking positively bewildered. “What?”

~~~

As you were leaving the library, you bumped into Hermione Granger, your brother’s girlfriend friend.

“Sorry,” you mutter, continuing on your way. You don’t look back, so you never see the dawning look of realization once Granger unfolds the torn-out page you’d shoved into her hand.

~~~

Harry Potter opens the Gryffindor portrait at your hesitant knocking. “Oh- Y/N, right? Ron’s brother?”

You nod uncertainly. “Yeah, um… I just wanted to say that I’m real sorry about Buckbeak. Malfoy’s a git, you know.”

Harry nods slowly. “Yeah. Isn’t he like, your best friend though?”

“Like you’ve never thought of Ronnie as a git too, Potter.”

He grins and holds the portrait open for you. “Here- welcome to the common room, I guess.”

You look around, unimpressed. “My eyes are bleeding.”

Smoothing out your Slytherin sweater, you continue, “Like, this is almost as bad as Ron’s Chudley Cannons shrine-bedroom.”

A unfamiliar scowling face looks up from the couch, glaring daggers at you. “Oi, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be fawning over your Slytherin prince?”

“Hey, leave him alone, Finnegan!” Ron snaps, appearing at the bottom of the stairwell to his dorm. “I swear to Merlin, you are such a prat.”

Ignoring your brother, you raise your hands up in mock surrender, smiling patronizingly at Seamus. “Hey, no hard feelings, leprechaun. I’m just here to apologize on Dray’s behalf.”

“On Dray’s behalf,” Cormac McLaggen mocks in a high-pitched voice. “Oh, Dray!”

A few girls next to him titter with laughter.

“Malfoy your boyfriend or something, Weasley?” McLaggen spits your name like it were a curse.

“Oh, indeed,” you deadpan. “You’re invited to the wedding. Won’t you be my best man, please?”

“If you’re just here to make fun of us, maybe you ought’a leave,” Seamus butts in again.

“Whatever. Anyways, Potter, I found a couple of books in the library about the Ministry’s statutes, and I bookmarked a few pages about the fascinating Release of Liability contracts that Hogwarts students’ guardians have to sign at the beginning of every school year,” you look down at your nails, feigning disinterest. “But if you’re not interested, then I’ll be off. Wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.”

~~~

“Y/N, here,” Pansy Parkinson said with a look of poorly-contained glee, gently setting a pure white ferret into your hands. “It’s Draco’s, and you’re in charge of ferret-sitting for the foreseeable future. Have fun!”

Blaise just slowly shakes his head and mouths I’m so sorry in your direction as Pansy drags him off, laughing mirthfully. You blink, glancing down at the tiny animal who is currently glaring at you. Draco’s indeed, you think to yourself.

“Heya, little guy. It’s snowing pretty hard outside, are you fine riding in my pocket until I get to my next class?”

You hold open the deep pocket of your robe with your free hand, the ferret immediately leaping inside. You waited as it got settled, its tiny paws and head peeking out.

Satisfied, you start your walk across the school grounds, taking a much longer path than usual to avoid your older brothers, who had been giggling to each other far too much this morning for your comfort.

You chatter to the little rodent in your pocket, about everything from the Divination test you failed this morning to the fantastic cherry tart your mother makes every Yule. Before long, you arrive and climb up the stone steps, knocking on the heavy wood door and tucking your hands into your armpits to keep warm.

The door opens, revealing the half-giant groundskeeper who smiles happily at you.

“Y/N! I jus’ put on a kettle of tea, now. Glad y’made it, lad.”

As he ushers you into the warm, inviting hut, the ferret in your pocket squeaks at the sight of the large dog asleep by the fire.

You giggle, pulling the ferret out and setting it on the arm of your chair, gladly taking the warm teacup offered to you. “Mr. Hagrid, sir. My friend Pansy just kind of gave me this little guy out of nowhere and told me I was on indefinite ferret-sitting duty.”

Hagrid sits forward in his chair, setting down his delicate china teacup that looks rather out of place in his large hand, and squints at the ferret.

“Tha’s transfigured, that is,” Hagrid grunts. “Not a ferret.”

“I figured,” you shrug. “Ten galleons says it’s Malfoy.”

The ferret squeaks indignantly.

Hagrid chuckles. “If it is y’, Malfoy, I right like you better like this.”

You reach out to scratch the top of Malfoy (Ferret?) Blondie’s head. “So can you turn him back, Mr. Hagrid?”

“‘Fraid not, with no wand,” he taps his fingers on his teacup, making a steady clink clink clink sound. “Ah! But our mutual friend should be dropping by shortly, yeah?”

His sentence is punctuated by the well-timed FWOOSH of a flooed-in visitor.

“Heya, Harry! Draco’s a ferret now.”

“He wasn’t already?”

~~~

“My father will hear about this!”

“I’m sure he will, Dray, I’m sure he will,” you deadpan, wincing at the sting of Murtlap Essence on the back of your hand.

He mumbles a quiet apology, already rewrapping Harry’s hand in fresh bandages.

If you had told any Hogwarts student five years ago that one day, Harry Potter and Y/N Weasley would be sitting on the dusty floor of Filch’s dingy custodial closet, having their self-inflicted ‘detentions’ healed and wrapped by Draco Malfoy, they would’ve laughed in your face.

Despite that, the perplexing triad found solace in each others’ presence. No words left needing to be said.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. — Mary Oliver, “Wild Geese”

#harry potter #draco malfoy #maybe drarry? i don’t actually know #ferret draco #draco x reader #harry x reader #hp x male reader #x male reader #these bitches gay good for them #fuck jkr #mary oliver

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spacexseven · 2 years

Note

GOD I am thinking so hard about yans going after a darling they previously rejected.

like. you have a crush on your coworker, [insert bsd yan here]. ur not subtle about it. ofc yan Knows, so does everyone else who watches you two interact. trouble is, they dont reciprocate. which is ok! theyre allowed to not like you! but they're also a huge dick about it which is the real issue here.

like, they do NOT let you down easy AT ALL. they might even lead you on a bit beforehand if they're the opportunistic type, paying attention to you up until you do what they want and then dropping you until they have another task lined up. they don't feel bad about it. they don't HAVE to indulge in your delusional little crush, be happy theyre paying attention to you at all! eventually they just completely shut you down. maybe you finally work up the courage to ask them out and they laugh right in your face, not able to stifle their amusement at the idea. or maybe you catch them on a bad day and your puppy-like desperation goes from being funny to annoying and they don't mince words when telling you to get lost. you're heartbroken, humiliated, maybe even a bit frightened if they said anything particularly scary in their tirade, and resolve to just avoid them as much as you possibly can from now on. maybe start looking for a new job somewhere else.

they try to act like losing your attentions doesnt effect them at all, but they really feel your absence. they convince themselves that you're just giving them space after the… incident, but when they go looking around for you and you're nowhere to be found or you coincidentally have to leave whatever room you're in as soon as they enter it they realize that you're avoiding them. it hurts more than they'd like to admit, they find themselves seeking you out much more than they ever have before, only to be disappointed when you notice them looking at you and get visibly uncomfortable or lower your voice so they cant hear you anymore. if they ever DO manage to talk to you, you're freezing cold, all business. on your end, you're just trying not to irritate them, assuming that if they're suddenly staring at you its cuz you're doing something they don't like, but theyre completely torn up about no longer getting your attention. theyre distracted constantly by your sudden distance, no longer able to enjoy outings with coworkers if you don't attend- spending the whole time wondering if you didn't go cuz THEYRE there. now THEYRE the one following YOU around, trying to get back in your good graces in whatever way they can think of. it might start as a childish ploy to regain your attention after your ignoring them caused a blow to their ego, but the more you avoid them the deeper their feelings get. please please PLEASE stop being mad at them! they can't go on if you don't forgive them.

id imagine it would all come to a head if they found out you were planning on quitting soon, or if they caught you going on a date with someone else in the office. they WONT lose you. they cant.

I think most characters could work with this, but especially dazai, akutagawa, jouno, chuuya, and kunikida (he wouldnt do anything out of malice hed just accidentally be pretty harsh turning you down and then feel like an idiot later.). maybe fyodor and gogol too, with some tweaking. this kinda came out a garbled mess sorry haven't slept in like 3 days lmao.

- 🩹

my friend please get some sleep :< like Seriously you are going to crash very hard at this rate i didn't get to elaborate on a lot here 'cos i wanted to write a little bit for everyone (dazai, chuuya, jouno, techhou, ranpo, akutagawa, kunikida, sigma, nikolai and fyodor) but if there's any particular group/character anyone wants to hear about send me an ask and i'll gladly ramble on and on :>

i can see either dazai or jouno doing this intentionally, genuinely liking to watch you look embarrassed and even teary-eyed at his blunt rejections. whether it's because they really couldn't care less about you or because they were just bored, they lead you on and go on to embarrass you publicly, effectively humiliating you and breaking your heart over and over.

consequently, these two also are hit the hardest when you start ignoring them. this probably happens when your carefully crafted confession is callously crushed, receiving jeering words and scornful laughter in response, and you decide you should move on from the toxicity these two carry.

jouno can sense you sneaking out the room when he enters and he pretends not to notice, but dazai straight up stares at you in a look you might even think of as betrayal if it wasn't such a crazy thought. both of them are beyond furious by your sudden withdrawal and badly concealed attempt at avoiding them. what, did you think you could hang around them for so long, smiling through all the insults and 'jokes' and then decide to one day turn around and drop them like you weren't just following them around every corner the week before?

they latch onto you with an overwhelming fervour, following you into every room and into every meeting, even the one they're not supposed to be in. mess around with your files on purpose so you'd have no choice but to come to them and ask for your things back, manage to grab themselves an assignment with you as their partner, even sit right across you during your lunch break. it's like you can never escape them, no matter how hard you try.

just try quitting, or trying to cling onto someone else. just you try, and it'll be far from an amiable ending. they're both extremely cunning and determined, and it won't end well for anyone ecept themselves.

kunikida, akutagawa and chuuya are the type where they didn't mean to be harsh but because they are so flustered/confused they end up coming out very coldly when they tell you to scram or just stop blabbering. you were only trying to be conversative by mentioning the new café downstaira and asking about their weekend, but either because of the stress of work or their inability to deal with your questions of genuine interest and helpful comments, they usually end up responding rudely. chuuya for one is known to scoff and briskly walk away while you're busy talking, hoping you don't notice his flushed cheeks after you complimented his hair. akutagawa's go to response is to just stare at you and wait for you to trail off, thinking he either did not want to hear you ramble on or he just spaced out, and quickly leave. kunikida...depending on the time of the day and how much of dazai's work he has to clean up after, it's either a resigned sigh as you continue talking (he enjoys your company after a long day, although he'll never admit it) or a sudden, angry burst of words you can barely make out.

confessing to either three is awkward, but in the unlikely scenario that it does happen, despite your belief that they barely tolerated you, they're secretly thrilled but unable to respond, leaving you dejected and them panicked. regardless, when you decide enough is enough and you should probably stop bothering them when they don't seem to want you around, they immediately try to stop you.

for chuuya, this means suddenly transforming into the helpful senior, scaring away other employees who try to dump their work on you and people who try to befriend you, as long as they want to talk to you. your unimpressed reactions only spur him on, deciding if you had nobody else, you'd finally come back to him. for kunikida, this is more subtle, taking on your workload and leaving completed forms and files at your desk, placing an energy drink nearby or someting of the sort. he isn't so reckless as to scare away everyone around you, hoping you'd realize you might have misunderstood him because he was always stressed out and come to befriend him again, as he's smart enough to know frightening you away by coming on too strong is not the best way to go. akutagawa might struggle with the subtle approach, but he tries, really. he starts lingering around you, following you silently in an unintentionally creepy way, even when you go to get something to eat. he hopes thta by sticking around you long enough, you'd recognize his intentions as good and not...anything else.

tecchou and sigma initially wouldn't realize why you kept staring at them and immediately look away when they notice. they're confused by your sudden attention on them, not recognizing the glimmer in your eyes as growing attraction and the pep in your step as enthusiasm.

eventually though, it registers, and they're over the moon. i can see both of them being pleasantly surprised, and even if a romantic relationship isn't in their plans at the moment, they like and appreciate you as a friend. still, after you keep smiling at them and asking them to accompany you for lunch, seeing you do that to anyone else is...unsettling, at the least. especially because they know what kind of intentions these other people have.

suddenly, tecchou's glare feels extremely dangerous, almost like lasers burning into the back of whoever's got your attention, causing them to awkwardly excuse themselves and leave you alone once they catch sight of his intense stare. and sigma (he's a higher up here) is piling on an insane amount of work to your companion, happily accepting your invitation to go out to eat every day of the week, now that everyone else was conveniently so busy.

nikolai would actually entertain your feelings, more so out of boredom than anything else. it's easy with him, he catches on pretty quickly—the obvious interest in your tone when you talk to him, the way you hang on to every word like a devoted worshipper, the little gifts you had on hand for him—he'd be a fool not to notice! (he kinda is one, but that's besides the point) you won't have to worry about confessions going south or a cold rejection. nikolai showers you in affection from the start, treating you warmly, laughs with you and is always there by your side.

it almost comes naturally when you admit you like him and he only pulls you closer with the arm he has constantly around you. don't be fooled though, despite not having any 'actual' feelings for you yet, he is unbelievably possessive. if you are upset about anything and decide to sulk and ignore him, nikolai is happy to annoy you endlessly until you either give in and forgive him, or if he sees you trying to busy yourself with anyone else, he's quick to come up with a lost of creative ways to get the outsider out of your relationship with him.

with nikolai, there's a lot of spontaneous skipping out on work (that you miraculously never get in trouble for), unplanned adventures and general good times until, of course, someone else tries to meddle. maybe it's a nosy coworker who firmly believes workplace relationships are unprofessional, or a newbie who stupidly ignores the obvious signs of nikolai and you being together; whatever it is, you won't have to worry, nikolai will swifltly remove all the obstacles.

eventually, he decides that life is a lot more fun with you, his partner in crime, always by his side. this is when things will really take a turn, and you start to realize he's a lot more unhinged than you would have thought previously...

ranpo is a bit of an interesting one...he knows you like him, even if you do a good job at hiding it. he obviously takes advantage of your feelings, purposely trying to make you jealous just to see you all riled up, and asks you to do things for him knowing you wouldn't deny him.

he's so proud of himself, as though he charmed everyone around him, and doesn't hesitate to poke fun at you for liking him. not as maliciously as dazai and jouno, but mean enough that it has you blinking in shock at the way he rudely declares that he was out of your league, skipping away to eat some snacks.

obviously, when he acts so high and mighty, you'd think he would be pleased by you finally taking his advice on "focusing on work instead of staring at him with hearts in your eyes" (not like he was doing anything productive most of the time), but it's the opposite. he notices your absence almost immediately, and imagine his shock and humiliation when you, who was supposed to ttail him around like a puppy, happilly eating out of his hand, were now deciding these boring work files are more important than him.

somehow they even placed the intern that just started with you for training, and now that's all that you're focused on. showing the newcomer around, chatting with them, offering your help with tasks—it was like ranpo ceased to exist and it infuriated him. similarly, if you started spending time around/with someone else from the company (cough nikolai cough), it would annoy him just as much if not more, knowing exactly what kind of intentions they had.

ranpo turns his annoying abilities to the max, now being the one to follow you around everywhere and whines at you to pay attention to him, asking you to feed him snacks and also trying to feed you in return, demanding you accompany him for lunch so he doesn't get lost, and anything else to monopolise your time. eventually, even if you stay strong, whoever you spend your time with now can't handle ranpo's overbearing and unavoidable presence, driving them away. (it helps if he's like a valued employee here too)

fyodor is the type to not do anything about your crush, not until you become useful to him. he'll entertain it, sure, staring back at you with that disarming smile and curious eyes, brushing his hand against yours for a moment too long when you hand him things, sitting right next to you when you ask him to come over and look at something—he knows the hold he has over you and he loves it.

he thinks it's cute to see you so entranced and in awe by him, and he genuinely enjoys your company as he recognizes your genuine work ethic and passion, but even then he doesn't exactly hold the same feelings for you. this is him acting to keep you onterested because he knows someone who is so in love with him despite not really knowing him is a pawn he shouldn't lose.

maybe one day you realize you'd rather not ruin a good friendship by involving your feelings, but trying to distance yourself won't be fruitful and busying yourself with another person would only lead fyodor to threaten their livelihood and even their lives. fyodor is a very jealous and possessivs man, even though you're not dating, he still doesn't like the idea of anyone other than him using you and doesn't want to risk you forgetting him.

generally, though, nobody tries to mess with fyodor, because while he's all amiable and charming to you, to everyone else he's intense and brooding; unapproachable. he has this look that makes everyone feel inferior, like he thinks of them as pathetic creatures—which he does, but you...he could make some use of you yet. he's impressed by your strong will to be by his side for so long despite receiving no sign that he might like you at all...maybe it's time he rewarded you tor your devotion?

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whumpsoda · 4 months

Note

vampire whumper puts whumpee in a strightjacket. But they're now so enthralled. That the straight jacket feel like a hug from them. so they fall asleep

WOHEO Masterlist

Loved this, dunno if I did it justice but it was definitely enjoyable to imagine!!

Anyways I need sleep

Taglist- @softvampirewhump

cw: hypnosis, restraints

———————————————————————

“Get-! Get offa’ me! Let me go!” Malak thrashed against the restraints, while desperately trying to shake off the vampire’s grip on his limbs.

Adrastus sighed disappointedly, shaking their head. “You are in no spot to make such demands after the stunt you just pulled.” They made the last of the adjustments to Malak’s newest punishment, a difficult task when he refused to calm himself. “So, so naughty. This is what happens when you try running from Master.”

Malak wrestled with the confines of his straight jacket prison, to no avail. Adrastus looked him over, a saddened expression plastered across their face. “Maybe you’ll finally learn from your mistakes. I can’t believe you would do such a thing.” They stroked a finger down their captive’s cheek, which he quickly rejected.

They sighed. “I’ve treated you so well, and all I’ve gotten in return is malice. All the love I’ve shown you, and this is what I get? Bad boy.” They wagged their finger in front of his face, which only flushed with a mix of anger, anxiety and embarrassment. “I do suppose it’ll all be over soon, though, once you’ve finally succumbed to your fate of being an eager little pet.”

“I’m not- I’m not your fucking pet! Let! Me! Go!” He wailed, still jerking about on the floor.

Adrastus just laughed, a hint of anger present themself. “How foolish you are,” they pushed to their feet with a grunt. “I’ll leave you here to think about what you’ve done. Bye bye, my dear.”

Malak followed them with darting eyes as they sauntered to the door, before exiting with a condescending grin. “Take this off me! Let-! I need-! Please!” The vampire either didn’t hear him, or simply didn’t care.

He slumped against the wall behind him with a huff, his sweat tainted hair sticking to the plaster. Malak took in ragged breaths, worn from his short lived escape attempt and countless shrieks.

A concoction of both fear and fury bubbled in his stomach, exiting through several more enraged hollers. “Fuck you! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!” Each repetition scratched at his throat, running it red and raw.

His vision started blurring with salty moisture as he shouted, his head swaying along. “F- f- fuck, fuck you!” Ignoring better judgement he continued his tirade, disorder scattering his thoughts.

With each following word, his tongue grew heavy, his voice like a slurry weighing it down. “Fuck, um, let… um, let me… um…” In an instant his eyes grew glassy, and his brain confusingly slow.

With his thoughts so distant, his voice died right in his throat. Why was he yelling again? Good boys weren’t supposed to yell, Master said so.

“Ah-!” Malak jumped as his muscles convulsed, sending the back of his head bashing into the wall behind him. Lurching in pain, his eyes grew wide and alive, his psyche returning in a rush of cognition. With a strung out groan, he breathed a shaky sigh of relief. A stray tear dribbled to his chin.

It was happening more and more often. Moments where he was pulled from reality, his perception twisted and molded by the second, succumbing to countless nights of patient conditioning. Forcing him to think and believe things the vampire wanted him too. As horrified as he was to admit it, Adrastus’ modifications were definitely working in their favor.

And it all happened so fast, his mind buckled so quickly it was difficult to stop. If Malak didn’t escape soon, he’d be like that forever.

Stupid and eager to please, confused with a cotton filled head. Obedient and docile, malleable and… compliant.

Dutiful… and trained.

Warm and loved and cherished.

He shook and writhed, pounding his head and restrained limbs upon the hardwood floor. “Get out of my head!” He shrieked, wriggling and flailing.

With each tug and fight on the fabric restraining him, it almost felt as if the jacket was growing tighter. Almost like arms wrapping him in a warm, tender hug.

A strange sound of guttural fear and anger escaped his lips at the thought, as he began rolling and fighting with less and less spirit. With each thrust of his limbs a silver chain holding his legs rattled and skid across the wood. Gathering all of the strength he had, Malak beat his flesh against the solid flooring, agony searing into his bones.

Again, again, again, until he physically couldn’t anymore. He collapsed in a pile of anguish, choking back livid sobs and fat tears.

Why him? What had he ever done to deserve being plucked from his home by a blood sucking monster? One so adamant on turning his brain to mush?

The snug embrace that enveloped him was his tired body’s only comfort in the moment, cuddling him genially. Malak nuzzled into it, clawing for the slightest of consolement.

He allowed the easement to take advantage of him, desperate for any sort of solace. Carefully, his breaths evened and relaxed with the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he swallowed his dismay. His lip quivered ever so slightly, while his eyelids grew heavy.

Would it… be so bad to give in?

The thought snuck in, but this time He didn’t shake it away.

Just this once? Everything hurt, he was so exhausted and weary, and the jacket was almost like a pillowy blanket. Why should he deny himself the cozyness and only make himself feel worse?

Just this once. He could fight back again tomorrow, couldn’t he?

Content with his sound reasoning, Malak allowed his lids to flutter to a close. After such an intense struggle the embrace was so heavenly to give in to, and he couldn’t help but smile, just a bit.

#asks :)#my writing #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #mind control whump #hypnosis whump #vampire whumper #hypnosis #conditioning whump #conditioned whumpee #Malak oc #Adrastus oc #we only have each other

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hollowwrites · 10 months

Text

Putting the RIP in Scriptorium

Part 2

Summary - I didn’t think this would have a part 2 but after a few people asked for it and I had a cheeky think I couldn’t stop thinking about it. So thanks to you guys @skarathewitch and @samfoley!!

In my little slow burn Ominis and Eve are already very touchy feely and comfortable with each other. I wanted to explore the origins of that

Warnings - mentions of Crucio, little bit of Angst, mostly comfort

Word Count - 1676

Evelyn lowered herself onto the long benches flanking the Slytherins’ Feast Table. She ached to her core. Sleeping usually solved all of her problems. Whether it was a common cold or a headache, most of her ills could be resolved with a simple nap.

So why would Crucio be any different?

She was wrong.

Painfully wrong.

Her bones protested against the slightest movement, though she tried not to show it. The scarf she wrapped around her neck hid it’s own secrets, the huge bruise that spread out from the scar left in the curses’ wake.

Imelda and herself spent their morning talking about nothing. At least that’s what Eve heard. Imelda’s musings, unfortunately, just weren’t sinking in. The only thing Eve contributed to the conversation was an unenthusiastic nod and the occasionally hum of faux interest.

Where was Ominis and Sebastian?

She craned her neck painfully to stare at the big double doors hoping to see them. Either of them.

Well preferably not Ominis.

He had told her to rest but she was already so far behind her peers, just one day seemed like too much to ask. She sighed and shovelled more toast into her mouth, her jaw aching as she chewed on it slowly.

Suddenly, a gentle hand rest upon her shoulder. Her body contorted stiffly to avoid putting unneeded pressure on her side.

It was Ominis.

“A word” he said flatly, eyebrows slammed flat over his eyes. The stare of his sightless eyes sent a shiver up her spine.

“Ominis? I-“ she started

“Now” his hand fell from her shoulder and he strode towards the landing overlooking the Great Hall. He disappeared up the stairs and she sighed, defeated.

“I’ll see you later, Imelda” she mumbled before obediently following after Ominis.

He waited, arms crossed and foot tapping, impatiently at the top of the stairs.

“I told you to rest” his eyes somehow bore into her and she found herself shifting under his gaze

“I’m fine, honestly”

“Oh really?” His snippy little attitude was starting to grate on her. She was already in pain, she didn’t want to deal with this as well. “Where did that curse hit you”

“My chest, towards my shoulder sort of-OW!” She yelped as Ominis’ long digits jabbed into the bruise below her scarf

“I thought you were okay?” He asked sarcastically

“Enough, Ominis. I get that your concerned but I can’t afford to just sit around all day because I have a bit of a bruise” she snapped back, ignoring the dull ache from her shoulder as it screamed it’s objection.

“Are you forgetting who you’re talking to? It’s not just a bruise, Evelyn. It’s-“ all of sudden, he could smell the unforgettable scent of fresh blood. She started sniffing waiting for him to continue his tirade, until he randomly reached out and touched her lip. He drew the pool of red onto his finger, using it to punctuate his rant.

“It’s this too” he continued. She gasped rubbing at her face failing to rid the blood from her visage. She tasted the metallic tinge on her tongue as she licked it from her lips.

“Please…” his anger subsided, his true intentions bubbling forth as he held her arms “Come with me to the Undercroft. We can study all day if you’d like just…don’t spend all day in pain, pretending that you’re not”

“Okay” she said meekly, her voice now raspy “Can you help me study for Herbology? I need to write 20 inches on Mandrakes and their uses” he laughed breathily

“Of course”

She heard Ominis before she saw him.

He’d left her, momentarily to gather some supplies for their day in the Undercroft. He promised her that he wouldn’t be long, if she promised not to leave. If he had to sacrifice a day so that she wouldn’t do herself a mischief, then so be it.

The clattering of his arrival rang down the entrance corridor and echoed around the Undercrofts empty walls, followed by a string of mumbled curses.

“Are you okay?” She called to him from the crate she perched on top of. He stumbled though the portcullis, followed by a flock of tomes and books, loyally following behind, flapping like birds.

“I hate this bloody charm” he grumbled, dropping the crate he was carrying to the floor, the telltale jingle of potion vials tinkling against one another. He took out his wand, gesturing to the books. They descended into a neat pile at Eves feet.

“What are these?” She hissed bending to retrieve the book closest to her. They were immaculate textbooks covering each and every topic she was studying at Hogwarts, and a few she hadn’t heard of yet. Each were perfect, albeit a single mark upon the top right corner of each tome. Elegant handwriting marked each with the initials ‘OG’…“Are these yours?”

“Mmmm yes” he hummed “That is every notebook, dossier and textbook from my first year here. I’d have gotten my second, third and fourth years too but…having that many books follow me would’ve drove me mad.”

“Why?” She asked flicking through the pages of ‘Charms: a beginners guide to the basics’

“So you can stop worrying about falling behind. You’re a fast learner and a talented witch…you can use these, anytime, to brush up on things you’re not certain about. Or you can compare your notes to mine and see how exceptionally well you’re doing. You need to remember you’re technically a first year. So stop comparing yourself to fifth years. I’ll leave them here for you.”

“Ominis…” she clutched her chest, touched by his consideration. “That’s very sweet of you, Thank you”

He shrugged, summoning multiple blankets and throw cushions around them. If they were going to study, they were going to study right.

“I thought you couldn’t conjure objects inside of Hogwarts?”

“Ah, something I learnt in my third year. There are always exceptions to the rules, Evelyn”

Ominis was more intelligent than he let on, despite his moaning about Professor Garlicks’ lack of care or Sebastians’ distracting behaviour in Defence Against the Dark Arts. He had a theoretical knowledge of every possible subject making completing her assignments easy. His Wiggenweld may be rubbish, but he knew the potions origins and how to properly chop dittany better than even Garreth.

They made light work of their shared essays and assignments, and after several hours they decided they worked enough for one day, opting to just, for once, relax.

They leant against each other on their plush picnic blanket, shoulder to shoulder.

Well, shoulder to bicep. Ominis was tall and gangly, there was no way she was ever reaching that high.

Eventually, the fatigue of their long day caught up to them and they settled against each other, Eves head finding it’s way to his shoulder and his cheek found the top of her head.

For a while they were quiet, lulled to a calm and relaxed state by the steady stillness of each others breathing.

The soft tinkling of an enchanted harp sang away somewhere in the clutter of the room. It’s heavenly harmony was interrupted, momentarily, by the distant chime of the bells signalling it was dinner time.

Eve sighed, heavily. And she noticed that no pain shot up her side.

“How are you feeling?” Ominis asked shifting slightly as though he could look at her. No doubt a habit he had picked up to put people at ease.

“Actually? Much better. Those Wiggenwelds worked a treat”

“Can I see?” He leant back fully now, prompting her to remove her head from him. She groaned needily at the movement and earned a wonky smile from Ominis. “Here” he rotated himself and positioned himself directly in front of her “Now this will look…unnerving. But…trust me”

He took his wand off the blanket where they had discarded them earlier in the evening. Almost instantaneously the red glowing tip flared up. She squinted away from it as he pressed his wand closer to her.

“Er…Ominis?”

“Could you guide me to the scar?”

“Yes?” It didn’t mean to come out as a question. But, in her experience, being on the receiving end of a wand, usually ended badly. She wrapped her fingers around his hand, gently pulling it towards her collarbone.

From here, he seemed to gather the information he needed, on his own. The blunt tip of his wand dragged across her skin, the smallest amount of pressure being applied. It was soft and warming and she couldn’t help but close her eyes.

Why was this tingly? Magic?

“This is how I see colour. I’m checking to see if you’re lying to me, like how you lied this morning” he smirked

“Sorry” she mumbled sheepishly

“We agreed no more apologies” he smiled “I understand why you did it” he pulled his wand away discarding it as he had before, seemingly happy with the results of his interrogation. “I don’t agree with what you and Sebastian get up to. Running around the school solving everyone problems. Galavanting off into the Forest…” she opened her mouth to speak but he continued “but I understand why you do it. You’re kind and thoughtful. And it’s why you need to take care of yourself. I can’t stop you running off playing the hero…but I can be here for you when you get back.”

She thought for a second. Everything he said was true. And she didn’t know why. She just wanted to study and explore this new world after she’d been torn from her old one.

It was all getting a bit much.

“Do you ever feel like you’re being pulled away?” She said abruptly letting her thoughts spill out into the real world

“From what?”

“Everything” she laughed “My life. My friends…you. I feel like I’m being pulled down a path I don’t necessarily agree with”

He toyed with the edges of his shirt, fighting with himself. He reached over to her, tentatively, and took her hand in his.

“You won’t be pulled from me…I won’t allow it”

Masterlist

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kurimiaki · 2 years

Text

Just as I can be so cruel

Malleus Draconia, Twisted Wonderland

tw: yandere, forced marriage, female reader, implied kidnapping, posessive behavior

You wonder how many marriages are built on the foundation of fear.

Lilia had told you it was only natural to be scared, to be hesitant in going forth with the dress fittings, to cry and resist and fight back against your inevitable nuptials. “Buck up,” he had whispered in your ear, tightening your corset before squeezing you into a gown, “you’ll never want or need for anything. Isn’t that ideal, for humans like you?”

You take great trepidation in dealing with your fiancée. As cautious as you are around Malleus as of late, you also fear for him, in a way pitying him. As confusing and overwhelming as it is being with a powerful creature such as he, (unwillingly, at that), your betrothed had always seemed somewhat foreign in the experience of romantic love and relationship.

In friendship, those many months ago at Night Raven College, he was wholly alien to your casual outings and terms of endearment. It became endearing, after a while, how amused and jilted he became in lieu of your impromptu nicknames and friendly asides. Perhaps it was because you weren’t initially disillusioned by his rank or identity, didn’t view him as superior or as someone to be feared.

If he was initially so estranged from friendship as a concept, surely he had no prior examples of marriage to go off of, not in any healthy sense. He was vastly intelligent, powerful and adept in the field of magic, wise beyond how he appeared in years, but seemed so stunted and ignorant as to connection and propinquity.

It wasn’t as if Malleus was lonely. By your standards, at least. Sebek showered his young master in such adoration and attention that you wondered how Malleus didn’t suffocate, and Lilia always gave way to how deeply his affections ran for his pseudo-son, as you used to call him.

This is what made it so strange that you were proposed to in the weeks after you returned home, an eagerly wide-eyed graduate, hopeful for the future you had worked towards arduously for many years. The instant your parents had received a letter from the crown prince’s esquire, formally asking for your willing hand in marriage, such dreams were smothered out. You were whisked away to Briar Valley without a single say in the matter.

Malleus is your friend. Never your lover. He’s only misconstrued what sort of commitment you were willing to pursue with him, and it’s on you to amend this misconception, isn’t it?

But it’s becoming increasingly difficult to justify and redirect your friends’ actions when he does things like this.

“At least let me see my parents before you delude them into thinking I’m your willing bride,” you fluster, storming after Malleus’ towering form down the winding castle halls. Portraits and tapestries line aged cobblestone walls, leering down at you as you pointedly ignore their existence. It’s cold, dewy, abysmal weather outside, and his mood isn’t any better. He doesn’t respond, and it scares you, but you refuse to relent.

You tug on the loose fabric of his coat, as if he’d feel such a small action. “Malleus, please. Why must you be so difficult? I just need to-“ he turns, suddenly coming to a halt, finally uprooted from his indifference by your taunts. You bristle, clenching your fists and steeling yourself— but he’s still so frigid, so monotone, maintaining apathy that stings worse than anger —and continue with your tirade.

“Can we just sit down for a moment. You wanted to discuss the particulars of the guest list, didn’t you? We can work out all of the kinks.” He considers you, bright green eyes tearing into you, as if you were live on a vivisection table, and relents. He always does.

Your bedroom is the only modicum of autonomy you have to cling to, at present, and he invades it by his presence all the same. You’ve made it your home, these past months, arranging and rearranging near ancient pieces of furniture. You fume once more as he casually lounges on an ottoman, never uttering a single word, making you appear so dumb and flustered standing before him. And you are, admittedly and rightfully, furious with him.

Your fiancée raises his brows, expectant.

“I found out that my mother was kept from entering the castle yesterday morning, and by your orders, she’s been sent home. Can you first give me an explanation for that?” you cross your arms, keeping a passable distance from him. Malleus sighs, brows sharply furrowing, as if he was frustrated at being caught.

But he knew you knew, that your family had finally made attempts at contacting you, perhaps hoping to make up for the unceremonious decision to acquiesce to Malleus’ proposal without your consent. If only to ensure that they’ll be the ones to receive your supposedly hefty dowry. Even when you get yourself out of this, you can hardly imagine ever forgiving them, but you were more so disturbed by the revelation that Malleus had also been keeping your mother’s letters from you. You had stumbled upon three month’s worth, kept tightly bound upon his desk.

“And you’re sure of this?” He begins, crossing his arms and regarding you, and you know you cannot rat out the fae who had lay bare this information to you. Malleus frowns as you nod, and rises from his seat.

With a slow, ominous pace he approaches you, lifting both hands to rest on your shoulders. It’s difficult and annoying to have to crane your head so sharply, but you’re adamant on keeping to his gaze all the same. Your neck burns. “Malleus, I’m not angry. I just don’t understand it. You were so accommodating and kind to them back in my village, so why this…?”

He smiles at your words, in a manner you interpret as blatantly condescending. As if your concerns were so simple and unfounded, and his actions easily dismissible. “It’s not totally untrue, I’ll admit to that. Your mother showed up rather early in the morn for a human, disheveled and demanding to be let in…” he trails, tutting and frowning down at you in mock disapproval, as if to perform genuine emotion.

You don’t speak, allowing him to continue. At this, he strokes a strand of your hair affectionately. You flinch, but if he noticed, he doesn’t show it.

“To relieve you of your confusion, my dear, you must understand that I had to turn your mother away in an act of self-preservation.” You gape, openly guffawing at his statement. Before you can refute his words, remind him of his standing as an all-powerful sorcerer of this world, he continues. “She was quite up in arms as to my treatment of her daughter, speaking so degradingly of you, I had to assume that she was jealous of your luxury.”

It’s a ridiculously fabricated lie, you tell him, near frenzied by an onslaught of rage. Childish liar. You call him as such, as he impresses his ridiculous concerns upon you, as if villainizing your mother further will serve to justify his behavior. Now fuming and unwilling to listen further, to hear him droll on about how he’s only protecting you once more, you tear from your betrothed, and supply him with a steady glare.

“You don’t want me around anything that is not you,” you seethe, glowering at Malleus from across the room, “as if i’ll begin to stink the moment I so much as look at another person.” You point and gesture to him in a flurry of frustration, airing your every grievance without filter or fear, naming him a captor rather than a lover, insisting that he just let you go.

He remains unmoving from where he last stood, malignant green eyes trailing your every movement. And he begins to frown, after a while, when your words turn more brutal and accusing, when spit flies from your mouth as you squawk and scream and bawl your ireful allegations. You shut up when he approaches you, at least, eyeing him now with specks of fear and trepidation in your glimmering eyes.

Malleus was never one to be loomed over or missed, standing as tall as he does, his presence so all-consuming and numbing, you often forget yourself, when by his side. It’s different, you suppose, being his lover, to be subjected to the mild affections of a creature that hardly ever acted in the interests of his peers. You could barely conjure the idea that he would lay a harmful hand to you, the weak human he works so hard to protect and constrain to his side.

He raises a hand to your cheek, gently, and you flinch as his nail grazes your cheekbone. You feel yourself falter and freeze as he encloses his arm around your waist, pulling you to him so intimately, so much closer than you’d been with any person before. Malleus sighs, stroking your cheek languidly, distracting and diverting you from your fury, albeit momentarily. You fluster, blush, but don’t forget yourself, and begin to struggle, swatting away his loving caresses.

At once, he becomes volatile. Your cheeks are snatched in a vicious grip, sharp, black nails threatening to puncture soft skin. You struggle to inhale from how sharply and strongly he holds your waist. “Hurts,” you blubber, grappling and clawing at the fabric of his coat desperately, but he only smiles. His hand squeezes, digs, pries into your cheek, and you cannot bear how cruelly he leers down upon you, this creature who used to be your friend.

Malleus was closer than touch, crushing you to him, basking in your apparent dread and terror. Like a cruel child, you distantly muse, who’s gotten a toy after beating it out of the hands of someone younger and weaker, a baby whos too scared to tattle.

“You’d do good to be a little nicer to me, you cruel little thing,” he starts, so chiding and so terribly infuriating that you almost disregard your fear once more, but his grip is still iron-clad and crushing, “I don’t know how much more I can tolerate from your degradation.”

“Everything I’ve done, my every move thus far, I have done for you. I’m not blinded nor jaded by my love, as you presume to think— in fact, I’m thinking quite clearly.” He inches closer, too close, close enough that you can see how his irises are more reptilian and slitted than you had though, so inhuman. His lips are furled, and you can feel your eyes gloss with tears as his edgy breath wafts over your face.

“So misguided, so silly you are, to believe I’d ever take you as my bride haphazardly. That we were nothing more than acquaintances.”

And he pulls away, finally allowing you to breathe, though you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to grace this bedroom without feeling the phantom of his crushing touch. His hand lingers on yours, thumb tracing over the delicate band of your engagement ring. No longer is your mind clouded with worthless euphemism and foolish hope— this is Malleus, laid bare and exposed on his back, stripped of all niceties and facades, demonstrating for you the brunt of his love.

He raises your cold limp hand to his lips, satisfied with your pliant, lamblike mien. Rid of all nasty hatred, instead flushed with fear, which he accepts as gracefully and warmly as he would your love.

#yandere tw #yandere #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere malleus #yandere malleus x reader #yandere malleus draconia #yandere malleus draconia x reader #twisted wonderland #malleus #malleus draconia #twst #yandere twst #yandere fic #my writing #subtle jareth referencing 🧏🏻‍♀️

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20001541 · 1 month

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🙌 isekaied into captain hero afo au!!! Please share some ideas if you want!

yes, I have some! gonna be messy as I'm still thinking through a lot of things but here we go.

for people who don't know the premise of this au is that after afo dies in canon he gets isekaied into the captain hero comic universe and wakes up as captain hero. he's forced to be a good hero and he's unable to do any evil deeds. even if he tries they somehow always turn out to be good in the end.

anyways I like to this au as it's afo at his most miserable. his attitude is mainly like why couldn't whatever power out there that forced him here just have let him just die? why force him through this humiliating tirade? theres praise from civilians which he finds sorta nice, but then he's reminded of how captain hero will suffer a humiliating defeat by the demon king and all the pain and strife he has to go through until he defeats him once and for all. pain and strife that afo will be forced to go through and he's going to have to defeat the guy he's admired and wanted to be like since he was a kid. he thinks he should've been made the demon king in this world, he's so upset about this more than anything he's forced to fight the demon king not to take his spot but only to stop him from doing more evil. the demon king would be so confused as to why the hero is always complimenting his work lol.

but I think it would be an interesting way to explore the man beneath the villain persona. we all know afo has made his whole identity about being villain, to the point where he only goes by afo and nothing else. so you put him in a situation where he no longer has his power, total control and in the body of a character he hates. well it'll be interesting to see afo's true colours shine through as the mask he's so carefully crafted throughout the years begins cracking more and he is at his most vulnerable.

and as I said yes yoichi also got isekaied as well, he actually got isekaied into the body of an upcoming journalist thats chases after captain hero and tries getting pictures of him and talk with him. yoichi enjoys the quiet life and freedom he has. he only got to enjoy one month away from afo before dying so he's enjoying his freedom. so you can imagine how he feels when he sees afo once again only in captain heroes hero suit. at first he laughs right in his face then tries to get away because that's the last person he wants to see right now. afo is so so so happy, happier than he's ever been and he kind of forces him into a hug. he can suffer anything as long as yoichi is there by his side. he's basically like even if I wanted to kidnap you and force you to stay by my side (I do), I can't because the rules of this universe won't allow me to so you're safe :). yoichi isn't amused, but after some arguing he decides he'll keep in contact with afo and even help him with some hero stuff.

afo and yoichi get to talk with each other without having to fight each other and it's awkward. they choose to avoid the topic of the past when trying to spend time together however it's hard to ignore the elephant in the room. eventually though they begin having some normal conversations and get to know each other better. it feels oddly domestic and strange, but it's nice in a way and it also makes afo slowly realize how much happier yoichi looks and how yoichi was more willing to open up to him when afo isn't forcing his presence and beliefs on him. he won't admit it, but it hurts to see how much better yoichi seems without him.

there is a catch to all this however, yoichi actually took the place of a character that dies during some point in the story. yoichi knows this detail because he read past the first three volumes, but afo doesn't know because he stopped reading after volume 3. yoichi doesn't tell him about this until later on which almost causes afo to have a meltdown at the thought of losing yoichi all over again. most of the conflict lies here, will they even be able to save yoichi or will he just die a terrible death once more? is afo forever going to be forced into the role of the hero or can he get out of it? putting afo into situations he feels completely helpless in and has to cooperate with yoichi, good stuff to me. can't rely on your previous methods of getting out of trouble so what will you do now that almost everything has been taken away from you? that's all I really got lol.

#debating as to whether yoichi should have the memories his vestige has or all this yoichi remembers is the pain of falling into pieces #- and dying/ pros and cons to each side so idk yet #as I said this is a loose set of ideas so its not that developed well so sorry if this is a little messy

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beeandheroddobsessions · 1 year

Text

Just Like A King, I've Lost Everything

Part 1: Everybody Plays The Fool

Pairing: Elvis x Gn!Reader

Summary: Elvis can’t function without the reader but their mind seems to be made up.

Warnings: Mean!Reader, like, purposely hurts Elvis’s feelings to prove a point. Elvis crying. Mentions of infidelity. Groveling(?).

A/N: I don’t know how to feel about this (but I couldn’t ignore the itch to write it.) Mmm as always, the songs aren’t crucial to the story, but they are a nice background sound.

Happy reading! -Yonka💕

He knows he messed up. He can't even claim that he was drunk. That girl who meant nothing cost him everything. Elvis knew you wouldn't be coming back when you walked out that door. In fact, You had packed up and moved out before he got back. You may have been hurt, but you weren't about to play the fool twice.

The man had tried everything, gifts, phone calls, letters. Hell, he even sat on your porch, thinking there was no way you could ignore him then. However, your dedication proved him wrong.

The gifts were thrown out, calls ignored, letters marked 'return to sender', and when You spotted him at your front doorstep looking like a hurt dog, you turned the car around and returned the way you came.

Elvis was helpless without you; he cried day and night. Every song he attempted to write turned into a sad ballad, a plea for you to come home. In a last attempt to see you, he all but begged Jerry to drive him over to your house, knowing you would never turn his friend away.

Though he framed the request in a way that gave Jerry a choice, he knew better than to deny the man who signed his checks.

When you see Jerry's car pull in, you can't help the excitement that bubbles in your body. You hadn't heard from him, or anyone for that matter, since the party and missed having company. With a rather large smile, you swing the door open and offer a side hug.

"What brings you here, Jerbear?" He only responds with a tight-lip smile and shuffles his way inside. You think to yourself, Odd. Jerry finds his way to the loveseat in the corner of the room; you quickly notice the uneasy look his face holds.

"Jerry? Is everything alright? You look a little green 'round the gills."

With a slight frown, jerry shifts his body toward you. "I'm sorry about this. I didn't know he would take it this far." You raise an eyebrow, "Jer, it ain't your fault that he's a low-down-"

Jerry shakes his head so fast you think it might roll off his shoulders. "That's not what I mean, y/n. He-" The door flying open cut him off. You snap your head, and, sure as shit, there stands the man you've been ducking and dodging like the plague. Realization hits you hard; you've been corned.

"Just what the hell are you doin' here, Elvis?" You grit out. Jerry coughs, and you set your sights on him.

"You brought him here? Knowing how I felt? Jerry, what the hell?!" Your voice is steadily rising. Elvis quickly interrupts the beginning of what will surely become a tirade.

"Baby-" If looks could kill, Elvis would be a pile of bones and mush.

"Don't you dare. It's y/n to you."

He gulps, "Y/n. I'm sorry; I need you in my life."

Your mouth hangs opens at his audacity, and the string snaps. "Did you need me when you had that girl perched on your lap? Lockin' lips like a pair of fumblin' teenagers? For fucks sake, Elvis. Ya made a goddamn fool of me!"

The volume of your voice has Jerry's eyes wide. He sinks into the seat as if he's the one being ripped a new one, and he isn't even the one caught in the crosshairs.

Elvis hates the way his eyes sting, tears threatening to spill. You had never spoken to him this way before, never looked at him like your biggest regret. It hurt.

"Y/n, please. I can't sleep at night without you. I hardly eat. I ain't singing the same. Graceland is jus' a house without ya in it; I sit alone by the piano, hopin' you'll walk through the door. I'm beggin' ya, y/n. Come back."

Your head shakes in disbelief. Slack-jawed is what you are. I, I, I. That's all you heard. Elvis was making this about him, and it made you furious. Your eyes bore into his, searching for a hint of a lie. Though you realize he's telling the truth, you also know he doesn't get it. You had to play the fool, so he'll play the lonely king.

"Tough shit. Get out."

Elvis feels his world crumble. You meant everything, and to hear you kick him to the curb without question is too much to bear. He falls to his knees and lets out a heartbroken sob, looking just like you did a few weeks ago, pathetically helpless.

Jerry rises to his feet, eyebrows practically touching his hairline. He's unsure of what to do, having never seen his boss so distraught. He desperately searches for the right words but fails to find them. When he tries to step forward, your hand meets his chest. He glances over and finds your eyes trained on the broken man before you, shaking your head no.

As the sobs continue to rack violently through Elvis's body, you drop your hand from Jerry and crouch down. You take the man's tear-stained face in your hands, cupping it like a mother would her son's. Elvis almost thinks he's fallen into a dream, unable to believe the hands caressing his face belong to the same person to berated him only moments ago.

"Look at me," you coo, voice soft and gentle. Slowly, his eyes trail up to your own.

"S-Satnin," he hiccups. You shush him and run a hand through his hair, giving him a warm smile.

"Crushes your soul, don't it? Knowin' the person you love don't love you the same?" You whisper.

Elvis's eyes widen as it dawns upon him. He hadn't realized just how bad he had hurt you. You went through this pain alone.

You loved him unconditionally and saw no faults, and yet you were repaid with heartbreak and humiliation. The epiphany is too much for him to bear. He felt awful. The sobs get louder as elvis wraps his arms around you and does his best to sputter out an apology.

"I'm so, so goddamn sorry, baby. I never meant to put you through this. I-If I could go back and change things, I would. In a h-heartbeat. I won't ever hurt ya again. Jus' come back home, and I'll make it all right."

Deciding that Elvis finally understood, you rise without a word and head for the bedroom. He grips your arm and holds you in place, afraid of being shut out again.

"Well, now wait, baby, if ya don’t like the idea of comin' back right away I'm willin' to compromise, Just please say you-“

You hold up a finger hushing his hysterics and pivot on your feet, stalking toward the bedroom. The puffy-eyed musician doesn’t stray too far behind. He sits quietly as you shuffle your way to the closet.

When Elvis sees you pull your suitcase down from the top, he rushes your form, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug that makes it hard to breathe. The luggage is dropped and forgotten.

"I'll never hurt ya again. I promise," He whispers into your hair.

"I believe you, Elvis.“

The loving embrace is broken as you remember about the man in the middle “I've got to go break Jer out of his shock."

He giggles, one of those soft sweet laughs you love so much, and nods.

Elvis doesn't know much, but he knows he'll always come running back to you.

#elvis presley x reader #elvis x black reader #elvis x reader #elvis imagine #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvisaaronpresley #beeandheroddobsessions #elvis fic #austin!elvis presley x reader #austin!elvis fic #elvis presley #70s elvis x reader #black readers #black writers #Spotify

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maxfandoms · 4 months

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Sooo about Night & Day relationship

(this might get a little rambling so I'm sorry)

I wasn't going to talk about Night and Day yet because I wanted to first have more information on their relationship but I got tired of just screaming at my room about them so let's enjoy this awkward car ride

What exactly we, the audience, know?

First, we know that Night is trying and cares about his brother that basically a fact, the biggest example is the scene where Mhok tickles Day and Night looks so happy knowing that his brother is happy

That something we can't denied. I will circle back to that in a minute so Night cares about Day. What about Day?

Day is furious with Night

I could have go on why do I think that but LOOK AT THE CHANGE IN DAY'S EXPRESSION this is when Night enters the scene and say ONE SETENCE. I rest my case but we get in the question that on everyone's mind and THE THEORY *TAN TAN TAN*

Why is Day so furious? WHAT DID NIGHT DO?

The biggest theory is that Night had something to do with Day's accident, that's a theory that I agree with it, especially when I heard Day's angry tirade in the car on Ep 8 when it feel like behind every single word that was a "and it was your fault/on you" in Day's line

That told me that Day felt like the accident was Night's fault, not saying that I believe Night did it on purpose (on that even Day's believe that) but whatever happened in that situation had something to do with Night, even the smallest amount.

What did Night do is such a good mystery that keep everyone, include me, hook on but the reality is that

It doesn't matter what Night did

Before you start yelling at the screen and close the thing, let me make a quick list of stuff that I'm not saying:

Night doesn't actually love and cares for Day (He does, it was the first thing I make sure to point it out)

The mystery doesn't need to be solved/it's a moot point focusing on it (No, I believe the we will get answers by the end of the show and I will keep asking every week WHAT DID NIGHT DO, P'AOF?)

Day's is 100% right in treating the Night the way that he does (While I will talk about that more, Day can be a d*ck to Night and takes Night's words in the worst way possible which is not a good move)

Now that I covers most of my bases, I think let's move on to:

What the f*ck do I mean by that

I understand that seeing Night trying so hard and getting nothing or just anger from Day, the normal instinct would be the to say is to be like "Please be a little gentler, Day. Don't you know that Night is trying?"

The truth is that family relationship are so f*cking complicated and one thing that we don't realize is just how much they can hurt us without even realizing

Am I speaking from personal experience? Yes, and let me just say all my holidays/family's birthdays are basically a hour and half of that car ride without the fight at the end because I need to be gentler even thought they aren't motherf*cking trying

So assuming that Night had nothing to do with the accident, Day is still furious at Night for something AND he is allowed to be it and continue to ignore Night and makes faces at him

Night loves Day but maybe right now that's not enough. Because their relationship is broken, doesn't mean it can't be fixed but maybe it's a little bit like doing a tattoo: It's going to hurt and when it start healing it will start looking different that would expected but it will still look cool

By that, I mean, that Day and Night have a long, weird and hurtful way to start healing that relationship and by the end, it look so different from what both of them were expecting

But at the end, this is just a post by someone who couldn't help but put their own lent's on a show

#last twilight #last twilight series #last twilight the series #jimmysea #morkday #mhokday

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 year

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The Silver Dragon (35/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 3837

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: Aegon has been found, and will be crowned in the morning. But Aemond’s mind races. As he descends deeper and deeper into the darkest recesses of his mind, there is only one person that can pull him back from the brink of despair.

Warnings: Dissociation

Author's Note: The first Daemon POV will be published tomorrow! Get hype!

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3 @trap-house-homiecide @50svibes @literishdegree99 @dc-marvel-girl96 @henriettadreaming @multiple-fandoms-girl @gyuxmilk @somemydayy @kittykylax @whore-of-many-hot-men @slavicvvitch @crazymusicgirl104

(Please let me know if your tag isn't working, and I'll do my best to correct it! And if you would like to be added to the list, just shoot me an ask!)

The Hearth

For Aemond, the rest of the day went by in a blur.

He couldn’t make out a single word of either Aegon’s complaining or Cole’s scolding as they flagged down a regiment of Gold Cloaks to escort them back to the Red Keep. Whenever they tried to speak to him, he only grunted in reply.

The Keep itself was a haze of iron and red stone. Though he had lived there all his life, he had no idea where they were headed until they arrived at the Queen’s solar.

Even then, his mother’s tirade against Aegon sounded as though it was coming from far away.

Only one thing was clear.

Arianwyn.

She ran to his side the moment he stepped through the door. He was grateful she had stayed with his mother, to keep her company and comfort her when he could not.

He was even more grateful when she took him in her arms, lovingly straightening his rumpled clothes and combing through his tangled hair with her fingers. She kissed his lips, his cheeks, and the base of his scar, not caring that sweat still coated his skin and the stench of Flea Bottom clung to him like rain.

“Are you well?” she whispered, ignoring that the Queen, Aegon, and countless guards were watching them in awkward silence. Helaena was there, but she couldn’t care less – she had retrieved one of her favorite bugs from her collection and was occupying herself with counting its legs repeatedly. “Were you hurt?”

Moving slowly, as though his limbs needed a moment to catch up with his thoughts, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her into his chest. He held her tight, for she was the only thing that seemed real, the only thing that made sense.

“I’m fine,” he assured as he drank in her scent like wine. She still smelled of meadowsweet oil beneath the smoke and cold air. She was so clean, so pure. He shouldn’t be touching her. He was far too dirty, far too stained. But he couldn’t let go. “I’m fine now.”

He held her close the entire time the Queen spoke, hoping she was paying more attention than him. Given that she turned in his arms so she could face Alicent, she likely was.

By the time she finished and dismissed them all – Aegon escorted by two Kingsguard and eight house guards – he hadn’t the slightest idea what she had said. He knew it was likely the plan for Aegon’s coronation and whatever they needed to do to ensure its safety, but the details were lost.

When they left the solar, he still did not let Arianwyn go. With his thumb pressed into her wrist, he listened intently to the steady beat of her heart as she led him through the labyrinthine halls of the Holdfast.

She was so brave. The world was so near to crumbling around them, and yet her pulse was slow and even. She would have made a fine warrior, had she ever wanted to be.

At some point, he would have to teach her to defend herself with something other than embroidery shears.

Suddenly, he realized they were back in their apartments. They were in the bathing room, and Arianwyn was lowering him to sit on the edge of the bath, whispering for him to relax and stay there.

He had never felt so alone as when she left the room then.

But she came back.

How had he ever doubted her?

She had returned to him from Dragonstone after six years under her father’s care – if it could be called that. Of course she would return now.

And she carried something. A large pot, maybe? A bucket? No, it was the ceramic basin Kirin filled each morning and evening so Aemond could wash his face.

Kirin always had to have a guard carry it for him. It was too large and heavy to carry with only one arm.

He would have thought it too large and heavy for Aria to carry at all, but there she was, setting it on the table next to the bath.

She was so strong. Stronger than he would have believed had he not seen it with his own eyes. Yes, her arms trembled slightly when she finally let go of the wooden handles, but it was still an impressive feat.

Then she left again.

Aemond stared at the empty doorway, willing her to reappear with every pounding beat of his heart.

But something drew his attention.

The basin. It was warm. He could feel the heat it radiated from where he sat.

Why was it warm?

He reached out a hand to grip the side. It wasn’t just warm; it was hot. Too hot. He shouldn’t be touching it.

Indeed, when he brought his hand close to his face, the skin was red. Not quite a burn, but close.

Well, that was foolish.

Arianwyn came back again, carrying something new in her arms. A large iron kettle. The one that was kept in the hearth for just this purpose.

She was cleverer than him. She carried the kettle only by the wood-insulated handle and cradled the base with a thick cloth while she filled the basin with steaming water.

That was why the basin was hot. So that the water would stay warm for longer.

She was so clever. Not just for boiling water on her own, though he doubted many other noble Ladies could do so. He wasn’t entirely sure he could, if he was honest with himself.

She was cleverer than any Maester, librarian, or even Aemond himself. He was so thankful he had been able to spend so many years as the witness to her cleverness. Those days and nights they spent in the library together were more precious than anything else in the world.

After dissolving a small chunk of scented soap in the water, Arianwyn sat on the edge of the bath next to him. She reached behind his head to unlace his eyepatch and carefully set it down on the table.

A great sadness shone in her lovely silver eyes as she cradled his cheek, careful not to touch the vivid redness of his scar. It had been burning for so long. It must look ghastly.

“You are not fine,” she scolded gently. But she said nothing more. She only dipped a clean cotton cloth into the soapy water and began washing his face.

She was so kind. No one had ever been as kind to him as she was. No one but her ever looked at him that way – with love, and only love, rather than pity or fear.

His wife was brave. And strong. And clever. And kind.

He loved her so, so much.

He told her so, over and over again, as she washed his face and hands of the Flea Bottom stench.

When she helped him stand and remove his borrowed servant’s clothes, he told her how brave she was. How she was the fiercest woman he had ever known. How even Queen Visenya would have kneeled before her. How he wished for her to release her remarkable inner fire for the whole world to see.

When she washed the rest of him, each movement of her hands soft and full of care, he told her how strong she was. But he didn’t just praise her for physical strength, but also the strength of her soul. So few could have survived all those years on Dragonstone with a man like Daemon.

When she poured warm water over his hair and delicately combed through each tangle, he told her how clever she was. How hard he had to study when they were children just to keep up with her – even when he was exceptionally clever himself.

When she dressed him again in his own clothing and tied his hair back so the strap of his eyepatch would lie flat, he told her how kind she was. Truly, her heart must have been crafted by the Mother and Maiden themselves. She was not only a woman, a Lady, or a Princess – she was an angel from the gods and the heavens.

He loved her. He loved her. He loved her.

Arianwyn blushed under his compliments, grateful that she could use the disguise of bashfulness to hide what she really felt – fear.

Something was very, very wrong with Aemond.

She had known in from the moment she touched him. Ever since she could remember, Aemond’s skin always felt as hot as a dragon’s fire. When he entered the Queen’s solar, and she pressed her lips to his cheek, he felt almost cold.

Not only that. His breath was rapid and uneven, as though he had sprinted from the Grand Sept. His pupil was wide, the lovely periwinkle of his irises nearly overwhelmed by blackness. And he swayed slightly, even as he stood. He had only stilled once he held Arianwyn in his arms, using her as an anchor.

The worst, though, was that his mind was so obviously distant. She was sure the others had not noticed, but she did. He was not truly seeing anything that happened around him, and he certainly was not hearing anything.

Four times, Arianwyn had to respond in his place when Alicent had asked him a question. He had not noticed at all.

Neither did he notice when she stopped at Orwyle’s side as they left the Queen’s solar, asking him to come attend to Aemond. The Maester had agreed, but warned it could be some time before he could get there.

But Arianwyn did not want any other Maester. She knew Aemond would not want anyone he did not trust to see him in such a state, so it had to be Orwyle.

So, he had instructed her to keep her husband as calm as possible. Give him a bath, if she was able, for he would feel better when he was clean. Keep him warm and secure. Some tea would have been wonderful, but with all the servants still confined, Arianwyn knew that it would take her hours to make her way to the kitchens, locate the larder, and figure out how tea was actually made. It would have to wait until Orwyle could bring it himself.

Once she finally had Aemond dressed, she pulled him into their sitting room and sat him in his favorite chair by the hearth. He continued whispering his praises, trying to pull her closer to him, but she stayed back.

“I need to go fetch an eyepatch for you,” she explained. He had been wearing his favorite one that morning, but she did not know where it ended up after he and Cole changed into servant’s clothes. “Grand Maester Orwyle will be here any moment, and I know you don’t like others to see you without one.”

Aemond cupped her face in one large hand. He was warmer than he had been, but still too cool. “You have such lovely eyes, Aria. Like the purest silver, or Valyrian Steel, or even the moon. Ao issi se hūra, Aria.” You are the moon.

He had said the same thing the night before. Then, it had been so romantic. Now, it worried her. She hoped Orwyle would be there soon.

He was still muttering about her eyes when she returned to the chair and leaned down to put on the eyepatch. “Sometimes when I look at you, it is as if they are glowing, Aria. Like I can see the fire blazing within you. It is such a beautiful fire. Let me burn in it?”

She latched the eyepatch slightly looser than he usually wore to not irritate the still-red scar. Then, once she was satisfied it was secure, she kissed him once, immensely gratified when his lips moved against hers. They hadn’t before.

“I would prefer my husband unburnt,” she whispered, laying her hand over his heart to feel it beat. Still fast. “I like you just the way you are.”

He stared at her for a long moment, as still as stone.

“I wish I could look at you, and see all your beauty, with both my eyes.”

It took all her strength to remain calm, though her heart was screaming in agony.

She had promised the King that she would fix Aemond’s broken soul.

This was perhaps the deepest wound of them all. A constant reminder of the night he lost what little he had of his father’s love, of what he had lost with the utterance of a single word.

“Bastard.”

His eye was gone, his face permanently scarred. He would never forget who he was, and who he was not.

Nor would the world.

For he was the fearsome Prince who stole a dragon, the largest dragon alive, when he was only a boy. His eye had been taken by the noble son of the noble Heir to the Iron Throne. A fitting punishment for his crime – he had even said so himself. But that hadn’t stopped the rage inside him. The resentment that brought him to the training yard each morning and forged him into a weapon even more deadly than even a stolen dragon.

It was a good story, but it was not his.

Arianwyn could not make his body whole, but she could try to heal his heart.

She brought her hand back up to his face, her fingers skimming, but never touching, the red line of his scar. “I would look the same,” she said, her voice shaking. “With one eye or two, I would always look the same.”

He leaned into her touch with a great sigh until his scar was pressed into her hand.

“Aemond,” she tried to pull away, but he held her firm. “Aemond, please. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He squeezed his eye shut and hummed. “You could never hurt me, Aria. I told you; you are an angel. You’re my angel.”

“Very well,” she whispered. He had mentioned the word “angel” earlier, though the sentence had not exactly been intelligible. “If I’m an angel, what does that make you?”

But then she suddenly stood up and ran to the door. Someone had knocked. She said a prayer of relief at the sight of the Grand Maester.

“How is he? Has he calmed?” Orwyle asked. Had he not been carrying a tray of tea, he would have hugged Arianwyn for how distraught she looked.

She hugged her arms around herself, instead, and followed him to the chair. Aemond looked at Orwyle distantly, as if it took great effort to remember who he was.

“His heart has slowed, and some of his warmth has returned,” she explained. “But he is still… far away. It’s almost as if he is drunk. But that can’t be it, can it?”

Orwyle set the tray down on the only remaining empty space left on the table after all Arianwyn’s things had been moved in. Then, keeping a discerning eye on Aemond, he poured a cup of tea and held it out to the Prince.

Aemond accepted, but only after looking to Arianwyn to confirm that he should. Even then, he watched the Maester suspiciously as he took a first sip.

“Were it any other man, that would be my first suspicion,” Orwyle frowned. “But this is Prince Aemond.”

“Then what is it?” Arianwyn demanded with growing desperation. “Is he sick? Could he have hit his head? Or been poisoned?”

At her tone, Aemond growled and moved to stand, but Orwyle stepped before him and pushed him back into the chair with only a hand on his shoulder.

Aemond followed the hand to the Maester’s face, rage and recognition blossoming in his violet eye as his cup, and the remainder of his tea, fell to the floor with a shattering crash. “Get away! I told you to leave me alone and let me die!” he spat.

Arianwyn cried out, her heart seizing at his horrible request.

Orwyle was unfazed, save for a brief moment of painful realization. He seized Aemond’s chin and forced him to look into his dark eyes. “If you don’t calm down and take your medicine, my Prince, I will write no letter today. Is that what you want?”

Aemond’s eye went wide, and he stared at Arianwyn as he had so many years ago in the tunnel when she was gasping for air. He was frightened, so very frightened. But all he wanted to do was keep her safe.

“She’s here,” he breathed. “Aria is here. She came back.”

“Yes!” Orwyle exclaimed, moving aside so as not to obstruct the Prince’s view of his wife. “She came back. You were reunited. You were married.”

“We were… beneath the Weirwood tree...”

Summoned by a furious gesture from the Maester, Arianwyn came forward to kneel before Aemond. He reached for her as though he was unsure if she was actually there. But his hand found its place in hers, and he held on tight.

“You’re here.”

“I’m here.”

“Please don’t leave.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“I love you, Aria. I always have.”

“I know. And I love you too, Aemond.”

“Please don’t leave.”

He was crying as he begged. Not only from his good eye. Tears spilled from his sapphire as well, pooling in the notch of his lower eyelid before spilling down his cheek.

Arianwyn caught each tear, wiping them away with her fingers, desperate for them to stop. She looked to Orwyle. “What is wrong with him?”

The Maester smiled sadly. “Nothing, my dear. There has been no injury, no poison, no illness. He has simply had a bad day. A very bad day.”

“Please don’t leave.”

“Then what do we do? How do we help him?” she didn’t understand, but she trusted him.

If Orwyle said nothing was wrong, then nothing was wrong.

He moved to the tea tray, pouring a few drops of white liquid into a new cup and stirring it into the tea. “He is feeling too much all at once. He cannot handle it all, so he has retreated within. That is why he said… what he said to me. When he sees me, he is back in my tower, and he has just come home from Driftmark.”

“Please don’t leave.”

Holding out the cup to Arianwyn, he continued. “He will emerge from this fog. He just needs time to sort everything out. Stay with him, keep him as calm as you can, and he will return to you. The tea will help. I’ve added a splash of milk of the poppy. Go on; he will accept it better from you.”

Smiling encouragingly, she took the cup and held it out to her husband. He took it without hesitation and began to drink.

“Please don’t leave.”

Orwyle grimaced as he moved toward the door. “The servants should be released sometime soon. I will instruct Kirin and your new maid – apologies, but I do not know her name – to knock and ask permission before entering. I think it best you two are alone until Prince Aemond has returned.”

Arianwyn nodded and smiled. “Thank you again, Grand Maester.”

“It is my sincere pleasure, Aria,” he said and shut the door behind him.

They stayed there for what felt like days, with Aemond sitting in his chair and Arianwyn at his feet, her head resting against his thighs as he absentmindedly played with her hair. He never took his eyes off her, even when she got up to pour him a fresh cup of tea.

Occasionally, he would speak. Sometimes it would be a continuation of a conversation they had years ago or something they had discussed in their letters. She would answer his questions and remind him where and when they were.

More often, he would beg her not to leave him.

Each time, she held his hand to show him that she was there and told him that she would never leave. Each time, it calmed him down more and more until his heart beat normally and his skin was suitably warm.

Even when his eye was nearly clear again, he stayed silent, one hand in Arianwyn’s hair and the other flexing restlessly against the arm of the chair.

“Aegon asked me to help him run away,” he said at last.

Arianwyn raised her head, unsure whether he was in the past or the present.

“Today,” he clarified. “Outside the Sept. He wanted to run away and leave the crown to me.”

It was the most shocking thing Arianwyn had heard all day, and she was far too exhausted to keep it from her face. But in what remained of his haze, Aemond could not tell what she was thinking.

“He wanted me to be King,” he sighed. “And I wanted to say yes.”

Arianwyn smiled, now sure that her husband had returned to her. As she thought on his words and on Aegon’s proposal, she quickly grew to like the idea. “You would make a fine King, Aemond.”

He shook his head, “I couldn’t do it. I can’t be King.”

“Why not?” she asked, pulling herself up to a kneeling position with her hands on either side of his hips. “You are wise, and strong, and noble, and good. You would be wonder–”

She was cut off when he leaned down and kissed her fiercely, as if for the first and last time. It was that kiss that finally pulled him firmly back to reality, to the few things he knew, without a doubt, to be true.

He loved his country.

He loved his family.

He would do whatever he could to fulfill his duty to both, but no longer at any cost.

He did not want to be King.

For as much as he loved his country and his family, he loved Arianwyn more.

And she loved him, too.

“All I ever want to be,” he said as he pulled back, cradling her face in his hands, “is your husband. Being King would keep me from you, from Runestone, and from all the children we will one day have.”

She pushed forward to kiss him again. “I will be wherever you are, as will our children. Runestone can stand without me.”

“But it has to be Runestone,” he insisted. “That is our fairy tale, don’t you see? No Greens or Blacks, no succession, no Iron Throne, no fathers who don’t care. Just us. Us and our perfect life.”

Arianwyn smiled sweetly and sadly. He always loved fairy tales with happy endings. The Prince rescues the Princess, and they fly away on dragonback to live happily ever after.

Even after all he had been through. How she loved that about him.

“Well,” she said as she turned her head to kiss his palm. “Then it’s good that you brought him back, my Lord Royce.”

Aemond sighed with pleasure at both her kiss and her words. “Say it again.”

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