#INSTEAD OF HITTING THOSE MAYBE HELP ME FIGHT THE SHIT IN FRONT OF ME

[oneforthemunny]

hot blooded |boxer!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: eddie's boxing at underground fight clubs to make money. after a victory match, he meets you at the bar. or the beginning of you and boxer!eddie.

contains: mean reader and mean eddie lol. mainly fluff. eddie munson au. happy one year!

Bloodied knuckles raised in the dim light of the bar, a triumphant yell mixed with a grunting of disappointment of those who bet against him when Eddie’s hand was raised, declared the winner. Henry Harrington fisted a wad of cash into Eddie’s hand; six thousand dollars, enough for the entry fee for the middleweight match at the end of the month. 

Mr. Harrington snickered, clapping Eddie on the back. “Help yourself to anything at the bar, alright? On me tonight, Champ, you earned it.” And for a fleeting moment Eddie pictured busting his nose, knocking the smug man clean onto the concrete of the bar, letting his blood pool at his feet. 

Instead, he shoved on the robe they gave, covered up his sticky, sweat soaked skin, blossoming with bruises and cuts he’d still hadn’t gotten to tend to. Maybe Max would still be up when he got back home, she could patch up the ones he couldn’t reach. 

“Double Blanton’s on the rocks.” Eddie grumbled to the cocktail waitress in front of him, not bothering to meet her gaze as he unwrapped his tape from his knuckles. 

She didn’t move. Electric red nails on her hip, the others drumming against the mahogany of the bar. Eddie lifted his gaze, lids throbbing with dull pain that was just beginning to set in. “What?” 

“You’re bleeding.” Your eyes rolled over his frame, stopping at the cut on his jaw, dripping onto his robe, crimson droplets on the bar. 

“Yeah.” Eddie clicked with annoyance. “No shit. Double Blanton’s-” 

“-You’re bleeding all over my bar.” Your nail jabbed onto the counter, next to the splotches of blood dripping there. 

Eddie blinked, unimpressed, annoyed. “Can you make me my fuckin’ drink or not?” You don’t move, staring at him still, nails still clicking against the counter. 

“For fucksake,” Eddie huffs, teeth gritting, reaching over the edge of the bar to swipe the napkins off from your station. Palm slapping on the counter, wiping up the small spot. “There. Happy? Good? Can I get my fuckin’ drink now?” 

Pushing up from your stance, you swiped the glass from the clean stack, setting it on the counter. Eddie huffed, slumping back in his chair. He should’ve just gone home, he bristled, familiar agitating heat rising in his chest, clenching his fists. 

“Harrington’s tab?” You lifted your gaze to his, yanking the cork out of the bottle by the brass horse. 

Eddie’s steely gaze met yours. “What?” 

“Harrington’s tab?” You repeated, slower, tone teetering on an edge. “You’re on Harrington’s tab, correct?” You huffed, nodding down towards the man at the end of the bar. 

“Yeah.” Eddie grunted. 

You rolled your eyes, a heavy pour of the bourbon you didn’t bother to measure. “The fuck is your problem?” Eddie’s palm slapped the bar, an echoing of a hit that the people next to him scurrying away. “Are you just a bitch for fun or do you have something against me?” 

“You came bleeding all over my bar,” You scoffed, brow raised in a dangerously demanding way. “Don’t bother to ask for a napkin, or even acknowledge me, really. And I’m a bitch?” 

Eddie’s tongue rolled over the front of his teeth, knee bouncing furiously under him. “Sorry, I’m not feeling up to small talk. I just got done gettin’ the shit knocked outta me for six rounds. Did you miss that, sweetheart? Not see all the fuckin’ people in the middle of the room?”

“No, I was a little busy.” You were quick, response rolling off your tongue in a fiery whip of an answer easily. “Busy working.” 

“Yeah? What the fuck do you think I was doin’?” Eddie scoffed. “Holding a fuckin’ tea party for the Sunday Social over there? I was working too.” 

“Working?” You snort, rolling your eyes again. Eddie’s teeth clench. “You call that working?” 

“I got paid.” Eddie hissed. “What would you call it? Since you seem to know everything?” 

“Not enough money in the world to make me do that for them.” You narrow your eyes at him. “Hardly call that working, it’s so demeaning.” 

“Demeaning,” Eddie repeated, rolling his eyes. “I provide entertainment, sweetheart. Same as you do, I’m sure.” He nodded down towards your tiny dress of a uniform. 

“Entertainment? That’s entertaining?” You nodded towards the ring.

“Yeah, it is. Boxing? A lot of people find it entertaining. Thought you would know that.” Eddie snapped, viscous, defensive. 

“Watching two grown men beat the shit out of each other, so these other grown men can bet on you like horses?” You scoffed, rolling your eyes with a sneer. “No, can’t say that’s very entertaining to me.” 

“So why are you here then, huh?” Eddie scoffed, jaw clenching in irritation. “Just here for your wonderful personality?” 

Your lips twitched, the fainting of a smile, surprising Eddie. “Something like that.” Your lips rolled, twisting back to their resting snarl. “Here for the same reason you are, I guess.” You set the glass on a black napkin, sliding it over to Eddie. 

“Yeah, why’s that?” 

You cut your eyes towards Mr. Harrington, loudly talking and howling in laughter at the other end of the bar. “Money’s good. Right?” Your eyes squint, nearly in challenge.

 “Let me know if you need anything else.” You purred, throwing a wink in his direction. Eddie’s head was spinning, and not only from all the punches he’d taken. 

He blamed it on his spinning head clouding his thoughts when he waved you over again, ordered another. And another. And a final one. When his head was swimming, mind a little clouded, nerves a lot calmer, he called you over again. 

“Another?” Your brow raised, snagging his empty glass off the counter. 

“No.” Eddie shook his head, the ache in his knuckles starting to set in. “What if it wasn’t here that I was fighting?” 

“What?” You scoffed. “What are you talking about?” 

“You said it was demeaning in here.” Eddie’s finger jabbed the counter for emphasis. “What if it wasn’t here?” 

You squinted at him, lips pulling in a line that had his heart skipping. “Are you drunk?” Your voice fell flat, unamused. “Do you need me to call you a ride home-” 

“-If it was at a real place.” Eddie continued, eyes never leaving yours, an intensity in them that started and intrigued you. “A real match at a real rink with real people. Nobody betting, just two guys fighting for a title. Would it be demeaning then?” 

You paused, watching him carefully, studying him nearly. “I guess not.” You answered cooly, level and calmly. 

“So you’d watch that then?” 

“What?” You snarled. “Are you alright? Do you need me to call someone, or-” 

“-Would you come watch me fight if it was at a real place?” Eddie asked, eyes narrowed in the same way they were before, burning you right to your very core. “In Bloomington in a few weeks.” 

Your fingers pressed into your hip, willing yourself to stay composed, not falter though your heart skipped at his ask. “Maybe.” You sighed sharply. “I still don’t get the whole beating each other for fun thing-” 

“-You don’t have to.” Eddie rolled his eyes, lighter this time, more playful. “Thanks for the drink.” Eddie pushed his chair back, groaning lowly when he pulled himself out of the bar stool, body stiff and tight. “Sorry for bleeding all over your bar.” 

You bit back a smile, fighting the way your lips twitched, tracking him with your eyes. “No problem, Champ.” You quipped, eyes flashing in a daring way that had Eddie smirking, shaking his head. 

“See you around.” Eddie waved, one last look over his shoulder that had you burning, turning to empty his glass, hoping to hide your fluster. 

You were shocked the next day when two tickets in an envelope were waiting for you in the office, Mr. Harrington’s exaggerated tone about how much Eddie liked you. And he must have, you decided, looking at the small note that had his phone number scribbled at the bottom. 

Eddie never heard back from you, let it slip his mind in the next weeks of training. Of course you hadn’t come, why would you have? You made your opinions abundantly clear to him that night. 

Still, he was shocked to see you, in the sea of the crowd, sitting in the row by his corner, arms wrapped around your torso, looking a little more than unsure. You even waved at him, small and shy, and Eddie was sure his cheeks were going to split with how wide he smiled. 

He invited you back to his locker room after he won, a victory Camel hanging from his busted lip, torso still covered in a sheen of sweat. You had no issues this time when the blood from his busted lip dripped on your sneakers, when it smeared over your own lips when he kissed you, pressed against the cement walls, bruised knuckles and fingers in your hair. 

#oneforthemunny #munnytalks #munnysonederful #boxer!eddie munson #boxer!eddie #boxer!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson au #eddie munson au #eddie x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #oneforthemunny blurbs #eddie munson blurb #eddie stranger things #eddie my love <3 #eddie munson

[uglypastels]

Headlights // Eddie Munson

Summary: Hawkins has seen it all; communist conspiracies, government cover-ups, fires, pests... but can it deal with a killer on the loose? 

word count: 1.5k

Warnings: dark fic. Cursing. Blood. Knife violence. Death. Suspense.

"Mmm... corn syrup. Same stuff they used for pig's blood in Carrie...

Now, don't you go blame the movies. Movies don’t create psychos. Movies make psychos more creative..."

– Billy Loomis (Scream, 1996)

Another day had gone by. He drove down the dark forest lanes. Back home where a microwaveable meal was awaiting him. It had been a day that he could call normal. A lot of patrolling, looking out for nothing, scaring away rascals and punks from the alleys behind Main Street. 

Officer Phil Callahan had spent five of his years at the Hawkins police department, and with each day passing, he thought he had seen it all: Communist conspiracies, government cover-ups, fires, pests, freak murders… his soul had had enough. It was far from the promised neighbourly disputes and lost cats he had expected when joining the force. For crying out loud, things like that should not be happening in Hawkins. 

Still, those things went away, and life seemed to go back to normal, letting the next nightmare creep up on him and the rest of his town slowly. So, he never got used to it, no matter how hard something hit him. 

And this time, it hit hard. 

Callahan slammed on the breaks, and the wheels screeched against the asphalt. He pushed back his glasses over the bridge of his nose as he let his back rest against his leather seat. His heart was racing, and his fists seemed to have locked into place over the steering wheel. His eyes were ready to bulge out of their sockets as he stared at what stood ahead of him, only a few feet away from the bumper of his car. 

She looked just as scared as he did, not that it helped the situation in any way. The way she had run across the street had only given Phil a second to react, but nothing he could have done at the speed of his driving would have reached the level of what had already occurred. 

The girl stumbled across the last few paces to the car driver's side. She had reached it just in time before her legs started to give out, and so she reached out for the door handle instead smashing her palm over the window. As she fell, a dark smear of blood streaked the glass. 

Callahan cursed to himself with a whimper. He had seen the state of her from afar but had assumed, hoped, she had simply fallen. Perhaps a landslide took her down a hill, and dirt had darkened her light sweater. 

He fumbled with the door and managed to get out of the car without hitting her body. 

'Hey, hey, hey,' he tried to look her over, find where the blood had come from, 'can you hear me?' 

'Help,' she mustered out. 'He's still – help me.' 

'Yes, I'm here to help you. I'm officer Callahan, with Hawkins PD; I can help you.' He tried to keep her attention; the car's front lights gave him just enough to see her face. Unfortunately, what once was clearly radiating skin was now fading. Her eyes were bloodshot, mouth smudged red, but not lipstick. She was shaking with each heavy breath she managed to take. As she sputtered out some non-coherent words, Callahan leaned back into the car for his radio. Surely, Hopper was still at the station, maybe Flo. 

'Please,' she screamed out in pain, tears mixing in with the blood. Phil was trying to fight the panic that was overcoming him because, shit, isn't this exactly what you trained for? These kinds of fucking emergencies. 

'He's still there–' she cried, 'Help.' 

'Who is?' Someone else had been with her; someone else was hurt. But no more came from the girl. She had just enough life to take Callahan by the sleeve and pull him to her. Her lips formed a weak plea, but the word never managed to come out. The back of her head hit the cement as her empty eyes stared out ahead at the night sky. 

The curses flowed out of Callahan's mouth as he tried to radio the station. Code after code followed, but the numbers were blurring in his mind. He had no idea what was happening. And the idea of someone else being out there, possibly just as hurt as the girl– 

He had finally received a response from the police station, and knowing that the little help that could come was on the way, Phil Callahan grabbed the torchlight he had packed in the glove compartment box and started walking. He still did not feel right to leave her lying there, but if anyone else was out there in those woods, they might also be in need of help, and quickly too.

He wasn't sure where the girl had come from, as she had just kind of… appeared in front of him, but there was an opening between the sideroad shrubbery, and he noticed the specks of blood, and thus, that is where he went. 

'Hello?' he called out into the dark, 'anybody out there?' He hoped his shaking voice was covered up enough by the volume. 

The dead leaves crunched underneath his boots. The wind blew through the trees, and so, Callahan barely had heard it at first. 

Groaning, deep and painful. 

'Hello?' The officer turned around, trying to identify where the voice was coming from. Then, keeping his ear out for the sounds to return, he kept on walking. 

And it was only a few more feet before he heard it again, much closer as well. And then they spoke. 

'Here!' They had wanted to shout, but the weak croak was all that the person could push out of his throat. But it was also enough for Callahan to locate. A ditch in the ground had covered them up, but with the light of his torch, he saw the shape of a man's body just fine, especially with more groans, now mixed in with coughs. 

The police officer recognised him immediately: notorious Eddie Munson. The number of times the kid had shown up in handcuffs at the station for his petty crimes had almost made it seem like he enjoyed it. The big mischievous grin on his face would indicate that, at least. But now, as Phil Callahan looked down at Eddie, he saw none of that cheerful need for disobedience in the boy. Instead, he saw fear and dread. His long dark hair was matted, wet and stuck to his face. He was clutching his hand to his side, and only then did Callahan notice that Eddie's black shirt wasn't just black– it was glistening red in the moonlight. His jeans, torn on purpose, were also soaked in blood. 

'Were you with the girl?' 

Eddie's tearful eyes blinked, hopeful, 'Yes! Is she-' he coughed, 'is she alright?' Each of his words came out with a spittle of blood, staining his teeth and lips. Phil came somewhat closer. 

'Yes, she's in my car,' he lied for the kid's sake. He had to keep him talking, and if he knew the truth… 'Help is on the way. Can you tell me what happened?' He had walked up to Eddie now, trying to see what exactly his wounds were. The way in which he held his side, right at the ribs, indicated the source of the blood. He pressed onto his own wound harshly. 

Eddie tried to sit up but winced with each move. 'I don't know, man,' he sniffed out, the blood filling his mouth as he cried out his story, 'we were just hanging out at the lake, and suddenly this– this fucking freak came at us with a knife.' 

'A knife?' 

'Yeah man.' Eddie pulled his hand away to show the hole in his shirt, a deep cut right beneath it. He hissed as the immediate lack of pressure made him feel faint as more blood continued to escape him. 'Fucking butcher's knife. He– oh fuck,' he looked up at the sky, stars blurry in his tear-filled eyes. The pain was becoming unbearable. 

'He got me and then stabbed her, and I- I-' he was choking up, with emotions but also physically. The coughing was rough. Callahan tried his best to calm him down. 

'It's alright, Eddie; you're save now, ok? An ambulance is coming soon.' God, he hoped it was. He could not have two dead kids on his conscious. The image of that poor girl, lying there on the street was already too much. He probably shouldn't have left her, but otherwise, who would have known Eddie was down here– 

'I tried to fight him,' Eddie continued heaving steadily, 'that's when he got me in the leg. She could walk, so she– she was going to try and get help, but fuck man, it hurts.' He clutched with all his weakening strength at his side. The blood was still pooling around him. 'I don't want to die, man.' 

'You're not going to die, Eddie. Not on my watch.' Callahan hoped. In the distance, a siren was going off. 'You hear that?'

'Yeah,' Eddie shook his head with tears.

This wasn't how it should have gone. None of it. This wasn't how he had planned it.

thank you for reading!! if you want more of where this came from, check out my masterlist.

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#eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #fanfiction #fanfic #angst #dark fic #dark eddie munson #ghostface!eddie #fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #fic rec #eddie munson

[bemyawakening]

Hi there! I hope you don't mind me sending in a second request, I just couldn't help myself. I was wondering I'd you could maybe do some headcanons of Soap with a afab reader s/o who's tall (maybe even a little taller than him)?

JOHN "SOAP" MACTAVISH X TALL!READER HEADCANONS (afab!reader)

thank you so much for another lovely request! As a tall person myself (I'm Soap's height) it was a delight to write these headcanons! I just know Soap would worship tall people completely. I hope you enjoy this!

warnings: curse words, mentions of NSFW, Soap worshipping you

We all know that Soap isn’t insecure about his height. He’s quite tall - 6’0’’, 183 cm

Yes, standing next to Ghost can be intimidating, but from the moment he saw you—he didn’t care you were a few or even more centimetres taller.

That man is confident. He doesn’t have a problem to raise his chin to look into your eyes. He doesn’t have a problem when Ghost points our your height different. He doesn’t have a problem at all.

In fact, he is a little turned on about it.

The first time he met you, that man was absolutely flown away by your beauty and already smash-dead drunk. For that reason, you could excuse the fact that the first words to you were Scottish slurred nonsense that no one could understand.

But you laughed and you couldn’t believe that he was your mentor.

Apart from his flirting drunk side, when he met you for the first time sober, he was exactly the same, only you could understand what he was saying to you.

You could feel his stare on you when you were training—he couldn’t get his eyes off your legs. They were long, toned and— steamin’ Jesus— those thighs.

Unethical, you think? Soap knows all of those protocols and laws by heart—or so he thinks. He knew that getting involved with his teammate, especially the one he was supposed to look after, was completely unethical, but not forbidden.

And that day when he met you, he made it his task to flirt with you until you either smack the shit out of him or kiss him. He prefers the latter—

He remembers your first training session. He was showing you a couple of moves, such as how to quickly take the pistol out of the opponent, but then he wanted to have a sparring session.

"Come on, love, show me what you got," he motioned for you to come closer, watching the way your eyes lit up with a bit of worry. He was a Sergeant and you were just a rookie, you knew you were bound to fail, but you didn't want to back down from a fight. Especially not when he was asking so nicely.

You tried to not look at your Sergeant suggestively. You tried to ignore the fact that for training sessions he was wearing a fucking tank top that displayed his gorgeous, glistening from sweat biceps and you licked your lips unconsciously. You hated the fact that he was your superior because it was unfair for him to be this hot.

You accepted the challenge, closing the distance between you two enough to push your body into the stance for fighting: slightly leaning forward, one leg in front, elbow bent and extended, back slumped a bit. He motioned for you to start and so you threw the punch, watching the way he simply moved to the side, avoiding it without any difficulty.

You heard him chuckle. That annoyed you.

"Again," he encouraged.

Letting yourself have a moment to breathe, you faced him again, ready to strike. Instead, you pushed out your leg, hitting his ankle. Launching forward, you grasped his calf, dropping him on the mattress. The man groaned from the impact with the rough material and you didn't waste time, cradling him, locking his legs by sitting on them, grasping his hands.

He slightly moved his hands, watching his possibility to get out of this position, but you grinned: "Nu-uh, stay still. I got you now."

There was something about your voice that enchanted him. He clearly knew about ten ways to get out of this position easily, but the sight of you on top of him was everything he wanted. Maybe he will let you win this time.

"Good boy," you murmured, once you felt his hands relax underneath your grip. You were so worked up by the adrenaline that you didn't see how his pupils dilated and that there was something poking your bum, but Jesus Christ—you were soon to find out.

Maybe he won't let you win this time.

Something broke inside of him as soon as you called him so sweetly. With a harsh and quick move, he tugged his hands down from your grip much to your surprise and he moved up, placing his hands on your thigh, not letting you get away.

Shit...

"M-maybe I crossed the line—“ You started to defend yourself. He was your damn superior for the God's sake and you just praised him.

But your words didn't faze him—not when you looked so pretty on his lap. "Sh," he murmured, his hands moving up, under your shirt, up the curve of your waist, leaving small shivers behind his touch. "You need to tell me now if you want this or not, lass. I won't pressure you into anything you don't want to do."

You could clearly see that he was having a hard time holding back. You wanted him too. So bad. "It's unethical," you tried to reason with yourself at this point.

"It's unethical for them to assign such fuckin' beauty to me," he admitted, making you slightly lower your chin to meet his lustful eyes. "Tell me you don't want this and I'll stop."

You should've told him you don't want this. You should've been reasonable and thought about your job. But instead, you leaned forwards and kissed him.

And he made you see stars.

In fact, you have never in your life felt so good and you knew he ruined you—this was no one-time thing. Not when he was giving you those pleading eyes when you were too busy riding him.

The paperwork was worth the pleasure.

But he made you feel cherished—you sometimes were insecure about your height. About the stretch marks on your thighs and your lower back from the growth spurt.

But he made you feel beautiful.

You quickly understood the whole "Height doesn't matter" thing as soon as you met him. Jesus—he picked you up as if you weighed nothing and he praised you as soon as you wore something more that revealed your legs.

Now, Ghost made it his life mission to remind Johnny that he was smaller than you.

His response was always the same. He'd grab you closer and if he would be sitting, you would end up on his lap where he could get a handful of your thighs. "A few fuckin' inches of more beauty - fine by me, L.t."

He worshipped you.

He was overprotective—you were a rookie and he tried his best to prepare you for the horrors of the battlefields. He was a good mentor: he wasn't making it easy for you just because you two were sharing the same bed, but he motivated you enough to work harder for yourself.

There wasn't such a word as insecure around him.

He'd kiss those insecurities away. Literally.

Loves when you spoon him. He'd never admit that, but he sleeps like a baby when you wrap your hands around him.

Loves to sleep in a hug.

Loves when you hug him from behind.

Secretly loves when you tease him about getting something from the top shelf even if he is capable of doing that himself.

You love when he pulls you onto his lap and gets his hands under your shirt, rubbing small circles on your skin.

You love when he carries you on your back even if you protest that you will break him into pieces, but that man doesn't even breathe heavier when he carries you.

What can I say? Soap is obsessed with worshipping every inch of you.

#sunnywrites! #john mactavish imagine #john soap mactavish #soap x you #soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap imagine #john mactavish #soap call of duty #call of duty alternative universe #call of duty imagine #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty

[seventeenplug]

Yoon Jeonghan X Reader (Get out)

Pairing - Non idol Yoon Jeonghan X Not gendered reader

Genre - angst + sad

Warning - mentions of being drunk - hitting - throwing items

Summary - As you waited and waited for your boyfriend to celebrate your two years together he appears drunk once more, and in mids of a fight confesses to his unfaithfulness.

Word count 1.6k

It was one of those nights again, he was out with his friends, one drink turning into five and then into ten, he could barely remember what he had first before he started mixing them.

Was it whiskey? Was it beer? Why was it hitting so strongly... that, he couldn't say for sure.

Maybe because he had a light dinner, leaving the office at late hours and deciding to head into a bar with his friends instead of home to his girlfriend who awaited him with dinner ready.

He didn't know, he had no clue of the day it was.

He forgot completely that you two had planned for a night in for your 2 year mark.

Work was hard, deadlines were closing in rather quickly and he couldn't just finish the work by himself for his team mates to get the credit that they never gave.

You sat alone at the dinner table, the lights were down, candles shined a warm light within the place, lightning up the path up to the table, where a vanilla candle burned. You had cooked for the entirety of the evening, having taken a break from work specifically to plan and care for the day.

What was it worth to him when he was out doing something unknown to you whilst you sat at the table, mascara sliding down your face as hot tears fell faster, sipping your glass of red wine.

It was well past midnight, your glass was empty, so was the bottle, which you had drowned your sorrow in.

You had tried multiple times to contact him, but it was of no effort, it went straight into voice mail, letting you know that it had either been turned off or had no battery.

Dragging your hand through your hair, you sighed, a shaken breath leaving your dry lips as you stood up from your chair, tears now dried onto your face simply leaving a trail of mascara behind.

But that's when he walked in, door unlocking, immediately alerting you who stood frozen in place just in front of the dinner table.

He closed the door, his back to you, as he locked it, you tried not to, but you couldn't help but laugh as he finally turned around, clearly drunk.

Laughing as if it was the funniest thing ever, when really, all you wanted to do was cry more at the mere thought of Jeonghan forgetting your 2 year celebration and going out for drinks instead, getting bat shit drunk and going home to you in said state.

So, you laughed, and laughed, tears falling once more, you didn't know if they fell from the laughter or due to the situation you were in.

Was this all he cared for you?

"Why... why are you laughing?" he asked, a single eyebrow raised as he eyed you weirdly.

"Do you know, how fucking embarassing this looks right now?" you asked him, although you chuckled, he could, despite his drunked state fully understand the venom dripping in your tone.

He looked around, his eyes locking onto every feature that you had changed within the place, the candles, uneaten dinner, the lights...

"What did I miss?" he asked clearly confused.

"Not much, you know, just an everyday mark" you shrugged, taking both plates into your hands and heading to the kitchen, the man following closely behind you as best he could.

"Y/N, come on. Just say it" he sighed, running his hand down his face, mind completely blank of what this could possibly mean.

"Nothing. Go to bed"

"Just fucking spit it out. For fucks sake, Y/N. Do I look like I fucking know what you want?!" He yelled in anger.

"Fucking hell, always pissing me off. This is why I'm barely home. At least she-"

"She?" you questioned, eyes finally meeting his which widened in sudden realization, mouth open agape as he stared back at you in something you could only describe as guilt and shock at the same time.

"Y/N, I didn't mean -"

"You have another woman" you say once more, he averts his eyes from yours, too ashamed to look at you. You can only scoff, eyes falling to the ground before you raise them once more in anger.

"I have done, everything! Everything to make this work and what, you have the decency to mention, SHE?! On our 2 year anniversary?" You laugh dryly.

You watch his eyes, once more widen, finally realizing the date, checking his phone's calendar to confirm that it was in fact the date. Even more guilt filling him inside.

With quick steps he tries to reach you, but you push him away, one hand behind you holding the counter for dear life whilst the other was on his chest keeping the distance between you two.

"Who is she" you ask once more.

"She's just a coworker, she means nothing! Nothing to me" he says, all drunkness put aside as he speaks.

"She's clearly important for you to want to spend time with her. I bet she doesn't piss you off" You speak confidently, you had to put this front, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of watching you broken, so you  watched him, as his act fell to the floor, still trying to convince you otherwise.

"Leave"

"Y/N... please, she-"

"I don't care. I said leave" you repeat, eyes glaring at his which now gathered tears. But he made no effort in moving. And this is when everything went wrong. Your anger simply grew, this man wasn't the man you had fallen in love with, he wasn't the Jeonghan you knew. You didn't even know if that had ever been the man you loved.

Was it all a facade?

The hand that was on his chest curled up into a fist, hitting at his chest, the tears that fell down his cheeks, now matched yours which fell once more.

Your hand hitting at his chest with strenght as you sobbed. He took it all. He deserved it, he knew he did.

You had every right to despise him. hate him. But he didn't want to let you go.

"Leave!" You screamed at him through your tears, your sight blurry as you stared blankly at his shirt.

He grabbed at your hand, pulling you into his embrace, but you couldn't accept it, not after knowing of the affair.

You broke out of his hold, slapping him across the face, lip quivering as you groaned. His face turning to the side, his own eyes glossy, sniffing and wiping his face with the sleeve of his work shirt.

"Get out" You glared sternly.

"We can work this out-"

"Can I cheat too then?" You asked him... quiet. You smiled looking down at the floor once more, pushing your tears back.

"Get out. It's over, Jeonghan" you sighed, turning around and focusing on the dirty dishes already a safe distance from him who stood frozen to his spot watching your now calm state.

"Y/N" he called out.

You turned around, the plate breaking as it hit the wooden floors just besides him, jolting him, the glass barely missing him.

"I don't want you here! I want you gone! Just leave!" You yelled, strudding down the corridor you walked into your shared bedroom, opening the closet doors and pulling out every piece of clothing he owned throwing it inside his traveling suit case.

He was still stuck in his place, he just couldn't believe this is how it would end, how he had broken you.

He forgot, and not only that but he ended up confessing to his affair, something he had planned on breaking off just the day before, but he couldn't, already in-too deep with said woman, but looking at you right now, he also couldn't just leave you...

Now, he didn't have to make that choice, it was made for him.

He was given no other choice but to leave you.

The possible love of his life...

His heart ached as he watched you walking out of your bedroom, 2 suitcases trailing behind you, with what he knew would be his wardrobe.

He gulped dryly, eyes casting down on the floor, too ashamed to look at you. He deserved it.

"Take them, and leave"

"I love you -"

"If you love me, then you won't want me to be in pain" you said in between breaths, trying hard to contain your tears that had just stopped.

"I never meant to hurt you, we can still fix it, please. Just give me one more chance" he tried once more.

"Do you love me?" you questioned him, eyes fixated on his every emotion, he nodded, eyes filling with hope as he stared at you.

"Then, you'll leave" you whispered.

He gave up after that.

There was no going back after everything was said.

So he grabbed his two bags and with one final look, he exited the house, the most sober he had ever felt in his entire life.

Leaving you behind who sobbed watching his every step, too broken inside to beg him to not go, to stay and hold you.

Too disgusted to even want to touch him, afraid to see even the tiniest trace of the woman he had betrayed you with.

Somewhat wishing this was all a lie, a badly played joke on you... You laid on the sofá, the tears fell on their own, you couldn't even feel the tears that still fell on their own falling asleep to your own sadness.

Posted the 10th of January 2023

Sorry for disappearing, I had a few issues after new years eve and then I just came back a few hours ago from a trip where I lost wifi connection and have an exam on the 12th ;-;

But I have already 2 drafts almost finished so hopefully I'll post them this week!!

#seventeen #kpop #imagine #yoonjeonghan #seventeenxyou #seventeenxreader #kpopimagine #kpoponeshot #seventeen x you #kpop x reader #jeonghan #seventeen jeonghan #kpop imagine #kpop fluff #fluff #kpop idols #seventeen x y/n #kpop imagines

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Drabble Master List (#3) (Newest on top!) - Updated 23 Dec 2023

“There are physical limitations to the things that I can do!” “I can’t ask her out now. I’ve been staring at her for way too long for it to be anything other than awkward and creepy.” “They work really well together.“ “It’s been a really long day.” “She cares about him, true enough, but care isn’t love.” “I think everyone noticed that.” / “Really?” “You don’t want to be friendly.” “Be you. No one else can.” “She’s not normally like this.” “I don’t want you to stop.” “Am I scaring you?” “You smell like a pond.” “I’m not wearing a dress.” “It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission.” “Stay awake.” “I’m basically a glorified bodyguard.” “So, would this then be considered foreplay?” “Are you sure this isn’t personal?” / “Fuck yeah, s’fuckin’ personal!” “I know yer scared, but we can’t stay in this closet forever.” “Stop moving. I’m almost done.” “I broke my own heart before you could do it for me.” “He’s with me.” / “Actually, I’m not with her. She’s with me.” “It’s not easy admitting that you were wrong and that’s why I won’t do it.” “It took me a while to figure out that it’s me you should fear and not the other way around.”  “You don’t mean that.” “Oh, fuck off.” “You want to know whether I really would have shot you in the face?” / “No, I would have taken you outside and then shot you in the face.” “Don’t fucking touch me!” “What the hell are you doin’ here?” / “Oh, just hangin’ around.” “I think she was flirtin’ with me?” “My fault. Should have known better.” / “She’d pin you in a second.” / “And I wouldn’t stop her…” “It’s not that I don’t want kids or that I know that I do want ‘em… I just dun think I’d be any good at it.” “Ya can’t put a cookie jar in front of a toddler and not expect ‘em to just go absolutely ham on it… Like—just absolutely fuck those cookies up.” “Is it serious?” “I slept. Just not very much.” “Are we in trouble?” “If you’re going to sneak out in the middle of the night, just use the front door instead of risking your life crawling out the window.”  Doctor-patient confidentiality “You get one free hit…” / “What?” / “For earlier. You get one punch. OW—Fuck! What the fuck?!”  “It’s tiny, isn’t it?” “It was a stupid idea in the first place.” “It’s okay. Bad things happen and that doesn’t mean they’re your fault.” “I came for you now.” “Are you crazy?” / “Could be. All signs point to it.” “Has she been avoiding me?” “Let’s talk after.” “This isn’t right. No, this—this isn’t right.” “No one gives a fuck anyway.” “OW! Was that fucking necessary? Shit!” “I��ll give you the benefit of the doubt because you were too drunk to stand straight…” “I didn’t know you re-defined the definition.” “You shouldn’t show your favoritism so openly.” “We have to get clear on the terms before we continue.” “We’re never out of danger.” “So, they’re fighting…” / “Yep.” / “What are you going to do about it?” / “Absolutely nothing.” “He’s a ruthless psychopath and you’re telling me it didn’t occur to you that he’s perfectly willing to kill people once they’ve served his purpose?” Forehead kisses and Daryl brushing your hair “You can’t be a decent villain without daddy issues.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” “Like ya were stealin’ the air from my lungs and the only way to get it back was to kiss ya or die… I had to…” “Are you alright?” / “No.” “People are always going to think of me one way. I don’t think I’ll ever escape my past.” “Nope. Are you taking care of yourself?” / “Pftt, you know me.” / “I do know you. That’s why I’m asking.” “Maybe I’m not good enough to do this. I got those people killed.”  “You drive me crazy!” “Yeah, don’t talk shit to her.” “I don’t need you to be perfect to love you.” “You’re stubborn, bullheaded, and just obnoxious!” / “Well, what ‘bout you? You’re oversensitive and take offense too easily.”/ “At least I’m not callous and overly blunt!” “Hang on. I think I’ve got something.” “Let me help you.” “I wanted to disappear completely.” “You should wear my clothes more often.” “I don’t have time for this.” “Who gave you that black eye?” “What’s it matter. If our people can sleep at night I don’t mind the consequences.” “Is this what you wanted? Everyone dead at your feet?” / “No, of course not. What I wanted was you.” “Kiss her, man! I guess he’s got to process it for a while. He’s got some things to work through before he can get there.” “You look so beautiful.” / “Hey, thanks… I feel super sweaty and gross, so…” “Sorry for attacking you.” “I let you win.” “What’s the password?” “You don’t have to walk me home. No one’s obliged to play the gentleman after such an epically and traumatically terrible date.” / “I could use the air.” “Fuck it! You fix it!” “Are you gonna tell me?” “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”  “One should be prepared for violence at all times.” “Kill the bad guys, save the girl.” “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing… It’s two o’clock in the morning.” “You’ve gotta make them scared of you.” “We can have this conversation a thousand different ways, a thousand different times. I’m not changing my mind.” “At least I can face my feelings like an adult! You balk and deny and run away like an undisciplined child!” “Yer datin’ a real scumbag, Y/N.” “After being rejected by the only woman he ever loved, he did what we all expected him to do—he absolutely lost his shit.” “Brace yourself.” “Somehow, ‘m more attracted to her now.” “What happened?” / “Nothing.” “Don’t ever accept a drink from a man you don’t know.” “You can’t protect me.” “What do you want? I should kill you for sneaking in here.” “Listen, of course we’re partners but not equal partners. I’m the boss.“ “You’re so full of hot-headed fire that you can’t see that you’re fighting the wrong battle!” “Ask me for anythin’, and it’s yours. Anythin’, I swear it!” “You did so good, amazing actually. I’m really proud of you. But now I want you to focus on gettin’ better, alright? For me.” “What’s making that sound?” “The smell of her hair, the taste of her mouth, the feeling of her skin seemed to have got inside him, or into the air all round him. She had become a physical necessity.” - Oscar Wilde “Are you blowing things up?” “She could have been your moon, but you were too busy chasing dimly lit stars.”  “I adore the struggle you carry in yourself.” “Do you remember the number?” “This is a harsh, unforgiving world inhabited by harsh unforgiving people. Death can come suddenly and violently and—and goodness and innocence offer no protection.” “You are as quiet as the wind but demand attention like a storm.” “What is it that you’re going to do with me exactly?” “When you play shitty games you win shitty prizes.” “When you love someone you are sure. You don’t need time to decide. You don’t say stop and start over and over, like you’re playing some kind of sport. You know the immensity of what you have and you protect it.” - Nina LaCour “Some memories never heal.“ “What have you done?” “You couldn’t sleep?” “I just realized something.” / “What’s that?” / “I need sleep.” / “I’ve been telling you that for two days!” “You aren’t always very nice, you know.” / “I’m not nice at all. I’m even better.” “Let’s get out of here.” “Why hasn’t anybody gotten you a cloth to clean up your face?” / “Would somebody please get her a damn cloth!” “You aren’t quite right, are you?” / “To be fair, my childhood was fairly fucked.” “I’m sorry for what I said last night.” “Can I come in?” “I don’t have enough faith in the world for that.” / “You don’t trust me?” / “I don’t trust myself.”  “What are you apologizing for?” “You can’t just sit there all day.” “Do you dance with the skeletons from the deep dark corners of your closet?” “Could I get a specific reason as to why it’s so important that I’m here?“ “Thumb wars aren’t fair when his hands are twice the size of mine.” “The only thing I need to do is survive.”  “You’re covered in days’ old bloodstains.” “Oh, you are very dead, sir.” “Do I need to get you a child seat?” “Get your fucking hand off her.” “Sometimes people with the worst past end up creating the best future.”

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

[vincentv90]

A Kingdom Hearts Drauble (Self Indulgent)

A warm breeze blew over the beach. I glanced up at the ocean front, smiling when seeing Roxas and Xion playing in the water, having a splash fight. I smiled at the sight, relieved to seeing them being able to act like normal teenagers.

Out of my peripheral I see Isa lounging under an umbrella, nose buried in a book. I glanced around, wondering where a certain red head disappeared off to. I was shaken out of my thoughts when I heard Xion call out to me.

"(Y/N), come here! We need another player!" I smiled and got up from my chair, padding over to the two. Roxas looked around questioningly.

"Where's Axel? We needed two more people."

"Two more people for what?" I asked, wondering what they were up to.

"A splash fight! Or maybe even a chicken fight!" Xion responded, sounding excited. I smiled at her enthusiasm. After everything she's been through, she's still such a bright and happy teen. Knowing both of them still bored trauma and emotional scars from their time in the Organization didn't stop them from embracing their new life being complete beings instead of Nobodies.

"Sounds like fun! Maybe we can get Isa to join us" I winked. Isa looked up from his book, unamused.

"Pass" he stated, going back to reading.

"Aw, you're no fun" Roxas stated. Isa didn't respond, burying his nose further.

"Even now he's still a stick in the mud" A new voice stated, footsteps getting closer. I looked over my shoulder, seeing Axel walking over to us with sea salt ice creams in hand. Roxas and Xion brightened, running out of the water towards him, wanting the cold, delicious treat. I padded after them more slowly. Watching Axel handing out ice cream and joking around with the two made butterflies erupt in my stomach. I knew Axel from when he and Roxas showed up in my home world, Twilight Town for a mission. Seeing both of them clad in black robes and being absolute strangers to town made me curious. Even more so when I stumbled across the heartless, which Axel would later inform me about.

I was cornered by those shadowy things when all of a sudden something on fire flew though the air, slicing though the shadows before looping around, getting caught by one of the hooded figures. His hair was bright red, from what I could see peaking from under his hood. He quickly glanced at me, locking my eyes with his emerald ones, before he took off after another ground heading towards the back alley, chasing after more of them. After everything settled I headed after them, finding them eating ice cream on the clock tower. I was intrigued by their sudden appearance, and why they were here.

They seemed cautious at first before opening up when I sat down next to them and thanked them for saving me and the rest of the townspeople. Over time they kept returning for other missions, but always ended their visit with sea salt ice cream on the clock tower.

Little did I know that shit would hit the fan between them, the Organization they worked for and much more. After Roxas left the Organization and Xion, who I met only a few times, was defeated by Roxas, only Axel would visit, albeit rarely. The first time I saw him after Roxas left, he looked defeated. Lonely even. I couldn't pry too much info from him at first, but over time we got closer. I wanted to help, and he knew that, so when he was chosen as a keyblade wielder, i followed him, became a keyblade user too. And together, along with Kairi, trained to we could face Xehanort and the new Organization 13. After they were all reunited, along with Isa, Axel introduced me to the group, and over time we became sort of a family.

I didn't realize I was so lost in thought until a certain voice shook me out of it.

"Hey (Y/N)! You're ice creams going to melt!" I snapped out of it, reaching for the ice cream in Axel's hand that wasn't claimed. I grabbed the cold treat, hoping the heat from the sun covered the blush that threatened to rise on my face. I know Axel only thinks of me as a friend, but god did I wish we could be more. I shook my head of those thoughts before thanking him. I noticed Roxas waving me over, so I wandered over and sat down in between him and Xion, silently enjoying our treats. I felt Xion nudge me, before hearing her quietly asking me to invite Axel to our splash fight that was supposed to happen.

"So Axel, are you going to join us in the ocean later?" I asked while finishing my ice cream.

"Yeah, we were going to have a splash fight! We need one more player, and Isa's obviously not going to join." Said blue haired man playfully rolled his eyes while indulging in an ice cream bar as well.

"Come on you guys know fire and water doesn't mix" Axel responded playfully, running a hand through his hair.

"Come on you're not going to die from touching water" I responded, one eyebrow quirked at his reluctance to get in the ocean.

"Maybe he's more self conscious about his hair" Xion said, giggling at the idea of Axels wild hairstyle falling flat. Axel looked over at her amused.

"Do you have any idea how long it takes to get this style right?" He joked. After a bit of back and forth between the three I finally chimed in.

"If you do join I'll by you ice cream for a month" I stated, watching Roxas and Xion head back to the water waving both of us to come over. Axel looked at me with amusement.

"Sounds tempting but I think I want something else." I stared back at him quizzically.

"Like what?" He winked before padding over to the two teens.

"You'll have to wait and see" he teased. I snorted before following him, Roxas and Xion both excited they can get the splash fight under way. I glanced over seeing Isa looking on with amusement. Almost like he knows something I don't.

A small splash of water hitting my legs snapped me out of it, Xion looking at me mischievously. I smirked and splashed her back, initiating the war. I could see out of the corner of my eye Axel splashing Roxas back with a huge smile. It made me fall even more in love with him. Knowing how hard he fought to get his friends back after years of being separated just fueled my attraction to him. His smile, witty comebacks, and laidback attitude mixed with the personality to make friends whenever he wanted to just added to the appeal.

Time passed as the splash fight got a bit more intense before dying down. While taking a breather, I noticed Xion whisper something to Roxas. Both of them walking away to search for seashells. Sloshing of water reached my ears, seeing Axel with a slightly disheveled look to his hair wandering over to where I was sitting, feet still in the water.

"I told you wouldn't die from the ocean" I teased, watching him sit next to me.

"I know, but still, not a huge fan of water" he stated, while shaking sea water out of his hair. I looked at him with a fuzzy feeling in me. Why was he so beautiful to look at? His gorgeous emerald eyes met mine, full of mischief.

"You still owe me one" he teased. I thought back to his cryptic response to the splash fight earlier.

"Yeah, what is it that you want?" I asked, more curious about what the deal would be. Axel didn't say anything, just looking deep into my eyes, before moving closer.

'He couldn't be' I thought, feeling him lean closer, lips just an inch away. He looked into my eyes, silently asking for consent. I nodded, and finally, he kissed me. His lips were soft, slightly cold from the ice cream and the water. I sighed, almost in disbelief that this was finally happening. After tentatively kissing, he deepened it, dipping me down against the sand with him hovering over me. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he lowered me to the ground, running my fingers through his hair, marveling at how soft it was despite it's spikey appearance. After what felt like a life time, he pulled away, both of us trying to catch our breath.

"(Y/N). I've liked you, for a while now." Axel panted. I started tearing up at his confession, not realizing he felt the same way this entire time.

"Axel, I've always liked you since we met" I responded, still feeling like this was a dream. Axel smiled, a slight blush on his cheeks as he took in my confession. We both leaned in for another kiss, getting lost in it before hearing someone clearing their throat.

"Alright lovebirds, time to pack up. We've been here long enough" Isa said, with a smirk. Roxas and Xion both perring around Isa, gleefully taking in how we were holding each other almost for dear life during our passionate kiss. I blushed, loosening my hold on Axel before we both got up and helped Isa packed up the rest of our equiptment. Xion gave me a knowing look.

"I knew you guys liked each other!!!!!" she cheered.

"It was obvious, glad you guys could finally confess" Roxas added, carrying our beach towels to the car.

I blushed, knowing everyone in the group knew about my feelings towards Axel. I felt an arm wrap around me, making me blush even more. Axel looked at me, pure adoration in his eyes as he leaned down to kiss me one more time before we left. I couldn't wait to see where our relationship took us next.

#kingdom hearts #kh axel #kh roxas #kh xion #kh isa #fanfic #fantasy #fandom

[peachyloveswriting]

Actor lashing out at Reader bc his story isn’t going the way he wants to (maybe he beats them up before he realizes what he just did and instead of apologizing he just leaves them alone but not before using his ability to heal them) Sorry if this is too much of a heavy topic

Let me have redemption

Pairing: actor mark x reader

Word count: 1k

Warning: abuse, violence, fear.

Summary: what did you ever do to deserve this violent treatment from mark? His violent outbursts we're never so bad, what made this one so different? Why did he change his mind?

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°|

Actor was known for being prone to outbursts, violent outbursts. Anyone who got in his way during those times was done for. You’d been in the center of these episodes more than once. He was frightening. For the most part, he was all bark no bite. There were of course times where he got out of hand but never this bad. Even Though you follow everything he tells you down to the smallest detail, it’s never enough.

The pain ebbed through your left eye. It had long been swollen shut. Every part of you feels as though you might fall apart at any moment. Maybe if you fell apart then he would have stopped by now but he hadn’t.

You flinch away from Mark’s approaching footsteps. Heavy with anger as he stomps towards you. He reached down, grabbing you by the hem of your shirt. Lifting you into the air, Actor grits his teeth. Pain shoots through your back as he slams you against the nearest wall. You grasp at his arm, kicking your feet and squirming in his grasp. You’ll never get free.

“I ask you to follow simple instructions…” His face scrunches up in disgust. “...and you can’t even do that.” he spits, seething in anger.

Drawing his hand back into a fist, he drives it into your jaw. Your head meets the wall behind you. You cry out in pain. He jostles you, making you whimper. The tears sting your eyes, making it hard to see.

“Please, stop.” You beg.

It seems useless, knowing that no matter what there’s no way he could possibly care enough to listen. He’s stubborn. Even worse, he’s ruthless. Like a child, he gets mad when he doesn’t get his way. It’s so hard to cater to his needs when he wants everything to be picture perfect.

Actor stays quiet, making you wonder if he’s contemplating doing something worse. He only stares at you though. Deep frown forms on his face as he looks you over, the realization finally set it. This was his fault. You did everything the way he wanted and played his games. In return, he treated you like shit. It’s his fault everything turned out this way. He knows that. His ego doesn’t allow him to accept it.

With a sigh, he lowers you to the ground slowly,  

You panic. “What are you doing?” You stammer out. He stares at you with a deep sadness in his eyes before standing.

Leaving. That’s what he was doing. It was the best choice for him and everyone around him. Nothing he ever did to you benefited him. But he couldn’t help but feel heavy guilt as he stepped towards the door. The image of you on the ground beaten and bloody is no longer appealing to him. It sickens him. A burning bubble in his stomach.

He can hear your small whimpers as he walks away.

Actor glances back at you, his heart-tugging him back towards you. To leave you in this state would be inhumane. Not that this one good action would fix all his wrongdoings. It wouldn’t even make him feel better. But some part of him hoped that if he did this he would feel better. Sluggish, he turned around and made his way back to you.

As he neared you scrambled. Pressing yourself as far against the wall as you could. Your chest heaves as he nears. The adrenaline begins its way through you. You don’t fight. If you tried to run it would only be worse. You endure.

He kneels in front of you. You lift your arms in defense, clenching your eyes shut, waiting for him to scream and hit you again. But it never happens. Instead, you feel his hand gently grasp your wrist, pulling it away from your face. Squirming, you whimper. Lifting a finger to your mouth, he shushes you. Slowly he moves the hand he shushed you with up to the top of your head. Softly, he presses his hand against your head.

You begin to feel your body un-tense, the pain is suddenly gone where it was settling in before. The pressure behind your eye lifts and you’re able to open your left eye properly again. Confused, your eyebrows knit tightly together. Never once had you seen him do something like this. You knew what he was capable of but for him to use it to fix you, of everything he could have done. It shocks you.

So many questions enter your mind. But the exhaustion is too much.

The drowsiness sets in. It feels as though you suddenly weigh a thousand pounds. It’s hard to lift your limbs. The room around you steadily grows darker. You try to listen but it feels like you're underwater. Actor’s mouth is moving but you hear nothing.

The sleep you slip into feels oddly calm, possibly the calmest you’ve felt since you started this journey. Sadly your rest is interrupted rather abruptly. You look around your mind still in a daze from the rudeness of it all. The questions come rushing back to your mind. You shove them away, they would be no use if you couldn't figure out where you were first.

Groggily you sit up. Sunlight streams in from a window beside you, warming parts of the sheets. The bed around you is massive, possibly the biggest you’ve seen ever. You decide not to dwell on it for too long and glance around the room instead. The walls are rustic wood, the darkness rather dark academic. Similarly, the dressers are a dark oak brown. In front of the bed on the wall adjacent is a dresser with a mirror atop it. In the reflection, you can clearly see your body unharmed. Reveling in the sight you look over to your side to see Actor asleep in a chair beside the bed.

Your breathing hitches at the sight. It's strange. He’s not squirming in his seat. His face is still, no anger evident. It’s like a foreign spectacle. You stare at him, unable to look away. Your emotions are still processing, the anger only builds the longer you sit.

Impulsively you reach for the nearest object, which so happens to be a hardcover book at the bedside. It is hefty in your hands as you reel it back and hurl it towards him with all your might. The book hits him square in the head, landing on the floor with a thud after.

Actor stands from his chair, rage in his eyes only for him to realize it’s you. He freezes. His chest rose and sank before he composed himself.

He seems like a wounded dog as he stares at you, his lips pursed and brows knitted tightly together in concern. He rubs the shot where you hurled the book at him. He borders an offended look.

“Deserved,” He breathes outward. “But while I'm sleeping…” He exclaims.

Scoffing lightly you cross your arms. There’s too much to wonder about for you to hurl anything his way. No matter how much you want to strangle him, your fear stops you.

He straightens out his robe before sitting back in his hair again, using another hand to smooth his hair out. Why is he so calm? You wonder. It’s rage-inducing to see him so carefree about what he did. Not even an apology it seemed. Then, “I’m sorry,” he clasps his hands together. “I did so much to harm you. None of which you deserved. I understand if you feel rage towards me but it would be irrational to act on violent needs.”

Fire burns in your stomach. “You.” You exclaim, pointing from him to yourself, “ telling me, to not act on violent needs…” Your voice trails off as you breathe a scoff at him.

He gestures defensively. “It’s hypocritical. I know.” he mocks irony. looking at the ground, he falls silent. In thought, he seems strained, Biting his lip, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth.

“I don’t want to fight. If anything I want to mend this broken friendship. I know saying sorry won’t fix anything, but I hope that by having his conversation you may allow me redemption. A chance at starting over.” He says slowly.

It’s almost unbelievable, what you’re hearing. The sincerity in his voice sounds too real for him to be acting. His acting was good but not this good. Sure he was a messed up man, he made mistakes in the past and he’d been wrong for sure. But that didn’t change what he’d done to you. Giving him a taste of his own medicine was definitely something you yearned to do. But in doing so you would become as bad as him. You weren’t willing to stoop that low.

Biting the inside of your cheek lightly, you huff. Maybe giving him a chance as long as you’re there to help might steer him in the right direction, after all, he can only help himself. But he can’t do it without guidance.

“Only if you’re willing to make up for the damage you’ve done.”  If you were in any way going to help him, he had to be ready to face the people he’s hurt. His actions have consequences and you were going to make sure that he dealt with them.

#actor mark x reader #markipliers cinimatic universe #markiplier egos x reader #wkm y/n #iswm x reader #ahwm x reader #who killed markiplier

[cfstvlla]

time : years ago

@b4rredteeth

taken from here

Benny scoffed, attempting to bandage his hand without any help. He watched Stella on the bed, her beautiful form half in the light of the sun, half behind the shadow of the curtains. He could see the light bounce off of her intense eyes and dark hair. She looked bored, but she didn't look away, her eyes trained on him, seated against the wall, First Aid kit on the floor.

His hand was bloody, not his bad hand, luckily. If it had been, he would've not been able to keep his cool. But it didn't help, because he did only have his bad-hand to keep the bandages in place.

"I did it for you," he eventually said, cursing under his breath as he had to start the whole process again, the bandage falling away. "I know you think you can just throw a punch at every idiot and they'll fall right into oblivion or something, but that's not how it fucking works."

The bandage got loose again, and the gauge fell to the floor. "FUCKING HELL!" He threw the bandage across the room and threw his head back against the wall - unintentionally sending a shock of pain through his body.

He took in a sharp breath. "Can you at least fucking help instead of sulking because instead of bashing some bodybuilders head in, you had to drag me home?" he asked.

Benny understood wanting to anger people, but he could never get behind the instant violence that Stella resorted to. Mostly he just let her do her thing, sometimes he tried to drag her back, and other times, like now, stepping in resulted in him being the target.

And now he had several gases in his hand and a broken finger, and he was sure that it might've also been the other way around. "Why the fuck did you even need to fight him?" He was certain he hadn't been flirting with the big guy, which was usually one of the reasons Stella went off. So must've been something else.

And she still had the audacity to look gorgeous as she sat there, sporting her own injuries, looking even more attractive that way.

"I DIDN'T ASK YOU TO BE SOME knock-off knight in shining armor, so don't act like I did." Her hazel eyes rolled as she said this, refusing to accept any blame in the situation. Most would probably take it as a caring sentiment that their partner would step in to a physical altercation to defend them, but not Stella. She knew many of her thought processes were twisted and turned backwards, but the idea that someone would take over her fight was an insult, like they didn't believe she was strong enough to handle it on her own.

"Well, maybe not, but you didn't even give me a chance to prove how it fucking works," she pointed out, arms crossing over her chest as she continued to watch Benny struggle, even if the reason he had to bandage himself in the first place was from the fight she started. And that was the exact reason she tried to put on an air of disinterest, a facade that she didn't even notice he was continually trying to make the same wrap over and over again, even though her eyes bored down on him.

Stella was eventually going to get up and help but was petty enough to wait until he hit his own last nerve to do so, finally pushing herself off the bed to pick up the thrown bandaging and dropping it in her lap as she knelt in front of him. "Well, he probably wouldn't have taken it out as hard on me as you, so you should've just left me to it instead of jumping in like an asshole." Gingerly placing her hand under his hurt one, actions juxtaposing her words that weren't as careful, the brunette grabbed one of those little packets of wound cleaner before tearing it open with her teeth. Honestly, if she wasn't so pissed at him for interjecting on her behalf, she'd probably admit it was insanely hot watching him throw punches--and sporting the resulting injuries.

Stella was still surprised Benny even questioned her reasoning for starting shit. Did he not realize that was just what she did, usually not waiting to think beforehand? Or maybe she was annoyed with the question because she didn't want to know the answer herself. Maybe because at least if she was getting into some altercation then she was feeling something, anything that had nothing to do with all the shit in her life. A punch from a guy who looked like he regularly bench-pressed her weight felt better than being in her own mind sometimes.

And she was high. So, it didn't seem like a half bad idea.

Which was probably the reason she felt pretty numb to the bruise that was slowly blooming on her cheekbone, pushing off dealing with that, amongst other things, until tomorrow.

"I don't know, Benny, he was being a fucking dick. Is that not a good enough reason? Is there a good enough reason for you?" The brunette huffed in annoyance, moving his hand so she could wipe down each of the wounds before picking the bandage back up. "Talking shit, and I was fed up with it. And if you're gonna say I can't start a fight for that, I don't give a damn." Starting to wrap his hand, the first pull was probably a little tighter than necessary, one more action of retaliation, before continuing to bandage it correctly afterwards.

#╰ ❪ thread. ❫ #benny chanda ; #i......had a lot of thoughts obviously LMAO #there was just so much to work with from what we plotted #do not feel pressure to match #the amount of toxicity tho.....smh #tw injury #tw violence #LET THE TOXICITY BEGIN

[breeeliss]

#LockedTombtober Day 3: Parry

a/n: or, nona made me sad so now i fantasize about perfect fluffy lyctorhood AUs while i cry myself to sleep

// 

day 3: parry 

griddlehark

//

gideon’s dark eyes, familiar and foreign, gleam with excitement despite her visible confusion when harrow finally musters up the courage to ask the favor. the exuberant double fist pump in the air seems as good an acceptance as any. “as long as it’s not because you’re trying to kill me in my sleep. then, maybe we give you a wooden stick to practice with instead.”

“i’d recite advanced endochondral ossification theory to you if i wanted to do that.” they both laugh because harrow, indeed, has recited advanced endochondral ossification theory to gideon over meals because who else did she love enough to share niche necromantic scholarship with simply because it gladdened her to do so? gideon knew to nod along, and bless her heart would occasionally parrot back a small fact she’d heard before just to keep harrow’s tirades going. 

learning how to handle a sword seems fair turnabout at the end of the day. after all, it’s more interesting than doing fifty star jumps every day and gideon seems desperate to ensure that harrow doesn’t remain a “withered corn husk doll with literally no muscle mass to speak of.” her words. 

“you can’t blame genetics now,” gideon teases, tightening the leather rapier sheath around harrow’s waist. “sexy lyctor perks and all that junk. you might actually be able to pull off a two pack.” 

“ha ha ha,” harrow drones back. she holds up the rapier, so thoroughly and lovingly polished by gideon that she can see the gold in her eyes glimmering back. it still takes a couple of seconds to recognize that this is her--holding precious pieces of gideon’s soul that she’ll never be able to give back. it often pulls her back into those darker moments of self hatred that harrow had been working for years on reversing, despite the fact that gideon is alive and beautiful in front of her. 

gideon is a treasure and senses it immediately. she bumps the hilts of their matching rapiers together and flashes a crooked smile. “hey, come on, there’s at least a ten percent chance that my soul gunk is gonna make you look extra cute handling a sword.” 

harrow can’t help a smirk. “by that logic, you should be able to move bones around by now.” 

“hey, you never know! i was squinting at your bone knuckles yesterday and i think one of them shook.” 

“you banged the table with your knee.”

“nah, babe. this was spooky shit.” 

the smirk stretches into a grin. “we’re not debating this again. square up, you idiot, since i'm apparently so cute whilst fumbling with swords.”

“please, you’re gonna look downright sexy once i whip you into shape.”

their first lesson ends up not being a sweaty, grunting, painful affair luckily. it’s mostly gideon teaching harrow how to hold her sword, basic footwork, proper posture, and slowly working through simple exchanges that gideon patiently corrects her through. harrow’s arms burn after only half an hour of this, but the competitive nature of her soul starts to kick in once she’s determined to deal a basic attack with perfect precision. 

“keep your shoulders down, babe. and use your arms, don’t just throw the thing over your head and hope it hits mine.” 

“fuck off,” harrow huffed as her sword point clattered to the floor, and it pulls a bonafide cackle out of gideon. “this is me using my arms.” 

“god, your little noodle arms are so adorable but so useless. are you doing push ups in the mornings like i told you to?” 

“since when have you relegated yourself as my personal trainer?” 

“since i love you and want you to be healthy and thriving, harrowhark. now do that same attack again, you actually almost have it.”

there are no wars to fight or gods to pray to any longer, so perhaps it’s a bit silly to bother with learning something like how to work a sword with at least a base level of dignity. but gideon glows when she starts to show harrow how to parry and passionately tells her how ridiculous dueling theatrics are, and it’s rather lovely to see her passion for fighting be something that can thankfully be relegated to just a joyful hobby. 

it’s uncomfortable at first thought -- scholarship simply for its own sake and not to revive a planet or declare fealty to god. fighting just because it gets your blood pumping and keeps you in shape. but somehow also makes harrow feel something so simple that had been inconceivably elusive until now: happiness. 

when harrow ends their two hour lesson successfully blocking gideon’s basic attack for the first time, a girlish joy takes over her and she double fist pumps in the air with a shout of victory. gideon pretends to wipe away a proud tear, and all is right in their universe. 

#griddlehark #the locked tomb #tlt #Gideon nav #harrowhark nonagesimus #thelockedtombtober #griddlehark fanfiction #tlt fanfiction #my writing

[joonkorre]

catch your breath

@drarrymicrofic prompt: dare

bit of an au in this one. harry’s scar has always fascinated me, so enjoy. AO3

Draco knows it’s below him to act like this. Not just using his bare hands to get shit done like a muggle, but also where his hands are touching. It’s low. It’s classless, but crude is a better descriptor.

He can’t help it. The scar is right there, right in front of his eyes.

After a Gryffindor-Slytherin tie that the war-beaten players on either team were too tired to do anything about, Potter's cornered Draco in the empty locker room. Lost his saintly temper as always, but not quite, because they’ve never fought in there before. There’s something about the vulnerability connoting this cramped space that keeps them from even acknowledging each other whenever they leave at the same time, wet hair dripping down their napes. Fights are for hallways and trains and grassy fields. Not bathrooms. Not locker rooms.

But the first limitation has already been breached. Perhaps it’s better to check off the second as well. Get it over with.

The point is, Draco’s out of his depth.

Potter doesn’t say anything. But he does the simple act of pushing Draco into the locker that the latter just opened. Draco’s head slams against the frame, any harder and his skull would probably crack down the middle, and before he can get his sluggish legs to straighten, blinding pain knocks him sideways. His jaw aches. He can’t even think of a smart retort when Potter approaches his slumped form, one unmarked arm hanging onto the bench. Potter doesn’t kick him like he should. Chivalry means not kicking a man while he’s down, maybe. So Potter gets down to Draco’s level instead, holding himself up with a knee, steel fists doing all the work. It’d be a glorious sight from a bystander’s standpoint.

But Draco’s no bystander. He can barely open his eyes. He hasn’t even taken his shower yet, just sat there on the bench while his teammates made no attempt at pretending he was in the same room. But months of living with the Dark Lord and his goons had to be good for something because a white, crackling spark finally surges in Draco. It moves his arms, puts some power into them, and his face is saved long enough for him to gasp in a breath. His elbow moves in an arc and connects, hitting cheekbone. That certainly changes things.

Draco is no judge in petty scuffles, but Potter brawls with no finesse. He’s not even focused on his opponent, only fights for fighting’s sake, because he sags a bit as if Draco’s elbow is a sword through his stomach. But Draco has no time to dwell on it. He grabs the thigh paddings lying under the bench, swinging them hard against the side of Potter’s face. They’re light but sturdy, and it’s Potter’s turn to slam against the lockers.

It shouldn’t be that easy to turn the tides on the Man Who Lived and wrestle him down. Draco doesn’t know how he did it, only that he did, and now his legs are swung over Potter’s chest, too numb with pinpricks for the situation. Potter’s fervor has returned tenfold. His punches keep on coming, and Draco’s simply not proficient enough to dodge even half of them. In the blur, Draco sees one thing. And he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t.

Knocking Potter’s arms away, Draco wrenches his hands down and grips Potter’s shoulders tight. He rises up on his knees a bit to leave some space, then lifts Potter up an inch as well by those shoulders. He slams them down and Potter’s head bludgeons against the floor. Potter doesn’t fucking give up, though, as he keeps trying to punch Draco even after the shock slows his movement. Draco does it again, and again. It feels confrontational, even more than what they’re doing right now if that makes a single lick of sense. It feels like a “Get your shit together” kind of act. Draco doesn’t know if he has the right to do that to Potter.

So he does something else. And he shouldn’t. It doesn’t alleviate the odd twinge of shame at all. He shouldn’t.

But he goes and clamps his hands around Potter’s throat. That ought to shut him up, but Potter hasn’t said a word throughout the entire ordeal. He freezes and stares at Draco. His glasses have been knocked aside, abandoned within arm’s reach.

Draco can feel the branch-like line embossed beneath his palm. It pulses like it’s as much a vein as the others in Potter’s body. And that, that’s exactly why Draco should’ve never done this. His hands relax a little at the reminder, though not enough to release Potter and barely improve anything. 

He remembers every time Potter chokes up in the middle of conversations, sitting across the Great Hall. The memory of that skinny little boy vomiting into his plate while Quirrel walked past made the worst impression, and Potter’s hand always rises to scratch at his throat whenever he’s agitated. Draco often wonders if the scar would get too much to bear, so infected with bitter, rotten Darkness that it’d rip itself and tear Potter’s throat apart.

Do you dare?

Potter’s eyes are bright green with accusation. Draco can’t help but feel better about it. There was none of that signature ire and righteousness earlier, only a blank, charcoal look that made Potter look dead. Draco’s already seen that expression once; it seemed wrong then, and it seems wrong now. Draco tightens his grip. He hasn’t truly been holding Potter’s throat, more like hovering around, but at this point, he can keenly feel the tendons beneath sweaty brown skin. The scar seems to vibrate, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he finds a line imprinted on his palm later that night.

Potter doesn’t try to fight back anymore. However, his hands reach up to clasp Draco’s forearm just below the elbows. His hold isn’t loose, but it isn’t much else either. Doesn’t wrench Draco’s arms away or pull them and spite him into finishing the job. A mere hold. The hot showers Draco’s teammates have taken leave their remnants, steaming up the locker room. He blinks, and it’s as if the warm, humid air has soaked into him, deep within his bones. Beneath his palms, Potter’s Adam’s apple jumps every time he breathes.

Draco shouldn’t.

He moves his hands away. Potter, for some reason, doesn’t snatch the opportunity to continue the fight, arms falling to lie bent on either side of his head. Draco wishes he’d just stop staring. He has no new ploy to offer Potter. He’s exhausted. There’s something buzzing under his skin, but he can’t deal with it now. Won’t.

Leaning to the side, he dryly hopes Potter doesn’t mind having to face Draco’s grimey torso for a second before resuming his position, glasses in hand. He casts a quick glance at the pair. New, they seem like, with silver wire frames and not so comically circular anymore. A slight smudge resides on a lens, successfully ruining the whole look.

Draco doesn’t know why. It might be that guilty feeling he often gets after the war again because he murmurs a wandless Cleaning charm at it. Then he moves the temples out fully and holds the glasses by their hinges, turning them toward Potter. Well, at least the man no longer stares so damn hard. His eyes lazily follow Draco’s movement, even closing a bit when Draco slides the glasses into place. It’s obvious. The match and what follows afterward have finally drained him.

Why did Draco do that?

He doesn’t fucking know. But perhaps it’d appear to be an apology for the blind anger he’s caused Potter to feel. That’s a good reason, yes.

When he stands up and lifts his foot over Potter’s chest, walking all the way around to grab his bag and reach the door, Draco doesn’t turn his head once. He knows Potter is still sitting on the floor, watching him go with those new glasses and that red welt around Potter’s neck. That’s fine. He’ll shower in the dorms.

Shutting the door behind him, Draco’s hand burns. He spreads his fingers then clenches them, does it a few more times. By the time he reaches the front of the Slytherin dorm entrance, the burn hasn’t lessened one bit. 

Do you dare?

#drarrymicrofic #drarry microfic #drarry fic #drarry fanfic #drarry fanfiction #drarry #Harry Potter #Draco Malfoy #8th year #au #harry's scar placement is just very interesting to me #i haven't thought of all the implications that come with having his scar there #but i'm just dipping my toes #see how it goes #also i just want to write a choking situation #is this my first 8th year fic actually? #haha nice #joonkorre writes

[mitigatedchaos]

[ @arcticdementor ]

What I want is for you to give up. To take all those dreams of a high-tech transhuman future… and abandon them entirely, knowing that events have placed such futures forever outside of humanity’s reach. I want you to give up  on the idea of defeating the woke before they (irreversibly) collapse our civilization, and give up on any hope of a recovery from the dark age to follow. I want you to feel anxiety and dread in the pit of your stomach every time you think of the future, knowing that each coming year will certainly be worse than the prior (and perhaps, faced with that ever-worsening future, maybe conside whether it’s worth bothering living through it at all). I’m Arctic Dementor, and I’m here to suck all light and joy from things. When I’ve sucked all light and joy out of you, and left you utterly despairing, then I’ll be satisfied.

If you want to criticize Transhumanism because all of your worst outcomes are on the other side of The Singularity (whether that's in 2030 or 2300), might I suggest you instead use that gigantic IQ of yours to write about

Reproductive alignment, potential for value drift in the event of the technological commoditization of childbearing

The effects of evolution with effectively 'unlimited' 'investment capital,' through the combination of AI and fusion power, potentially rapidly consuming new surplus as soon as it is created

The apparent "Babel Limit" our civilization may be hitting, where concentrations of truth-production become nodes to be subverted, and information-faking technology increases at pace with information-finding technology

Risks in rendering so much mass human survival so heavily dependent on industrial technology (already an issue in late modernity)

...instead of trying to, I dunno, do psychological warfare on someone that's in a better position on that front than you. (You can skip covering the Electric Demon Hypothesis since you don't believe in it.)

Future new models who fundamentally depend on high industrial technology as part of their reproduction process might give in to total despair at the thought of a crash of industrial society, but, like...

I'm human. The whole "paramilitary cyborg manufactured by the defunct military of the former North American government" thing is just a bit - even if it's based on certain real elements of my background (related to this country's postwar dominance) - so like

My ancestors lived through the medieval era. My last name has a different meaning in this era, but I know what it meant back then.

I'm not going to have my brain broken by having to live like it's the 1700s, and steam tech is not particularly advanced - like yeah you need blast furnaces but those are ancient Chinese technology, and yeah you need machine tools but the first planes for that were creating by putting blue dye on metal plates and rubbing them together. Iron is 5% of the Earth's crust and you can get carbon from charcoal if you need to.

"But the transition back to 1700s tech would be hell" - Yeah I'm sure it would, and I might not even survive it, but how would curling up into a ball be helpful here? I mean for fuck's sake even if we get life extension tech I don't expect to live forever.

One of the nice things about camping - part of why I recommend it - is that shitting in an outhouse in the woods without a phone, and having to travel entirely by foot without car, helps reset your expectations of "normal" and understand on an intuitive (rather than purely academic) level what all of that energy and infrastructure in society is doing for you.

"what if you had to go on a camping trip for the rest of your life" "what if you had to farm every day" "what if there was a famine and you had to fight off the Communists" "what if there was no air conditioning" "what if you had to make brutal, tough decisions"

In what way are these supposed to be brain-breaking considerations?

Are you sure you don't have me confused with someone else, someone who has never touched a pocket knife before?

"but what if the Communists stay in power" - The Soviet Union managed what, 70 years? Mao was Chairman what, 27 years?

#melodramatic mysticism

[crystalelemental]

Also I can’t find Manispear.  There’s a quest or something to find one in the Deadlands, but it won’t show up, which is infuriating because the first time I went over there I was level 8 or so, and the first encounter had a level 10 Manispear, and it kicked my entire ass.  But now that I’m actually looking for it, it’s impossible to find.  Also I’m sorry, I’m going now, nothing frustrates me more than lost progress over continuous crashing.

This ties into another frustration: the scientist guy wants me to find different types of monsters, and apparently they’re all relegated to just being backups to other fights.  So I just have to encounter like a billion thing and kinda hope it’s in this one.  I know you can visually see encounters, and that’s always a step above invisible random encounters, but when the majority of your monsters are hidden as the backup to what you actually see on the overworld, you’ve defeated the entire point.  I thought we figured this stuff out with Galar and the shaky grass bullshit.  If you’re just going to put the rare ones in hidden encounters anyway, why bother?  It’s way worse when your game emphasizes side-quests, because the emphasis is always on those rare monsters.

I guess it kinda helps, since progress on hitting 5* for remastering takes forever, but EXP yields on that front are so hilariously small that it’s frankly not worth it.  Meanwhile my characters feel stupid overleveled.  The captain I tried to fight was around my level, I may have even been a level above.  The only reason I wound up losing was I didn’t have my Fire Dog with me, and thus no type advantages.  But I found the lady that gives rumors on the trial captains, and apparently the one I found is maybe third in line at best.  So even though I could have won that fight, I was out of sequence entirely.  Which is weird to me.  It feels bizarre, having to be like “Yeah, I’m wildly overleveled compared to everything I encounter, but what’s holding me back is that nothing is 5* to remaster, so we can still get our shit rocked.”  It feels like it’s already running into the same issues with EXP All that Pokemon did.

The thing is, I feel like this is one of those games where the difficulty is at the outset when you don’t actually have skills, but it gets way easier once you do.  Because right now, the big money action is Fusion.  But Fusion is locked behind Persona Social Links where I have to do a specific questline with my human partners to access it.  So it’s just Kayleigh right now, but I’ve gotta work on the quest for the other two, who I definitely don’t like as much as Kayleigh.  What I’m saying is I’m now spending more time on obligations than things I want to be doing, because instead of building up my monster roster and playing favorites, I’m trying to tackle sidequests that aren’t giving me what I need, and getting my other partners to have critically important skills.  Starting to think maybe emphasizing having a playable cast of characters in a monster collection game wasn’t the greatest decision.

There’s still the issue of random encounters too.  Everything that isn’t wildly underleveled random encounters will get a hit in, and it’s probably going to hurt.  At this point, other human battles involve hits dealing like half HP or more in a single swing if they’re lucky.  I had one dude like 5 levels lower than me OHKO one of my options.  It wasn’t even type advantage as far as I’m aware.  And I think this kind of thing would be fine, if it weren’t for the healing situation.  Healing items are super finite, you can’t take many with you, and resting at campfires costs incredibly valuable resources in wood.  So I’m really not pro-camping, and have to return to town, and the only quick-travel points are the train stations you discover.  Which is to say, there are very few of them, and I’m spending a lot of time just running across terrain because something two-shot my Puppercut, and I had to haul ass back to town.

I dunno.  I was having fun for a bit there, but if this crashing stuff keeps up, I may well drop it entirely.

#cassette beasts

[venominyourcoffee]

The Wolf Who Healed My Heart

Tw: SA, sad shit.

The night sky, dotted with a million worlds and stars. That and miles of wood was what I saw outside my window. And to the opposite of that, was the towering skyline of steel, glass and greed. When I first moved here I made sure my bedroom faced the forest. Also when the sun set, the light danced through the leaves and over the mountains, instead of reflecting like a blinding light off the glass city of lies that I moved to. I preferred seeing the forest as I lay down to sleep. That was until one night a year ago, when I saw something in the trees, and fast. At first I thought I was just tired, seeing things maybe. Or perhaps it was just a fox or wolf. If it were the latter I’d need to build a fence. But that didn’t matter. Night after night, at the same stroke of midnight, I felt watched. I felt like from the wood I’d see glaring eyes stare at me. I swear if I looked hard enough I’d see a figure. It was like that for a 3 months, before one night before bed I heard a noise. Someone was in my house. I cautiously went to investigate and there I saw her. I saw the eyes that watched me from the wood. I saw the figure I’d dreamt and had nightmares of. In front me was a tall woman, with sharpe nails and beautiful yet haunting yellow eyes. She was gorgeous but intimidating, especially with her smile of sharpe canines. I panic, my heart races as fight or flight kicks in. I didn’t know what to do as she walked to me. I froze in place and jumped when I felt her hand cup my face. I was afraid of my life until I heard her speak.

With a commanding but kind voice she said “you are broken, used and hurt. Many have taken advantage of you, and your heart has scars you don’t deserve. The Ones Beyond have heard your suffering. They’ve heard the silent tears you shed away from the ones you love. You fear burdening them, and now you no longer must carry that burden alone. I am here, here for you, if you’ll let your walls down.”

The words hurt like daggers, like seething hot needles puncturing my very being. As if she struck a cord I never knew existed, but her words were right. I felt a link form between our hearts, I felt valued, I felt safe, I felt understood for the first time in so long. In that moment, every feeling I pushed deep down and tried to ignore, came boiling up at once as I crumbled in her hands. Falling apart like snow flakes hitting the ground, I fell to pieces in her arms as she held me close. She wasn’t a stalker, she wasn’t a monster. She was my angel, the one the beings above sent to save me.

Over the next few months she stayed with me, caring for me. Her words were kind at times, and others brutally honest and what I needed to hear. Her touch was tender and yet, it hurt every time. It hurt knowing this is what I should have looked for form those that broke my heart and left with small pieces missing. Every time she held me, I could feel the wounds others gave me open up again. This woman of the woods showed me I need to confront my pain in order to heal. I never felt used, I never felt betrayed by her. I even felt things I never understood. And just when I didn’t think she was any more perfect, she pinned me to the bed. Her nails dug in my skin, the pain she showed me was intense at first but then I felt alive. Each scratch, bite and slap made my senses flare awake as I felt something new. I felt part of the facade I made and lived in begin to die. I felt the walls I built to keep others out begin to fall. These walls were made because others bullied me, harassed me, assaulted me and told me this is all I am worth. Those people I believed were my friends but they were venomous snakes that poisoned my vision and my mind. These people turned my heart to glass and my self even more fragile. But with her, her it felt real, it felt like this is truly what I needed.

She showed me the means to heal, to better myself. But most importantly, she helped me kill that part of me that I never really was. From my grey skies and bland world, came bursting a world of color and joy. She, through gentle touch and loving embrace taught me confidence. I tackled the unknown with her. I saw myself for who I was. I cried many nights because I was healing. She was the thing I had dreamed of all my life, something I cried many nights thinking I’d never get. Within such a shirt time, I improved so much. The toxic people of my life faded away, the insecurities I once feared I now was ready to tackle, the pain I kept secret for others convenience I now was free to tackle. She was a blessing, something I begged the world to have. She was everything and something was so bizarre about it. To this day, I still don’t know what I felt. Was this genuine feelings? Was this love? Was this the spark, the magic I’ve heard of in the hundreds of 80s power ballads I’d listen to? Or was this the more depressing truth. Was this just the first time I’ve been treated well and actually cared for I just wasn’t used to it. Was this just the first light in a dark world I was blinded? Whatever it was, it was bliss.

But soon, she was gone. For my own good she told me it was over. She was gone for long periods of time and I think my healing weighed on her. So she wanted it to end so I can find something more permanent, but more importantly so my happiness wasn’t a side project. Even in the end, she was perfect. Her touch was soft and her words were so tender and caring. This only hurt more, as every unknown feeling I felt over that last 3 months came burning me alive. My tears turned to cinders as my heart lit ablaze as every emotion, both known and unknown. I wanted to scream, to fall apart, to curse the world I was born to. I wanted to beg the gods above why this one trie joy in my life was now being taken from me. I wanted to fall apart completely, but I didn’t. Her last words to me were kind and comforting. “You are hurt, so you can still heal. When I am gone, do not settle for my replacement. Do not confuse your value for selfishness. Do not lower yourself. You are beautiful, you are amazing, you deserve someone who can make you happy. Be kind to yourself my dear, and cry. Cry until the pain is gone so you can heal once more. You’ve been amazing, I’m proud of you and I want you to keep growing.”

For a month a felt empty, afraid and hurt although I never blamed her or myself. I didn’t see it until she was gone, but she was a wolf, and she needed to return to her pack. Even now, as I remember her, I can’t help but still feel pain. But deep down I am so grateful for her help. The person I was when I meet her, and the person I am now are stark differences. I am grateful for her help, for her care. Months later, I still see her. And every time I see her, I smile. I see her run through the woods with her pack. I hear her voice, her song in the moonlight. As time went on, I’d take walks to the forest to see her, to enjoy her time. I still whisper my problems to her and I see the answers in her eyes. But I know as time goes on, we are only friends. Even if I occasionally see her looming over my bed, watching over me. Even to this day she’s so kind and I cherish our time. Although I worry. I worry I will never find her peace again, I worry I’ll never find her happiness again. I also worry that one day, we drift apart. That she runs into a new world and leaves me behind. I worry about so much, but I know whatever happens it’s for the best, it’s life. Still I hope to be her friend for a long time. I hope to one day tell her about this wonderful person that’s lit up my world like she did. I want to tell her that I found my forever home in my lovers arms. I want to see her proud of me for finding that person despite every obstacle and jagged rock that blocks my path.

I don’t know what gods above or demons below chose to give me such bliss, such safety and care. But I love and cherish every memory of her. I hold her words of comfort to heart and it gives me hope. Even now as I smile and wipe the tears from my eyes, I hit the clicking keys of my typewriter. I write my words, both sorrow and despair, but also kindness and freedom. I sip my tea with a few more lines on my face as my memory of her shines like gold. And as the sun sets like it always will, I look to the stars and the woods with a find smile. I can hear her howl at the moon and I wish her the best. As I stretch, drink water and await our next small talk. I can’t wait till I take a slow walk through the woods and see her. I can’t wait to tell her about this wonderful person I want to give my heart to. And on that day when I say I’ve found someone who brings me happiness like she did, I hope she smiles and is proud of me.

#writing #writing commissions #vent post #i suck at writing #writers and poets #heart break #i wish you all the best #art #tired writer

[threeopennames]

HP1C9

The Midnight Duel That Doesn't Happen Why Do You Lie To Me Like This

Since this is such a Draco heavy chapter, we'll really be delving into what this character is supposed to be doing for the story, which is fun! The first few paragraphs are not promising, though. We are told that Draco is worse than Dudley, which on the face of it, doesn't seem all that reasonable. Draco is clearly an awful little brat who says mean things and all that, but he's not a serial abuser like Dudley was. In fact, in these opening few pages, we get a list of Draco's 'bad' behavior but it kind of comes of as...really petty stuff to get upset by. Now I'm not a Draco apologist, but let me lay out the stuff we're supposed to hate him for.

Harry complains about how he's going to look like a fool in front of Draco during broom practice. This is pure speculation, and anyway, his performance is something he has total control over anyway, as Hermione will show later.

Draco talks about Quidditch a lot. This is an extremely weird thing to try and ding him points for, because EVERYONE talks about Quidditch a lot. Ron doesn't shut up about it. The AUTHOR doesn't shut up about it.

Draco lies about his escapades (allegedly). Harry also does this plenty later in the series, but I guess it's different when Harry does it, he's not trying to show off or something.

He insults non-magical sports and gets in fights with students about how Quidditch is superior. Oh, no, wait, sorry, that's Ron. Ron is the only one actually starting fights with people and seeking out conflict with those who disagree with him. Draco doesn't say shit.

And then, because we're pre-friendship, Hermione gets slandered for trying to study how to ride a broom before they go out and do it. She's even trying to HELP NEVILLE, who is reasonably concerned about his safety, and this is treated as annoying or something and that she 'bored them all stupid'. I don't understand this mentality at all. Harry is being a hypocrite here. He doesn't want to learn at all how to ride a broom, but is also worried he'll look like a fool for not knowing? Come on, man, are you in school to learn or not?

Neville gets a glass marble thing, which Draco snatches. This is actually a bad thing, so we can finally put a point here for actual bullying and not this weird hearsay Draco bullying that has so far only been vaguely suggested. We're even told, in the text, that Harry and Ron were 'looking for a reason to fight Malfoy', which sounds all kinds of sus. I'm going to let it slide for now, but this comes back later! The teachers are kind of nonchalant about it, and we move onto the broom riding scene.

There's a lot to unpack in this little section, and I'm not even going to get into the silliness of riding a broom as a method of transportation because there's just so much other stuff going on. The first real treat we get to sink our teeth into here is that Harry is a naturally gifted broom rider. I'm not super happy with this. There's a few ways to approach the whole 'talent' thing but I'll just hit 2. From a narrative perspective, having your main character just be naturally gifted at something is kind of a let down, because it removes agency from their character. Harry could have been a 'natural' because of something like, I don't know, he always had an interest in flying, or something. Instead it's kind of treated like he's just, genetically good at it? Or maybe he's just naturally fearless (even though he totally wasn't fearless earlier in the chapter)? I don't really like it. Harry gets a LOT of random, lucky gifts and talents, where it starts feeling like you could put any other character in his position and they'd do just as well.

The other side of this is that it's kind of implied because he's skinny and thin and has practice getting away from Dudley, he's good at maneuvering around on a broom. This kind of goes to the point above, where the author is trying to tie his talent to something he has control over, but since it's framed in this negative context (he's good BECAUSE he got bullied rather than in SPITE of it), it feels kind of...unfortunate. Like man, I sure wish I was bullied as a kid so I could be good at sports. Harry gets all the luck!

Moving along, Neville BREAKS HIS GODDAMN WRIST which is treated as comedy again and not horror, forcing the teacher to run off to get him fixed up. Madam Hooch apparently has friends in powerful places because a student getting horribly injured once again seems to cause no negative repercussions for their job. Hogwarts follows a policy of 'the kids are at fault for everything' apparently. Breaking any bone can be agonizing, it's kind of ridiculous how lightly this is treated by everyone just because magic can kiss a booboo and make it all better. Breaking a bone can be traumatic for a child! But, whatever. We're operating off anime rules where huge injuries can just be shrugged off. We have more Draco/Harry pissing contest stuff to get too.

Directly because of her own inability to properly instruct her students, some students get exposed to more potentially life threatening danger. Draco yoinks Neville's glass thing, and says he's going to hide it in a tree. This seems like a slam dunk way to get him in trouble, since there's dozens of witnesses and the teacher made it clear anyone on a broom was going to get slapped for flying when she wasn't around. Instead Harry does the worst possible thing and gets in a dick measuring contest with Draco by flying up and challenging him. I think the way we're supposed to read this behavior from Harry, and the way I read it as a child, is 'oh that's so cool harry is standing up to a bully'. But as an adult this just comes off as Harry 'looking for a reason to fight' as it was stated he was doing earlier in the chapter. Harry could have, for example, just gotten the orb thing out of the tree after Draco put it there. There wasn't any reason he couldn't have waited for the teacher to come back and do that. In fact there's a whole lot of reasons why acting out in anger like this (and we are in fact told he is angry) is a terrible idea. This further eroded when it becomes clear he's having fun acting out in anger, so any claims he's doing this to defend Neville kind of goes out the window. Harry isn't any different from Draco here. He likes flying and wants an excuse to do whatever he wants and show up his rival. He basically tells Draco he's going to seriously hurt him ("I'll knock you off that broom"), which is something Draco hasn't even done at this point. Like this can't be stated enough, Draco is a trolly little asshole but he hasn't to this point threatened violence at all. Harry, on the other hand, is very deliberately picking a fight. He's even starts it by charging at Draco when Draco very clearly doesn't want to fight. Harry is, objectively, being a bigger shit than Draco here. This is like that kid who threatens to punch somebody on the playground for like, hogging the swings. It's bad behavior, even if the target is being bad themselves.

Anyway, Harry gets caught for being an escalating booger, and is immediately rewarded for it. Very accurately, McGonagall says he could have broken his neck. Harry acts sad about this for a bit, but not enough to apparently ever apologize. Harry doesn't really feel bad about it all, of course. He's only sad he got caught. No reflection, no growth. Kids book, yeah I know. Kids shouldn't learn about things like rules or safety or apologizing, right? Moving on.

The rules get bent for special Harry Potter, and he gets into the cool sports team for House Good Guys. The entire structure of Quidditch as a sport is absurd to begin with, but I think that material has been covered plenty so I won't dwell on it. Suffice to say there's no reason why the story had to be structured like this. Harry didn't need to be rewarded for being a little shit, the same story beats could have been hit with him acting rationally and not like Draco. But, let's be generous, and say it's part of...his scar, or something, making him act like this. That leads right into more Draco content!

Draco challenges him to a midnight duel which is totally against the rules, and Ron is incredibly quick to sweep in and escalate. There's no reason to accept this duel. Well, there's one reason, and it's because Harry is really itching to hurt Draco in a real physical sense. Maybe I'm just a shrill pearl clutcher but this is like, school shooter logic, isn't it? Finally, a chance to catch Draco in a dark alley and pump him full of...magic. Ron and Harry can't wait.

Hermione, as is her trademark now, suggests in a completely reasonable way that Harry and Ron are being incredibly dumb. She's correct that this is selfish of them, and that they could get expelled. Now, you might think back to how Harry was so worried about getting expelled in this VERY SAME CHAPTER, and that he might reflect back on how that felt. Lmao no, he tells Hermione to bugger off and offers absolutely no excuses for why he's being such an aggressive little shit. This raises another issue I noticed happening quite frequently, where Ron is basically Harry's rude voice so that Harry doesn't come off as that big of a dick. Ron gets to say 'shut up' and 'go fuck yourself' (paraphrasing) so that good boy Harry doesn't have to sully his own character by doing it. This is probably some Freudian Id/Super Ego/Ego thing but it does not bode well for Ron's character. Ron is like, consistently one of the worst kids in the book. He makes terrible decisions, gives terrible advice, and is generally just a terrible friend. Oh, but, he redeems himself later, right? Uhhhh we'll get back to that.

The true point of all this duel nonsense was to get them all to sneak into the forbidden room and discover the dog. I understand what the author wanted to do here; you couldn't just have the kids break into a room Dumbledore said not to go into, because that would make them look like nasty little turds rather than adorable little children. But like, they're already breaking a rule to go fight Draco? Why not just have them go into the room because they are curious, or maybe because they wanted to practice their magic, or something. This chain of events just makes Harry look like he's the luckiest asshole in the school. Poor Neville, though. Dude didn't deserve any of this. Where's my Hermione/Neville spin off where they're learning magic and having an adventure that doesn't revolve entirely around proving they have a bigger dick than Draco?

Anyway, we find a dog. The dog doesn't matter, really. It's just another mystery to be explained later. Hermione is described as having a 'bad temper' when they all finally escape, which like, really? They almost actually died and/or got expelled, and her being upset with them is being treated as unreasonable? Jesus christ, Ron and Harry are terrible kids AND friends. Filch gets some hate too, for trying to keep kids from blowing each others brains out, so that's also fun.

And the ride is only just getting started!

[firaknight]

STOP FUCKING ATTACKING SLEEPING ENEMIES WE HAVE ONE (1) REVIVER SEED BECAUSE OF YOU

#fira knight screeches #fira plays pmd: explorers of time #CAN MY PARTNER PLEASE #LIKE STOP HITUNG RANDOM SLEEPING ENEMIES #THEY ARE NOT A THREAT LEAVE THEM BE #INSTEAD OF HITTING THOSE MAYBE HELP ME FIGHT THE SHIT IN FRONT OF ME

[wizkiddx]

hiii!!! omg please please pleasee do a part two of 3 hearts broken cus it fucking slaps miss girl

part 2 to 3 broken hearts!!! ive been so 🥺 at all the lovely comments+interest pt 1 had so thanku all !

summary: serious serious angst again will tom somehow get it back (unlike looking cos boy is a fool)

warnings: again lots of swearing (im British sorry not sorry) / wayyyy too much tea / slating Dom abit (obvs fictional but idk if I like the guy sorry his opinions are :/) / commitment issues

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

read part 1 here!!!!

That was three days ago now. Three days since you'd spoken to your boyfrien- well, Tom. It wasn't evident what the situation was.

The typical British weather brought with it the most ironic pathetic fallacy you could ever see. The clouds were dark and glooming, firing angry pellets of rain out as hard as they could. When you had pulled up on the roadside, it had just been a light drizzle but synchronised with your anxiety levels rising - so did the rain. When you finally opened up the car door, you threw your hoodie open with a sigh before running up the pathway to the front door.

It was the same burgundy red that you knew so well, but this time instead of just letting yourself in - you stood in the rain used the brass knocker thing twice. To be honest, you were hoping that no one was home - but in that house, it was pretty unlikely. After 30 seconds of getting drenched in the downpour, you were about to let yourself in with the spare key before the door swung open.

"Oh! Er Y/n?"

"Yeh um hi." You had to shout a bit over the sound of what must now be classified as a storm.

"Toms not-"

"I know. Can I come in?" As awkward and stunted as this conversation was, if you didn't get out of the rain asap you would literally end up drowned.

“Oh er yeh-yeh yeh come in.”

Harry stammered as he held the door open, gesturing for you to enter into the tiled hallway. Gratefully, you followed, throwing your sopping wet hood back down and wiping your feet on the floor.

"Sorry for just showing up, but I left some scripts here. My management are on my arse to read them and-"

"And you waited till Tom left for mum and dads?" The fluffy-haired boy has caught you red-handed; there was no defence, so you didn't even try.

Because yes, you knew on a Friday afternoon when Tom was home he would always, like clockwork, go to his parents just to kick back and watch gogglebox with both of them. It was only natural then that you chose Friday afternoon to come and pick up your stuff.

"I've been waiting in my car for half an hour till I saw him leave." Harry half laughed at that, still the two of you standing opposite each other in the hallway. "Um, do you… do you hate me Harry?"

Clearly, he hadn't quite been expecting your question going by the way his eyes almost bugged out his head.

"No, I-I, of course, I don't… look, I'm home alone so you fancy a cuppa?" Not being able to help the small chuckle, you nodded appreciatively, following Harry through the house.

"Your answer to everything is tea."

Harry had prepared the two mugs in silence as you sat at the table waiting patiently - if nervously too. You didn't miss how Harry had still used your favourite mug, having had to dig through the cupboard to find the weird square-shaped thing. Once done, he rounded the kitchen island and placed it in front of you, which you instantly cradled in two hands - for the hope of warming you up.

"You cold?" Obviously, it was pretty evident that sitting in your rain-soaked hoodie was not cosy at all. "Hang on a sec."

The boy sprung up again, returning moments later with a hoodie in hand, one he offered out to you with a little smile. The issue was that him and Tom shared clothes, so the hoodie he was kindly offering to you also had been worn by Tom before. Which made it hurt a little bit to wear. It was better than sitting soaked through though.

"How have you been then?"

"Not the best, to be honest, but uh… how about you?"

"Being with Tom while he's fighting with you? Oh, it's a barrel of laughs. You might've escaped it, but I haven't." He was trying to lighten the mood, and you appreciated it, offering him a half-smile that didn't really meet your eyes.

"Yeh sorry about that."

"Don't apologise; it doesn't sound like it's your fault Y/n."

That surprised you. Tom, especially when he was in moods like he was when you argued, wasn't one to admit when he was wrong. It was usually how the world was against him and how he was so hard done by. Accepting responsibility was something he hadn't said to you yet - but at least, small steps.

"He say that?"

"Pretty much… doesn't seem like he's angry at you, but-but he's still angry."

"At the world?" You rolled your eyes; this seemed to be the same old Tom through and through. Still immature. Still not with the right mindset.

"At himself." Harry countered, slightly entertained, when he saw the flash of surprise in your face as he sipped his drink. "And me… if I dare to so much as breathe this week."

This time you properly laughed, and Harry joined in too before the room fell back to silence - except the noise of the rain hitting the garden patio slats. You swirled the tea round in your mug, feeling the brunette's eyes on you. He'd always been your fake little brother too, since you'd met the Hollands way back 3 and a half years ago. Tom and yourself were barely adults, which meant the twins were still proper children. Harry had always been the one that understood you. Hollands, by nature, loved humans - loved to talk, to chat, to gossip. But sometimes, doing all that socialising got too much for you, as it did for Harry. He was the only one that seemed to understand social exhaustion. So when those moments had hit, you'd kept each other company in silence.

He got you, sometimes in ways your own boyfriend didn't.

"You know why he got so worked up, right?" You shook your head, looking up curiously. "Dad got under his skin on his birthday zoom thing."

Ah, now that did seem to coincide with the start of Tom's more petulant phase. To be fair, Tom had been asking to move in together for near enough a year now - but it was only in the past month it seemed to be the only thing you'd talk about and obviously only three days since the flight back. Dom's birthday barely a week ago, whilst you and Tom were both filming - except Tom had managed to get a day off where you hadn't. So you hadn't heard this conversation.

"What'd he say?"

"Was talking about how he and mum were settling down at Toms age, joked about how you rejected him, said maybe you were holding out for something better."

"Something better?" Harry sighed, leaning forward onto his elbows.

"He'd seen an article just off a trashy tabloid… it named you Hollywood's golden girl or something, said you could have the pick of any person on the planet…"

Of all the people in the world, why is Tom affected by shit journalism? He knows how much bullshit people write. He knows how it's all made up, exaggerated nonsense. And what he should know, completely and totally, is how much you love him. And if he didn't, was that your fault? Had you done something wrong, something to make him doubt you?

Harry seemed to notice the internal dialogue going on in your head, adding to the point. "It wasn't the article though, it was the fact dad said it."

Hmmm.

You and Dom got on; it wasn't like you hated the possible future father in law or whatever. Just…. you had very different outlooks. As much as Tom prided himself on how' grounded his family keeps him' -to you at least, they aren't entirely at sea level either. They'd never really had any particular struggles in life. They were the definition of middle class, and that's about it. They lived in a posh suburb of London, had all their family still around. It was the perfect family.

And whilst you were in no illusions about how privileged your life was now. It hadn't always been. You'd never had the 'nuclear' family. Instead, only your dad and a string of dodgy and fleeting stepmothers while struggling to make ends meet. So you were just always wary of Dom, of his opinions that so often his boys took for gospel. They always seemed pretty sheltered and close-minded.

And yet, Tom was a grown man.

"I get that, I just… Tom should know that we know more about our relationship than his dad. I mean,… have I done something wrong? Made him think I'm not in this for the long haul?"

"No nonono Y/n he's just… well he's an idiot, isn't he? I don't think he properly understands why you're cautious about moving and everything. He's just an idio- "

Harry was cut off for lightly insulting his brother by the sound of the front door opening, both of your heads swivelling towards the source. You then met Harry's eyes in a panic, to which he replied relatively simply.

"Just talk to each other. For my sake." You would've argued if it weren't for the fact you were so focused on Tom's shuffling around in the entrance hallway - back early from his parents.

"Baz? Where you at? I thought I saw Y/n's car and-"

"Kitchen!!!" Before Tom could say anything else, possibly landing himself in more trouble, Harry interrupted as his chair screeched while standing up. And then Tom was just there. Standing in the doorway, his arms dropping limply to his side as he noticed you. Everything about that moment seemed to freeze, when you locked eyes with him for the first time in three days. It didn't go unnoticed, the way his Adams apple bobbed, the way his eyes widen. The boy looked plain and simply terrified.

It was Harry who broke the silence, after giving you a stern look that said 'stay'. The younger Holland boy walked up to Tom and spoke.

"Try actually talking and actually listening about your problems with each other." And then he was gone, down the hallway and up the stairs.

For a few moments, Tom stayed absolutely stationary, now staring at where Harry had been when speaking to the both of you (but mainly Tom). Long enough to put your sense of unease at an all-time high, ready to make a break for it.

"If you don't want to talk, then I can leav-"

"NO!" Apparently snapping out of it, Tom exclaimed loud enough to make you flinch from your seat. "Sorry! I-I just… I wasn't expecting to… you know, to see you."

"Yeh I just uh- just came to pick up some scripts… Harry cornered me with a tea, though; otherwise, I'd be…."

"Baz thinks the whole world could be fixed with tea."

"that's what I said!" You instinctively responded, forgetting the fact you're supposed to be mad at him, and just for a second falling back into your normal flow.

Tom didn't even try to hide his grin in response, until you quickly corrected your face- then he did too. Turning around to put the kettle on for himself. Because right now, he needed to fix his whole world, and he needed all the help he could get. For a period, the only noise was the sound of the kettle boiling, then the teaspoon clinking against the mug as he stirred - until he padded over, taking the seat across from you.

"So."

"So."

"It's been a while," Tom stated the bloody obvious.

"You never called."

"Didn't think you'd want me to."

You thought that the early signs weren't all that auspicious. His ability to read a situation once again failing.

"I wanted you to say something."

"Say what?"

"What do you think Tom?" He replied to the sarcastic tone by sucking in a sharp breath, holding it for a second, before slowly exhaling. As if trying to compose himself, take time to think of a response - a mature move for him.

"Well, I think you want me to say sorry? For being so moody and not waiting for you and for upsetting those kids. And thanks too, for covering for me?"

You just hummed. Waiting for him to continue. Because yes, you did deserve all those things. But you also deserved more. An apology for, oh I don't know, saying he didn't think you loved him? It was a wait that never ended, he had nothing more to add.

"Going by your face, I take it I missed something?"

The bloody cheek of it.

"Theres nothing else? Nothing else at all? …" You gave him that chance, the opportunity but all he could respond with was a shake of his head. "You thought I was fine about you saying that I don't love you?" You hadn't intended on raising your voice, but really you hadn't realised you did till after the fact. To blinded by rage at his ignorance.

"You want to talk about this now?"

"When else Tom?" You sighed, realising he perhaps wasn't ready for this conversation. Maybe he needed more time to think things through, have sense talked into him by various wiser family members. Or maybe, he never would be. That was the worst-case scenario. But also… you're most likely prediction.

He shuffled in his seat, clearing his voice but not saying anything. Not a peep.

"I have spent three years of my life with you. I've had countless nights of too little sleep because that was the only time you could facetime. I've exposed my relationship to the world and people's opinions because you didn't want to hide. All I've done is love you. How could you even say that?" There might've been tears in your eyes, yet you were determined to keep them at bay. You needed to have this out, one way or another, to be clear and cohesive and logical. No time to cry.

"Y/n I know that, I…" He sighed, instinctively reaching for your hand, but you were quicker to pull it away. There was hurt in his eyes, but so there should be. "It just sometimes feels like that's it for you. That yeh you love me but you just want to standstill. That this is as much as it'll ever be."

Your emotions were suddenly uncontainable. Your voice croaked as you whispered, "Have I done something wrong?"

"No love, nonono if that's how you feel then that's okay. But it's something I'm not… shit this is hard." He took a pause to take a sip of his drink, your glazed eyes never leaving his. "I don't think I can stand still anymore. And yeh I was pissy and childish the other day because my dad got under my skin about the whole moving in thing… But these past few days, it just has got me thinking. Because I love you, so much."

This time when he reached out to grab your hand, you actually leaned into it yourself. Not because you were giving in, but because this hurt. This hurt so fucking much that you needed something to ground you, or else god knows. Because the way he was speaking, it sounded so finite.

"I love you too."

"I do know, which is…is why this is so hard." At the very least, Tom had conceded that.

The conversation ceased to silence yet again. The room felt so cold; even Tom/Harry's hoodie was doing nothing to keep you from the endless empty cold that seemed to be coming from within.

"When I re-registered my health card last month, and I made you my emergency contact on it. I-I made you my next of kin on everything actually. I didn't think about it twice. And-and this-"You pulled your phone out of your back pocket, immediately pulling up the app onto the open page. "This is my Pinterest board for our baby's nursery theme. I know-" You paused, to quickly wipe your cheeks clear of the tear tracks that may or may not have been there. "I know it's probably a long way away, but I just love the Scandinavian theme." You laughed at yourself, suddenly embarrassed at your blabbering and quickly pulled up a different app. "And this… this was from the other week when I was helping Y/bf/n start her vows." Hands trembling as you turned the phone around for Tom to see again. "She was finding it really tricky so she said, what would you say to Tom on your wedding, so-so I made this list." You only dared to look at him when you were sure he'd be reading through that note.

It was bizarre because he looked… well, he looked happy. Here you were feeling traumatised, showing things that you'd barely even deeped how committed they were - and he was pleased? Feeling the fire burn once again inside of your chest, you quickly swiped the phone away and back into your pocket. Only then did he look up, eyes widening - presumably at quite how psychotic you looked.

"So don't you dare say that I don't want a future with you."

You said it with such force, there was a pause. Tom letting those words sink deep into his brain. The way his expression flickered minutely gave you hope. You thought he got it. You thought he really understood now.

"But why don't you want to move in then?"

There it was again. He knew why. But he didn't get it. And, probably, he never would.

You were about to crash completely. So you ran. As fast as your legs could carry you, not even aware of your chair crashing to the floor in your wake. You ran out of that house and away from him. Away from who you had thought was the love of your life.

?give tom a final chance w one last part?

feedback is always v v appreciated <3

tom taglist : @lovehollandy12 @hollandlover19 @thefernandasantana @hunnybunimdun @hallecarey1@cedricdiggorysimpp @msmimimerton @hollandfanficlove @pandaxnienke @crossyourpeter @thegirlwiththeimpala @tom-softie @sunwardsss @spiitfiiires @radcloudenthusiast @ladykxxx08

people i think might be interestd in this (sorry if not just let me know and i'll remove the tag!!!): @obiwanownsmyass @wildxwidow @parkersvogue @coffeewithoutcaffeine @tomhollandlol @thefallenbibliophilequote @clumsymandu @hiraethenthusiast @mannien @abrielleholland @evermorehabit @niallberry @greatpizzascissorstaco @runawayolives @annathesillyfriend @letsgotothemoonlight @lovelybarnes

#tom x reader #tom holland fic #tomholland #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #famous!reader #tom holland x famous!reader #tom holland x actress!reader #harry holland