#almost like it's some sort of damage or something but it seems natural (and I wonder if it has to do with plants that grow around them at | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 2 months

Note

omg i really really love your blog<3 you are such a sweet person and so kind to all your followers and others on here and your writing is absolutely amazing!

i saw ur requests were open and i was wondering if you could write something for poe dameron? a hurt comfort because in your rules you said you wouldn't accept full angst which honestly is so real of you and i completely agree :D its just, ive read so many fics where poe's best friend or squadron member is either in love with him or fwb with him and he starts dating someone and they look rlly in love but then he leaves the person for the best friend and i cant help but always wonder how the person he left is feeling! and i was wondering if you could write something along the lines of this but he doesnt leave the reader and hes not really in love with his best friend or anything im so sorry this became really long but you can totally ignore this or say you cant do it its absolutely alright!<33

thank you sm though and i hope you have a good day!

Anon, thank you so much for such lovely and kind words! You are AMAZING! (Seriously, they have absolutely made my day/week/year!)

This ask has killed me (positive), my subconsciousness had a lot to say, it seems.

Tangerine, Tangerine

Poe Dameron x GN!Reader Rating: M Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

Warnings: angst (but with a happy ending), thoughts that a partner is cheating, blood, x-wing fight, swearing (not star wars swearing, because even though Kriff is great, I need to say fuck), Moonbeam as a nickname, typos, rail road sentences, please let me know if I’ve missed a warning!

Word Count: 4494

_______________________________________

It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss.

You’d misunderstood, you’d read the situation wrong, you’d seen incorrectly. It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss.

Your radio crackled, “Green Leader, checking in. We’re manoeuvring in 5. Call out.”

“Green Two check.”

“Green Three check.”

It was just a kiss.

“Green Four check.”

It was just a-

“Green Five check.”

Just a-

“Green Six check.”

Just-

“Green Seven,” you swallow. “Check.”

It wasn’t just a kiss.

You patted your helmet twice and rolled your neck, breathing deeply as you settled in. On your left, you could see some of Blue Squadron.

This mission was straightforward - on a holopad.

Two teams to escort The Harbringer, the resistance supply ship. It had been damaged by a rogue blast from a tie fighter just as it jumped to hyperspace and had had to make an emergency landing on one of Tre’Ral’s desert moons.

The crew on board had managed to fix all they could. But without proper materials, there was little chance of the ship making it out of the moon’s thick atmosphere and entering hyperspace. So Blue and Green Squadrons had been dispatched. Blue 1-4 had already made contact, jump-starting The Harbringer enough to get it airborne.

Due to Tre’Ral’s sun and planet density, the gravity on the moons was a little stronger than most world’s atmospheric pressure.

Green Leader, Sena, had repeated through briefing at how this would affect flying. How to be ready for it. And she hadn’t been wrong, it was different flying here. Tougher. And you loved it.

You’d grown up on Para, a planet with a high gravity density. You’d learnt to fly there well before you’d flown in space. Being here on this desolate moon almost felt like home. Your movements seemed smoother, precise. No longer needing to overcorrect for your naturally ingrained harsh movements. No longer spinning out and fighting low gravity, finally working with the tide.

The manoeuvre would see the ships escort The Harbringer out of the moon’s atmosphere and then the rest of Blue squadron would form a sort of 3D star formation around the cargo ship. All jumping to hyperspace at the same time to carry it along with them.

Simple.

In theory.

Everyone had spoken about how practically textbook it was, how easy.

But then, of course, why was Green Squadron going?

No one at the briefing had asked, why would they when the answer was so obvious. This part of the quadrant was teething with First Order. With a slow, busted supply ship you were all practically screaming for them to come and play target practice.

You swallow.

You should be focusing on that, on the mission. Instead of the utter nonsense that was ricocheting around your head and piercing your heart.

I hadn’t just been a kiss.

You and Poe had gotten together clumsily, three months ago, your normal awkwardness drowned out by so much Polanis Red that you almost couldn’t see straight. It had been after the battle of Hurthwen, a nasty dogfight that had everyone hyped up on adrenaline.

He had been drunk when he kissed you, you remembered that.

Maybe he had thought… maybe he had believed he was kissing her instead.

It made a lot more sense.

Sena was the Green Leader, she was a great pilot. One to be reckoned with. She was kind, she was fun, she was beautiful. She and Poe had joined the resistance together, risen the ranks together. Basically inseparable. Always laughing and joking. She had been in the same squad as Poe, under his command before she was promoted to leading one of her own.

They had always been close. Always. Best friends.

Sickness bubbled in your throat.

You remembered Frizz and Hank talking offhandedly, well before you and Poe were a thing. Both of them sure that Sana and Poe were dating or ‘knocking boots’ as Frizz had so elegantly put it.

“Two people can just be friends, you know.” You’d said, trying to hide your little crush on the commander.

“Yeah,” Frizz laughed, “But not them. You seen them together?”

Hank chortled.

Nonsense. You’d brushed it off then. Allowed it to creep into your thoughts when it was dark and the base was quiet. When Poe’s breathing was soft and light behind you, his arm around your waist.

Him and Sana just made a lot more sense than him and you.

“Yeah, but not them. You seen them together?”

Yeah. Now you had.

The Harbringer came into view over the horizon. The seemingly endless stretch of desert was cut through in the distance by a fearsome outcrop of crocks, leading up into a field of formidable mountains.

Blue 1-4 were already hooked up to the cargo ship, all five hoovering moving together as they flew towards you to meet.

You wouldn’t have said things were difficult with you and Poe. Well, you wouldn’t have said that before. It was complicated for everyone on the base, most staff were on different call schedules, off-world or on a mission at all times. Having a relationship wasn’t straightforward. There were stretches where you wouldn’t even be on the same planet for days, but…

But you had thought it was…

It didn’t matter.

You’d gone back to the briefing room, just before take off. You’d wanted to tap the main holoscreen twice, for luck. A little ritual you’d adopted early on. Most pilots were a superstitious bunch.

That’s when you’d seen them. Sana and Poe. Locked in a tight embrace, their lips pressed together in a deep kiss.

Your heartbeat had thundered so loud you’d been surprised they hadn’t heard it. But they’d been too preoccupied to notice your presence.

It was cliche but time had almost slowed, calmed and stretched like the moment you take aim, the second before you fired your ship's canons.

A flash of the control panel had flickered into your mind when you saw them, your fingers twitching as if you had the trigger in your hands.

You’d turned and left without a sound. Without a word. Without letting them know you saw. Leaving them to… whatever they did next.

Was it their first kiss? One of many? Had this been going on well before Poe had taken your hand and led you outside so he could clumsily name all the constellations, making up new ones and backstories to make you smile?

“That one here, you see it?”

“Yeah?”

“That one’s the best one, best in the sky. It’s orange and it’s right next to that other orange one, like they’re holding hands.”

You’d laughed.

“That’s me and you Moonbeam.”

Moonbeam. That stupid nickname.

You’d gone to your room quickly, the one that you and Poe shared, and taken off the necklace he’d given you.

“I want you to wear it for luck, Moonbeam.”

That stupid smile he’d given you as he’d slipped it from his own neck and onto yours. That stupid kiss he’d given you after. You’d thought that expression was cute when you’d seen it, pure. Now it just seemed like he’d been laughing at you, playing some sick joke. ‘How long can I string someone along?’, ‘how far can I go before they realise it’s all pretend?’

You’d left the necklace with the ring slipped through on the small set of shelves in the corner, the one Poe normally kept his holopad on.

It was idiotic, but your neck felt… empty without it. Cold. Every now and then you touched at where the chain normally lay.A subconscious action only brought to the forefront of your mind by the sensation of your own skin instead of metal.

Something caught your eye in the distance, a flash of sunlight glinting off the horizon. Dread twisted in your stomach as realisation dawned a second earlier than your scanners. The extra gravitational pressure and high quantity of magnetic metals in the sand affected everyone’s ship computers, causing a brief information delay.

Your alarm sounded out inside your ship, the radar blinking into life as tie fighters approached from the rock outcrop. They’d used the high mineral concentration to hide their energy signatures.

“Fuck.”

The radio screamed into life, orders out pouring over orders. Blue squadron rushed into position while Green scrambled.

“Blue in place now!”

“It’s gonna be rushed, but we haven’t got a choice!”

“No time!” “Incoming!” “Green half split! Evens left, odds right, let’s keep those fighter’s off The Harbringer and Blue squadron! Gamma pattern!”

“How far away is the Delta?”

“Calling in attack pattern!”

You swing to the right, falling in with Hank and Petal and bank hard, it takes less than a second for you to notice that your squad's movements aren’t as precise and well-timed as usual. The stronger gravity throwing everyone, except you, off their game.

That didn’t bode well.

You climb for a second, punching hard on the acceleration to get some height and a clear view of the oncoming and flick on your targeting system. The image glitches, doesn’t hold steady even as you focus. Off by half a fraction.

Shots fire out from both sides, most missing.

“Targeting not working!”

“It’s out!”

“I can’t get a clear shot!” “The read is malfunctioning!”

“Half a click 4/8!” You shout, as you take your shot, hitting two tie fighters head-on.

“Good shot Green 7!” You can hear the joy and relief in Sana’s voice. “Half a click 4/8, you’ll all have to manually adjust!”

You dive, swirling around two fighters before skimming close to the ground, trying to draw their attention away from the cargo ship. You spin, slamming your control harder than you would need to in any other situation as you turn and spike past another fighter, taking out one in the process.

“Wooooo!” Hank yells over the intercom.

You laugh. “Bet you never thought you wished you grew up on Para right?”

“Every day new things surprise me.” He banks left, you right, Petal dives down.

It’s too much of a rush, everything all at once, patterns and shots flying, your ship’s systems screaming as you push the engines a little too hard.

The tie fighters aren’t moving as fast as they normally do, bogged down even more than the x wings by the gravity. They can’t make their normal quick turns and it’s affecting their strike patterns.

Good.

But there’s so, so many of them.

Explosions fly debris out, and you climb higher. Needing a clear view and unable to rely on your targeting systems.

More shots fly out, The Harbringer is taking a battering but so far its shielding is holding the hull together.

The radio keeps screaming, overlapping voices that blur into background noise. You’re trained to only hear your call signal, direct messages. You vear off, narrowingly missing a blast to your wing.

“-On my tail.” Frizz’s voice cuts through the noise, a sharp stab of dread slicing you open as you turn, automatically looking to the reader, it’s still not clear.

You climb, twist, fall, see a Green ship, followed tightly by two fighters. Accelsorate, bank. You fire. You’re aiming in a panic now, not adjusting right, not breathing through.

The shot hits one, before you have to swerve to avoid being struck head-on.

“Thanks 7!” Cril yells over the speaker, managing to shake the other fighter.

There’s a scream, a crackle of sound over the system. A sound you know too well. You see the ship crash into the desert, exploding before it even hits the ground as the a tie fighter’s shots hit home.

Frizz.

“No…”

“Check!” Sana yells, unable to tell who went down with the system glitching. “Green Leader!”

You swerve around another fighter, everything moving so fast, too fast.

“Green Two check!” Cril.

“Green Three check!” Petal.

Nothing.

“Green Four!” Sana yells. No call replies. Balna. Not Frizz.

The momentary rush of relief at Frizz being alive is cut horribly short by the image of Balna’s kind face that bursts behind your eyes.

You bank left, right, swerve, take aim, twist.

There’s a chance, a good chance that you’ll win. All of Blue is in place, The Harbringer is moving up with them. The tie fighters are taking more hits than the resistance, their less aerodynamic design hampering them more than usual with this gravity.

All you need is…

Another alarm.

“Oh… fuck.” You slam on your intercom. “Z-Fighter!”

A chorus of yells answer you.

A Z-fighter, a quick moving ship a fraction bigger than The Harbringer, with two powerful front guns. A few shots would take the cargo ship out completely.

And with how slow the supply ship was moving, that wouldn’t be hard.

The Z-fighter storms in, moving fast but not firing, they were obviously having problems with their targeting too, needing a close clear shot.

“Take out the main cannons!” Sana yells, the panic in her voice cutting through the chaos. You turn, aim, take out a tie fighter but have to veer up at the last second. Twist.

Someone comes in after you, aiming for the cannons, a fighter clips their side and they can’t correct quick enough. They spiral off, their ship crashing into the Z-fighter. Obliterated on impact. The Z-fighter seemingly unaffected.

You loop back, adrenaline blinding you to everything, anything that’s not the goal. Take out the canons. Take out the canons. People are counting on you. Take out the canons.

You fire, a clear shot before you bank to the side to avoid a direct hit to your hull.

It’s not enough.

You need to pass again, and again. Other x wings flying in, taking shots, the gravity making them slow, imprecise. Only one blast hits and it’s not full on.You’re the only one hitting directly and it’s not enough.

It’s not enough. It’s not enough. It’s not enough.

There’s shouting and screaming, the zipping of the fighters as they cut through the sky. Someone yells your name and you don’t hear it.

Another hit lands. One canon out. Only one left. You can do this. The Harbringer is nearly in the upper atmosphere, they can jump from there. Just a few more seconds. You can do this.

“Black Leader!” Poe’s call sign cuts over the dim, followed by the call signs of half of the Red Squadron.

They must have scrambled after first contact.

The canon’s powering up, a quick glance to your panel tells you that The Harbringer’s shield is barely functioning. They won’t survive a direct hit. With how close they are and the Blue Squadron ships that are attached there’s no way they wouldn’t be pulled down too if The Harbringer fell.

The canon needs more than one hit to take it down, more than five. No way you can shoot five times before they fire.

You twist, full force. Pumping the acceleration. Fire. Fire. Fire. Three hit. You don’t slow down. Fire. Fire. Fire. They hit. The canon is still operational.

Sana is screaming orders, so many shots fire at the canon, none of them hit right, hit full on.

Two chances left.

One to fire. If it takes out the canon you just have enough time to serve up, to avoid getting smashed to bits.

Poe shouts for you over the intercom.

You don’t answer.

One to fire. If it doesn’t take out the canon then… then you crashing into it head on will.

Poe yells again, this time cutting over everyone else, sending you a direct call.

You don’t answer.

You fire. Hit.

Poe screams for you, his voice painful and panicked. He’s already worked out your plan before you had even thought of it.

The canon doesn’t go down.

You cut the call to him. Blocking out his signal. You don’t want Poe to think you did this for him.

You don’t want him to think you did this because of him.

“Green Seven!” Sana yells, seemingly knowing what you’re going to do.

Hank screams your name over the radio. It hurts. You think it’s the worst sound you’ve ever heard.

“Moonbeam!” Poe’s voice is ripped raw from yells, Sana has patched him through over her signal. You were wrong. That was the worst sound you’ve ever heard.

You dip at the last second, not hitting the canon straight on but smashing your right wing into it. The force surprises you, even though you braced for it. The impact sending you spiralling. You try to regain control, try to turn into the spin. Training taking over even though you're a wing and half a ship down.

Shouts over the radio, you barely make out-

“-cannon’s down-”

“-Jump!-”

A spark hits, your console explodes into flame, shards hit your side and you yell. Sky and sand tumbling over each other over and over, and you manage to hit the eject button.

The force rips you upwards, free briefly from your burning ship. But you’re too close to the floor, not enough time to slow down your velocity. There’s-

The impact of the ground hurts. Pain explodes along every nerve despite the ejection seat dampening. You scream.

Agony is everywhere, everything. You can’t feel anything else, can’t comprehend anything except floods of pain.

You hit your belt, falling out and to the desert floor. Looking up just enough to gauge where you are, where your ship fell. It’s an exploded, fireball mess far off. At least it’s not an immediate threat. You crawl to the side and sob.

There’s blood falling into the sand from your head, the right side of your face. You can’t see properly out of your eye and your left leg is definitely broken. Shattered. Still, you drag yourself forward, digging your hands in and pulling as something ribs and tears in your side, warm liquid soaking into your fight suit.

The resistance will jump to hyperspace, they’ll get out. They’ll make it.

You just needed to get away from your ejection seat, when the First Order doubles back they’ll see it, they’ll see you. You just needed to get to an outcrop. Hide.

Make it look like you had a weapon.

Make them shoot you first instead of taking you for questioning.

Can’t let them take you alive.

There's the faint sound of a ship somewhere above, landing gear coming down.

For a second you freeze, panic gripping your heart, you dig into the sand hard, pull, pull, pull yourself closer towards the outcrop of rocks. The air seems to be leaving your lungs, your breathing ragged and hot.

You cough, red hitting the dirt, iron hitting your tongue.

You crawl, pull. The pain is making you light-headed. You gasp, trying to get in a full lung full of air. It's not enough. It's not enough. It's not enou…

When you open your eyes your first thoughts are simple. Clear.

I'm dead.

You were either shot in the head in the sand or simply succumbed to your wounds.

But then things begin to feel… fuzzy. Not painful, but not right either.

And that's when you smell the Bacta. And then the light starts to change to distorted shapes, and finally, you recognise Hank sitting next to you.

“You better not be dead too,” you whisper your voice dry from lack of use.

Hank jumps up, goes to grab your hand and then stops himself. There are tears in his eyes. He softly places his fingers on yours and you squeeze back.

“You're a fucking idiot you know that?” He grins and you laugh. Which hurts a little, but feels good.

“One sec,” he moves away just to speak to someone outside before he comes back. “I'm the one that picked you up, you know?”

“Now who's the fucking idiot?” You smile but your chest aches, heavy with the weight of his words. “You shouldn't have done that.” You whisper.

“What?”

“You were under fire, you should have just jumped-”

“I saw you eject. Saw you moving. You think I was just gonna leave you there?” He sits. “Besides, I was closest. The commander would have blown up the whole planet to get to you.”

You swallow, turning away slightly. Going cold at the mention of Poe.

Hank mistakes the look for guilt, and squeezes your hand again. “Hey, look,” he smiles, “you took out the canons, you're a fucking idiot but you know how to fly in heavy gravity.”

You snort.

He smiles.

“Who did we lose?”

Hank sighs, “three…”

You nod, closing your eyes for a moment.

“There-”

There was shouting from outside, a crash and then Poe stormed into the room, med staff close behind him.

You swallow, sickness building in your throat.

He looked awful, drawn out and worn thin like he hadn't slept or eaten in days. His eyes red.

He rushes forward, Hank moves out of the way, so Poe can take your hand in his. He leans forward and kisses you softly, carefully stroking your cheek, being gentle with your bandages.

“Moonbeam…” he mutters and you flinch back from him. He looks at you with sad, confused eyes.

“Look, I can only allow one visitor in here.” The med staff member says.

Hank stands, and speaks when you frown. “I'll see you later, Poe’s the one that hasn't left your side. The only reason he wasn't here when you woke was because I made him go take a shower.” Hank smiled, “you can thank me for that later.”

Both you and Poe are quiet as the others leave. Poe searching your face for something, while you look away.

“Moonbeam,” he says again softly, but there's an edge to his words that you're not used to. “What the fuck happened on that mission? What the fuck is this?” He holds up his hand, his necklace and ring wrapped around his palm. His eyes are shiny as he speaks. “Were you trying to kill yourself? What the fu-”

“Poe,” you breathe. Best to get it over quickly. “I saw.”

He frowns. “Saw? Saw what?”

“You and Sana, in the briefing room… before take off.”

The small frown on his forehead relaxes slightly for a moment as his eyebrows raise. “You… saw?”

You nod.

“You, but, I didn’t see you when I pushed her away?” His voice cracks at the end, a splinter running into the muscle of your heart.

“You pushed her away?”

“You didn’t see that?” He frowns again, blinking hard, “you just, just saw and walked away and what? Took this off?” He holds up the necklace again. A tear falls from his eye and he rubs it away furiously as if it had scorched his skin. “Just, just left it and… and…”

“I didn’t know you didn’t want it…” You say quietly, emotion is making your chest tight and constricted. “I didn’t know you didn’t want her…”

“What?” He breathes, moving closer and squeezing your hand. There’s disbelief in his voice, confusion. Anger, it’s deep down and controlled but it’s there. “No, look, she kissed me. I pushed her away, I, I even logged a report, I’ll pull up the god damned camera feed to show you.”

He’s not lying. His gaze is unwavering and he’s got that painfully earnest look in his eyes.

“You thought…” he shakes his head slightly, his voice pained, “you thought I’d-”

“You both make sense together.” You blurt out. “She’s… and you’re…” you shrug and sigh, on the verge of tears yourself. “You’re both the best of us.”

“No,” he shakes his head fiercely, “Moonbeam, no.” He wipes roughly at his eyes again, glancing down for a moment and you lightly touch his head.

He looks up instantly as you stroke his curls, still lightly damp.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

Poe shakes his head again, grabbing your hand and kissing your wrist. “I’m sorry.” He kicks off his shoes and clambers into bed next to you a little awkwardly. He’s trying to be careful, trying not to hurt you but needing closeness so badly it’s suffocating.

You scooch to the side as quickly as you can in your current state and lean into him as he wraps his body around you softly and kisses you sweetly.

“Love you, love you, love you,” he repeats after every kiss, pressing his lips to every part of your skin that he can reach.

“Why are you sorry?” You mutter as he holds you, “I’m the one that messed up.”

He shakes his head, “I’m sorry that I don’t make you realise how special you are, how perfect.” He kisses your cheek, “you’re the best of us Moonbeam.”

You tut but his grip tightens and he holds you tight.

“And one hell of a pilot.” He grins.

You scoff.

“You are.” He kisses you again.

You nuzzle against him, settling into his touch. Knots have formed in your chest, pain that’s loosening. His warmth is comforting. Home.

“Sana said she didn’t know I was in a relationship,” he says softly, resting his chin on the top of your head. “I don’t know if that’s true, but… I do believe her.”

You nod. “She’s a good person.”

He moves so he can look you in the eyes. “Please, Moonbeam, I… don’t,” he bites his tongue, closing his eyes for a long second. “I want to tell you, I want to say, don’t ever do something like that again… don’t… don’t put yourself at risk.”

You touch his cheek lightly.

“But it’s not fair is it?” He smiles sadly. “We both do that every day… You know you were gonna be in my squadron at first?”

You shake your head in surprise and he nods.

“You were, but… well,” he blushes ever so slightly. “I was so embarrassingly head over heels in love with you,” he laughs lightly. “For months I could hardly talk to you, you know I had to down five Polanis Red’s in a row after Hurthwen just so I could ask you out? I knew I wouldn’t be able to function right if you were in my squad. I knew that I’d put everyone else at risk because if it came down to it… if there was a choice between everyone in the squad dying, everyone on the base, or you… I’d let the resistance burn instead of lose you. Every single time.”

You close your eyes, fighting the emotion that needs to break through and squeeze his hand like a lifeline. “I love you.” You whisper.

Your fingertips brush against the necklace, the ring hooking around the first knuckle of your index finger by chance.

Poe slowly moves his hand from yours and unwinds the necklace from his palm before carefully placing it over your head, giving you plenty of time to move away if you wanted.

“I love you Moonbeam,” he mutters, his voice low, reverent. Then leans in to kiss you. You kiss him back with all your heart.

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @whatthefishh @mbakubabe @romanarose @pimosworld @jake-g-lockley @saturn-rings-writes @boredzillenial @lonelyisamyw-0love @melodygatesauthor @steven-grants-world @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @queerponcho

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

#poe dameron #star wars sequels #poe dameron x reader #x reader #poe dameron x you #x you #poe dameron x gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #poe dameron x gn!reader #x gn!reader #my writing #fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

350 notes · View notes

neonghostlights · 9 months

Text

A/N: So, here’s the final chapter. I just want to say thank you to those who have stuck around through this story. I read every comment I get and I’m truly appreciative of the support. We're picking up right where the last chapter left off.

Summary: You haven’t been the same since you woke up in the hospital with memory loss after the earthquake hit Hawkins. When strange things start happening and you feel like you’ve started losing your mind, a group of strangers offer to help. Even though you’ve never met them before, they seem to know you better than you think.

Warnings: Natural disasters, Crying, Mentions of a Coma, Goodbyes, Parental death, Readers mom, mention of finances/money, not a whole lot of dialogue mainly just wrapping things up 18 + Only, Minors DNI

Wordcount: 3.5k

Part Sixteen

“Marry me,” was all he said before kissing you again.

Those words lit up your mind, making your heart skip a beat before speeding up again. Your knees felt weak and if it wasn’t for Eddie holding onto you so tightly you thought you might drop right there.

You broke apart, resting your forehead against his. The pressure of your body leaning onto his felt right. Like you were always meant to be touching Eddie in some way. You think you always knew that, even when you didn’t have your memories.

You didn’t know if anyone else in the room was speaking or if it had just been hushed to silence. Your ears rang a high pitched squeal and you weren’t sure if it was from having the Vecna shaped parasite ripped from your brain or the shock of Eddie’s sudden proposal.

But it wasn’t really a shock. Not now that you had your memories back and could remember Eddie and everything that you two had shared in the time you had spent together.

Your Eddie. The man you loved for all these years and planned to have a life with. Every moment that was stolen from you had been given back like a gift. This time, you weren’t going to let him get away. You weren’t going to let anything else ever rip you and Eddie apart.

You opened your mouth, prepared to say yes. Prepared to tell him all of the things you’d been dying to tell him. How much you adored him and never wanted to live a life without his love ever again.

This place could be your home together like you had always planned it to be. You remembered the days you would spend daydreaming how you and Eddie would decorate this house to fit the both of your personalities. Would you come back here on your wedding night with you still in your dress and him still in his suit?

But before you could say anything, the earth started to shake beneath your feet and someone started to scream.

January 4th, 1987

You walked through the empty house, making sure there was nothing forgotten.

You struggled with the feeling of forgetting things. It made you anxious. It didn’t happen often though and it was never anything significant. It was normal to misplace your car keys or not be able to remember what shirt you wore to the grocery store a week ago. But every time you realized you were forgetting something it sent you into a spiral. It made you afraid that he was coming back to haunt you again or maybe there was some sort of irreversible damage done to you that no one could ever fix. That wasn’t the case though, you were fine now. You were safe.

It was weird seeing nothing in your grandma's house; a place that had once been a home to you. But the damage was already done and you couldn’t fix it and bring it back to its glory like you had once planned to.

The second earthquake that ripped through Hawkins almost three months ago destroyed the town more than it already was. Vecna had truly planned to take this town down with him and he did. The cracks in the earth opened more upon his death, swallowing houses and buildings. Homes that were already unsettled from the initial quake crumbled even further.

Your grandma’s house was thankfully spared from collapsing but the damage was too much to fix and it was now deemed unsafe to live in. You had no choice but to sell it to the government for a criminally low price that left a bitter taste in your mouth. It wasn’t like you had a choice. They were taking over the town and closing it off due to “environmental reasons.”

You knew the real reason. No one was sure if the upside down was completely gone after Vecna’s death. Not even El could come up with an answer for you. Did the upside down exist before Vecna did or was it something that was attached solely to him?

None of you planned on sticking around to find out.

But the cracks in the earth still glowed red and the plants were still dying. So it was safe to assume something was still alive down there.

Today was the last day you could be in Hawkins, the government having cracked down after only giving the bare minimum amount of time for people to pack up their whole lives and find other places to go. Anyone caught here after midnight would be arrested for trespassing on federal property. You’ve already had that happen once and didn’t want to do that again so you were getting the hell out of here.

You had been living with Eddie and Wayne the past few months. Wayne was ecstatic when you showed up on his doorstep with your memories back and welcomed you in with open arms. He said he didn’t want to know the details, already too scarred from Eddie telling him everything that happened back in March. Thankfully, the trailer was far enough out of town to only be a little rattled. It was okay to live in until you found another place.

Wayne was like a father to you and you were so thankful for him taking you in. Him, your grandmother, and your dad had all given you so much parental love in a lifetime that it almost made up for all the shittiness your mom put you through.

Your grandma would raise hell if she saw the way you would tear up at the thought of closing the door to the house and walking away forever. She would tell you it was just a house and the memories were more important. It wasn’t your fault that you had been extra sentimental lately, wanting to hold on to every reminder possible just in case the memories slipped out of your grasp again.

You spun the engagement ring around your finger a few times. A new nervous habit you picked up since Eddie pulled it out of his pocket and slid it onto your finger those few short months ago.

You remember the day you spotted it in the antique store like it was yesterday. You couldn’t believe he had held onto it for so long. Even when you weren’t yourself he had kept it in hopes of things going back to normal one day. You weren’t sure if either of you would ever reach normal with having seen the things you had both seen but you wanted to get as close to it as possible.

A wedding date wasn’t set quite yet. The first order of business was getting the hell out of Hawkins. You had pooled what you had left from your father’s inheritance and did a little digging to find out you had been left way more than you were originally told.

The money had been hidden from you by your mom. She had played you, only giving you enough originally to pay for your schooling but the total amount that had been left to you from your dad’s life insurance policy was much larger.

It was so much that it didn’t seem like your dad had left her anything at all. She hadn’t spent it, so you weren’t quite sure what she was saving it for but it was a much larger amount that you would have expected. This was something she had hidden from you even before you lost your memory. It truly seemed like losing your memory was the best thing that ever happened to her. It made it easier for her to lie and easier for you to be controlled like a puppet.

You had gone to confront her one last time after you had gotten your memories back. The house you grew up in was spared by the quake and the inside was just as eerily clean as the last time you saw it despite the disaster that was happening in the rest of the town.

The meeting with her had gone as well as you had expected with a lot of false tears and denial on her part. That was until you threatened to call Hopper and get a fancy lawyer involved. She silently got up from the table without saying a word after your threat. You had thought that maybe she had suffered a mental break, maybe snapping at your words. But instead she silently retrieved a folder from her safe that had all of the information for the money that was rightfully yours, the deed to your house, and all of the documents you might need to live an independent life.

You didn’t take Eddie with you when you went to talk to her. He wanted to go, practically begging you to take him with you. You were pretty sure you heard the van circle block a few times outside while you sat at the table talking to her. It made you smile knowing that he was looking out for you just in case. He would never trust your mom, and with good reason not to. He was concerned that she might hurt you if you pushed her too hard. You were concerned too but it was a risk you were willing to take. You knew she wouldn’t answer any questions if Eddie was there. It would just end in another fight.

Where your mom was planning to go after the forced evacuation was none of your business. You saw her out in public only once after your meeting while you were donating some clothes to the emergency shelter they had set up.. She walked past you like she didn’t even know you. You wondered if one day you’d get a phone call or letter from her apologizing for what she had done to you and the way she had used you. You decided not to hold your breath or spend any time waiting for that to happen.

You heard a board on the porch creak from right outside the house, pulling you from your thoughts. You walked outside, locking the door behind you one last time. Eddie stood there waiting for you with a sad look on his face. He knew how hard this was for you. You wanted to walk the house one last time, but based on the state of it and the fact that Hawkins had something crazy happening every five minutes neither of you felt comfortable with Eddie going far while you were inside.

“Everytime I go in there it’s like I expect this to be a bad dream and all of the damage to be fixed,” you admitted as you took his hand.

You had to be careful walking on the porch, some of the boards were weak and there was a step missing. Eddie helped guide you down with a firm grip until your feet were both safely planted on the grass.

“I know it won't be the same but maybe you’ll end up loving the new place just as much,” Eddie offered, trying to make you feel better.

You sighed, thinking about all that you were leaving.

Steve and Robin were going to Indianapolis together. They would continue community college there and even got a job together at a record store. Robin had to vouch for Steve once again to get him the job.

The Hendersons were going to another town up in northern Indiana. It wouldn’t be too much of a drive for Steve to come visit them whenever he had the chance.

The Byers and Hopper household were going back to California together. With the exception of Nancy and Jonathan who were still on their college journey and had already gone back to school so they weren’t there to say goodbye to you with the rest of the group.

The Wheeler’s were going to Michigan where some of their cousins lived.

The Sinclairs were going to Florida. Lucas’s dad got a well paying job there and their house was close to the beach too. You knew Erica was excited for that.

Max and her mom would be going to California too to be near some family they had there.

You remembered getting the call from Steve only the next day after you killed Vecna that Max had woken up from her coma. It was a shock that none of you had expected. She still needed some physical therapy, and her eyesight would never be the same but she was alive and that was what mattered. Her and Lucas planned on doing long distance from their opposite ends of the country. It hurt to know that they were going to be separated again so soon after being reunited.

It was a relief when you saw her sitting up in that hospital bed once you got your memories back. There was an overwhelming sense of guilt that followed. You should have been there everyday visiting her while she was in that coma. It was hard to imagine the time when you had no clue who she was.

She was shocked to hear about a month after she woke up what had happened while she was out. She was mostly upset that she didn’t have the chance to kick Vecna’s ass before you killed him. She also promised you that if she was around for all of this then she would have had you fixed within a day. You had no doubt that she was telling the truth.

You had said goodbye to all of your friends yesterday. It was hard. How could properly say goodbye to all of the people you fought with and saved your life? El and Max were both the little sisters you never had. It was hard to remember that El’s presence had once made your skin crawl. But that was all Vecna’s doing because now that you were you again, you adored her.

Saying goodbye to Steve was hard too. You had grown up with him and considered him your best friend at one point. You hoped that one day your relationship could be repaired but it was still hurtful to think of the way he treated you when you didn’t have your memories. You knew he was just trying to do what he thought was best, but it still felt like he had replaced you with Robin. Even now, it seemed like they were way closer than you two used to be. You think that maybe that’s the way it had been for a while, even before you lost your memory and you didn’t even notice it happening.

“Got everything?” Eddie asked in a soft voice.

You nodded, wiping under your eyes as you looked up at the house behind you.

It was dark now without any light inside. The cracks in the foundation looked like spiderwebs crawling up the house. The inside was way worse off with deep, jagged cracks in the walls and a gaping hole in the bedroom ceiling.

It was time to let it go.

You followed Eddie silently to the van, the dead grass crunching under each step you took. Both of your belongings were already piled up in the back. Wayne had already left early in the day and would be meeting you at your new home. He didn’t plan on living with you for long, just long enough until he got his own place or “Wayne’s future bachelor pad” as Eddie liked to call it, teasing his uncle until he was red in the face.

You and Eddie had found your new home the reasonable way. And by that you mean you both closed your eyes while Eddie threw a dart at a map that he taped to his bedroom door. It landed on a small town on the east coast. You would be close to the shore which drew in a lot of tourists and you could already envision the life you could have there.

You and Eddie had already driven out there a few times since deciding that would be your future home. You found a place to live there and got registered to finish up your education degree in the fall. Eddie found a small mechanic shop that miraculously pays more than what he makes in Hawkins. For now he wasn’t sure if he wanted to stick with mechanics or venture into something in music. You told him that it didn’t matter what he chose, that you would stick beside him no matter what.

You both got into the van, hearing your things jostle in the back from the vans movement. You weren’t concerned about anything breaking. You had already tripled checked the bubble wrapped duck figurine to make sure it’ll arrive at its new home in pristine condition.

You glanced at where your car still sat in the driveway. You weren’t worried about taking it with you since it broke down again despite Eddie working on it constantly. It would be too much of a hassle to tow it.

“I’m not sure what to do now,” you admitted to Eddie once you were both buckled in and the van started.

Eddie thought for a moment. “I think now we just take things one day at a time. Or maybe even just one moment at a time.”

“How do we do that?”

“I think we can start by letting you pick the road trip music,” Eddie said with a smile, leaning over to you to nudge your shoulder.

You faked a gasp. “Me? Eddie Munson is letting me pick the music? It’s a miracle.” You placed your hand over your mouth in fake shock.

Eddie rolled his eyes and shook his head, putting the van into gear. “Don’t make me regret it,” he teased. You both knew he would be bobbing his head to Madonna before you even made it out of Hawkins.

Eddie backed away from the house slowly, like he was giving you time to give one last mental goodbye. You turned your head, not wanting to look at it anymore. Eddie noticed, deciding to speed the van up to get you out of there before you started to break down.

There weren’t many cars leaving Hawkins, only a few stragglers like yourselves but there was still a line built up by how slow you had to drive on the ruined roads. Most people left town as soon as the second earthquake happened, wishing they had left after the first one.

Seeing the destruction made you feel guilty. If you had known that this would be the outcome of getting your memories back then you weren’t sure that you would’ve gone through with it. You had to remind yourself daily that something good did come out of this. Max was awake and Eddie was alive beside you.

You still hadn’t told Eddie that the reason you lost your memories was because you made a deal with Vecna to save his life. It was all over now and he didn’t need to know that piece of information. You didn’t like hiding secrets from him but it would only make him feel guilty and you didn’t want that. As far as he knew, Vecna just chose you as a random, vulnerable target. Maybe one day you would break and tell him but it wouldn’t be today. Perhaps some day far enough in the future when all of this just sounded like some made up story.

Most of the roads in town were closed, leaving Eddie to have to maneuver through the dedicated detours with precision. A few government officials lined the roads, watching everyone leave their homes with blank stares. Eddie flicked them all off with a ringed finger.

You covered your laugh with the palm of your hand. Eddie smiled over at you when he heard it.

You followed the stretch of cars through the town and out the only open road that lead in and out. The trees were bare, leaning over the road in a threatening way. This winter hadn’t been kind to the people or nature of Hawkins.

Eddie looked over at you before speeding up when he spotted the sign.

You stared at it as you passed. The “Leaving Hawkins Hell” sign that they never fixed since it was vandalized in March. You hated to say that you agreed with it now. This place did become Hell.

You breathed a breath of relief as Eddie continued down the road. You felt the weight lift off your shoulders as you spotted Hawkins now in your rearview mirror. You looked at the profile of the man beside you, taking in the features that you had spent all this time relearning. It made you ache with the thought of how much he loved you. He loved you so much that he stayed in a town that hated him just because you were stuck there.

“I love you,” Eddie said, probably thinking the same thing you were.

And you could admit it now, with everything inside you and every broken, fragmented piece of your mind, that you loved him too.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson au #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson series #eddie stranger things #eddie munson angst

175 notes · View notes

esaesis · 8 months

Text

if I were to write some sort of bloodweave fanfiction I'd want to explore their relationship if there were no mindflayers

Imagine that Astarion was kidnapped by Gur (just after he stole their children) but was able to escape. Let's say they gave him some artifact so Cazador couldn’t track him in their camp, and he went off with this artifact. Just run away from everything and everyone.

and it wasn't so simple for him

The pressing reality was this: Cazador's absence was but a temporary reprieve. Traces of his control still touched Astarion's mind, causing shaky hands and quiet, unsettling thoughts, maddening whispers that murmured commands. If he faltered, if he yielded to weakness, his brief taste of freedom would become his deepest regret. Cazador would not suffer a stray hound for long. He would find him, and their reunion would be something that he liked to call a symphony of suffering.

Astarion couldn't go far (hello, sun), so he hid in Underdark. It was far from ideal, teeming with perils that soon wore on his nerves. Yet, it was... something.

And then he almost stumbled upon Aracane Tower.

Astarion hated it all — the circumstances that led him here, the choices he was forced to make, the very world that seemed so intent on tormenting him. Yet, in that forsaken hall, he found a space that mirrored his own emptiness, and it brought him a bizarre sense of comfort. For the first time in what felt like centuries, he was alone in his desolation.

Until he was not because it wasn't a forsaken wizard tower. With and actual wizard in it.

Well. Not a wizard at first glance.

The elevator doors parted and outlumbered an automaton—a towering construct of metal and magics, brandishing a spear that dwarfed Astarion's lithe frame. Gods above, Astarion though. If the creature had been mortal, his charisma might have won it over; if it had been alive, his vampiric powers could have tipped the scales. But the automaton was neither.

"Welcome," the automaton's voice resonated, metallic yet oddly dignified. "Introduce yourself."

Astarion quirked an eyebrow. "Who's asking?"

"Welcome," the automaton reiterated. "Introduce yourself."

"You're quite the conversationalist, aren't you?"

"Welcome. Intro—"

"Astarion," he interjected, keen to halt the mechanical monologue.

"I am Bernard," said the automaton, pausing as if it were processing new data. "I have no records of an individual named Astarion. What is the purpose of your visit?"

Astarion's thoughts whirred into action. The construct before him was undoubtedly dangerous, a sentinel programmed to defend its master's domain. But the fact that it hadn't attacked him outright suggested that diplomacy was still a viable strategy.

"Survival," Astarion ventured cautiously. "I was pursued by a creature. This tower seemed a sanctuary."

Bernard stood in contemplative stillness for a beat, its gears audibly churning as if in deep thought.

"I am not programmed to handle such types of visits. I must consult my master."

"Your master?" Astarion seized upon the opportunity. "Yes, I would very much like to meet them. What is their name?"

Bernard's gears seemed to jam for a moment, a dissonance vibrating through its mechanical core.

"Lenore. No. Gale of Waterdeep. No. Lenore? No. Gale of Waterdeep? No. Lenore?"

Astarion couldn't help but smirk. He'd managed to befuddle a magical automaton. Whether it was a bug in Bernard's programming or a testament to his own unpredictable nature, the situation was oddly delightful.

————

so that is how it started

Astarion and Gale in the tower in Underdark; both damaged but not broken, managed to help each other in a way they didn't think was possible

Beauty and the Beast , but you cannot actually tell who’s Beauty and who's the Beast given all circumstanses

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #gale dekarios #astarion/gale #bloodweave #gale x astarion #imagine this

86 notes · View notes

xo-cuteplosion-xo · 7 months

Text

Elemental Hair Abilty Reader

My works on Tumblr are here

Synopsis: Reader’s hair is their ability, like an elemental spirit almost: HC’s Link to ask

Character(s): Chuuya, Fyodor (separately?)

Warnings: Past abuse mentioned (Idk I count cutting a child's hair that they cherished over them, not picking up some toys at 6 as abusive-)

Words: Chuuya=322 Fyodor=453 total 775

Chuuya:

Absolutely loves your hair

Like will not stop staring when you use it to threaten somebody

Can’t tell if he likes the danger of lava or the look of the wines more

Thinks you're absolutely stunning, absolutely the star of his eyes

The first time he saw you use it he was confused

He didn’t understand the use until he saw the absolute control you have of the movements.

Stealthy and strong

As his s/o he makes sure that nobody steps on your hair when you're sitting

And if you're on a mission, he covers blind spots and things you miss to keep you from harm.

He notices the pain you get from your hair being cut and of course how you grimace when on a mission and somebody cuts your vines

He’ll get really defensive and squash… I mean that literally… the soul that cut your hair.

He’s amazed at the strength you have and often apologizes for underestimating you when he first met you.

He’s always watching those around you, he won’t ever understand why you jolt when a stranger goes to touch your hair. He’ll never understand why you only let him touch it slowly… just the ends at first until he could finally rest his hand on your head or braid it.

He’s noticed a defense of yours when it looks like damage will be done to your hair, you make it into something that can’t be cut, like flowing tendrils of water or dripping blobs of lava.

He does try to understand your fears and when you are hurting he takes care of you. He tries to lessen the pain as much as he can. He holds you close.

And oh when he finds out what scarred you like this…

His hands will be all over making sure you're safe from them and perhaps beating it into them.

He doesn’t like when people hurt his love.

Fyodor:

Very interested

The second he found you, and saw that ability, he was intrigued.

He needed to understand it

Ofc he doesn’t get close right away but he works up to getting to know you

He watches you carefully

He notes how the ability works

He writes you like a book in his memory

Every flinch, each reaction to an event he memorizes as if they were simple words on paper

He doesn’t quite understand you, can’t seem to find the reason, only hypothetical equations to the events that have led to your current self.

He loves the “purity” of your ability

There’s so many uses for it.

From murder in all sorts of fun ways to punish the “sinners” of this world to saving through cauterizing wounds with the flow of lava to moving things.

You're a destructive force worthy of him

He may see you as somebody to move about in his game but oh are you his favorite piece.

A piece that can fit anywhere and everywhere.

Beautiful like an angel … his angel

He loves watching you switch from element to element.

It’s beautiful to see the transition start from the top of your head to the base unless you go from the ability to your natural state, slowly from the bottom it recoils to your natural length and splits into tiny pieces of hair.

He’s patient with you

Waits until you trust him

Then he makes a move, coiling hair around his fingers gentle and affirming as he plays with it.

He keeps his hands where your eyes can see, be that through a mirror or by keeping his hands full of your hair in front of you.

He waits until you are no longer stiff to ask for details, to confirm his theories.

Of course, he was right.

And that person, if they still exist, is gone.

Those who dare to “dirty” his angel should be punished, yes?

He adores you, his favorite piece in the game… a possible weakness.

Though outside the field in the comfort of each other, he doesn’t mind playing with your hair.

He’ll style it using tips he learned from Nikolai and boy… he’s horrible at it.

He can’t make an actual braid the first four times.

You have to guide him but he’ll never admit to that.

He tries to keep you from harm but when you are in pain because your hair has been cut he pulls a nice bath for you and lets you soak hoping to distract you from the hair.

He finds it interesting that your hair is like a limb… feeling pain as you do.

Each individual strand has its own life…

Truly angelic and spectacular.

80 notes · View notes

delimeful · 8 months

Text

not always what they seem (5)

warnings: misunderstandings, remus-typical mentions of gore and cannibalism, swearing, arguing, lmk if i missed any!

Their captors were up to something.

Janus studied the far side of the room with narrowed eyes, ignoring the pulsing headache that had slowly been developing over the past few hours.

By all accounts, he should have woken one of the others up for a watch shift far before now. Instead, he’d seated himself behind them and watched the aliens unerringly.

A large part of his job required him to observe people. The way someone moved and gestured and reacted physically while conversing with others gave away more than most knew, and Janus was well-practiced in the art. He could read practically anyone like a book.

These creatures might have been from an entirely different library, so to speak, but he’d never let something like that stop him before.

Logan was the easiest, because he had the most to work with and his features were… not quite the most human, but certainly mammalian in nature.

Janus had met many a stray cat whilst lurking totally non-suspiciously in dark alleys, and he found himself appreciating the experience when he observed the way Logan’s ears flicked and flattened in response to certain conversations or actions.

Ever the instigator, Remus had provided his own contribution in the form of thoroughly disturbing the aliens. He’d likely made them think their specimens were damaged with his little shoulder stunt, and while Janus had been quick to point out the potential pitfalls of the behavior, he’d also taken careful note of the way Logan had reacted— their pupils had gone still and slitted, their ears nearly vanishing with how flat they’d gone, and their tail lashing behind them.

The whole mess had at least tapped a wellspring of useful information: Patton’s hands went still and their voice low, while Roman had begun to audibly buzz, rising up on their toes. Clear tells of concern and stress were worth his weight in gold in this sort of situation.

It was extremely tempting to let Remus do whatever he pleased just for the reactions, if it weren’t for the concerningly high odds that the behavior might get him slapped with a defective or diseased label. Janus didn’t have the same preoccupation with panic that Virgil did, but he was still very aware of the ways the situation could turn sour.

Janus wasn’t fond of feeling helpless, and in a situation like this, every glimpse of the aliens was accompanied by the looming knowledge that he was utterly outmatched on nearly every level. Resources, physical power, environment, presence— they held far too many of the cards.

Luckily, they didn’t know they’d picked up someone who was more than experienced at pulling cards from thin air.

He would scrape and gather every sliver of control he could get, and eventually it would be enough to get them out of here.

For now, however, it was vital that he bide his time and pay attention.

Thus, when piles of boxes began to accumulate across the lab and the aliens abandoned their prior workstations to begin setting something up behind a divider, he’d immediately started tracking their movements.

There was nothing overtly morose or angry in their movements, which was a relief in more ways than one. The way they were testing had shifted a few times, and the last thing Janus wanted was for them to decide humans were simply out of their expertise range and better off under a different lab’s scalpel.

Better the devil you know, after all.

Plus, Janus had already memorized a bunch of their tells, and would be incredibly annoyed to have to start fresh with a new gaggle of terrifying giant scientists.

Thankfully, there was no sign of that yet.

In fact, they seemed almost enthusiastic, chattering between themselves as they moved boxes from place to place, or opened one and pulled some strange apparatus out before moving out of sight again. Whatever they were making, it was exciting to them.

Of course, that could mean very bad news for the resident lab rats.

Janus was attempting not to let Virgil’s catastrophizing or Remus’s… imagination infect his plans, but he ended up watching for any sharp-edged implements anyhow.

It was only once they started cleaning up their mess, shuffling boxes and packing items away, that Janus finally reached over to wake up his companions.

“Rise and shine,” he said, opting for a wakeup call that was more obscure and hopefully, harder to translate.

None of the aliens seemed to be in easy hearing range, but better safe than sorry. He still wasn’t sure whether or not they were being recorded by default, after all.

Earlier, he’d tried using a variety of complex synonyms to teach Virgil what he’d learned of their language, only to receive an exhausted, dead-eyed stare.

“I write for a living, but even I can’t handle the ‘swallowed a thesaurus’ vibe you’re putting out right now,” he’d said, and Janus had reluctantly conceded.

Now, Virgil’s body reacted much quicker than his mind, which seemed to be a pattern with him. He jolted awake the second Janus tapped his shoulder, inhaling sharply before flailing away from them to land in a disoriented heap a couple feet away. He attempted to scramble even further back, head whipping from side to side like he expected to be jumped from every angle at any minute.

Janus held his hands up non aggressively, firmly planted in his spot, and watched as the fog of sleep slowly lifted from their youngest member’s eyes.

“A graceful riser, aren’t you?” he commented dryly.

“Shut up,” Virgil muttered, but the tension seeped out of his shoulders quickly enough that it was a little flattering. There was some trust there, after all. “What’s goin’ on? Did– Did nobody wake me for a shift?”

“It hasn’t been that long,” Janus lied smoothly, ignoring the little pinch of doubt in Virgil’s brow. “Our gracious hosts seem to have something planned.”

The distraction worked; Virgil immediately swiveled to glare across the room at where the giants were tidying up.

Still played out on the ground like a ragdoll, Remus cracked open an eye to stare up at Janus. He undeniably knew Janus was full of shit, but didn’t bother saying anything about it as he pushed himself from laying to standing in one move, yet another freakish display of flexibility.

“So,” he said, slinging one arm around Virgil’s shoulder and failing to sling the other around Janus, “what are we thinking? The alien version of a Hawaiian-style barbeque, or Saw-style torture chamber?”

Virgil elbowed him in the gut, but didn’t actually take the opportunity to wiggle out from under his arm. “Stop speaking forever.”

“Aw, but then how would I seduce the aliens? I know I’ve got a smokin’ hot bod, but sexiness is only skin-deep or whatever.” Remus perked up slightly. “Ooh, that’s an idea! What I actually need to show them is my gorgeous skeleton. That settles it, I’m voting Saw trap.”

With all the unfortunate timing of a bad sitcom, Patton approached, carrying one of those transparent cells they’d first awoken in. Virgil took a few steps back just seeing the thing, and Janus wondered what it was specifically about the item that upset him. Claustrophobia? Acrophobia? A simple hatred for the reminder of how very trapped they were?

Regardless, this was the sort of negotiation that he could handle.

“Hello,” Patton said, setting the cell down on the table near them. They said a few other things, too, none of which Janus caught, but the meaning was clear enough when they slid the lid to the cell off and held an expectant hand out.

“I don’t suppose you learned how to say ‘hell fucking no’ in alienspeak yet?” Virgil muttered, edging a little closer to Remus without even seeming to notice he was doing it.

“The next lesson, perhaps,” Janus shot back dryly, and then stepped forward but stopped short of actually climbing onto their hand.

“No cell,” he spoke carefully, pointing to the clear box and then shaking his head firmly.

He wanted to keep as much of their language secret as possible, yes, but there were some words that they definitely wanted the aliens to understand. First and foremost, the word ‘no’.

Patton hesitated, hands freezing in place in a way that Janus expected meant uncertainty, but Virgil clearly saw the stillness as a precursor to attack. Shaking himself free of Remus’s willowy form, he edged close to Janus with his eyes locked on Patton and a snarl that seemed mostly like a baring of teeth.

Janus was fairly sure that biting would have little to no effect on the alien’s craggy, tortoise-like skin, but it was the sentiment that counted, he supposed.

He didn’t react to his impromptu emo bodyguard, keeping his attention locked on Patton, and simply held his hands out, cupped and palm up.

After a moment, Patton reached a second hand over to mimic the posture, and Janus stepped close to it. “Virgil, if you’ll step forward and touch that first hand?”

“If I’ll what.” The glare was practically audible.

Janus sighed. “Work with me here? Unless you’d prefer the box. It would certainly mean less effort for me.”

A short beat of silence, and then Virgil reached forward and tentatively touched his fingertips to Patton’s hand. Janus nodded shortly and then beckoned at another one of Patton’s hands and held his hands out in demonstration again, hoping the intent would come through even with the difference in body language.

There was a pause as Patton looked over at where the other two giants were waiting, and then lowered a third hand into range.

“Remus,” Janus said, and glanced over his shoulder with barely hidden amusement. “Do I even need to ask?”

“You had me at hand stuff!” Remus responded brightly, skipping up to the upheld hand and hopping slightly to casually seat himself on it, like he was boosting himself up to sit on a counter or oversized stool.

Janus took a steadying breath as subtly as possible, and then climbed on himself. This was the first test of how much influence they had. It was better to know now rather than later, especially with an opportunity involving such low stakes.

“We’re really doing this, huh,” Virgil said, and scuffed his hands through his hair roughly with a groan before visibly steeling himself.

To Patton’s credit, he remained patiently still even as Virgil hauled himself into their hand at a snail's pace.

Once they were all settled, Patton lifted them up with all the due diligence they’d used with Janus previously, and glanced over at the cell.

“No,” they echoed the English thoughtfully, and then turned away from it, watching their reactions closely.

The way Virgil relaxed slightly, his expression evening out into something like relief, likely spoke for itself, but Janus nodded slowly in approval anyhow.

Hm. Perhaps their chances of getting out of this alive weren’t as dire as first assumed.

—

Patton turned around slowly, holding all three of their small, skittish guests with an astounded tint to his skin.

“Tell me the recorders were on,” he demanded, his free hands twitching visibly with the urge to fidget. “Tell me you guys saw that!”

His voice went a little too high-pitched, Logan’s ears flattening back slightly, but both he and Roman seemed just as delighted as him.

“We weren’t close enough to catch most of what they said, but the outcome speaks for itself, I think,” Logan said, watching Patton’s hands almost as intently as the Nilh was.

“I’m so jealous right now, you have no idea,” Roman announced. “How did you convince Purple to let you hold them?! They hissed at me!”

“I didn’t,” Patton replied, moving slowly and smoothly towards them. “Yellow did.”

The three of them looked at the tiny alien in question, who didn’t balk but grew the slightest bit tenser on Patton’s palm.

An experienced deceiver, Patton thought sadly, and couldn’t help but wonder just what their former specimens were actually feeling about the situation.

“There must be something that allowed Yellow to take a directive role in the group,” Logan mused, voice rumbling. “They have been leading the other two from the beginning, remember? They were picked up from entirely different locations, but from the beginning there has been a sense of cohesion between them all. It may be worth checking for hivemind organisms, parasitic or symbiotic.”

“I doubt it,” Roman replied. “I caught a hivemind bug in my youth, and the way they move just doesn’t have all the signs. They’re on the same branch, but they’re not interwoven pieces of bark, you know what I mean?”

“I suppose,” Logan said.

“Not really,” said Patton, who hadn’t grown up in a biome with populous tree life.

“Anyhow, if you two will scoot out of the way, I have a feeling that our test chambers will provide some solid evidence against the hivemind theory,” he added, still carefully monitoring his passengers for any sign of fear or unbalancing.

Once the path was clear, he moved forward and then paused at the entrance to the chambers.

They’d been designed with the specimen sect in mind: the entrance had grooves for the box to slide neatly into, at which point they could remotely open the door to the connecting hall and allow the specimens easy access to the space on their own time.

They weren’t dealing with specimens anymore, though, so this could be solved simply enough!

He set the three of them carefully on the stretch of table in front of the first chamber’s entrance, and manually slid the door open.

“Patton, is that… wise?” Roman asked tentatively.

“They seem to respond best to being given choices!” Patton replied. “... Maybe be ready to intervene if they head towards the edge of the table, though.”

—

“I am not doing another death maze. I’m drawing the line in the sand, man,” Virgil announced to the room at large, despite the fact that only half of the occupants could understand him. “The real line in the sand was like, one abduction ago, but I’m drawing a new, deeper line in the sand. Screw this.”

Remus rubbed his hands together in purposefully cartoonish glee. “Y’know, I could get used to this whole space lab rat thing if they keep throwing so much enrichment into my enclosure. I haven’t gotten to destroy the same thing twice in a row since they gave up on rebuilding the local billboard in my town.”

Virgil sighed. “…I don’t even wanna know, man.”

Janus, who had not had the privilege of entering the death maze so far and had no plans of changing that, turned on his heel and started walking the other way.

Only seven steps in, Patton’s hand drifted down to block him from heading any further in that direction.

“No,” the giant said, and gave a solid attempt at shaking their head. Another string of alien syllables, and a flat-handed gesture towards the open doorway.

The other two aliens hovered closeby. Janus considered for a long moment, mostly just to test a few more boundaries before acquiescing.

“Tell me you’re joking,” Virgil groaned, watching him turn around and walk back that way.

“I don’t want to set a precedent that it’s normal or tolerable to ignore a ‘no’.” Janus shrugged. “We can save that for when it’ll be more useful.”

“Useful like avoiding a literal electrified rat race, maybe?” Virgil snapped back, but when Janus showed no signs of stopping, he trudged after him. “Okay, sure, whatever. I’m not jumping in front of any spike traps for you. Your funeral.”

Virgil had already jumped in front of far scarier on Janus’ behalf, but he had enough sense not to say so aloud. Not yet, anyhow. It would make for invaluable teasing material later.

“Can’t spell funeral without fun!” Remus added in cheery anticipation, having waited by the doors expectantly.

He seemed to have understood the sort of boundary-testing Janus was going for quicker than most. It appeared he certainly was keener than his lackadaisical and outright deranged demeanor would imply.

Janus wasn’t typically the kind to take point, but he supposed he had led them into this mess. He was fairly sure at this point that there wasn’t anything intended to harm them inside anyhow. And if there was, well, he’d bluffed his way through worse odds before.

With the same false confidence that carried him everywhere, he led the way through the doors and down the narrow hall into the first room. To his surprise, the doors didn’t immediately slam shut behind them. The lights flickered on, revealing… a floor utterly swathed in fabrics?

“It looks like a laundromat threw up in here,” Virgil muttered, nudging at a pile of fabric warily.

Remus took a running start and cannonballed into one of the larger mounds, thrashing around in it for a moment before sitting up and scanning the room expectantly.

“No death traps here!” he announced to them after a solid ten seconds had passed. “Maybe it’s the alien version of a nice padded cell?”

“It would be a fairly poor cell,” Janus argued, motioning towards the clearly visible doorway on the other side of the room. “I imagine it’s a test of their own, though I can’t imagine what.”

Virgil paused. “Didn’t the big insect idiot take some of your clothes? Remus, don’t even start.”

Remus closed his mouth with a click, grinning.

“Yes, he seemed rather fascinated with it. Persistent, too,” Janus added, his tone distinctly non-complimentary.

The worn hoodie he’d been lent was surprisingly comfortable, but it didn’t change the fact that it didn’t exactly look professional. His appearance was something he preferred to manage himself, besides.

“I’d say maybe it’s a request for tiny clothes, but that’s stupid.” Virgil turned in a slow circle. “Plus there’s no actual sewing supplies.”

Janus glanced up, but the ceiling was opaque. However the aliens were monitoring them, it wasn’t through that.

“The far door is open. Let’s see if the next room can illuminate what precisely they want from us.”

—

“They didn’t pick any textiles!” Roman bemoaned as Patton tapped at his arm in a soothing pattern.

“I told you we shouldn’t have put it first,” Logan said with an ear flick.

“Give it more time,” Patton encouraged. “They’re probably going to go back and forth between rooms a fair few times. We’ll learn their preferences eventually!”

—

“I am never leaving this room. Ever.”

Virgil snorted, as though Janus was being facetious when he actually felt dangerously close to swearing an oath on the matter.

The next room was broken up into five smaller spaces, which turned out to be temperature-controlled.

Janus was currently in the warmest room, practically directly below the heating vent and he had no plans of exiting any time soon.

Remus, who had started sweating as soon as they got to the second warmest area, had already detoured to the coldest section and was currently exposing his pits— and by extension, his body odor— to the fans.

Janus wasn’t going in that section for love or money.

“Stop turning into a puddle,” Virgil demanded, kicking at one of Janus’s legs lightly. “You don’t even know how this thing is heated. We could be getting radiation poisoning right now.”

“Who needs warmth with a ray of sunshine like you in the group,” Janus asked, earning himself a glower. “You have no sympathy for the disabled. For shame.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Come on. I want to leave but I don’t want to get separated. That’s how they get you in every horror movie ever.”

Janus stretched out a little further, sighing as the heat sank into his bones. “Ahh, the horror.”

“Fine,” Virgil snapped, rising. “Don’t come crying when they start baking you like a pie.”

He stomped off with the energy of a twenty year old. Being an ancient five years older, Janus envied his spry nature.

He’d have to get up and keep moving after all. Just… in a moment or two…

—

They watched as two of the little aliens settled firmly on opposite ends of the climate choice area, with the third one storming off without settling in any particular one.

“…I rescind my hivemind theory.”

“Stars above,” Roman made a low buzzing groan. “This is going to make temperature control so unnecessarily difficult.”

“We’re certainly going to have to get creative,” Patton agreed, unable to conceal his amusement. “Two choices in and we’ve already got trouble on our hands, literally.”

He waved a few hands around to his teammates’ shared exasperation.

“A species with such variance in three samples alone… It’s going to be explosive when we share this footage.” Roman mused. “Nobody’s going to know what hit them.”

Looking down at their tiny guests, Patton couldn’t help but agree.

#nawts #not always what they seem #ts virgil #ts roman #ts janus #ts patton #ts logan #ts remus #my writing #sanders sides fic #g/t #space au #writing

142 notes · View notes

sarasade · 1 month

Text

Claudia, Viren & The Very Real Parent-Child Dynamics of The Dragon Prince

Sometimes I wonder if I come across like I try to defend Claudia too much. That's not my intent at all. I just think she deserves more and better critique.

The Point I guess

Personally, I really connect with Claudia's brand of messy, unflattering and even pathetic rage and grief much more than the dignified and mature ways Callum and Ezran handle things (More on that later). Maybe this sounds unflattering but Claudia being also kind of an asshole really speaks to me. Like that's the kind of teenage girl I'm the most familiar with and we don't have enough media that has nuanced takes on this sort of troubled character. Exploring negative or even anti-social traits and impulses in fiction, especially in women, is kind of undervalued in my opinion. Those are part of humanity and therefore part of us and this impulse to completely reject them doesn't benefit anyone really.

Finally, some wholesome father-daughter relationship rep in media!

My way to view fantasy media is about how it can artistically portray something true to real life. That's why I'm the most invested in this kind of reading of the text. Fantasy media is often dismissed as mere escapism even by the fantasy fans themselves (*side eyes the dude bro Witcher fandom*) which ignores the emotional depths it can reach by approaching difficult subject matter more metaphorically.

Inject Viren & Claudia's Father-Daughter Dynamic Straight into My Veins

There is something viscerally real about Claudia and Viren's relationship. I've seen this kind of father-daughter dynamic play out in real life many times where the child gives and gives and gives yet the parent takes it all for granted until it's too late and the parent-child relationship is just a mangled corpse of its former self, way too damaged to ever be truly repaired.

Like if you've had a difficult relationship with your parents it can feel similar to how s4-5 Claudia struggles to keep Viren alive while Viren hesitates. The child is the one who tries to fix things in the relationship while the parent is in denial or completely oblivious. Viren doesn't really try to connect with Claudia further in s4-5. It almost seems like he's completely emotionally unprepared to have that conversation and oh boy if you know any boomer parents that's pretty damn realistic. He just sort of gives up and acts completely passive because he's so out of touch with his emotions.

There is also this aspect of your parent aging and then one day you realise that you, the child, are the one who has more power in the relationship. It's a universal experience. These are just some of the ways I can see Viren and Claudia's relationship in seasons 4 and 5 metaphorically portray real life parent-child dynamics. There is a lot of emotional truth to how TDP approaches these relationships even when the story itself is an over the top fantasy romp.

How much Viren relies on Claudia is revealed little by little: She got the unicorn horn for the spell that killed Avizandum, she got the dragon horn that helped them cross the lava to Xadia in s3. It's set up really subtly how there is almost this parentification of Claudia like she's the one who took her mother's place as the emotional center and caregiver of the family after Viren and Lissa divorced. It's a lot of pressure to put one a child to say the least. This extends to Soren and how he is treated as the scapegoat of the family when Claudia is the Golden Child. This sort of treatment of Claudia and Soren by Viren is probably the most common analysis of their family dynamic as far as I can tell.

You ever heard of the thing called "eldest daughter syndrome"?

Eventually Claudia's most admirable and positive traits get corrupted (insert here an analysis of the corruptive nature of the dark magic as a plot device). It's like this perversion of feminine nurturing instinct society values and enforces in girls. Claudia's love is not domesticated but something that's so all consuming it destroys everything in its way. In s 4 she insists Viren has to live. She does everything in her power to keep her family together even against the wishes of her loved ones; first it was healing Soren in and then it was bringing Viren back to life in s3. Claudia has fully internalised her role as the caregiver to the point of self-imposed victimhood.

All The Characters Have a Part to Play

Since TDP is meant for an all-age audience (And later for teens and up since they hiked up the age rating) all the younger characters Callum, Ezran, Rayla, Claudia and Soren collectively represent the kind of different and difficult feelings parental abandonment and neglect can cause. A real person most likely feels all of these emotions at some point of their life but in fiction they need to be spread out among different characters or the story wouldn't work as, well, a story.

"she was a mage girl committing warcrimes, he was an elf boy vibing in the woods, can I make it anymore obvious"

I'd gladly read some more critical takes on Claudia's character. There is something very interesting there about Claudia and Terry's relationship for example. Terry is clearly very enamored with Claudia whom he perceives as someone very vulnerable and in need of help. Terry isn't wrong exactly but it does get problematic when he goes to great lengths to protect Claudia to the detriment of his own wellbeing. While TDP itself doesn't draw attention to it there are also the racial and gendered elements, both implicit and explicit, because of Claudia's fantasy racism and because of Terry being a non-white trans boy character as well. Claudia is the most powerful dark mage in Xadia when Terry is just a normal guy. Given the context of the show there is a power imbalance there.

tHÖ END

Why I'm laying this all out is that I think the Internet would be a better place if people didn't try to constantly find an objective "right" way to view a piece of media but instead were somewhat transparent about what they personally got out of it. I think this Viravos meta is the most popular thing I've written so far and I tried to explain my approach in detail because I don't want people to go "look this person says Viravos is canon!". Jokes are fine of course but taking it too objectively ignores the fact that analysing subtext is valuable on its own.

Idk how to end this. Here, have this meme.

#help! I've gotten stuck in the hermeneutic circle and can't get out!#Viren & Claudia have the most interesting relationship in this show and it just keeps getting better and better #I think this is literally all that I've got to say about Claudia so far #the dragon prince meta #tdp meta #sarasade text

36 notes · View notes

starfanatic · 5 months

Text

Chamber of Reflection pt.1

Relationship: (Platonic) Zeus & Ares

Summary: Zeus thought about it for a moment. He loved Ares, in his own special way. He was disturbed by his violence, but fascinated by the skills it took to execute his aggression. He hated how much Ares looked like him, but loved how much he looked like his mother. His feelings for Ares were complicated.

It wasn’t complicated for Apollo.

Anyone who harmed Apollo would face the wrath of Zeus.

Apollo was kind where Ares was cruel. Apollo’s smile was infectious to many, his rays were warm and gentle. Zeus’ pride never faltered when he thought of Apollo. All the endless victories Apollo achieved were Zeus’ achievements, because he made this wonderful boy and only his mother could say the same. It wasn’t quite the same with Ares. He loved Ares like a father was forced to love a child. Zeus doubts he would care for Ares if he wasn’t his son, but he would love Apollo no matter the circumstances. It’s just not the same.

It never will be.

Ares is more psychologically damaged by the jar incident then in canon, and Zeus has to pick up all the pieces for a son he hardly knows.

Author's Note: IM INTENDING to have 2-3 parts, and I'm also posting this on ao3! I have a feeling this won't get attention, but I'm excited for Poseidon, HESTIA, baby Apollo & Artemis, and... Cronos. Also disclaimer that some of this isn't completely accurate to greek mythology, but if you have any sort of advice to give I'm happy to receive.

Zeus wasn’t sure at first who he was looking at when he entered the healing chamber.

Yes, it was Ares.

But it also wasn’t. Something was horribly wrong.

Zeus swallowed an uncomfortable lump in his throat, the lingering defeat in the air making him want to vomit. Ares was no stranger to defeat, Zeus even used to find it laughable when Ares tried to challenge someone more powerful and lose terribly. Ares' nature called for losses, but this defeat seemed to change him in a way Zeus didn’t like.

Ares’ chest stuttered as he breathed, like even breathing was an incredible struggle for him. Something that was meant to be natural, especially for a god.

It took a few moments for Ares to notice someone else was in the room, but when he did he stared at Zeus like he hardly believed he was there.

Zeus speaks first because he had a feeling Ares wasn’t going to. “Apollo informed me that you have been… difficult while he’s trying to heal you. Why?”

No response.

“Answer me when I’m speaking to you-” Ares finally looks back up to him, but not with the anger Zeus expected. He wanted Ares to yell in his face, for once. It felt strange to see his eldest son without that passionate fire in his eyes–it was like staring into a blank void. Zeus cut eye contact from Ares, uselessly staring at the wall.

“Why are you here?” Ares asks. His voice is small and quiet, almost like how Zeus would expect a mouse to sound like.

“I want you to accept your medicine. You’re neglecting your duties, your mother is worried about you. This has gone on for long enough” Zeus says. Ares stares at Zeus for a moment, like he was picking him apart in his head.

“Were you not worried?” Ares asks. He speaks as if it hurts him to do so. Now that Zeus thinks of it, it probably does.

Even more awkwardness is pumped in the air the longer Zeus hesitates to answer, because he wasn’t sure if he even felt any genuine concern until now.

“I was worried.” Zeus responds, but he already knows he sounds flat and dishonest.

“Then where in the name of your big brother were you?” Ares sits up with some difficulty, letting out a strong breath when he accidentally puts pressure on one of his injuries. Zeus doesn’t move to help him.

“They used to worry whether one of the Olympians would come down when they first captured me. Didn’t want the wrath of the King of the Gods did they? But after 5 months they realized I wasn’t going to be saved anytime soon, they started to treat me like a playtoy. Wanted to see what ichor looked like splattered on the wall. Or whether a god will stitch itself together after being pulled apart. Simpler experiments, they wanted to see how long I could survive without breath or food. They were a bit upset when Hermes and Artemis came, I believe. They were waiting for me to end my pain of starvation and resort to cannibalism. I used to feel comfort during storms because I thought that meant you were coming to save me… and you never did.” Ares was never shy to violence, but the simple recollection of his torture didn’t feel right to Zeus. It made him feel even more sick that the giants were right.

“We tried to save you as soon as we knew. I would’ve come down myself if it was necessary.”

“And it wasn’t? Would it have been necessary if it was Apollo? If Apollo was stuck in a jar, are you telling me you wouldn’t have demolished the giants with your mighty bolts?” Ares looks curiously at Zeus, wide eyes almost like a child but lacking the innocence that is supposed to come hand in hand.

Zeus thought about it for a moment. He loved Ares, in his own special way. He was disturbed by his violence, but fascinated by the skills it took to execute his aggression. He hated how much Ares looked like him, but loved how much he looked like his mother. His feelings for Ares were complicated.

It wasn’t complicated for Apollo.

Anyone who harmed Apollo would face the wrath of Zeus.

It never will be.

“No answer? The magnificent Zeus has no answer? Coward. You’re a fucking coward-”

“I didn’t come here to hear you whine about your brother again. At the end of the day, you can point fingers but this is the result of your own foolishness. You decided to fight not one, but two giants and for what? You are not the victim here.” Zeus’ hands tightened in fists as he looked upon his son–his arrogant son who was laughing in his face.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You sound more upset about me mentioning your favoritism to the bastard-”

“Don’t call him that.” Zeus warns.

“-than me being tortured! If you think you care about me, you’re deluding yourself. Maybe you need your ‘god of truth’ son to figure that out.” Ares expected Zeus to grab him and smack him around, or even just simply yell at Ares until his eardrums bleed. What he didn’t expect was for Zeus to start laughing. Ares laughs during arguments, not Zeus.

It wasn’t unsettling for the King of Olympus.

“I tried to be patient with you, but as usual, you tested me. What do you want me to say to you? That I wish you were something I could be proud of? Or that I wish you were a person capable of being liked? All you do is give reasons to make people hate you. You throw insults at your siblings any chance you get, and when you get humbled you throw tantrums that you expect me to handle. Have you ever wondered why hardly anyone on Olympus wants to be around you?”

“Where do you think I learned it from? My anger is your anger. My hatred is your hatred. Everything you hate about me came from you.” Zeus’ face was practically boiling hot at this rate, and without realizing it, he punched at the wall right near Ares’ head. Ares glanced at the damaged wall near his head and back at his father, raising an eyebrow at Zeus.

“Do you see what you do to people? You provoke them to the point of anger, and you like that don’t you? It doesn’t matter, because I’m sick of speaking to you, and I’m definitely sick of babying you. If I find out you’re refusing medicine again, I’ll add more injuries to match the rest of you. Do you understand me?” Ares stubbornly doesn’t respond, lightly tracing the edge of the fist-shaped hole in front of his face. It’s like he was fascinated with the uncontrollable anger Zeus feels around him.

No surprise there.

“I never understand you, Zeus.” Ares admitted. “I don’t think I ever will.”

“I know something you do understand. Violence. That’s what you like?” Zeus snatched Ares’ finger, bending it back at an unnatural angle. Ares stared down Zeus, as he wasn’t expecting to follow through with it.

“You will stop rejecting Apollo’s medicine. You will eat, sleep, do whatever is necessary to get better. I don’t care who or what you’re doing it for, but you will do it. I will not come back in here because next time I will bring the thunderbolt. Is that clear?” Zeus says.

“You wouldn’t do it. Mom would find a way to kill you again.”

“I’ve angered her before. She’ll get over it like she always does.” Zeus knows she will never get over it. She would unleash her fury upon anyone, even the undeserving, if Zeus even attempted to raise his thunderbolt against his son. No matter how much he hated it, Hera loved her son unconditionally.

“What a good husband you are. All the bastards running around Mount Olympus, and you want to smite the only legitimate son you have.” Ares notes.

Zeus hated Ares’ attitude.

He hated how bratty Ares was, how Hera constantly pestered him about Ares.

How Ares would run to Poseidon as a kid, as if Poseidon was somehow better than him.

How Ares continues to hurt innocent people in some misguided attempt of release

About how much he should care about a kid who can hardly respect him.

He hated how confident Ares was that Zeus wouldn’t hurt him.

And with a sickening crunch that made Zeus feel nauseous, Ares’ pointer finger is crushed by the strength of Zeus.

More pain shoots up Ares' finger as Zeus tightens his grip, putting even more intense pressure on the injured finger. Ares of course cries out in pain, but Zeus fails to listen. He completely tuned Ares' voice from his head.

Ares was actually crying now, the first time Zeus saw him cry in years. The tears brought on a sense of nostalgia, back when Ares was a kid. Every injury was life altering, any wrong choice of words would make Ares tremble and sob.

What a sensitive kid he used to be then.

He looked like his mother now more than ever, and Zeus was reminded why he hated seeing Hera cry. Ares’ eyes were like the stars that litter the dark sky, and it was heartbreaking and beautiful all at once.

Ares was used to pain, especially now. Zeus crushing his finger was miniscule to the pain he’s used to receiving.

It wasn’t the pain that brought tears to Ares’ eyes, it was the fact that Zeus was the one inflicting it.

Zeus couldn’t look him in the eyes anymore, and instead looked down at the hand he was holding. They were healed scars all around the palm of his hand, very little faint lines that were hard to see. This must have been from when he was far younger than what he is now. Ares tried ripping his hand out of Zeus’ grip, but Zeus was always stronger than him. Eventually Ares gave up and decided to just close his fist as much as he could, hiding the scars from Zeus’ view. Zeus didn’t really understand why Ares was so adamant on hiding his scars, when he usually shows his scars off like some trophy. Then again, he never really understood Ares.

Zeus pried open Ares’ palm and picked out another finger. “Please just do what I say, don’t argue.” Zeus begged with his eyes for Ares to not be stubborn, so he won’t have to hurt him again.

He didn’t like who he became when he was around Ares.

“Okay.” Ares speaks finally. Zeus can finally breathe again, but he doesn’t feel relieved. What’s been done is done.

Zeus lets go of Ares’ hands, and it drops like deadweight. Ares won’t stop looking at him, and Zeus couldn’t handle it. He walks away from Ares, stopping at the doorway.

A chill fills the room as Zeus pauses, searching through his mind what he could say.

“Feel Better.” He says, before leaving Ares to his own devices.

It felt like a threat.

#greek mythology #Ares #Zeus #Hera #Hestia #Poseidon #Apollo #Artemis #I CANT WAIT FOR BABY ARTEMIS AND APOLLO #Hestia is going to be a big one for the next part #There will be trigger warnings for the next part #daddy issues

38 notes · View notes

infernalodie · 1 year

Text

𝐈𝐟 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 || 𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬

“𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰𝘯' 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰𝘯' 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰𝘯' 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦“

Inspo: NF - If You Want Love

Pairing: Ellie Williams x Black!Fem!reader

Summary: Love took effort in the moments of despair...

Warnings: Angst, depression, and fluff

Words: 1118

The flames of a burning building nipped at the ends of your hair. The smoke brought tears to your eyes and choked up your lungs, leaving a hoarse cough to be ripped from your lungs. And crackling of gunfire filled the night air that would likely call out to any infected unaware of the battle raging on in the town just a few kilometres from Jackson. The ringing in your ears hadn’t stopped since the explosion of a vehicle on your left. Dust and dirt bake on your rich brown skin as the rough rock feeling of rocks stabbed into your back and legs. But with the deafening sound in your ears, blocking your awareness of your surroundings, you couldn’t hear the screams that left your lips.

And when you felt hands gently be placed on your body, you screamed harder. Trying to wiggle free from whoever’s grasp it was that was on you. And then came the muffled yells of everything around you. The calls of your name as your eyes searched for whoever it was.

But all you found was darkness.

“Joel, give me a hand!” Tommy’s voice ripped through the air, seeming to travel easily over the sounds of gunfire and yells. The man’s brother hadn’t hesitated to quickly move from around the cover he found and came to his side.

When he looked down at what Tommy called him out for, he found you. His eyes uneasily ran up your trembling body. Your eyes flicker between objects within your vision with a frantic essence found inside.

“Joel? Tommy?” You cried, damaged eyes flickering around you. “Joel! Tommy!”

Joel swallowed the lump in his throat, leaning down and placing his hand on your cheek. “Hey, we’re right here. We’re right here, Y/n.”

You choked on breaths, shaking your head as you tried to find the face belonging to the voice. Only able to snatch memories of the man behind your eyes. Nothing was going on. “I–I can’t see,” you whimpered, lips trembling. “I can’t see! Please, wipe my eyes. There’s something in them. I can’t see!”

You shot up in a cold sweat, ragged breaths falling from your lips. Searching for some sort of light in the darkness plunging your vision. Like, you thought that haunting night to be some fabrication of your mind. A false case of what had exactly happened. But you were wrong. There was nothing. Just darkness. Endless darkness that had been living with you for almost a year.

“Y/n?”

Ellie’s soft voice made you flinch, pointing your head halfway in the girl’s direction. The black strip of fabric tied around your head hides the cloudy look in your eyes. Dreads fall around your face and frame it perfectly. The tips of thin strands are all noticeable as they are pressed to your naked figure. You listened to the bed shift with the warm placement of a hand press to the center of your chest. Her calloused palm extracted the panic underneath the surface just by the small touch.

“Was it the same nightmare?” Ellie whispered, staring at your back, seeing the muscles slowly relax. Feeling you grasp her hand and hold it with your body hunched forward. She didn’t need to ask the question to know what the answer was. She knew it was the source of you being up at ungodly hours of the night or waking up screaming or just as you did. It’d been weighing just as heavily on her as it was for you.

And she would never hold it against you. It wasn’t in Ellie’s nature to place that against you when she loved you so much. Because partially the blame could be placed on her. She wasn’t there to protect you during the bandit attack when she was tasked to stay in Jackson in case things went south.

“When isn’t it?” You scoffed, bowing your head slowly. “Just give me a second. You can go back to sleep.”

Ellie sighed, moving to the edge of the bed. Her hands fell to either side of her legs and her head turned to look over her shoulder. Finding you holding the same pose, but your head resting in your hands. “You know I can’t do that, Y/n.”

“Ellie.” You sighed shakily, looking up into the open space. Hands clasping together with the cool touch of tears sliding down your cheeks making you inhale sharply. “I-I can’t do anything. I can’t sleep, I’ve barely been eating- I can’t even clean up the house. Me placing this shit on you isn’t fair for either of us.” Your lips trembled, shaking your head slightly. “I should’ve died that night.”

Hearing that caused Ellie to practically scramble over the bed and sit in front of you. Quickly grabbing your hands and holding them close to her chest. “Don’t you ever say that you hear me?” She ordered, lips trembling. “All right? I don’t want to hear you say that because you are the entire reason I am still here.”

You wept quietly. Sniffling as you shook your head. “You don’t want to find someone else?” You asked. “Well, someone that isn’t a burden or fucked up?”

“Baby, you’re not a burden and we’re all a little fucked up,” she reassured, hand coming up to hold your face. “You are everything to me. I don’t deserve you. And if you left me, I would’ve lived a fulfilling life with you by my side.”

Although you couldn’t see if her face matched the emotion she was producing, her words tied you into knots. Eyes burning up with tears that fell like cascades of a waterfall. Causing you to reach out and hold her face softly with your leaning down and pressing your lips against hers. A content sigh slipped out your nose as you pressed harder against Ellie. Allowing the girl to fully feel how you needed her emotionally and physically.

She could taste the desperation on your tongue and find the tinge of salt from the tears on your lips. The kiss had the structure of pain and relief intertwined. So many nights had passed since the two of you found the warmth in one another. Too many nights had passed since a kiss was exchanged. But it’d been you needing that reassurance. To be told you weren’t a waste of space and inconvenience for the girl that your life revolved around.

You were more than that and you wouldn’t have found that destination without her. She was the hand you held to guide you toward something that gave you purpose. And if that was to love her unconditionally, you would do it till the day you died.

142 notes · View notes

zabiume · 1 year

Note

consider this…. Ichigo mustering up the courage to ask Orihime about the day she was kidnapped by Ulquiorra because he was always curious about how his hand was healed before she disappeared; Orihime mustering up the courage to tell him about that night and how she both confessed to him and almost kissed him. Angst x100 followed by fluff, perhaps?

You asked for fluff after but uh,,,,,I brought you this? Set post-TYBW.

Orihime senses something is wrong when the little Plus in pigtails is standing all by herself. Ichigo usually checks in with them right after, especially the young ones who are all sorts of scared, and vulnerable, and traumatized by their own deaths.

She moves to help, but stops when a blur of black flashes between her and the child.

“Kurumadani-san,” she greets mildly.

“Apologies! Late again.” He gives her a sheepish sort of grin, to which she smiles back politely, casting one glance over her shoulder. Ichigo is crouched on the ground, clutching his stomach. He's not bleeding but he seems — hurt.

“Is it alright if I—”

“Go ahead!” Kurumadani booms, saluting her. “I’ll finish up the konso.”

Orihime nods gratefully and rushes over to Ichigo. Although he doesn’t appear too hurt, he’s dripping with goo, a dull, purplish slime spreading over his shoulder. When he glances up, his lips are shiny with spit and his eyes go wide. “Inoue.”

“Kurosaki-kun.” She kneels, two petals of her pins already scanning the site of damage. Her shield shudders, re-constructing a mental map of the injury so she can start picking apart the threads to reject the star-shaped wound. Whatever struck Ichigo, it’s slow, and it works its way through his system rather deceptively; it’s not as straightforward as a slash from a sword, or a Hollow bite. Those are easier to detect, work through, and then undo — make it like it never happened. This… “Poison?” She searches his eyes.

“Bastard caught me off-guard when I tried to shield the little girl.” Ichigo remembers himself, and his eyes go wide. “The girl — is she—”

“She’s alright,” Orihime quickly reassures him, glancing back at the now empty lot. “Looks like Kurumadani-san finished up the konso.”

Ichigo makes an exaggerated face at that, but nods nonetheless. Orihime frowns; something is off about him, but she’s momentarily distracted when two more of her fairies flitter in front of her face.

“Tell Sado-kun and Ishida-kun I have him,” she tells them. They whip off at the speed of light, leaving Orihime alone with Ichigo.

Suddenly, Ichigo slumps forward. She catches him, tucking her palms under his armpits, allowing his weight to sag against her shoulder even though her knees hurt from their collective weight.

"You smell nice, Inoue," Ichigo mutters, nuzzling into her shoulder.

Something is wrong, Orihime thinks, even as her cheeks heat.

"Kurosaki-kun," she says, forcing a bit of strength into her voice. "What kind of poison did the Hollow get you with?"

"Some kind of…truth serum," Ichigo slurs, pulling away from her to rub at his eye. "Or something that's messing with my inhibition." He glances at her again, like he's really seeing her for the first time, and then he blushes — honest to God blushes — quickly releasing her. "Sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"No," she replies honestly, helping him to his feet with both hands. "But we better get to Urahara-san's shop. I'm sure he'll have an antidote. Can you walk?"

Ichigo grunts like he's really trying to hold back, like he could swallow his own tongue with the effort of it, and Orihime belatedly realizes it's because he wants to say —

"No," he gasps begrudgingly. "Head's spinning, might need to lean on you. Fuck, I didn't want to say that."

A part of Orihime wants to scold him for not asking for help sooner, but she knows his nature; asking for help has never been easy to him, even if it's something he's gotten better at. The other part giggles at the childlike scowl on his face after being forced to tell the truth. “You can lean on me, Kurosaki-kun, don’t ever worry about it. I won’t tell a single soul!”

Something about her teasing tone releases the tension from Ichigo’s shoulders. His mouth turns soft, and his eyes — Orihime’s stomach jolts with heat, because his eyes. They’re looking at her so warmly, with so much open affection that it changes his entire face, turning the sharp edges into something much, much softer.

“Thanks for coming to check up on me,” he mutters. “I like it when it’s you.”

Orihime bites down the inside of her cheek hard because she’s checked up on him many times before — they all do, when they’re out on patrol, but this little factoid is news to her.

“Of course,” she replies softly, even though her heart is hammering against her chest so fast it rings in her ears. “Let’s get you moving, though, okay?”

“Okay.”

Throughout their walk to the shop, Ichigo leans half his weight on her, apologizing once or twice for sweating so much. Once he gets the ball rolling, though, it’s hard to make him stop as he makes confession after confession — that he reads the weekly zodiac column even though he loathes it, a scar on his knee he got from sparring with Tatsuki, his worries about Yuzu taking too much on herself (“It’s probably a Kurosaki thing,” he acknowledges, utterly self-aware with just a touch of regret), his fierce childhood crush on Al Pacino…

“I’m talking a lot,” he says tiredly. “Why don’t you talk instead?”

Orihime wants to say it’s okay, that she’ll never get tired of hearing from him, but she knows letting him speak more would be a violation of his privacy. That asking him things he doesn’t want to talk about isn’t right. That he’d be embarrassed afterwards.

“Okay,” she decides. “Why don’t you ask me something, and I’ll answer 100% honestly? You know. To level the playing field a bit.”

Ichigo gives her a wry smile. “You don’t have to do that for my sake.”

“Please, I’m an open book! Or are you simply afraid that my raw honesty will send you crying into the corner?” Orihime challenges, tilting her chin with an air of bravado.

“Nothing you say could ever hurt me, Inoue,” Ichigo says, still smiling.

“Because I’m nice?”

“Because it’s you.”

What does that mean, she wants to ask him, but she promised no questions and she’s going to stand by it. “Okay. So, um. What else?”

He asks her basic, surface-level things. Her favorite music genre (pop), her first memory (seeing the snow for the first time with her brother), her first crush (the salaryman from the Donbei commercial). The more she speaks, the more he smiles, even pausing to tease her every now and then — “of course you would like some guy in an ad and not a celebrity or something” — and it’s…it’s fine. Nothing too out of left field. Ichigo mostly acts like the Ichigo she’s used to, with the same attentive curiosity and the occasional sarcasm, even though he randomly points out a house or a weird-shaped tree non-sequitur.

They’re coming up on the street where the shoten is — Orihime can see its light flickering at them just along the horizon — when he says, “Inoue, did you visit me the night Ulquiorra kidnapped you?”

Orihime’s heart stops. She almost stumbles her grip on Ichigo but regains it at the last minute. Suddenly, his arm around her shoulder feels oppressive. The night feels warmer than it was ten minutes ago.

“Oh! Um — yes,” she says quickly, trying to think of an abridged summary, a way to tell the truth without telling the truth. “Did Captain Hitsugaya tell you?”

“Kinda,” he replies, oblivious to her apprehension. “You healed my hand.” He flexes it, as if to show her what a hand is. “Did Ulquiorra make you do that?”

Orihime shakes her head, feeling nervous and numb. “I just,” she whispers, when Ichigo glances at her. There’s nothing on his face but plain curiosity, but still. She feels heat building in her eyes, and she knows from the first prickle that tears are going to follow.

I love you, she wants to say, but moreso, I don’t want to lose you, I don’t want to mess this up, I love us too much for that. She can’t have fathomed being this close to Ichigo just three years ago, and the idea of shaking that up, of changing things, terrifies her. Once, at a time when they were not this close, the idea of telling Ichigo how she felt felt liberating. Now, it feels like she has too much to lose. The irony of calling herself an open book is not lost on her, but the words refuse to come. She won’t let them.

“I don’t want to tell you,” she confesses softly, and the honest hurt that flickers across his expression aches more than any pinch of a sword, any slap of a hand against her skin ever had. “I’m sorry.”

The knowledge that she’s hurt him, that despite their closeness, she’s kept a secret from him — perhaps the biggest secret of them all — sends a trickle of a single, hot tear rolling down her cheek.

She doesn’t even have to lift her chin to look to know the hand that wipes it is his — it always is.

“Yoohoo, welcome to Urahara’s shoten!” they hear Urahara say, and the tension in the air splits right open, the light from inside the store casting long shadows against their silhouettes.

Orihime doesn’t dare look at Ichigo again.

#why would a hollow attack with a truth serum? because then the pluses will reveal themselves instead of hiding (deception/lies)#but you don't care about that #ichihime #myfic #asks

207 notes · View notes

greyias · 12 days

Text

In addition to being stuck on My Time at Sandrock these past few weeks, I've also been distracted by what basically amounts to "blorbo from my head". I was trying out something to see if it would possibly work as a way to run some 5e Waterdeep modules solo so I could pretend to have some post-epilogue adventures with Ari and Gale (long story short: no, it doesn't work well for that, the search continues!).

Despite it not working out for my intended purpose, I did get a little pulled into the story that wound up emerging, and got very attached to the randomized character I was playing.

This is Eliana (or rather, the best representation I could make of her in BG3). She is a level 3, half-elf bard. She has a whole whopping 7 AC, and her spell list consists of such combat bangers like "disguise self", "minor illusion", "faerie fire", and "charm person".

The other three party members are all rangers.

She has a -1 to her intelligence, but consistently rolls a 5 or lower on almost every INT based check (which seems to be about half of the checks she has to make). She introduced herself to her future boyfriend by continually pretending he and one of the other rangers were having an illicit moonlight affair.

Her charm person spell failed once during an encounter on an enemy and she rolled a Nat20 on deception to still convince him to hand over a box containing a potentially world ending McGuffin during combat. She has a rapier but didn't draw her weapon and do damage until like 75% of the way in. She talks to trees, not because it's an inherent ability or she's really into nature, but because it just seems polite at the time. (Sometimes they even talk back... sort of.)

She's befriended a random dire wolf and was nearly murdered by a cute little tabby cat. She disguised herself as the BBEG to interrogate a bunch of cultists who were trying to capture her. She has somehow managed to weaponize the Light cantrip.

Her mortal enemy is a door.

seen here, plotting said door's demise

She is utterly ridiculous and I love her.

So, of course I had to bring this powerhouse into BG3 for an honor mode run.

She did surprisingly well for the tutorial, but then she and Shadowheart forgot to have weapons equipped when walking into the first post-prologue fight and I got a very rude awakening when facing off against the Intellect Devourers. Poor SH died while Eliana ran like the dickens. I tried to alt-f4 to start the encounter over but the game was like "haha nice try" and saved as it was shutting down. After leaving poor SH to her doom, she went and found Gale and Astarion, remembered to equip a weapon, and got vengeance on the little pesky brains and revive my poor suffering cleric girl (who will soon be respecced into a poor suffering ranger girl once we find Withers, as well as the rest of the team).

I'm almost tempted to take bets on how soon this honor mode run is going to end. There is no way they're getting to Act 3 with that enabled. Probably not past the Grove even.

#i love her *clenches fist* so much #she is SUCH a d&d bard #so ridiculous #like i thought the spell list i chose would somehow be disastrous #but it somehow just made for very amusing and creative takes on encounters #she actually has (or had rather) a lute originally #but since ari has domain over bg3 lutes #i gave her a violin instead #she'll probably switch over to a flute once i find one in-game #(she has not managed to top ari's circus shenanigans... but i don't think anything will take that crown)

13 notes · View notes

zombiiwriter · 5 months

Text

Not my hands

TTT x reader

0.7k words

Warnings: maybe a bit ooc and spelling errors

You and TTT liked to talk. You were never the most observant person in the world, but she was definitely what you would call a gossiper. She looked and collected then told someone else (preferably you) later, never once interfering save from some rare situations. You, on the other hand liked to mind your own business, an isolationist free from social norms or at least you told yourself that. After everything though, you still can’t resist the intrigue of human beings. She gives you a way to indulge yourself without interacting with them.

You let out a scoff "no way that pavia guy is friends with Zima, he’s too intense."

"I’m sooo serious the-"

"Nope"

"But-"

"Don’t believe it."

"You think I would lie to you?" She puts on a baby voice with a playful pout.

"I think" you got up and got closer to TTT "you need your eyes checked", you retorted and hit the TV. Not enough to damage it though.

"H-hey! Stop it!" the rest of the monitors jumped. It startled you, but it also made you laugh. You liked how expressive she was.

"Sorry! Sorry!" you’re laughing. The apologies sound insincere, which was partially true, but you were just playing around.

"I wish I had a body so I could hit you back!" she said, the televisions jumping once again.

You say smugly " if you really wanted to hurt me, you’d shock me like you do with the critters outside." You smile with a bit of satisfaction. "plus- those hands won’t be able punch hard enough to hurt." you pointed to her hands through the screen. Her hands were soft and whenever she moved them it added to her playful nature, accompanying her reactions whenever she was hearing a particularly good tale.

"Well, technically these aren’t my hands." she said, her voice getting softer. "If you really want to feel what they’re like you could try touching the electric current." Her voice was sincere, and she seemed almost shy. Although what she said, brought something else to mind.

"Wouldn’t that kill me though?" You said, totally ruining the mood. A second after you said that, you mentally slapped yourself in the face a bit.

"Well, I guess you’re right then. Never mind."

Salvaging that lost opportunity, you speak up impulsively again. " I mean I could try feeling it through the TV. If you could make them jump, I could probably feel something through the screen." You look away a little.

"Sure, let’s try it…." Both of your hands approached your side of the screen. It was almost agonizingly slow, but too fast at the same time. your hands reached the screen before her but quickly after both of your fingertips are on the screen aligned with each other. You were holding your breath and you didn’t even know it until your hands started touching. It felt warm, not like an electronic was warm, but not like a person was warm either.

"Do you feel anything?"

" yeah, I do. A little bit, do you?"

" I think I do"

both of your palms were sort of touching now. it felt electric and you felt a sort of pulse. You knew TTT didn’t have a heart anymore but that illogical part of you believed you felt it beating. Your heart was beating a bit harder than you expected it to. And the room was quiet, and the scene was so undeniably peaceful but also intense. You were feeling a lot of conflicting things at that moment, but the one thing you were thinking in the silence was, is this intimacy? is this that closeness that you use to gag at your peers, for babbling on about. You looked at her face. She was smiling at you And your mind was flooded by a singular thought.

You wanted to kiss her.

You were snapped out of your trance by the voice of somebody calling for you. Turning your head back to the door and then removing your hand, you look back at TTT. You can’t read her expression for a specific emotion. Before you leave, you try to say to croak out some words. "I-um, I’ll be right back." Before leaving the room and closing the door behind you. You felt a little guilty for leaving her like that. But if you were honest with yourself, you were your breath on the other side of that door. "Shit" you meant to think instead of say. You realized Vertin was looking at you shortly after. She called out your name.

"Are you OK?"

"yeah." You said breathlessly while holding your head "yeah, I’m great."

#reverse 1999 x reader #reverse 1999 #TTT x reader

28 notes · View notes

freesia-writes · 8 months

Text

Chapter 21: Unveil

···

During the Clone Wars, the Bad Batch is tasked with a variety of missions across the galaxy. An unexpected addition to their team throws a wrench in the mix, particularly for Tech, who finds a particular connection with this disillusioned Padawan-turned-mechanic named Vel throughout the events in this action-adventure romance. COVER ART BY @zaana!!

Master List of Chapters

Author's Note -- this is a short one. I'm sorry. ;) A new arc begins tomorrow! And we've got some competition... some mystery... some joyful reunion... and some angst... nomnomnom

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Vel woke up in a stark, grey room, on a plain bed surrounded by monitors and tubes. She blinked a few times, trying to remember the events leading up to that point, when she realized the strangest sensations. Her whole spine felt tingly, almost as if it were made of bacta gel. She flexed her fingers, then tried to wiggle her toes, and the total lack of sensation below her waist made her gasp aloud.

"Ah, you're awake," came the most soothing voice she could have imagined at that moment. Tech was seated next to her bed, a couple old books and a datapad on the table next to him, as well as an assortment of ration bars, wrappers, and food scraps. He looked slightly disheveled, though much more like his usual self in his standard armor.

"You probably want an update. We completed the mission while you were passed out. I was able to install the program in the lab's central system and we left without a trace. We left some rumors with a few locals about Terrik's dishonest dealings with the wrong sort of people, and apparently his bad luck had caught up to him. At least that is what they all believed. Wrecker considered the mission a success, and I suppose we did complete our primary objective, but --"

"Tech," Vel interrupted, confused and feeling a panic begin to rise, "Why can't I feel my legs? I feel like my whole back is on fire, or ice, or something."

"Oh, that," Tech said, lowering his eyes to her prone form under the covers, "Your lumbar vertebrae were hit by Terrik's shot, resulting in paralysis from the point of trauma downward. However, we were able to get you to the medical bay of the Tantive IV as it was on a nearby diplomatic mission. The surgeons on board are proficient bone fusers and were able to reconstruct your spinal column with a couple small cybernetic implants, but the nerve damage will take some time to heal."

"So I'm stuck like this? For how long?" Vel asked, eyes glistening. The exhaustion, stress, and confusion were overwhelming, and she fought back tears with rapid blinks.

"I am not certain," Tech responded evenly, noticing her distress. He racked his brain for the most likely sources of comfort, opting for one that seemed the most natural. "It is most likely that you will be able to walk again in the near future. The timeline is impossible to estimate at this point."

Vel closed her eyes, wishing she could escape the sensation of electricity running up and down her body. She even thought she felt it in her legs, but that seemed impossible. Sleep felt tantalizingly inviting, even though she'd just woken up. Maybe just a short rest, to process it all... She felt a warm, gentle hand take hers and looked up to see Tech standing over her with as much of an empathetic expression as he could muster.

"Does this make you feel better?" he asked earnestly. "I am sorry for the incredibly unfortunate events you have endured. Broken bones are never ideal, and when the spinal cord is involved..." He trailed off, caught by the intensity of her gaze. "Would you like me to stop?"

"No," she said softly, bringing her other hand over to rest on top of his. "I'm glad you're here." Without her permission, her eyes lowered slowly, and she drifted off. Tech remained for a moment, watching her thoughtfully, before releasing her hand and returning to his seat.

Tag List: @merkitty49 @vimse @arctrooper69 @dystopicjumpsuit @starrylothcat @ghostperson69 @dreamie411 @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff @523rdrebel @clonemedickix @sinfulsalutations @ughhhhfoff @coraex @amorfista @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @followthepurrgil @littlefeatherr @sunshinesdaydream @thew0nderer2342 @dangraccoon @iceskategirl18

(If you're on my regular tag list, let me know if you want to be tagged in this; I didn't want to spam ya!)

Click here to join or leave the tag list. <3

#the bad batch #star wars fanfiction #tech fanfic #tech #tech fanfiction #tech x oc #tech romance

30 notes · View notes

m-joys · 2 years

Text

Donnie x Anxious Mutant S/O

@bevkin :hi!! I just found your blog and I really like your writing with your hc!

I want to send in a request so I hope this is ok,, Can I request for a scenario with Donnie and a mutant s/o (gender neutral is ok) who's very quiet because they don't want to scare others, maybe they also have a scratching habit from the neck due to anxiety, they could be based on a reptile of some sort, I haven't seen alot of people with a mutant reader so I hope this is ok!

wordcount:

A/n: Did I stray away a bit?Yeah. Is it absolutely awfull? Not quite I would say.

---

Its been almost four years since you've met the turtles and even longer since you've last been in contact with other humans. Sudden mutation which disabled your abillity to live a normal life has taken a big toll on your somewhat already strained mental health. Along with trouble getting used to the new form of living, the building insecurities about your brand new look werent helping much.

Some of the weight has been lifted off of your shoulders since bonding with the turtles, majority of it being since you've gotten close to the purple nerd in a romantic way. Even while you have still been just friends, you've felt the most comfortable around him as he's shown you that you can lean on him whilst he respects your personal space and boundaries. He made sure that he and others listened and respected what you had to say even while your voice was the quitest in the room. Even when you didnt voice it, he still asked for and appreaciated your input on whatever the topic may be. What more, listening to you telling him your opinion on his hand crafted trinkets or future plans has been especially dear and enjoyable to him.

As a mutant himself, hes obviously very aware on how you may feel about your appearance and tries hardly to show you that it doesnt matter what people think as long as youre still your good-intentioed self. It goes in hand that hes noticed your scratching habbit and, while it does pain him to see your unhealthy coping mechanism, he tries to gently, almost secretly, approach it and help you without overwhelming you.

You have been sitting quietly on the pillow overflowed bed in his room thats convenietly connected to the lab. The two have been separated by just a heavy steel door that even Donatello himself sometimes has a hard time pushing. Its been two years of your blossoming relationship with the purple clad and it only came as natural to start sharing the same space and move into the same room.

While yes, you have gotten better over time generally, but the anxiety that followed you before your mutation was still present. Managing it has been for a great portion under control along with not letting it get to you too much, yet one thing you seem to not be able to get rid of is the constant scratching your neck had to endure out of habit. Already having tried things like fidgets, cutting your nails, taking deep breaths of which none had worked, you've quietly gave up on stopping it much to your lovers dismay.

This week, tho at first glance avarage, had many small slip-ups that have greatly builded up in a large, seemingly burning, pile of cripling nervousnes that takes control over you especially when you're alone with your own thoughts. Sitting in a uncomfortable positin with your knees thightly against your chest with your arms hugging them, cold sweat seemed to constantly drip down your forhead and under your oversized found clothing. Eyes pacing in all directions folowing your brain, your hand secretly found its way to your bruised and damaged neck. Anxiety blurring your thoughts enough as to pay no mind to your harmfull doing.

It wasnt your first time something like this happened, and you were certain it wasnt the last. Anxiety attacks have slowly exited your life over time as you've worked on your health, but now seemed that youre on the werge of choking on seemingly thick air which would allow heavy sobs to escape behind your eyes. Your state has made the world irrelevant and the only thing you could focus on are the blury sheets infront of you.

Not having noticed your partner entering the room, you jumped and almost winced at his sudden touch of pulling your hand away and pressing it on his lips. "Im here" he reassured as he sat himself behind you enough to lean you on his plastron whilst still holding your hand. Even tho your state has easen at the thought of him being there for you, your hand gripped and burried its nails into his as if its beinf restricted. He didnt mind if it meant you'll calm down.

Slowly turning you around so he could connect with you better, you instictively burried your face in his neck as to inhale his ever calming scent. Patting your back he moved your head so you could listen to his much slower heart beat as to help calm you down. You've been together for a while and there wasnt any issues, but sometimes he does whish you would be more vocal about what you needed and when you needed help but theres plenty of time to work on that as long as your willing.

"Its going to be okay, I"ll make sure its okay"

#tmnt 2014 #tmnt bayverse #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2003 #tmnt 2012 #tmnt donnie #tmnt donnie x reader #tmnt donatello #donatello x reader #tmnt donatello x reader #2003 donnie #tmnt 2003 donnie #2012 donnie #tmnt 2012 donnie #tmnt x reader #bayverse tmnt x reader #teenage mutant ninja turtle imagine #teenage mutant ninja turtles x reader

380 notes · View notes

thestraggletag · 11 months

Text

The Caretaker, Chapter Two

AKA: A Rumbelle Sugar Daddy AU… kinda.

Rating: Explicit.

Summary: Belle French had never thought helping came with strings attached, confident that in a community people naturally tended to help each other, until the day she needed help to keep the library open and no one seemed to care. No one but Mr Gold, whose penchant for dealing could always be counted on, even if the price for his generosity was known to be steep.

At first Belle thought it was a power move, to have her about. The first time he called she was very apprehensive, but nowhere near regretting her deal with Mr Gold. Marco and his crew had been to the library just the day before, taking measurements and making a more thorough assessment of the work needed, going as far as to check the work done on the roof, determined not only to fix the damage the water had made on the building but to also ensure it would not happen again. He seemed to hold little esteem for the people the town had hired to do the original patching on the roof, but was too polite to say something about it. He had even gone above and beyond and done a general assessment of the building itself, commenting on the poor-quality glass installed on the windows of her apartment, letting her know it would be wise to replace them as soon as possible, as he doubted they would resist many more Maine storms in the state they were.

Mr Gold had delivered on his promise almost at once, so Belle felt a bit glad to finally be able to start paying him back. The first time he called her it was to his shop after hours. She clocked out promptly at six PM, which she usually did not do, preferring to organise some section or do some minor cleaning until right before dinner time, and went across the street towards the pawnshop. The inside was dimly lit, contrasting with the well-lit street outside and to Belle it felt a bit like stepping into a cave of wonders. She hadn’t been flattering Mr Gold when she complimented him on his shop. The place was fascinating, full of character and hidden gems, secrets to be discovered. The way the curios created a labyrinth, the clutter accentuated by the busy yet elegant pattern wallpaper, the myriad of old pieces of furniture that overflowed with items at the top, it all had its charm. Then there was the fact that no item that she could see was ordinary. Everything was antique or unusual, belonging to some sort of bygone era that made them foreign yet recognisable.

She told herself not to look, but it was so difficult. Everything seemed to catch her eye, from the dusty books on the shelves to the sparkles of the pieces of jewellery strewn about. But the most intriguing thing was the man standing beside the cash register. Mr Gold looked composed, almost indifferent to her presence yet acutely aware of it at the same time. He was dressed sharply, as always, but once more without his suit jacket, his shirt cuffs pulled back from his wrist by the golden sleeve garters he wore. He was very much like his shop, familiar and yet someone out of time, beyond the normalcy she knew.

After exchanging basic pleasantries he instructed her to take a seat on a nearby desk. It contained the only 21st century piece of technology: a sleek, shiny laptop.

“I need to do some work to get a couple of candelabras I’ve sold up to snuff before they’re delivered, and I don’t have the time to catch up on some basic paperwork. I wish for you to update the inventory. But please make a pot of tea first, you’ll find everything you need in the back room.”

His tone was not unkind, but it did not invite chatter and there was an air of authority in it that Belle noticed right away. She made her way to the back room of the shop, noticing that it was too littered with stuff, noticeably either broken pieces or things that had not been polished or cleaned yet. There was a small kitchenette in a corner, where she found small boxes of loose-leaf tea, meticulously labelled, a complete tea set and an electric kettle, along with sugar, honey and a small carton of milk in the nearby mini-fridge.

Determined to give him his money’s worth and prove her usefulness Belle set out to prepare the tea, finding a darjeeling that smelled ripe and fruity that she liked, taking care to warm the pot before putting the tea in and pouring the water. She found a lovely wooden tray big enough and piled on the honey, sugar, the milk in its little pitcher, a saucer, cup and silver spoon, along with the full pot, mindful Mr Gold would likely want more than one cup. When she brought it over, rather proud of how good it all looked- the tea set was rather lovely, bone china with a delicate blue and gold pattern- he barely glanced at it.

“Pour me a cup, please.”

The please seemed rather perfunctory, perhaps, but the librarian didn’t mind. She prepared the cup carefully, put a spoonful of sugar when he asked for it and held it out to him. Belatedly she remembered that she hadn’t offered him milk, and hurriedly did so.

“I prefer the blood of newborns, but milk is fine.”

The comment startled her into dropping the cup, her nerves finally getting the best of her. He frowned, for the first time showing an emotion that wasn’t mild interest, and clarified:

“It was a quip. Not serious.”

She knew that. Even if she thought the worst of Mr Gold, which she didn’t, she would not have assumed anything that shocking or garish to be true. It had simply caught her by surprise. Her grip on the cup loosened, sending it crashing to the floor. Panic immediately flooded her. The cup was clearly expensive and, as far as she had been able to tell, the tea set had been complete and intact a second ago. She picked it up, happy to see that it hadn’t shattered to pieces, but anxious about the sizable chip it had on a side. This would certainly draw Mr Gold’s anger. The man clearly had a passion for antiques, and even if half of the town rumours about his temper turned out to be false, it still didn’t look good for her.

“It’s-it’s chipped.” She paused, licking her lips and looking at it. “I mean… You can hardly see it.”

She didn’t know why she said that, given the size of the missing chip, but Mr Gold merely shrugged, unperturbed.

“It’s just a cup.” He went back to his work, instructing her to simply get another cup.

“Two, if you please. I do not like to drink tea alone if I have company. And bring some biscuits. They’re in the red tin next to the stove.”

Belle was too relieved to question his insistence on her taking tea. Besides the tea did smell rather lovely, and it had been ages since she had allowed herself the luxury of good honey. She brought back the two cups requested, along with the shortbread cookies she had found and served them both, trying to commit Mr Gold’s preferences when it came to tea to memory. Then she settled down to do the data entry he requested, enjoying the couple of cookies she had taken for herself, the salty-buttery taste of the shortbread complimenting the fruity flavour of the tea.

It was, she had to admit, less eventful than what she thought it would be. A bit awkward, with all the silence, but otherwise rather enjoyable. Data entry was something Belle could do with barely any need to concentrate, so she had been able to focus on the tea and the biscuits, on enjoying the warmth inside the shop and the cosiness of it.

The next few times were spent much in the same way, and Belle soon grew less anxious about the encounters and more bored with the stifling silence. Besides that she would actually say she enjoyed her time at the shop. Mr Gold would always have her prepare tea or heat up whatever lunch he had for the day, and there was always plenty to go around and an offhand comment for her to eat too, which more than suited Belle. Between tasks she’d be able to roam around the shop and explore and whenever she did have to do something, it was never too tasking, or unseemly. File some papers, do some data entry, ready an antique that was about to be shipped the way Mr Gold had shown her. She didn’t think any of it was worth the favour Mr Gold had done her in return, but she theorised it was perhaps a power thing, to have her about and give orders to.

Once she moved past her initial apprehension Belle felt determined to make conversation with the pawnbroker, which she knew from their previous encounters at the library was possible. Mr Gold, either on purpose or being true to his nature, responded first with monosyllables, but she would not give up, recalling the books he had taken out previously and enquiring about them, cajoling longer and longer responses from the pawnbroker till he felt compelled to ask her things in return, even if it was only to give himself a break from talking.

Once the conversation started flowing it was pleasant. More than. Mr Gold was witty, with a biting sense of humour that sometimes ran towards the macabre, but that was something they both had in common. He was also well-read, beyond just the books he had favoured in visits to the library, and rather well-travelled. They found they had a lot in common as expats adapting to American culture, and shared a love for history, theatre and period dramas. The more she talked with Mr Gold the more layers of him she uncovered, bits and pieces of the man behind the mask. None of it was personal at all, mostly superficial stuff, but still, Belle began to feel like she was the person in Storybrooke that knew Mr Gold best.

The first weekend he summoned her to his home the nervousness returned tenfold. It wasn’t just the change of venue but also the intimacy of it. What would he have her do in his home? She knew what Ruby would say and it was almost absurd, but the anxiety still lingered. The icy walk towards the edge of town, where Mr Gold lived seemed daunting, and even the eccentric colour scheme of the pawnbroker’s house could not shift her mood. Inside the house was warm, though, and beautiful to behold, a truly well-preserved Queen Anne with gorgeous ceilings, expensive Persian rugs and all sorts of interesting antiques that made it a natural extension of Mr Gold’s shop.

Once Mr Gold had helped her take off her coat, scarf and gloves- the later were dreadfully threadbare, but she did not have the money for a good quality replacement and she didn’t want to spend money on cheap gloves that would barely last her the winter- he directed her to the kitchen, which was a lovely combination of old and new, with ultra-modern appliances designed to fit into the decor instead of standing out like metallic eyesores. She saw that, on the counter, there were a myriad of supplies, including flour, fresh blueberries and sugar.

“What you do you want me to do, Mr Gold?”

He looked at her, a bit puzzled.

“I thought it rather obvious. I want you to bake. I greatly enjoyed the bakesale you organised, though in retrospect, knowing where the money ended up in, I regret purchasing so much. As I have understood you did all the baking.”

Belle did recall Mr Gold purchasing a lot of stuff, including several of her blueberry muffins, a special family recipe. Given what she now knew about his eating habits and what she had known for a while about his extreme dislike for the nuns- she sort of understood that one, after Mother Superior’s manipulative appropriation of the funds she had raised for the library- none of what he said surprised her and she gladly set out to bake. It was a vastly different experience from the rushed, anxious baking she had to do for the doomed sale. Mr Gold’s kitchen was bright and airy, with a lovely view of the backyard from the many windows that let sunlight in. She was also not pressed for time and did not have to make dozens of treats, so she could take her time with the muffins, making sure they came out perfect. Baking was something that reminded her of her mother, who had taught her when Belle was younger and Colette had yet to get sick.

At some point the faint sound of music- something by Clara Schumann, one of her piano concertos- reached her ears, adding to the pleasant feeling and also to her growing knowledge of Mr Gold. Soon enough the kitchen was full of the pleasant aroma of freshly-baked and cooling muffins, and she set out to make tea unprompted, knowing by then Mr Gold’s afternoon-time habits, deciding to serve it in the kitchen. The dining-room felt too cavernous.

When she called the man for tea, knocking on his study before entering, she was a bit happy to see she had surprised him, but he followed her easily enough, not even protesting at being made to take tea on the kitchen island, though he did inquire about the location.

“The dining-room looks fit for a state dinner. This is cosier.”

She enjoyed one of her muffins, but did not expect the rest to appear on their shop tea rotation the next week, thinking Mr Gold might want to keep them all to himself. It soon became a routine for her to go to his house on weekends, sometimes one day and sometimes both, to bake or simply hang around waiting for deliveries that he ‘could not be bothered with’. To Belle it meant lounging around gorgeous rooms full of amazing antiques and perusing Mr Gold’s collection of not-quite-collectible-but-still–very-old books, finding a treasure trove of interesting books about botany, a subject she had previously not known Mr Gold to favour. He also seemed to collect old cookbooks, some which looked rather well-worn, ranging from delicate French cuisine to more peasant fare dishes and Victorian cooking staples. There was always something in the fridge to warm up for lunch, and something yummy for tea, which meant Belle ate better those days than during the rest of the week.

It was a bit of a holiday, it felt like. When she stayed home invariably someone always seemed to come knocking in need of her time, either David with some emergency at the animal shelter or Leroy needing someone to help him with some convent initiative he- for some reason he refused to tell her- signed up for even though he lacked the skills or time for it.

But no one was looking for her at Mr Gold’s. She could relax knowing the sound of the doorbell did not bring with it some desperate friend in need of her time and attention. It did not mean people did not pester her for her time during weekdays, which left her having to improvise excuse after excuse, but though she didn’t like lying, what she had always found difficult about saying no to people was the feeling of guilt afterwards. She did not feel that now, with her time conveniently taken up by her deal with Mr Gold.

She began to be happy about the arrangement for something other than the visible improvements being done to the library, even though friends and acquaintances were growing a bit frosty with her, recriminating her for her lack of help, acting a like they were entitled to her time and leaving her wondering whether she had ever said no to people before.

She must have, surely, though she could not recall a specific example.

“What’s your first name?”

The question came out of nowhere, but once she said it she could not take it back. She was in Mr Gold’s shop, taking a pause from the task he had given her to drink her tea. It was ghastly outside, rainy and windy, and even the short walk between the library and the pawnshop had ruined her pristine appearance. Her hair, frizzy from the humidity, did not seem to want to cooperate with her and settled tucked behind her ears, which was irking her.

“My own business.”

The Scotsman’s response was caustic, but Belle had grown used to his dry tone. He was all bark and no bite when he was like that.

“I promise not to tell anyone.”

“Not knowing it will help you keep that promise.”

She could not help the unbecoming snort of laughter at that, but she had grown comfortable enough around the pawnbroker not to care about it. Instead she attempted to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear yet again, frustrated by how it refused to stay out of her face.

“What harm could there possibly be? This is not some folk tale where giving your name to the fairies has consequences or something.”

“You do look a bit fae-like. Bright eyes, delicate features.”

The unexpected compliment, in the midst of their banter, made her blush and look down, her hands grabbing the inkpot he had left for her, along with the pen he had instructed her to refill with ink. She delicately unscrewed the Montblanc, making sure the cartridge was empty and the spring lowered down before she dipped it into the pot, rotating the tip of the cartridge to fill it up. Her unruly lock of hair chose that moment to leave its perch behind her ear, flopping almost straight into the ink.

“Careful there.”

She hadn’t heard Mr Gold get closer, but suddenly he was right next to her, carefully lifting up the unruly lock of hair and fixing it in place with something he placed on her hair. Belle touched the thing carefully, feeling something that felt like small stones or maybe pearls. It was a beret. She removed it, noticing it was a beautiful piece, with small stones that seemed like diamonds and perfect little pearls, making up flowers and leaves. The style was very Art Nouveau, soft and romantic. Which meant it was likely very expensive, and her first instinct was to give it back. Or try to.

“Oh, Mr Gold, you shouldn’t bother. I can’t accept it, what if I break it or something? Like your cup?”

“It’s a trivial little trinket I’ve had lying around for ages. And it keeps me from fearing that lock might find its way into my tea later.”

“Nothing in this shop is a trinket. Take it back.”

She held out the beret again, frustrated when her hair decided to do her dirty and obscure her face again. Mr Gold rolled his eyes, studying her to gauge how determined she was about the topic before his gaze turned predatory and a dealer’s smile began to inch its way across his face.

“I’ll make you a deal, Miss French.” He paused, perhaps for effect, and Belle had to tell herself not to focus on the way his voice turned into a soft, beguiling purr when he was proposing a deal. Something to unsettle his potential victim, she supposed, and it did unsettle her, but not in the way she thought he intended. “I’ll give you my name if you accept the hair clip.”

She narrowed her eyes, trying to think about the catch. This deal did not seem to benefit Mr Gold at all, except the pawnbroker never made a deal he did not stand to gain from, so there had to be something there that she wasn’t seeing. Nothing materialised, but she did not spot a hidden trap either. She may not know why Mr Gold wanted her to have both the beret and his name, but she would benefit anyway.

“Deal.”

Carefully, trying to make her frizzy hair look artfully teased instead, she combed through it before placing the beret to both secure the hair and the style she had put it into.

“There, done. Now you.”

“My name’s Alexander Uilleam. A constant reminder of my dead father.”

“That was also his name?”

“No. He hated me.”

Belle did not have to ask what he meant by that. After all, she had always half-jokingly thought so. And it did not necessarily come as a shock that a man as abrasive and prickly as Mr Gold had not had a happy or easy childhood. She could tell that the reveal had left him a bit discomfited, vulnerable, so she thought to put him at ease.

“Alexander is a lovely name. Elegant. It suits you.” She paused, glad when she caught a hint of a pleased smile on the edge of his lips. “May I use it, when it’s just us?”

“If you must.”

It didn’t take long for Belle to realise her deal with Mr Gold-Alexander- was not about power. If anything, he strived to be discreet when it came to their arrangement, never requiring anything of her that would expose their interactions to the judgemental people of Storybrooke. So she began to theorise that Mr Gold was lonely, which is why he kept her around. He tried to pretend otherwise, sometimes ignoring her and other times acting like her attempts at conversing with him or her mere presence was an annoyance he bravely chose to bear, but it was a poor act, at least now that she could read him better.

Her theory seemed to confirm itself when he began to take her to auctions and estate sales. She had known before that Mr Gold sometimes made those trips- people tended to make a big deal out of him being out of Storybrooke and, therefore, not able to pop out of nowhere to ask for people’s rents or whatever else they thought he did- but she had never given it much thought until he had told her she would accompany him to an event in Lewiston, some sort of estate sale. He would take her of the clothing, since this was a business event and so it was his responsibility to provide her with appropriate attire, and gave her the details for a Bergdorf account, telling her to order whatever she pleased. Her polite but immediate refusal was met with an offhand comment about how their deal was for her time, and he could not take her to the auction unless she purchased suitable clothing. Therefore, her refusal to buy clothes would be a breach of contract.

Belle’s sense of wounded pride at the notion that she was lacking quality clothes to wear to a special occasion was somehow lessened by the fact that she had lost a good part of her wardrobe to the damp and rot inside her closet, and the fact that she had sold some of her best shoes and dresses just a few weeks before she had made her deal with Mr Gold, needing that extra bit of cash to push her over what she thought at the time was the finishing line of her funds for the library, before they had mostly gone to her father. She had been able to afford some of her more expensive pieces by restoring antique books in her spare time, but she didn’t have any at the moment, hadn’t had for a while. Her wardrobe was severely limited at the moment, and Mr Gold was so blindingly rich he probably wouldn’t notice the change in his bank account even if she bought half the clothing her size on the website.

“Just the one outfit.”

“And a coat, don’t forget.”

She ended up buying a Givenchy powder-blue knit mini-dress, which she could pair with a plum-coloured cardigan and black booties she already had, and after much fighting she added a Burbery cashmere trench coat, something that she could get a lot of use out of without ever looking out of place. A few days later he had called her over to his shop to hand her the packages, without a hint of reproach in his face at the expense of it all.

“I forgot to ask you to add gloves, so I took the liberty to order a pair for you. I apologise for the presumption.”

The dress fit like a dream, and the coat was incredibly warm. But the gloves were her favourite part: exactly to her taste, a pair of woven leather and cashmere gloves that fit her hands perfectly and were soft like butter. But above all, they let her know that Mr Gold had cared about her comfort and took the time to ensure she would be warm while on their outing.

The outing itself was more fun than she had expected. The ride was amenable enough, with Belle in charge of the thermos of tea and the conversation and Mr Gold in the mood to be conversational. He clearly had a passion for antiques and did not mind indulging her curiosity on the subject, coming across both as knowledgeable and engaging. As for the event itself, Belle never quite understood what the point was of her being there. Her only expertise were books, and she did feel rather proud when she could point out a few neglected but salvageable first and second editions amongst the things sold from the library of the estate. He didn’t seem to mind, though, seeming to need her only for chatter while he perused everything with a calculated eye, sometimes pausing over a particular lamp or a certain piece of furniture.

Once they had made two full tours of the place- with Mr Gold perhaps leaning a bit on her, to hide his more pronounced limp, given the amount of walking they had done-he seemed to have made up his mind, quickly arranging the purchase of two lamps, a clock and three Bohemian crystal pieces, a decanter, a jar and a vase. It was a thing of beauty to watch him haggle, inscrutable as he pointed out a flaw or minor cosmetic detail and argued about the sellability of some of the pieces in the market. In the end he got exactly what he wanted at a good price, judging from the satisfied turn of his lips, and he was even kind enough to invite her to a late tea in a charming little cottage-style inn on the road back to Storybrooke.

There was no mistaking her enthusiasm when he brought up another trip, this time to an auction, and she did not even put up much of a fuss when he insisted she get herself a new outfit. She would find a way to return the clothes to Mr Gold once their deal was done and he could not stop her, and in the meantime she had come to have a better grasp of his fortune, which was bigger than what she had previously imagined. He truly did mean it when he said her purchases were of little consequence to him. Soon she had amassed a modest array of dresses, blouses, skirts and a few accessories, which she tried to expand with a few tasteful pieces from her own wardrobe. It was the sort of clothing she has always dreamed of wearing every day but had never had the funds for. And her guilt at spending Alexander’s money lessened by the obvious pleasure in his face every time he saw her in a new outfit, especially when she made subtle efforts to match him. A few times he would present her with a scarf or a similar accessory, saying something about the weather or some other excuse in an offhand manner, knowing she did not believe him but would not comment on it. It was sweet, and his taste was impeccable.

And though dressing up was fun, and the antiques were fascinating, it was Alexander that made each trip worthwhile. He was a great companion, more than eager to share his knowledge and explain his decisions as they both studied each item on display. He would defer to her when it came to books, and she was happy when he made a few purchases explicitly because she had recommended them.

Once or twice he took her to gallery openings in Portland or formal dinner events, where obviously the underlying purpose was to network and socialise. She had been hesitant at first about looking for dresses, till she finally managed to snag a fourth thousand dollar Marchesa crepe gown in deep red at under half the price. She had told him so the next day, over the moon about the steal.

“But was that the dress you liked best?”

“It was for that price.”

The night in question, when she had shown up to the pawnshop with her hair artfully teased and swept up and her make-up impeccable, he had a box from Louboutin in his hands.

“What is this?”

“Well, you did save all that money with the dress, so I needed something to do with the leftovers.”

The shoes inside were stupidly gorgeous, shimmery strass fabric pumps with a 4-inch heel, more than easy for her to manage.

“This is not what I was hoping for when I bought the dress, you know.”

“No, you were hoping to get one over me. I hope you realise there is no doing that, Miss French.”

“Belle, please. I can’t have you buying me shoes and not using my given name, at least.”

Had she known Alexander less she would’ve thought this was a way to flex his power over her once more, but now she saw it as a kindness from a person unused to expressing positive feelings to other people. That night had been particularly pleasant. He required her to only look good and contribute to the conversation when appropriate, and they both delighted in people-watching whenever he did not need to socialise. Belle even got him to dance, just a little, even if he had to lean rather heavily on her. When he had driven her back to her home, the Cadillac barely gaining on the dawning morning sun, she had felt almost unwilling to leave.

“You know, you don’t have to get me things for me to enjoy spending time with you.”

“I don’t? That’s not usually my experience.”

In an act of what she would later categorise as temporary madness she reached over to kiss his cheek. He was warm, and smelt still of his sandalwood cologne.

“I mean it. I rather like spending time with you. More than with anyone else, really.”

Something, she wasn’t sure what, had changed between them after that innocent little kiss. On the one hand Alexander himself seemed… softer, more at ease, less likely to dodge personal questions using quips or non-answers. She found herself opening up to him about her mother, who had died when she was very young, and how that had conditioned her, she supposed, to hide her troubles.

“She was sick for so long that I didn’t want her or dad to worry about me. It was easy to push things aside and try to find ways to help. Mom would always know, though, when something was wrong with me. She wasn’t fooled, and wasn’t deterred. She would often tell me she was my mom and it was her job to worry over me and not mine to worry over her.”

“A rather exemplary mother, then. I’m glad.”

They were having tea, both deciding at the same time to abandon their respective tasks, given the late hour. They were sharing the last scone between them, huddled together near the radiator in the back of the shop. The weather had turned frightful, and it was forecasted to continue so.

“But when she died… dad was left alone. And he didn’t have mom’s sixth sense for these sorts of things, he was rather helpless. I enjoyed being useful, finding ways to contribute. I didn’t expect that to create a- a rift of sorts. I love him and I know he loves me but… I don’t think he knows me very much, or how to interact with me. And I don’t know how to interact with him on a more real basis. Tell him when something is bothering me or I have a problem.”

Alexander, Belle had quickly surmised, had an abysmal opinion of her father. She had also assumed correctly that his own had not been great either.

“It’s a father’s responsibility to care for their child. There’s no excuse for shirking parental responsibilities.”

“Is this about your own father?”

He had talked briefly about his childhood, mostly about the two old women who had brought him up till they had died when he had been around fourteen, and had only mentioned his mother had died in childbirth.

“No, but he certainly wasn’t father of the year. Would make your own look downright decent.” He paused, pouring himself another cup of tea slowly, as if trying to make time. “I had a son. He was the world to me. I cannot imagine a parent, any parent, not being willing to do whatever it took to ensure their child’s happiness.”

In spite of the myriad of rumours going around Storybrooke about Mr Gold, many centred around his past before he came to town, Belle had never heard any about a child.

“You have a son?”

“Had. Balfour. A lovely boy, bright and full of life. His mother left us soon after he was born, but I made sure he never once felt her absence.” Alexander’s voice sounded soft and affectionate, his accent more pronounced as he told the story. “He was full of plans. Wanted to be an architect, a lawyer, and a doctor. Like kids often do. I worked hard so he would have the choice to be whoever he wanted, to be the supportive father I had always wanted my own da to be.” He paused, hands tightening around the repaired cup he favoured- why he insisted on using the one she chipped she had no idea- to the point she feared he might shatter the delicate china and hurt himself. “But it didn’t matter in the end. There was a car accident- a driver fell asleep at the wheel, I was told. He didn’t make it, and neither did Bae. I got out of it intact. Well, mostly.”

She didn’t have to ask him to clarify with the way he glanced at his ever-present cane, propped up right next to his chair.

“Did it happen here, in Storybrooke?”

Surely not. Belle could not imagine people would hate the pawnbroker so unabashedly if they knew what had happened to him.

“Yes. Less than a year after we moved in. Bae is buried on the edge of the local cemetery. He wasn’t baptised and Mother Superior pitched a fit at the notion that he would be buried on consecrated ground. So I bought the land right next to the cemetery, and made it look like it was part of it. Commissioned a bench so I could sit with him from time to time, but it got harder and harder to do so over time.”

It was no wonder there was an all-out war between the convent and the pawnbroker. Belle was rather amazed the Scotsman hadn’t evicted them ages ago.

“Would you like to go there sometime?”

Alexander looked up at her, surprised, as if it hadn’t occurred to him that he did not need to visit the grave alone.

“I couldn’t possibly use our arrangement in that way. It would be too much of an imposition.”

“It would be outside the boundaries of our arrangement. Of my own free will.”

“Why?”

Had Belle now known Alexander better she would’ve been tempted to find the question insulting. But to the pawnbroker the idea that someone would do anything for him without getting something in return seemed an impossibility.

“Because I want to.”

He did not press her, but smiled sadly into his cup, determined to avoid eye contact, likely feeling rather vulnerable and raw.

“You’re too good a person. I’ve always thought so.”

He let the subject drop after, pointedly beginning to muse out loud about the upcoming weather, a clear message for her to move along.

She didn’t bring it up afterwards, and neither did he, but something seemed to loosen up about him, some invincible barrier he had struggled hard to maintain between them dissolving into nothing. He no longer felt the need to pretend he didn’t like it when she interrupted his work with a cup of tea, chiding him about his long hours, or pretend he did not buy strawberry jam for their scones because she preferred it to the blackberry one he usually kept.

Other things changed. She no longer waited for a summons, sometimes stopping by his shop simply to avoid having lunch alone or to share something she had recently baked- she seemed to have a lot of spare time now that people seemed to have stopped asking her to do things for them, and she felt a bit bad that she was rather enjoying it. He never turned her away or commented on her unexpected presence, and Belle theorised he was scared she would stop doing it. Alexander was a man used to loneliness, but he clearly craved social contact. And physical touch, which had rather surprised her. She was a very tactile person herself, but she had tried to refrain herself from touching the pawnbroker too much at first, convinced she was imposing herself on him, only for it soon to become clear to her that he welcomed the touch. It was easy to see in the way he seemed to subconsciously lean on it, sometimes chasing her hand as it retreated.

When she realised he was not adverse to her touch but rather the opposite she increased it, determined to bring some much-needed human contact back into Alexander’s life. She grew used to walking but his side leaning slightly against him, arms linked together, noticing he leaned right back, or to linger when she touched him to get his attention. With time she even grew comfortable straightening his tie and setting his hair to rights when the wind made a mess of his veritable mane. She enjoyed it too, the growing bits of intimacy that made her feel nervous in a way she hadn’t in years.

She didn’t allow herself to delve too deep into what it all meant.

“Hey, long time no see stranger.”

Belle looked up from her half-finished piece of French toast, smiling up at Ruby in what she hoped was a placating way. She had been too busy with Alexander and the crew at the library putting the finishing touches on their work, which sometimes meant letting them into her apartment, to visit the diner, which meant she had not seen Ruby in a while. She was hoping her friend wouldn’t read too much into it.

“Hey, Ruby, sorry about that. It’s been a bit crazy at the library with all the work going on.”

It was more than a passable excuse and she thought it would be more than enough to dispel the shadow of suspicion in Ruby’s eyes. But it seemed to merely give her an opening to plop down on the seat in front of hers and lean on the table, her hair perilously close to her food.

“Speaking of that I’ve been meaning to ask you… How on Earth did you get the money for the fix? I mean, you were really worried about it a while ago.”

It would’ve been easy to hide, to say that she had managed to squirrel the money together over time. She hadn’t told Ruby about her dad’s financial woes, after all, so it would be believable. But all Belle could think about was that she could not believe Ruby was interested about that now, after months of very obviously trying to avoid the subject and redirecting the conversation when it did come up. Belle had told herself that her friend wasn’t being insensitive, she just didn’t understand how much she was worrying over the matter. It seemed she had been wrong.

“Now you want to talk about that? Because I thought you didn’t care. You certainly acted like you didn’t all those times I tried to talk to you about it before.”

“Hey, hey, let’s not get defensive! I was just asking, trying to be a good friend. It’s just that I haven’t seen you in a while and wanted to know how things were going. Granny and I miss you.”

“I didn’t move to another town, Ruby. The library is right across the street, you could come in at any point to visit.”

“Well, I-I don’t get many breaks. You know how much of a hardass Granny is.”

“Have you seen the library’s working hours? I’m the only librarian, Ruby, if the library is open then I’m working. Yet I’ve always made the effort to come in here, to spend money I do not have on tea and a scone so we could chat a bit and you could complain about your grandmother, your job or your love-life, and conveniently avoid asking me about my own. So why the sudden interest?”

There was something in there, something in Ruby’s eyes. Something that wasn’t the genuine concern of a friend, and she hated that she was pretending to care about things Belle had wanted her to care for a long time to get it out of her.

“Because I think I know! I know you did something, something bad! You made a deal with Gold, didn’t you?”

The waitress hissed those last words quietly, and the diner was almost deserted, but Belle still found herself looking around, making sure that no one had heard. She was not embarrassed or ashamed about her deal with Alexander, didn’t mind that people would judge her if they knew. But whatever that deal had created, whatever the relationship between them was now, she knew she wanted to keep it private, like something precious that wasn’t meant for other people to see.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

It felt wrong to lie to Ruby more than to anyone else, but the surprising anger she felt towards her helped with that feeling. Belle had not known she had been accumulating so much resentment, small things piling on top of each other, anecdotes and slights weaving together, things she hadn’t thought about much at the time but that had clearly stayed with her, adding to the rift that she now saw growing between her and the person she thought of as her best friend. It wasn’t just that she hadn’t had the time to visit Ruby recently, it was that she hadn’t felt the urge to. Even before she had made the deal with Alexander, coming into Granny’s had felt more like a chore. Ruby would preemptively beg her not to talk about the library, remarking she was tired of hearing about it and dismissively assuring her it was a non-issue and the council would come around and pay for the repairs in time.

“Meanwhile you’re scaring the customers away every time they come. They’re tired of hearing about it Belle, and Granny cannot afford to lose her regulars.”

Belle had accepted it at the time as Ruby looking out for her Gran and trying to boost her confidence about the council funds reaching her in time. But it had meant she could not talk about anything going on in her life, all of it consumed with the situation. So she had kept quiet, and tried to ignore the sting when Ruby didn’t seem to notice or mind that Belle was not telling her anything about her life, or that she was growing thin and pale and seemed vaguely anxious all the time. It hadn’t seemed to matter at the time, but, suddenly, it did.

“I saw you! The other night, all dolled up and getting out of his monster of a car in front of the library, at almost five in the morning. I couldn't believe it, so I was trying to give you the opportunity to explain yourself!”

She knew exactly what Ruby had seen. There had been a party a few nights ago that Alexander had wanted to use as an excuse to show around a newly-restored a blue-glass scarab necklace by Lalique, hoping it would catch the interest of someone and he would be able to sell it directly instead of having to negotiate it being put up for auction in an upcoming catalogue of Christie’s. She had purchased a lovely De la Renta made out of gold lame for the occasion, strapless with a sweetheart neckline to let the necklace shine and had put up her hair in a rather fetching imitation of a Gibson Girl bouffant. It had been a lovely night, draped over Alexander’s arm, both of them people-watching to pass the time whenever it was not mandatory for them to mingle. By the end of the night she had been pleasantly tipsy and he had confided in her that he had an informal offer for the necklace. ‘A little south of six figures’ he had told her, smiling that predatory smile at her, a little bit softened by the obvious admiration in his eyes at what he saw as her accomplishment. It was the first time Belle had consciously thought she wanted to kiss him, wanted him to lean close enough that she could reach his hair to pull him close and press her lips against his.

And now Ruby was making it all sound something that wasn’t. Something unseemly.

“Whatever you think you saw it wasn’t what you’re trying to imply.”

She fished out her wallet from her purse, glad she did not have to scrounge up enough for the food and the tip amongst the loose change in her purse.

“And I don’t have to stay here and hear you imply I’m selling myself for the library or something. You know where to find me if you want to see me, but don’t feel rushed to do so.”

She waved at Granny on her way out, head held high and a weight off her chest.

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #belle french #mr gold #rumplestiltskin #thestraggletag fanfiction #the caretaker

38 notes · View notes